Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  Cosma wrapped the little girl with a cloth they had not used for the birthing.

  “In the chest beneath the window, there is a blanket of striped brocade my husband bought me. Use it to wrap the child in addition to that cloth.”

  Cosma fetched and admired the exquisite brocade made of thick, ivory-colored silk bordered with alternating stripes of burgundy and gold, the thickest she ever held in her hands. After she wrapped the child in it, Cosma approached the bed. “Signora, would you like to hold her, at least once?”

  Prudenza shook her head.

  Cosma turned slowly away.

  “Wait!” Prudenza called. She untied the red ribbon in her hair. From her finger, she removed a gold ring with the letter B engraved on it. She slipped the ribbon through the ring, tied it into a knot, and handed it to Cosma. “Place this around the child’s neck so that whoever claims her will see the silk blanket and the ring and know she is of good family. It is all I can do for her.”

  The gifts did nothing to redeem Prudenza in Cosma’s eyes. “Si, Signora.”

  Prudenza cast Cosma a discerning look before she left.

  “Wait. I’m not done. There are a few more things I need to ask from you.”

  “Si, Signora,” Cosma said.

  “You must promise never to speak a word of this to anyone. Swear this to me.”

  Cosma pondered the request. “This I will do for you, but in return, you must also give me your oath.”

  “My oath?”

  “Si, Signora. You must swear that you will never seek this child and you will never ask me for any news about her.”

  Prudenza’s look turned cold. “Is that all you want?”

  “Si, that is all. Once I have your word, you will have mine.”

  “Very well, you have my promise.”

  “And you have mine.”

  “You will also tell my husband that the birth was most difficult and that I must never bear a child again or I will die.”

  Cosma tried to disguise the revulsion she felt for this woman. “Very well.”

  “Good, now get out,” Prudenza said in dismissal.

  Without another word, Cosma laid the unwanted babe in her basket and tucked cloths all around it to prevent her from being tossed about. The child stirred a little, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Cosma covered the basket with a plain linen cloth and left the room. She closed the door behind her and heaved a heavy sigh.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Carlo limped while he paced, anxiety etched in his every feature. He dashed toward her. “What news?”

  Cosma shifted the basket as far away from him as possible. “Your wife is well. She delivered a beautiful daughter, Signore, but she must never bear a child again.” Her heart thundered in her chest lest the child in the basket awake and cry. She tried to walk on, but Carlo blocked her way. Cosma held the basket to the side to keep it steady.

  “Are you certain?” He gave her a look of confusion that changed into one of disappointment and worry as he came to understand the impact of what Cosma had told him. He recovered quickly, however, and smiled at her with gratitude. “Grazie! Let me help you. I'll have someone escort you home.” He reached out to grab the basket.

  “No! Thank you, it is not necessary.” Cosma’s heart raced as she clutched the basket firmly with both hands.

  Carlo gave her a puzzled look.

  “Your wife is waiting to introduce you to your daughter. Besides, I have to visit the butcher's wife and give her some herbs. One of their children is unwell.”

  “May God bless you, Cosma,” Carlo said. He handed her a small pouch that jingled with coins, and then ascended the stairs two steps at a time with his good leg leading.

  Cosma breathed a sigh of relief. Poor man, she thought.

  She hurried out the door, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the villa. Cosma thought back to when Felicia had sought her help against the evil eye. At the time, she had not wanted to know who had cast it upon Felicia. Now, she suspected it was Prudenza – pure evil lurked in that woman’s soul!

  19

  Prudenza’s bedchamber door flew open to reveal Carlo.

  “Amore,” he whispered with emotion as he advanced to her side. “You are a vision, aglow with motherhood, our newborn daughter sleeping in your arms. Not even the fresco of Madonna and child over the altar of the church in Sant’Andrea Montecchio can compete with the way you look to me right now.”

  Prudenza swallowed back her disgust. Whenever he was happy, he spoke with such over-exuberance. She pasted on her most innocent smile.

