“There is no other choice. We must. If not, I shall have to remain at the abbey, face the shame of my sins, and toil the rest of my life to make amends for the disgrace I brought upon the good women there.”
His jaw twitched as he pondered her ultimatum. “I hate this, but will do what I must because I love you. If that is the only way I can keep you and our child close, I accept, at least until I can find a way out of my betrothal to marry you instead. And I’m determined that I will find a way to do so.”
Olivia closed her eyes in relief. This was not the life she had dreamt for herself; not the life she would have chosen for her child, but under the circumstances, it was the best that could be done. She wanted to believe him when he said he would find a way to marry her, but she refused to give rise to any false hopes. A betrothal and a blood oath sworn before God were both sacred.
Tears she had managed to keep at bay now rained freely down her cheeks. She experienced a jumble of emotion: sadness at leaving the abbey and those that she loved; anxiety over facing a new, but unknown future; grief for the loss of her love because even though he seemed confident he would find a way to marry her, she knew it would not be possible because of church law. Never again would she feel the power of his love during their lovemaking. She must learn to set aside such feelings, for she would be a mother soon. To her child she would bestow all her affection.
“Meet me here tomorrow night, amore, and I will take you to your new home.” He leaned his head to kiss her.
Olivia stopped him with a press of her fingers against his lips. “Tomorrow it shall be.”
Then before she could weaken, she ran back to the abbey.
60
Luca stood between the black and white striped pillars of the nave inside Siena’s Duomo, waiting patiently for Mass to end. The smell of incense and candle wax lingered in the air above the heads of worshippers who voiced Latin prayers and hymns. The portly priest, Father Francesco, a kind but deeply zealous cleric, droned on and on in a monotone voice.
At last, he gave the final blessing and departed for the sacristy. People began to file out of the church. Luca made his way to the front near the altar and leaned against a pillar to await the priest’s return. Before long, Father Francesco re-entered. Luca watched as he genuflected before the altar then busied himself blowing out the candles.
“Excuse me, Father, but may I speak privately with you?”
Father Francesco turned around, his eyes assessing Luca. “Certainly.” He pointed to a bench set against the wall. “We can sit there.”
Luca waited for Father Francesco to sit first, for he took up a good portion of the bench, and then squeezed himself in.
“How may I help you?” the priest asked.
“I have some questions about betrothals and marriages.”
The priest gave a slight nod and smile. “Ah, yes, sooner or later, a young man’s heart always turns to matters of the heart. Ask your questions, my son, and I will endeavor to answer them to the best of my knowledge.”
“My parents betrothed me to a virtuous young woman when I was a child. Even before that, our fathers swore a blood oath between them to join their first-born children together. But I have fallen in love with another woman and wish to marry her instead.”
Father Francesco rubbed his chin in contemplation. “You say your father contracted the betrothal on your behalf?”
Luca nodded.
“Then it is easily set aside, for a betrothal cannot be contracted unless you will it. So if you refuse, you do not have to marry.”
Hope surged through Luca’s veins.
Before he could utter a word, Father Francesco interrupted him. “As long as you both did not consent to the betrothal, then you are free to marry who you wish.”
Luca’s spirits sunk as he recalled a sunny summer day several years ago. “I was fourteen years old at the time, she was twelve. We both consented.”
“Then your betrothal is legally binding, for you were both at the age of proper consent and discretion.”
“Even if my betrothed is in love with my brother and would rather be married to him?” His tone clearly relayed his disappointment.
“There is little that can be done. Besides, even if you were to break the betrothal, your brother could never marry a woman who previously betrothed to another, for the Church considers it a sacrilege. Furthermore, a woman who marries a man other than her betrothed can never receive a nuptial blessing. Surely you do not wish such a fate on the woman you are supposed to wed?”
“There must be some circumstances where an exception can be made?” Luca asked. “What if I can convince our parents to repeal the betrothal?”
“Parents must have good reasons to do so – adultery, fornication, the commission of a crime, but even then, parents who break a betrothal would be excommunicated from the Church for three years. Are they willing to face that?”
Luca cracked a knuckle. “What if I take my desired bride far away from here, to where the previous betrothal documents hold no sway? We could marry then, couldn’t we?”
Father Francesco scowled with disapproval. “You wish to tell a lie and marry outside the Church? Marriages cannot be sanctioned if they are clandestine and entered into falsely. It is a grave sin.”
“Surely there must be some sort of a resolution, Father!” Luca’s voice rose in frustration, but he pressed his lips together in an effort to calm himself.
