The Christmas Bells of Cavazzale
Page 4
An elderly woman dressed in black stood in front of her house staring at the front door.
“Can I help you?”
The woman’s hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes when she looked at Charly.
Before Charly could say anything more, the woman scurried away.
“Wait.” Charly went after her but lost sight of the woman when she turned a corner. Charly’s unease increased as she returned home. What caused such a reaction? As she slid the key into her gate, a voice drifted from the other side of the street.
“Charly, everything OK?” André stood next to a garbage dumpster. His striking, jet-black hair and dark eyes contrasted sharply with the peeling green paint and graffiti.
“Yes, fine.”
She wanted to tell him about the woman, but how could she explain how the stranger made the hair on her arms stand on end? The woman seemed terrified of Charly.
“Well then I’ll be on my way.”
Suddenly not wanting to be alone, she stepped closer. “Where are you going?”
“I’m headed to the coffee shop. I need something to keep me awake.” He shook his head. “This lack of sleep is killing me.”
“Sorry, but the shops are closed.” She explained riposo.
His shoulders slumped and his smile melted as his brows creased. “Really?”
“Yep.” Sympathy spread through her. After all, if she hadn’t decided to take a surprise trip to Italy, he’d be staying in her house and probably sleeping well. “But I can make a mean espresso if you’d like to come in.”
~*~
Had she actually offered to make him an espresso?
“Sure.” André reached for the bags in her right hand. “Let me take those for you.” He’d thought about spending time with her, but her aloofness kept him from making an attempt. He placed the bags on the bistro table in the kitchen.
Charly began filling a pot with water.
“Have a seat. Get comfortable.” She pointed toward bright orange chairs and a beige couch on the other side of the room.
He sat on the couch and leaned against the arm.
Charly added milk to a pan and turned on the burners of the tiny stove. “There. It’ll be ready in a minute. How did things go at your brother’s house?”
“Fine, if you don’t count a broken princess crown, a short couch, and the piercing eyes of a three-year-old in the middle of the night. Oh, and we can’t forget the extremely loud, obnoxious church bells.”
“Uh…well…then. Sounds like an interesting night. Did you get any sleep?”
He leaned farther back on the couch. The worn fabric was smooth and the cushions enveloped him. “Very little. I was hoping to take an afternoon nap, but the singing church bells sound like they’re in the house. Juliette is running errands, so I promised I’d pick up the girls from their school between 3:30 and 4:00. It’s just across the square from here. When I couldn’t sleep by 2:00, I decided to get some coffee so I wouldn’t fall asleep and miss them.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’m sure the girls will be delighted.” Hissing from the stove grabbed her attention. “Regular espresso or would you like a latté?
“Give me the high octane. I’ll be like the Italians today. No milk after breakfast.”
She poured his coffee into a tiny cup. Then she poured a larger one and added milk. She carried the cups across the room, handed one to André, and then sat in the ugly orange chair across from him. She took a long sip. “So, have you talked to Maria yet?”
Who was Maria? Oh, yes—Antonio’s wife. “No, not yet. Is she home?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been home all day. But the strangest thing happened when I approached the house.” She told him about the woman who’d been standing at the gate and how she’d reacted when she saw Charly. “Do you think she knew my nonna?”
“Maybe. Do you look like her when she was your age?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen photos of her when she was younger.” Her gaze went to the small bookcase.
“Maybe you can do a little detective work while you’re here. Find some photos. Find the strange lady and solve the mystery.”
The tolling bells began belting out a Christmas tune, although here they weren’t nearly as loud. He glanced at his watch. “Great, I forgot to change the time. Do you know what time it is?”
“You’ve got time, don’t worry.”
He relaxed farther into the couch. Maybe he could get to know her better. “So tell me about your nonna.”
“She was the best.” Carly’s quiet voice captured his senses. “I could always count on her.”
He lowered his head against the pillow supporting his back. Charly’s words drifted to him as if they floated on air. He could tell how much she loved her nonna by her softened tone. Her tender words, drenched with love, relaxed him. He could listen to her talk all day.
Undici
“I spent most of my summer vacations with her.” Charly loved that André had asked about her nonna. He’d also sparked an idea. Find the strange lady. Maybe Charly did look like Nonna when Nonna was her age.
A noise startled her. André’s head lolled back on the couch with his mouth emitting small snores. He’d said he was tired from the sleepless night and the long plane trip. The poor man hadn’t slept much for two days.
She glanced at her cellphone—another thirty minutes before he needed to pick up the girls. She’d noted the bags under his eyes and the amount of effort it took for him to concentrate. She set a timer for 3:45. She’d wake him then.
She retrieved one of the photo albums and took it to the small table. As she flipped through the pages, a young Nonna stared back at her. Her grandmother was a beauty with dark curly hair and perfectly arched brows. But she looked nothing like Charly.
I look more like my mother.
So why did the older lady run when she saw Charly?