  Carlo leaned over and peered dreamily at his daughter. “She is beautiful.” He touched his finger to the baby's cheek. “As beautiful as her mother,” he added.

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  “She is so tiny, I do not know...”

  “Of course you must hold her. She will not break.”

  Before Carlo could say another word, Prudenza thrust the child into his arms.

  At first, he seemed tense, but after a moment, she saw him relax. Joy brightened his face. He stared down at their baby, speechless. Tears fell, the first ones she had ever seen him shed. When he looked back at her, she lay back on the pillow, her eyes deliberately drooping, blinking open and shut slowly.

  “Your mamma is exhausted, little one,” he murmured to the sleeping child. With great care, he rose from the bed and laid the child in the cradle.

  Prudenza closed her eyes. She felt him kiss her cheek, and then heard the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the door. Good, he would leave her alone now. She opened her eyes. “What shall we call her?” Prudenza’s voice halted his steps.

  Carlo shrugged. “I like the name Giustina.”

  “Giustina,” Prudenza repeated. “The name means ‘fair’ and ‘just’ and I like it.” She broke out into a wide smile and turned her back to the cradle. How fitting, a fair and just solution to her dilemma. She closed her eyes until she heard the door shut behind him.

  20

  For Cosma, the walk back to her cottage never seemed longer. Compassion urged her to keep and care for the baby herself, but common sense warned against it, not only because of her advanced years, but also because of her work as a healer. It would be impossible to do both. Everyone knew she led a solitary existence and could be summoned at any hour of the night or day. Who would care for the baby in such cases? And if she took the child with her, everyone would want to know where it came from. No, if she expected Prudenza to keep her promise, she must keep hers, too. She would have to find a home for the baby, and soon.

  As her cottage came into view, the infant began to cry. She hurried inside and set the basket on the trestle table. The hearty cries shattered the silence. She lifted the poor little soul to her chest then walked and bounced her about the room, but failed to comfort her. The child needed feeding and changing. Cosma positioned the little one in the hamper, grabbed the bucket she kept by the front door, and trudged to the stable behind her home. In a corner stall, a nanny goat bleated. Due to the lateness of the day, the creature’s udders were full. She fed the doe a handful of fresh hay to keep it occupied while she milked it. Then Cosma hurried back to the cottage, where a din, louder than before, greeted her.

  Working quickly, she tied a knot in a clean piece of linen, dipped it into the bucket of fresh milk, and placed the cloth into the tiny girl’s mouth. To her relief, the babe stopped crying and sucked voraciously. Over and over, she dipped and fed until sated, the child fell into a tranquil slumber.

  Cosma gathered some items to put into the child’s basket. She cut several cloths and gathered wool fleece to absorb the soils. She poured the remaining milk into a clay jar, covered it with a patch of leather, held the makeshift nipple against it, and bound them together with twine. Satisfied, she tucked the items neatly into a corner of the basket. Now all she had to do was wait until just before dawn.

  The baby awoke twice in the night. Each time, Cosma changed, fed, and rocked
her by the warmth of the fire. Love filled her heart and it was with painful reluctance that she checked on the infant one last time. The golden ring caught her attention. Cosma removed the ribbon from the child’s neck and examined the ring that hung from it against the firelight. Its value could sustain the child for many years. At least Prudenza had the foresight to give the child something. Careful not to awaken the child, Cosma replaced the makeshift necklace, covered the basket, and with a firm grasp on the handle, left her cottage.

  Outside, the half-moon cast a gentle light to guide her through the woods and deserted lanes of Costalpino. At the end of a short row of houses, she veered off the main road and took the path into the countryside. She passed vineyards, weaving her way between groves of hazelnut bushes and olive trees.

  In the distance dogs barked. Soon the sun would rise, so Cosma increased her pace. By the light of a partial moon, she entered the village of Sant’Andrea Montecchio . She hastened to the central piazza and stood before the iron gates of the abbey. Raising the blanket over the basket, she peered at the child. Thankfully, the infant slept.

