Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  He leaned forward to kiss her.

  A shard of pain tore through her body. She gasped.

  Enrico stepped back, his countenance furrowed with concern. “What is it, amore?”

  She set her hands on either side of her extended belly. “The baby, I think it is coming.”

  “Now?” His eyes widened with concern. “But it is too soon.”

  Agony ripped through her again as a flood of water gushed from between her legs.

  9

  Enrico watched helplessly as labor pains tore through Felicia's body like fire blazing through a parched meadow. The worst fear Enrico had ever known clutched at his gut as he helped her to the bed. Frantic, he charged to the window and glanced down at the open stable doors. “Nanino!” he bellowed.

  No answer came.

  Frustrated, Enrico shouted again, more loudly and forcefully. “Nanino!”

  The stable master, a dwarf, came running out of the stable and into the yard. His pudgy hand shielded his eyes from the bright sunshine as he scowled up at Enrico.

  “Hurry, fetch Cosma. My wife needs her.”

  “Your wife needs the healer now?” Nanino dropped his hands from his eyes and glanced back at the stable. “I’m in the middle of tending the cut on the grey mare’s leg.” He squinted back up with a perturbed expression on his face.

  “Yes, now, and don’t tarry.”

  “Is it the baby?”

  “Of course it is the baby!”

  “I will run as fast as I can.” Nanino scampered in the direction of the road, the stride of his squat, bowed legs covering little distance as he tore through a gaggle of pecking chickens, scattering them in all directions. One biddy among several, who was busy pecking at the ground prior to such a rude interruption, cackled an angry reprimand at him.

  “Take a horse.” Enrico yelled, rolling his eyes.

  The dwarf stopped and spun around, his cheeks red. “My legs may be short, but I can run like the wind.”

  From the bed behind him, Felicia let out a long moan.

  Enrico glanced back.

  Felicia gripped the sides of her belly, her chest heaving, and her face contorted.

  Enrico shouted back out at Nanino. “Do as I say at once. I have no time to argue about how fast you can go.” He spoke more harshly than usual. “And hurry!”

  “Cretino! Stronzo!” Nanino flung his hands up into the air and hurried away.

  Enrico heard Nanino mutter the insults as he stopped to open the closed gate.

  “What did you say, onion breath?” Enrico barked. For all Nanino’s skill with horses, his vitriolic personality could be exasperating at times.

  “Does it matter?” Nanino muttered.

  “I can’t hear you!” Enrico retorted.

  “It’s quicker to run!” Nanino said as he rushed onto the road, shaking his head and revealing his frustration with wild gestures of his undersized arms and hands.

  Before Enrico could utter another curse at the annoying little man, and much to Enrico’s relief, Caterina, their housekeeper, heard the commotion and came running into the chamber. After one glance at her mistress, she took matters into her own hands and shooed him from the room.

  Enrico paced in the dining hall, stopping every time he passed the window to see if Cosma had arrived; he cursed Nanino each time he did not see her. After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, he finally saw Nanino and Cosma hurry through the gate. He met the healer at the door, but before he could utter a word, Felicia’s screams echoed down from the upper floor, fraying his nerves. Cosma hastily brushed past him and climbed the stairs, his eyes upon her until she disappeared from sight.

  Time passed with excruciating slowness. Helpless, he did not know how long he could bear listening to the moans and cries of his wife in labor. Felicia was all that mattered to him, and now she lay in a bed upstairs anguishing, her life at risk because he had wanted a child. Dio, please spare her life and take mine instead. Leave Felicia and the child hearty and hale. I promise never to touch her again if You spare her life. How had his father and grandfather before him endured the torment of their wives giving birth? Somehow, they had, and he was determined to do so too. He continued his pacing, praying that it would soon be over.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Caterina descended the stairs. “Signore, your wife has given birth to a strong, healthy son with ten fingers and toes!”

  “Grazia a Dio,” Enrico exclaimed, throwing his arms up toward the ceiling. “I want to see my wife.”