Father Francesco sat back and huffed out a breath. He remained pensive, looking down at the ground. Finally, he looked up and faced Luca. “If there is some inaccuracy in the betrothal contract or the oath sworn before God, and if everyone is in agreement that an error has been made, then the Church might allow the betrothal to be broken. But it will be up to the bishop to ultimately decide.”
Luca slumped, all his hopes ruined.
Father Francesco put an arm around his shoulder. “There is one thing you can do that may help, my son.”
“And what might that be?”
“Pray, figlio mio, you must pray.”
61
Eyes cast to the ground to avoid speaking to anyone she encountered, Olivia walked slowly down the stone corridor toward the chapel door. She rested her hand on the latch and paused. The burden of her sin weighed upon her like blocks of marble. She swung open the door. A row of candles lit the feet of the Madonna in the niche next to the altar. Rays of sunlight shone diagonally through the four small windows, dust motes dancing in their warmth as she stepped inside. A queue of four nuns had formed at the side of the nave. She knelt on the stone floor beside the last woman and bowed her head as if to pray, but prayer would not form on her lips. Instead, her mind reeled in search of all that she would need to say.
Cold from the stones seeped into her knees to send a chill through her body. She welcomed the discomfort, viewing it as fair penance. Only then could her sin be reconciled.
One at a time, the sisters took their turns exiting and entering the Confessional. Only hushed murmurs resounded in the quaint chapel. As she came closer to her turn, the knot in her stomach increased in strength and speed. Sweat coated her palms.
A creak, a murmured amen, and the wooden door of the booth opened. The nun hurried out and went to the Madonna where she knelt and bowed her head.
Olivia rose and entered the booth, kneeling before the thick screen between her and the priest. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Later, after the midday meal, Olivia sat in her usual spot beneath the tree with Sister Vincenza. Fingering its intricate stitches and bezants, she continued to work on the communion box she would never complete. Who would finish it after she was gone?
“You seem more rested and at peace today,” Sister Vincenza said as she completed threading her needle. “You must have slept well last night.”
“Yes, I fell into the deepest, most restful of sleeps.” With Luca’s willing acceptance of her and their child, and having attended confession and completed her penance
, the burden she had carried seemed lighter. The future was not so bleak. She had spent the day gathering the few possessions she would take with her. Later, at bedtime, she would write a letter of farewell. All that remained was to enjoy this final day at the abbey with the sisters she loved. “I am blessed to have someone who cares for me as much as you do.”
“How could I not, when I love you like my own daughter?”
“I love you, too. Whenever I needed consoling or encouragement, a quick scolding or gentle praise, you were always there, and I shall forever be grateful to you.” Olivia struggled to keep her emotions at bay. Above all, she did not want Sister Vincenza to realize how final these last moments together were.
The sound of the wrought-iron abbey gates swinging open caught their attention. “Look, it is Nanino!” Olivia quickly put the Communion box into her sewing chest and rushed forth to greet her old friend.
Mounted on a massive bay gelding, Nanino trotted the horse into the courtyard as regally as any king. With two long riding whips held in each of his hands, compensation for his short legs, he guided the creature to the wall where he dismounted and latched it to a metal horse-tie in the shape of a lion’s head. He broke wind, loud and long and arched his back to stretch. His face brightened the moment he saw Olivia running to greet him.
“You are as foul as ever,” she said waving away the waft of rank air.
“And you never fail to overwhelm me with your loveliness,” Nanino responded with a laugh.
Olivia bent to receive his embrace. Already, the familiar, soothing smell of horse sweat, leather, wind, and onions she had always associated with him, infiltrated her nostrils – offensive to others, but comforting to her, born from their years of trusted friendship. “What a pleasant surprise. I’ve missed you so!”
“Not as much as I missed you.” Nanino chucked her playfully on the chin. Despite his miniature stature, Olivia thought him a handsome man. Beneath his hat, a tumble of ginger curls streaked with roguish strands of grey brushed his shoulders. Above his patrician nose, green eyes glistened with unspoken humor and gazed blissfully up at her. An upturned moustache revealed his warm smile and uneven, but all accounted for, white teeth. A tidily trimmed beard covered his chin.
No one understood her better than Nanino. He had been like an elder brother to her. Like her, someone had abandoned him beneath the olive tree, too. It was the thread that bound them; the cause of many a knowing glance exchanged between them during times of melancholy. His behavior, vitriolic to outsiders, was only compassion and kind-heartedness to the women of the abbey who had raised him with love and acceptance.