Even in the black-and-white, faded photo, Nonna’s eyes sparkled and she flashed a brilliant smile. No wonder Pappy fell for her. She must have swept him off his feet.
Charly flipped another page.
Nonna walked arm in arm with another young beauty. While not quite so photogenic as Nonna, this young woman also flashed an enchanting smile. Could this be the lady at her gate today?
A letter slipped from behind the album. Conchitta Rossato was written on the front in tiny block letters. Charly opened the brittle envelope and slid out the folded linen pages, but didn’t recognize the words. Later she’d type this in the online translator.
The warble coming from her living room rose a decibel or two. She’d never had a man fall asleep while she talked to him, especially someone who’d shown an obvious interest. Either he was extremely comfortable with her, or dead tired. Poor guy. But then again, there was no way she could let him live this one down.
Charly returned to the photo album. Several pictures of Nonna showed her cutting clusters of grapes or sitting on a horse-drawn cart with wooden boxes filled with grapes. The Italian word for grape harvest, vendemmia, was written in Nonna’s handwriting below the picture. Was this vineyard the one on the land Savannah inherited in Vicenza? Charly jotted a reminder to send her sister an email to get the address of the homestead. Maybe she could visit while she was here.
The gentle beep of her phone reminded her it was time to wake André. Should she call his name or shake him? The tall Cajun’s long arms and legs dangled from her couch. Definitely call his name. “André, it’s time to wake up.”
~*~
The ugly orange chairs came into focus as Charly’s lovely voice called his name.
André woke with a start and dreadful regret. He’d fallen asleep. He bounced from the couch. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
Charly’s lips set in a straight line and her eyes narrowed. “It’s time to pick up the girls.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. His throat burned, probably from snoring. What a dumb move to fall asleep when a pretty woman wa
s speaking to him. He placed his hands on her elbows. “Charly, I’m so sorry. It’s not you. Your couch was so comfortable and I’ve not slept more than a few hours in the past two days. Please let me make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner one night this week. What do you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just dinner. Nothing more. OK?”
“Perhaps.” She nodded and led him to the door. “Let’s have dinner after you’ve caught up on your sleep. I don’t think my ego could take you falling asleep while we’re supposed to be getting to know one another.” She flashed a teasing grin.
At least, he hoped it was. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”
Would she ever forgive him?
“I know. You need to get the girls.” She opened the door.
He smacked his forehead. “Oh, yes.” He turned back. “Would it be OK if I stopped by tomorrow? We can make plans for dinner.”
She smirked. “Sure. Knock loudly on the door. I may be taking a nap.”
“Urgh, I have a feeling you won’t let me forget this.” With a couple of long-legged leaps, he was off the porch and at the gate.
“Not on your life.” She called after him as he reached the sidewalk.
Hope stirred. Her answer meant that she planned to see him again. He smiled despite his embarrassment. And amazingly enough, the short nap had revived him. Or was it the twinkling spark in Charly’s eyes when she’d teased him?
Dodici
Charly typed the Italian words into the online translator. The words materialized in English. This wasn’t a love letter.
Conchitta,
I have always considered you my closest friend. For you to betray me this way hurts more than I can say.
I am no longer your friend. Do not come to my house. I never want to see you again.
Bianca
Wow, what could Nonna have done?
Charly darted to the bedroom. Time to find Nonna’s diary. The key slipped into the lock of the hall closet and opened the door to shelves filled with linens, books, a music box, a jewelry box, and a couple of journals. Charly grabbed the journals and opened the red one which was written in Italian. Of course. She’d have to translate every page. The date, however, was recognizable—1951. While a bit neater and more concise, the handwriting was unmistakably Nonna’s. This must be the diary Nonna mentioned in her letter. She was twenty years old when she wrote this first journal entry.
Charly brought both journals to the table and began typing the handwritten words into the translator. At this rate she would be here all night. She glanced out the window.
André romped in the open square outside the asilo with his godchild and another little girl, one with long, curly, blonde locks. While her coloring was different, there was no mistaking them as sisters. The large round eyes, pudgy nose, and full lips were almost identical.
The dark-haired girl called him her parah or something like that—whatever the Cajun French term for godfather was? Would the other child be as possessive of her uncle?
André lifted both girls, one in each arm, and walked across the square toward downtown.
Women turned and smiled as he walked by.
She turned back to her computer. She would not get caught up in wondering about André Lagneaux. There were better things to do in Italy. His long silky locks, dark-chocolate eyes, chiseled face, and the sharply defined muscles of his forearms did nothing for her. Nothing.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard typing in the words from Nonna’s diary, but her mind raced back to the square and the pure joy on André’s face as he played with his nieces.
~*~
André headed back to Edmond’s house carrying both Marielle and Isabella.
“Uncle André, can we have pizza again tonight?” Marielle’s bright blue eyes sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.
“Yeah, parrain, pizza again. Please.” Isabella patted his cheek.