  Cosma made the sign of the cross and kissed her fingertips. “Dearest God, please forgive me for abandoning this child. I give her into the hands of the charitable sisters who work in Your holy name. Please keep this infant safe and send her your love and protection.” After crossing herself once more, she carried her precious cargo to the large olive tree. With its misshapen trunk and gnarled branches, it stood alone at the center of the piazza, a hauntingly beautiful gift of nature.

  A bench rested against the massive trunk. She stepped onto it and nestled the basket firmly between the boughs on a strong branch within easy reach. Regret paralyzed her and she swallowed hard. At this moment in time, no one but she cared about this innocent little life. She hated abandoning her like this, but had no choice. If she brought the baby directly to the abbey herself, it may give away the identity of the baby. Everyone knew she worked as a midwife and it would not be difficult to discover a woman who recently gave birth, not only in Sant’Andrea Montecchio , but also in the surrounding villages. At all costs, she must protect Prudenza’s identity. No one must ever find out whom the child’s mother was, least of all the child, for who wants to grow up knowing their mother was as evil as one of Satan’s minions. The child was better off at the abbey. Under the attention of the nuns, she would receive love and learning. Her fate was in God’s hands now.

  Cosma stepped down from the bench. As a healer, she often faced difficult situations, but walking away from this innocent infant was by far the worst. After wiping tears away with her tattered mantle, she ambled into a shadowed space between two nearby houses where she could watch. Dawn would arrive soon and it was only a matter of time before someone discovered the baby. She stepped back into the dark crevice, and clutching her cloak tight around her, waited.

  21

  Salvo Fortunato had tried hard to bury the horrors of his past. Nightmares still haunted his sleep, keeping him from rest most nights. He rose in a cold sweat and rubbed the cramps in his crippled arm – the cause of all his troubles. A lifetime of memories surfaced as vividly as if they had happened only yesterday. On this exact day, twenty years ago, he nearly made the biggest mistake of his life; and each day since, he had struggled to forget it.

  Salvo shook off the memories and dressed. His daughter, Vincenza, and her newborn son, slept in the other bedroom. He took care to keep as quiet as possible, lest he waken them.

  A sickle moon shed scant light as he made his way down the lane to the abbey next to the church of San Bartolomeo where he worked. The job paid only enough to cover the necessities in life, but the work was unhurried, tranquil, and it brought him much satisfaction. For that, he was grateful.

  He did not have far to go. When he arrived, he reached into his pocket for the large iron key and slid it into the lock. Just as he was about to turn it, he heard a strange sound, almost like the mew of a kitten. He glanced behind him. A slight breeze blew across the courtyard and shook the leaves of the olive tree in the piazza. He waited. Nothing stirred. He did not hear the sound again. It must have been the wind. Salvo twisted the key and entered the church.

  One at a time, he lit the lamps in sconces on either side of the nave. Then he entered a side door concealing a steep, circular staircase. He inhaled a deep breath and put his foot on the first of the one hundred steps leading to the top of the bell tower. The daily climb kept him strong, despite the fact it took him longer now than it had when he was younger.

  Once at the top, he paused to take in the view. With intense pleasure, he looked down at the serene vineyards blanketing the hilly terrain. On the horizon, the first peach-colored rays of the sun appeared in the sky. The sight always enchanted him. There was much beauty in the world. One only needed to take the time to enjoy it. A gentle breeze swirled and he gazed down at the peaceful courtyard.

  Something fluttered down from the olive tree.

  He leaned forward for a better look. It was a blanket of some sort.

  Salvo peered into branches and noticed a wicker basket. Strange, he thought. Could it be booty, discarded by a nightly thief? He shook his head, grasped the bell rope with both hands, and yanked. The clang of the melodious bells vibrated through his body and seemed to shake the entire tower. After five tolls, he descended the steps as fast as he could and hurried over to the tree.

