by Belle Ami
Alex nodded agreeably. “You’re probably right, but who knows?”
“Certainly, not my mother, but you can try. Actually, I think she’d love to hear about Casa del Sole even if she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll introduce you to Ana, who’ll show you out when you’ve had your visit with Mama.”
Angela clutched Alex’s hand for reassurance and they followed Lucrezia to a wing on the left side of the house. She knocked on the door and opened it. The room was filled with sunlight shining through floor-to-ceiling sliders that led to a private garden patio. The room was cheery and decorated with antiques that had probably been brought from Montefioralle. Filling the shelves of an etagere were framed family pictures. Angela strolled closer to take a better look. She picked up a photo in an old frame. “Is this Sophia?” The woman was laughing, her eyes locked on a handsome, blond-haired man.
“Yes. That’s the only picture of her and Giorgio Bandini, my grandfather. He was killed a week before they were to marry. She’s only a couple of months pregnant with my mother in that picture. According to family lore, it was a terrible tragedy that devastated my grandmother.”
“Very sad,” Angela whispered. She couldn’t believe Giorgio Bandini’s real identity of Gerhard Jaeger had disappeared as completely as he had.
Lucrezia called out in Italian, “Ana, Mr. Caine and Ms. Renatus are here to see Mama.”
A voice answered. “We’re just finishing up, and then I’ll bring her in.”
“Thank you.” Lucrezia stared out the window and smiled. “This is my happy place. My husband and I built this house with the proceeds from the Casa del Sole sale. For us, it was the right thing to do. We built this suite specifically for my mother and filled it with personal items from back home, but none of that could stop the Alzheimer’s from erasing her memories.”
The door from the bedroom opened and a nurse in scrubs pushed a wheelchair with a tiny, old woman into the sitting room. The disease that had stolen her memory could not erase the last vestiges of her great beauty that showed in her delicate cheekbones and bob of gray-blonde curls. The woman stared vacantly ahead.
“Mama, this is Alex, the man who bought Casa del Sole, and his fidanzata, Angela. They’ve come a long way to visit with you.”
The woman showed no reaction to her daughter’s words. Her eyes drifted to the garden, she blinked rapidly from the bright sunlight.
Angela’s heart skipped a beat. She moved closer to Fioretta Rossi. “Her eyes—they’re two different colors.”
“Yes, apparently my grandfather had that odd trait…” Lucrezia’s gaze landed on Alex and her brows knitted in thought. “How odd…” Her eyes shifted from Alex to Angela and back.
“My eyes are different colored,” Alex stated the obvious.
“Yes… I just realized that.” Lucrezia shook her head as though dismissing an outrageous notion.
“Well you can blame my mother and father for that, they couldn’t get their genes straight.” He grinned, his charm easily captivating.
Lucrezia chuckled and turned to her mother.
Alex and Angela exchanged a look. Close call, Angela mouthed. Alex nodded in reply.
Lucrezia crouched in front of the wheelchair, laying her hand over her mother’s. “Mama, I have to go out for a bit, but you have a nice visit with Alex and Angela. Ana is here if you need her.”
Fioretta just stared straight ahead, as if looking right through her daughter. Lucrezia kissed her mother on the cheek and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but this is exactly what I warned you would happen.”
“It’s all right, Lucrezia, we knew this was a longshot,” Alex said. “I want to show my appreciation by sending you a case of our new vintage from Casa del Sole. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“That would be wonderful. It’s the one perk Giovanni and I miss, although we have a cellar filled with Casa del Sole wines.” She reached out and grasped their hands in each of hers. “Enjoy your time in Rome.”
Lucrezia left and Ana excused herself, telling them to call her if they needed her.
Fioretta stared out the window, oblivious to their presence.
Angela pulled up a chair in front of Fioretta and took her hands. She looked into Fioretta’s eyes.
“She looks like her father, Gerhard, doesn’t she?” Alex whispered.
“Yes, she does. She must have been a real beauty when she was young; she still is. She has Gerhard’s blonde hair and Sophia’s thick curls.” Fioretta looked straight at Angela, but it was as if she wasn’t there. There was no cognitive awareness, no sign that she was even aware of her presence.
“Maybe if you talk to her about the vineyard or her mother you can spark a memory in her mind. There has to be something left of the woman she once was.”
“I’ll try.” She caressed Fioretta’s cheek, the skin beneath her fingers as delicate as crepe paper. “Fioretta, Casa del Sole is so beautiful you must miss it terribly. My boyfriend, Alex, bought your vineyard and home, and I’ve fallen in love with it. But since I got there I’ve been having dreams… dreams that leave me so sad.”
Alex translated for her and they watched as Fioretta blinked rapidly and sighed. Alex and Angela exchanged glances. Maybe Fioretta was listening and understanding.
“I dreamt about a cave and the two people who loved each other very much in that cave. I think I saw your mother and father. I’m sorry you never got to meet your father, he was so looking forward to your birth. In my dream, your parents were very much in love.”
Angela waited while Alex translated what she said. She looked down at her hand. Fioretta was squeezing it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She glanced at Alex who nodded at her to continue.