“Let’s wait until we get home to decide. Your mama probably has something nice planned.” This would be the hard part about being a parent. He’d say yes to those sweet smiles and beautiful eyes regardless of whether they’d had pizza last night, and the night before. Yep, if he had a daughter of his own, he’d be clay in her hands.
As he turned the corner, the church bells began their afternoon torture. Any other time he would love the melodious Christmas tune, but those bells, the unforgiving couch, and the stupid jetlag he couldn’t shake played a large part in his lack of sleep. Not to mention his constant thoughts of Charly.
Edmond had tried to make it better. His brother had brought home an inflatable mattress which he’d blown up for Marielle. Upon seeing it, she’d decided she liked sleeping in her sister’s room after all, especially if she got to sleep on the balloon bed, as she called it.
André was moved back into the pink princess room.
Later, after dinner and the girls’ baths, André tucked them in and read a story twice before they settled down. At the end, André closed the book, kissed them both goodnight and left the room.
Edmond and Juliette were deep in conversation, but they stopped talking when André came into the living room.
“I think they’re down for the night. But they won’t go to sleep unless they get a night-night kiss from Daddy.” He glanced toward Edmond. The lines between Edmond’s brows deepened and his eyes didn’t carry the shine they usually did.
“I’m on my way.” Edmond looked at André. “We need to talk.”
“Sure, I’ll wait up for you.” André sat next to Juliette. “What’s up?”
Her eyes were red and puffy.
She patted his knee. “I’ll let Edmond tell you. I’m going to bed. André, thanks for getting the girls today and for reading their bedtime story. They are happy you’re here. Is there anything you need before I head off to bed?”
“No, I’m good. You get some rest.”
She slipped from the room, her shoulders slumped and head lowered.
Edmond returned carrying two glasses of tea, one of which he handed to André. “Those girls have my heart in their hands. Man, I’m gonna hate to leave them, and Juliette, too. My deployment date got moved up. I leave in three weeks.” Edmond’s eyes glistened. “Look, bro, I’d appreciate if you’d stick around for Christmas. It would mean a lot to me.”
“Sure, no problem.” While André was agitated with his parents for interfering in his life, at this moment, he was thankful they had. Edmond had asked him to stay. He’d given him a valuable gift—his trust.
“I appreciate that so much. We got the word today so I’ll be busy the next few weeks in preparation for our unit’s deployment. I love my job in the Army but in times like this—not so much.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave them either, especially at Christmas.” André reached over and extended his hand to his brother. “I’ll be here.”
“I knew I could count on you. I’m hoping we can spend some time together before I leave. Oh, Isabella mentioned something about a girlfriend here in Cavazzale.” He arched his brows.
André chuckled. “She’s someone I met at the airport in Frankfurt. We flew into Venice on the same plane, crossed paths again at St. Mark’s Basilica, and then had lunch together.” André relayed the details of their encounter at the cathedral, and then about the mix-up over the rental.
“Oh, so she’s the one who owns the house. So are you interested?” Edmond got right to the point.
“Let’s just say I like her, but I don’t think it’ll go anywhere. I don’t think she’s too fond of me.” André told him about the falling-asleep incident.
Edmond laughed. “Well, according to Isabella, the lady is totally in love with you. Since I’m off work tomorrow, she wants me to take her to Charly’s house so I can decide if she’s good enough for you.”
“Wow.” André gulped his tea and then laughed with Edmond. “My godchild has such a take-charge personality. Can’t imagine whose genes she got that from. Can you?”
He hadn’t thought about Thanksgiving. Would Charly be alone tomorrow? Maybe he would invite her. But he knew one thing from his days growing up with Elise Lagneaux—never invite people for dinner without checking with the cook first. André couldn’t believe his brother hadn’t learned the same thing. “I’ll check with Juliette in the morning.”
Tredici
Charly stayed up late into the night translating several pages of Nonna’s diary. She loved getting to know the younger version of her grandmother. Nonna and her best friend, Bianca, were inseparable. They both worked at the same school. Bianca’s older brother, Carlo, who’d returned from the war, had a crush on Nonna, but she’d resisted his advances. While everyone in town, including her family, expected them to get married, Nonna didn’t love Carlo. A short prayer on the bottom of the page moved Charly’s heart.
Lord, send the man You want me to marry and spend the rest of my life with. I’ll keep my eyes and heart open for him.
Charly absorbed the words. The last page she translated told an interesting tale of a young American named Andrew, a fellow soldier friend of Carlo’s who’d come to visit. ”So that’s when Nonna met Pappy.” Had her grandmother realized that her grandfather, Andrew, was the answer to her prayer?
Charly closed the diary and copied the translation into her blank document. She wanted to compile the entries so her family could read them as well.
Later, as she drifted off to sleep, she imagined her grandparents in love. They would have been a striking couple. Her grandfather had blue eyes and blond hair and her grandmother had dark hair and features. The last vision before sleep gripped was one she tried to ignore—André’s dark eyes and hair were not unlike Nonna’s and Charly’s blue eyes and blonde hair were like Pappy’s.