  At the base of the trunk, he stooped to pick up the blanket. He fingered its rich softness; colorful brocade the likes of which he had seldom seen. Curious, he stretched to retrieve the basket. He could not get a firm grasp of it with his crippled arm. The basket slipped from his fingers. His reaction was swift, however, and he managed to catch the basket with both hands before it dropped to the ground.

  A baby’s cry sliced through the silence. He peered inside and his heart nearly stopped. A tiny infant lay within it, crying. Dio buono, someone had abandoned an infant. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of what to do. He glanced at the abbey. All was still. The sisters were likely rising. For the interim, he decided to take the baby to his daughter, Vincenza. With an infant of her own, she would know what to do until he could bring the baby safely to the abbey.

  22

  Secreted between the two buildings, Cosma watched the man struggle to retrieve the basket. She nearly let out a scream when the basket slipped from his hands. The baby began to cry. How did he manage with so crippled an arm? She waited for him to carry it into the church or the abbey next to it, but instead, he stared into the basket, eyes wide, mouth gaping. After a few moments, he glanced around, covered it, and hurried away in the opposite direction.

  For a brief instant, he looked in her direction. She stepped back into the shadows so he could not see her, but she could see him. His face was vaguely familiar and she searched her mind to recall how she knew him. Then it came to her. She had encountered him many years ago, a man she could never forget because he bore the marks of a noose around his neck. No, this could not happen. The child must go to the abbey, not to him! Her mouth went dry as she left her hiding place and followed him, dodging into gaps between houses or behind trees in case he should look back. The infant’s cries were so loud she feared they would draw attention from the waking town-folk.

  A severe pounding started her head, growing worse with every step she took. The world tilted and whirled. Her vision blurred. A bout of nausea overcame her. She steadied herself against a wall and tried unsuccessfully to recall when she last ate. In a few moments, whatever ailed her seemed to pass, leaving behind only an incessant headache. Her vision cleared in time to see the man turn right at the end of a row of houses. Exhausted, she pushed away from the wall and followed. Her legs felt heavy, as if she waded through a marsh instead of dry, flat earth. By some miracle, she managed to keep him in sight.

  The baby continued to wail as the man entered a house built of grey stones and mud bricks, opposite a small courtyard with a fountain in the center. She hid behind the basi
n, clutching it for support, and waited to see if he would come out. Slowly, her breath reverted to normal and her headache subsided a little. She yearned to return home where she could mix herself some healing herbs, but she would not leave until she knew the child was in its proper situation. She prayed the infant’s cries would not attract attention and whispered a silent prayer that all would go as planned. Then there was nothing else to do but wait.

  23

  Vincenza sat in a pillowed chair by the open window, suckling her infant son. Her father suddenly burst through the door, face pale, chest heaving with exertion. From within a basket he clutched near to his chest, a baby keened at full capacity, shattering the peaceful silence of their home. He leaned against the door to catch his breath.

  “Papa, what is it? What has happened?” On a day such as this many months ago, a neighbor had similarly barged into her home to announce a runaway cart had struck her husband down in the street on his way home from the market. She had rushed to his side, only reaching him in time to see him draw his last breath. Ever since, whenever the door swung open so abruptly, she cringed with fear.

  “Papa?” Her voice sounded coarse and shaky.

  Salvo struggled for breath as he walked to the trestle table in the center of the room and rested the basket on top of it.

  Vincenza rose and laid her sleeping son in the cradle near the hearth.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Salvo muttered, lifting the blanket.

  “Dio mio!” Vincenza picked up the bawling infant, but held it away from her. “The poor little thing is soiled. No wonder it is crying so.” She grabbed an extra blanket from her son’s cradle, spread it on the trestle, and laid the baby on it. With a soothing tone, she cooed nonsense words to calm the baby while Salvo rummaged through the basket.