“Alex and I went to the cemetery in Montefioralle and I prayed at Sophia and Giorgio’s graves. I was happy to see they were buried together. I had a vision at the cemetery—Sophia and Gerhard—” Angela’s voice faltered in mid-sentence. A flash of light blinded her and she was forced to close her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest. The vein in her temple throbbed. Fioretta’s bedroom dissolved into a gray mist, Alex and Fioretta fading away in a heavy fog. A hand pulled her up. A voice whispered in her mind. It’s time…
Montefioralle, Italy
September 30, 1952
She was walking up a steep hill in the middle of the night. Silvery streams of light lit the trail, slipping in and out of the shadows whenever the clouds passed in front of the moon. The wind rushed around her, scattering leaves and howling through the branches of trees along the path. She carried a lantern and moved with purpose, surefootedly. When she reached the top, she strode straight to a massive slab of rock that rested against the mountain. Placing the lantern on the ground, she pushed her weight against the stone until the slab moved aside, revealing an opening in the mountain.
Picking up the lantern, she took a last look around before slipping through the opening and sliding the rock back into place, sealing herself inside. Turning, she pressed her back against the wall and caught her breath. Lifting the lantern, the flame created dancing shadows on the walls.
Sophia studied the cave. It was a long time since she’d last been here and so much had changed, not in the cave, of course, here nothing had changed. Time stood still. This had been her refuge from her older brothers who’d taunted her as a child. Now those same brothers were no longer alive. Roberto had been killed, fighting the Germans as a partisan a few months after Gerhard’s murder, and Stefano in a car accident six months after that. Tragedy after tragedy had befallen the family—had befallen her. She was the only surviving Caro, the only one left who knew of the cave’s existence.
Bottles lined the walls in racks. There were vintages that hailed from the earliest years of the vineyard’s existence in the 18th Century. One day she’d move these priceless bottles to the new wine storage facility she’d begun building whe
n she inherited the vineyard. She shivered, it was cool in the cave.
She walked deeper into the back where there was a bed. Laying her hand on the musty mattress she remembered falling back on the bed in the arms of her love. Tears blurred her vision as she sat on the bed and wrapped the frayed, musty blanket around her shoulders. She sat there for a time and allowed the memories to sweep over her like the hands that had once caressed her. The loss of him sent anger thundering through her and she threw the blanket off. “Why?” she cried aloud. Her voice bounced off the walls in the empty cavern.
She retraced her steps back to the main cave where a row of large barrels lined a wall. It had been years since they were used for their intended purpose of aging wine. The barrels were raised off the ground, their spigots rusted useless by time and neglect. She got down on her hands and knees, turned onto her back and, brushing cobwebs away, she slipped under one of the barrels. The barrel was so large that only her feet extended out. Then she inched her way out from under the barrel clinging to a backpack. She wiped the dirt from her face and sat up. She clutched the backpack to her chest as if it were the most precious object in the world. Standing, she brushed her clothes off and went back to the bed.
Her breath was labored when she opened the backpack and pulled a cardboard tube out. She removed a rolled object from it. Carefully, she unwrapped the tissue paper, revealing a rectangular canvas, paint side out. It was perhaps thirty-six by thirty-two inches and had not been touched since the day at the Uffizi when she and Gerhard had fled from Florence.
Tears fell from her eyes as she spoke to the painting. “I know you’re the reason this nightmare befell us. How could a painting of such beauty have taken him from me? There’s some kind of curse on you. Whomever possesses you dies. Why did he take you? Tell me why?” She cried. Her tears fell on the canvas and she gently wiped them away. Leonardo da Vinci’s painting gave no response. Beautiful but silent, its history known only to the dead and to her. A wedding portrait of two accursed lovers. Not so different from herself and Gerhard.
Sophia sat staring at the painting in silent misery. “Giuliano Medici and Fioretta Gorini are no more, and my Gerhard is no more. One day I will be no more and you’ll remain forgotten and no more. I can’t destroy you because he loved you. What I can do is make sure you never see the light of day. I can make sure that you disappear from history. I will not profit from you, nor will anyone else.” With that she rewrapped the painting and stuffed it back in the backpack. She returned the painting to its secret hiding place inside the barrel, reachable only through a concealed trap door underneath. No one knew this cave or its secrets other than Sophia. When she died its secrets would die with her.
Sliding the slab open, again, she squeezed through the crack and slid the boulder back in place. It had begun to rain, and she tried not to think about another day when two lovers had found refuge from the rain, only to have their happiness destroyed by two murderers. She clenched her fists and pounded them on the boulder, crying, “No!”
“Mama,” a frightened voice called to her. She whirled around, her eyes wild with anger and pain.
“Fioretta? What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, Mama. I saw you leave the house and I followed you. When you disappeared, I was so scared. Where did you go?” The child wore nothing but a nightgown. She was soaking wet and shivering.
Sophia forgot her anger and rushed to her daughter, picking her up. “Tesoro, you should not have followed me.”
“I’m sorry, Mama, please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad, but you must never do this again. Promise me.”
“I promise, Mama.”
“You must forget this place and what you saw. Never, never come here again.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“I will punish you, Fioretta, if you ever come here again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Fioretta clung to her mother’s neck, her legs tight around her waist. “Mama, I love you.”