  “Not yet, Signore, we must prepare her and the child first. I will return to let you know when your wife is ready to receive you.”

  Enrico poured himself a celebratory cup of wine and took a long swallow. The liquid warmed his stomach and he felt himself relax. He heaved a sigh of relief. Their ordeal was finally over. Felicia had given birth to a son. His son! Pride and love filled his heart. He was a father now, responsible for the care of his family.

  Memories of his own childhood flitted through his mind: visions of long ago, some of which he had tried to bury. How happy they all seemed until the day his mother left them all without warning. Later, he learned that she had run off with the blacksmith with whom she had been having a long-standing affair. Even now, after all these years, the hurt of abandonment cut like a blade, rendering him unable to fully trust anyone, a fact he had managed to keep hidden from Felicia.

  Then he had met and married Felicia, a love match approved by his father. Slowly, he learned to open his heart and begin to trust her. It had been easy with Felicia, so devoted to him in every way. Now she had born him a son, the greatest gift a woman could give a man. He longed to see her and tell her how much he loved her.

  Soon, Caterina descended the stairs again.

  “Signore,” she said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “A second son has been born, as healthy and hearty as the first.”

  Enrico’s mouth fell open. “Two sons?” His voice wavered with surprise, which soon changed to incredulity. “Two sons!” His heart hammered happily against his ribs. “I want to see my wife.”

  “But of course, Signore. We have already prepared your wife and sons to receive you.”

  10

  When Enrico appeared in the doorway, Felicia’s heart overflowed with motherly delight. Concern etched his brow until his eyes met hers and a look of relief swept over his features. She yearned for his embrace, her ordeal already a fading memory, but she knew she must wait until they were alone.

  Cosma tossed the last of the soiled linens onto a pile in the corner of the room. “Your wife and sons are well, Signore, God be praised.”

  “I will always be most grateful to you.” Felicia’s voice trembled with appreciation for Cosma’s aid, not only because she had helped her conceive, but also because she had brought her safely through such a harrowing delivery.

  Cosma patted her on the shoulder. “May you and your new family be forever blessed.”

  “Thank you for attending my wife.” Enrico handed Cosma a small pouch of coins.

  Cosma gave him a departing nod as Caterina followed her out with the basket of soiled linens.

  Although weary, Felicia’s happiness knew no limits and she graced her husband with her most vibrant smile. A swaddled son lay in each of her arms. Enrico stared at his new family, his eyes luminous with enchantment. “Do you want to hold one of your sons?”

  Enrico’s eyes widened, and before he could argue, she arranged one of the bundles in his arms. “This is our firstborn.”

  She saw Enrico swallow back emotion as he held the tiny infant in his burly arms and stared down at the angelic face.

  “His hair is brown like mine, but his fingers are long like yours,” Felicia added.

  Enrico pushed a weathered, sun-cracked digit into the baby’s fist and smiled at the firm grasp. “I will name you Luca Carlo Ventura.”

  “Luca Carlo,” Felicia whispered lovingly, as if testing the name. “It is a perfect name. What shall we ca
ll his brother? He has your flaxen hair.” She marveled in her two sons, born one after the other, but as different as the sun and the moon.

  Felicia watched Enrico absorb every feature of their younger son as she put the infant to breast. As he suckled, she ran her hand lovingly over his head. He had bright pink skin and fine hair. What little there was, almost invisible, but definitely golden in color.

  “I named our eldest son, therefore, you, amore mio, shall name our second son.” Enrico bent to kiss her. “It is only right.”

  “Then I shall name him Lorenzo after my father and Enrico after you.”

  “Lorenzo Enrico Ventura. An excellent choice!” Enrico said. “Luca and Lorenzo, and both sons fit to brawl. Carlo and Prudenza can stand as their godparents.”

  “Prudenza?” Felicia frowned. She knew Enrico was well aware of the friction between them, but he did not understand it. No matter how hard she tried to breach the chasm between her and Prudenza, she never succeeded. There would always be an invisible barrier between them.