“If you love me, you must never come here again. I love you, too, my darling.”
Water streamed down their faces, whether from tears or rain, Sophia didn’t know. She held Fioretta to her chest, whispering words of comfort as a sudden wind began swirling around them like a mini-tornado. Round and round it went, lifting them up off the ground as mother and daughter clung tightly to each other…
Angela gasped as she plummeted back into her own body. Her eyes flew open and she stared at the elderly Fioretta who gazed back in anguish. Angela’s arms were wrapped around the frail form.
Fioretta repeated over and over, the volume of her cries rising. “Mama, I love you. Mama, I love you.”
Alex couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Fioretta and Angela were clasped to each other crying. From what he could tell, they were both in the past together reliving a traumatic memory that had taken place more than sixty years before.
Fioretta’s childlike voice repeated over and over like a needle stuck in a record groove. “Mama, I love you.” Her two-colored eyes were locked on Angela while her pleas grew louder and more fervent. “I love you, Mama. Please forgive me.”
Angela embraced Fioretta, rocking her back and forth, smoothing her hair with gentle hands, consoling her with whispered endearments in Italian. “Shhh… Non fa niente. E’ tutto passato. Stai tranquilla. To voglio bene, ti vorrò sempre bene.”
Whatever was happening had nothing to do with Angela. It was Sophia speaking through her, reassuring Fioretta about something that had occurred many years ago. He assumed it was karmic, something that had stood between them in life.
Fioretta grew calmer. Angela’s last words in Italian had soothed her. “I love you, Fioretta, I always did. Whatever happened between us is forgiven. You are my child and I love you. We both know it was better you forgot what happened. One day soon we will be together again.” She kissed the old woman’s cheek. And then as if the effort of what had occurred had drained her of life, Angela collapsed in a dead faint. Alex caught her in his arms.
The nurse ran into the room her eyes wide. “Dio mio, what is going on in here?”
“It’s all right,” Alex glanced up at the nurse and asked her to fetch a glass of water. Cupping Angela’s face in his hand, his heart wrenched in his chest. Once again, he’d been unable to protect her, unable to keep her safe from the past. It was tearing her apart and he felt helpless. “Baby, talk to me,” he pleaded. “Come back to me.” How many times was he going to have to utter those words?
Ana returned with a glass of water and handed it to Alex. Then checked on Fioretta.
A few moments later, Angela’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?”
Alex held the water to her lips. “Drink, baby. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“What happened? I’ve never seen Fioretta react to anyone like this.” The nurse held Fioretta’s hand.
“I’m not sure,” Alex lied. “Angela was talking with her and then she had a fainting spell. We were sight-seeing this morning and perhaps she became dehydrated. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to upset Signora Rossi.”
“It’ll be fine, but I think it would be better if you leave now. I can’t imagine what could have set her off like this.”
“Yes, of course. Angela, baby, do you think you can stand.”
Tears filled Angela’s eyes and she brushed them away. She sat up, and he helped her to her feet. The old woman was calm and watching the two of them. She reached a trembling hand out to Angela.
Angela grasped it and bent to kiss the blue-veined fingers. Fioretta’s eyes grew watery. Angela wrapped her arms around the frail woman and brought her lips to her ear. She whispered, “I love you, Fioretta, I always did.” She kissed her cheek and gazed at the old woman, her eyes lingering, then she turned and walked out of the room.
“Please tell Lucrezia, thank you. Te
ll her I’ll be in touch.” Alex hurried out, after Angela. He found her clinging to the staircase bannister. Her body heaved with silent sobs. He took her in his arms and she burrowed into his chest.
“Do you think you can walk to the car?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t ask anything else of her until he got her safely in the Mercedes. He secured the seatbelt around her. “Okay, I think you’ve been through enough today. Alfredo, take us back to the hotel.”
Angela was scared. The twenty-minute ride back to the Hassler gave her too much time to ruminate. The episode with Fioretta had drained her and shaken her to her core. All of her other past life experiences had either been visions or dreams. But what had occurred just now with Fioretta was different. Somehow Sophia had followed her into the future, inhabiting her body in the present day.
I became Sophia. How can that be? Is it possible that the deeper I go, the more my past lives can take hold of me? Am I losing myself?
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get Sophia’s words about the painting out of her head, there’s some kind of curse on you. Whomever possesses you dies. Her fears for Alex’s safety drained her of whatever strength she had left.
The more she thought about the painting and the inherent danger it posed to Alex, the more she worried that it was a sign that they weren’t meant to be. Once her fears took hold of her she couldn’t shake them.
After they got back to the hotel, Alex insisted she take a nap and she agreed. She kissed him on the lips and lay down on the bed. He covered her with a blanket and sat beside her, sweeping her hair away from her face.
No words passed between them.
She loved him. She loved him and she feared for his life.
As her eyelids grew heavy she glimpsed the worry banked in his eyes. Worry for her because he couldn’t stop the past from pulling her back into its shadowy depths. She had to retrieve the painting and maybe then, she could break free. But for now, Morpheus was calling to her and she answered, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