  For Enrico’s sake, and because of his abiding friendship with Carlo, she did her best to be as cordial as possible and keep things amicable. “Prudenza would not be my first choice to be godmother to our sons, but it does make sense if Carlo is the godfather.” Felicia swallowed and she relaxed a bit. It was only a formality. She would find a way to keep Prudenza a safe distance from her sons. “If it pleases you, then I agree. We are very blessed to have such a beautiful family.”

  “That we are! I am the luckiest man alive. I love you with all my heart, bellezza.”

  A beam of sunlight fell into the room, bathing them in a halo of light. Its warmth enveloped them as if in celebration of this most thrilling moment. Felicia would strive to preserve this dreamlike bliss for all eternity.

  11

  Across the meandering stream, Villa Bianca was alight with torches and candles. The afternoon sky had burgeoned into a spectacular rose-colored sunset. Prudenza sat in the dining hall at one end of a long trestle, presiding over her colorfully dressed dinner guests as if she were a queen holding court. She looked toward the opposite end where Carlo sat. Today was her husband’s twenty-fifth birthday. To mark the occasion, she had brought out her finest linens and tableware and invited the most prestigious guests in the area, Padre Bernardo Costa, and the wealthiest villagers.

  They ate, accompanied by pleasant conversation and gracious banter. Pleased, Prudenza looked from one guest to another and assessed them: the baker and his fat wife, Giovanna; the butcher with his hooked nose and tiny wife, Maria; Corrado the blacksmith, who came alone because his wife, Filomena, was too ill to attend. Prudenza pressed her lips together. That corpulent man would never miss a chance at a good meal!

  She smoothed her elaborate red silk over-gown and admired the way it shimmered by candlelight. The color complimented her ebony hair perfectly. She preened, conscious of her almost transparent linen chemise of the highest quality, embroidered with tiny roses and lilies. She toyed with her strand of pearls to bring attention to her gold bracelet, in the form of a snake coiled three times around her wrist. Two tiny emeralds formed its eyes and rubies lined its tongue. Confident that she was by far the best-dressed and most beautiful woman present, her pride surged with each admiring glance.

  As the servants carried in the third course, roasted chicken with fennel, an urgent pounding on the front door of their home interrupted the dinner.

  “Who can that be?” Annoyance edged Prudenza’s voice. Much to her consternation, Nanino Cipolla, the disgusting stable master employed by her husband and the Venturas, swaggered into the room. All talk ceased. The guests raised napkins to their noses to avoid the stink of sweat, horse manure, and onion of which the little man was so fond.

  Prudenza cast a venomous look at the dwarf. His large head and high forehead, crowned with thick carrot-colored hair cut too short across his brow and cascading past his shoulders at the back, revolted her. His Roman nose gave him a stern and sour appearance. Hard lines marred his mouth, giving him a serious look and disguising his tendency towards a lewd, capricious nature. By the smell of him, he had earned the nickname la Cipolla, the Onion, for obvious reasons. However, Nanino was an expert with horses, and for that reason, Enrico and Carlo respected him. How a dwarf could have acquired the talent to handle creatures five times his size remained an incredible mystery.

  With all eyes focused on him, Nanino cleared his throat. “Signore Benevento, I bring good news.”

  The dwarf was barely tall enough to see over the trestle and Prudenza seethed at the sight of his asinine grin. Despite her husband’s fondness for the man, she could not tolerate the repugnant blight of nature.

  “What news, Nanino?” Carlo set down a chicken thigh he was about to bite into.

  The guests followed their host’s example and stared at the groom, napkins still to their noses.

  What possible reason could this lowly servant have to stand before them at her table? Prudenza seethed at the sight of him. No one knew where the diminutive man came from. He had appeared in Costalpino from nowhere – hungry, disheveled, and seeking work, boasting of his skills with horses. Not believing him, Carlo and Enrico had asked him to demonstrate. From shoe to tail, from riding to grooming, he handled everything pertaining to the stable with ease, and proved his worth. Even Enrico’s and Carlo’s most temperamental horses responded to the dwarf’s easy manner. They hired him on the spot.

  “Signore Ventura is happy to send word that the Signora Felicia has been delivered of two sons.”

  “Two sons! What joyous news!” Carlo’s mouth widened into a hearty grin.

  “How wonderful,” Maria declared gleefully. “I knew the amber necklace I gave her was powerful, but I never anticipated it would bring her two sons!”

  “Gemelli! Never before has anyone in Costalpino birthed twins.” The priest clapped his hands in delight. “Now there are even more reasons to celebrate.”

  “And born on my birthday too!” Carlo raised his goblet.

  “But wait, there is more news,” Nanino added. “Signore Ventura wants everyone to know he’s named the youngest son Lorenzo Enrico after himself. The eldest, he named Luca Carlo, in honor of you, Signore Benevento, just as he swore he would when you both returned from the battle of Monteaperti.”

  “This is truly a miracle and a cause for celebration.” Carlo rose to his feet. “Let’s raise our cups.”

  Everyone stood. A servant appeared and filled a goblet for Nanino, who took it willingly before making his way closer to the trestle table. The guests kept their napkins nearby.

  Prudenza stared at her husband, bewildered by the news that not only had Felicia been the first to carry a child, but now had borne her husband not one, but two sons. All of a sudden, she felt dizzy.

  “Prudenza, whatever is the matter?” Giovanna was the first to notice how quiet she had become. “Heavens, I think she is going to faint.”

  Carlo pushed back his chair and hurried to his wife’s side. “What is it, Prudenza?”

  Her hands shook and she broke out in a cold sweat. Carlo handed her a cup of water. She drank it down to the last drop. Somewhat recovered, she put the cup down and straightened. “I am fine, Carlo. It was merely my relief that Felicia was safely delivered of her babies.” Oh, how easily the lie flew from her lips. Jealous thoughts raced through her mind. Then, like a beacon of light in the darkness, an old superstition came to mind. Prudenza composed herself and fixed her eyes steadily on Nanino. “It is important to know if the sons are identical.”

  Nanino shrugged. “How should I know? Signore Ventura never said anything other than one was dark haired and the other fair.”

  “What difference does that make?” Carlo enquired.

  “It makes all the difference in the world.” Prudenza raised a cup of wine to her lips. She took a long sip in order to gather her thoughts and disguise the smirk she could not prevent. Oh, she knew well what others said behind her back, that she was arrogant
and proud, prone to decadence and envy. She preferred to think of herself as shrewd and elegant, a woman not afraid to speak her own mind just as she was about to do this very moment. Like a venomous viper biding its time, she was ready to strike now that her quarry was vulnerable.

  Satisfied she had everyone’s undivided attention, she set down her goblet. “I am shocked that such a worthy man like Enrico has informed us of the shameful birth of his twins. Perhaps it did not occur to him that when a woman gives birth to twins who are not identical, it is because two different men have sired them.”

  Carlo frowned at her. “Prudenza, what are you saying?” he warned. “That is no more than an old superstition. You shouldn’t say such things.” His cheeks red, he addressed his guests. “Signora Felicia is a woman of good repute.”

  “So say you,” Prudenza argued, knowing that Carlo’s attempt to overturn what she had just said was futile. Already, her declaration had sown the seeds of scandal. Many still held to the old beliefs. “If her sons are identical in appearance, all is well, and Enrico can rest assured they are both his. However, if they are different in appearance, it is because Felicia has lain with two men. There is no other explanation. No man can father offspring that do not resemble him. It is impossible.” For added effect, Prudenza shook her head. “Dio buono, what a scandal!”

  The guests sat motionless, too stunned to move. One of the women crossed herself. The others followed.

  Prudenza fought her impulse to smile.

  Silence blanketed the group. Nanino skulked from the room, his head low, but no one noticed.

  Secretly, Prudenza rejoiced. Judging by the looks on her guests’ faces, they had taken her words to heart. Without a doubt, they would repeat them to everyone they encountered. The scandalous rumor would spread like wildfire throughout Costalpino and beyond.