“But we were not expecting you,” she said.
“Do I need an excuse to visit you, tesora?”
It had always been his pet name for her and Olivia reveled in hearing it.
“I come bearing gifts.” Pure delight glinted in Nanino’s eyes as he lifted a saddlebag from the back of his horse.
By this time, the abbess and several sisters came hurrying out of the abbey to greet him. The women encircled him, filling the air with laughter and warm greetings at the return of the young man once consigned to their trust.
From his saddlebag, he pulled out a small leather pouch and handed it to the abbess. Her mouth fell open when she opened it and let spill numerous silver coins into her palm.
“For you to use as you see fit in your charitable duties,” Nanino exclaimed, his face alight. “My master paid me a little more than expected after I saved his favorite mare from near death and delivering her foal safely from a breached birth.”
The abbess nodded and swallowed back her emotion. “May God bless you a thousand fold for your generosity to this abbey and the people we serve.”
“God blessed me the moment I was abandoned beneath the olive tree out front. No child, especially one as unfortunate as me, could have wished for a more loving home.”
Nanino’s generosity always touched Olivia. Not a month went by that he did not bring a donation of some sort to the abbey – candles, lamp oil, baskets of fruit, coins, blankets, or new shoes, and always, from amid all the trinkets, he produced a small gift for her.
“There is fresh hay in the stable for your horse. Then come inside and join us for the midday meal. I am eager to hear all your news since your last visit.” The abbess nodded to the sisters to follow her inside and Olivia found herself alone with Nanino.
“And this, tesora, is for you.” Next, he pulled out a bundle of wrapped linen and handed it to her.
Hands vibrating with excitement, she unfolded it to reveal a rose-colored shawl of the finest, softest wool she had ever touched. A row of embroidered roses ran around its edges, culminating in delicate tassels. Delighted, and despite the warm day, she threw it over her shoulders and twirled about.
“When I caught a glimpse of it in a stall at the market, I knew it was meant for you. The color enhances your complexion beautifully.” Nanino grinned at Olivia’s obvious pleasure.
“It is so beautiful,” Olivia said, her voice quivering with emotion. Nanino’s attention always made her feel protected and cherished. With him, she had shared her fears of being alone in the world and the wounds of her abandonment. He had responded with patience, sound advice, and love. After today, she doubted she would see him again. Only these few unanticipated moments remained to tell him all that he had meant to her. “Nanino, I, uh, am so grateful –”
He stopped her before she could finish. “I know, I know, you love me beyond words. My handsomeness astounds you whenever you are in my presence. My gallantry makes you swoon, and forever you shall measure all men against me.” His eyes brimmed with light and the smile on his face was so wide, so endearing, that any serious words she had been prepared to speak became lost in a burst of laughter.
Laughing together, arm in arm, they entered the abbey.
62
Night fell and the women of the abbey slumbered. Soon, the bells for Matins would toll and Olivia knew she must be gone. On the bed beside her were the only possessions she would take – the ring, the blanket, the Psalter, the brooch Luca had given her, and her new shawl from Nanino. She held the gold ring up against the candlelight and ran her finger delicately over the ornate B. Somewhere within the jewel’s artisanship laid hidden the answers to her mysterious ancestry. Perhaps one day she would discover its secrets, but tonight was not the time to dwell on the past. The future beckoned. She sighed and positioned the ring in the center of the partially folded brocade baby blanket. After folding it again, she wrapped her new shawl around it and slipped the tidy bundle into a leather pouch she rested on the window ledge.
Olivia took her seat at the small trestle near the window. She raised the lid of a wooden box and removed her writing accoutrements. Dipping her plume into the inkwell, she penned a farewell note.
Most Venerable Abbess,
My world was full of blessings because of you, for you taught me much about life and love and faith. You and Sister Vincenza have been mothers to me. Never could I have wished for anything more than the infinite love that I received at your hands all these years. You and the holy sisters are the only family I have known. Recently, a new path in life has revealed itself to me and I know that I must take it and see where it will lead. I regret that I cannot tell you where I go, but be at ease that I shall be well cared for. Please do not search for me. Instead, wish me Godspeed. I will send word once I am settled. I pray you find it in your heart to forgive me. Forever, I shall hold you in my heart and in my prayers. May God always grant you the light you so richly deserve.
Your most humble daughter, Olivia
Olivia left the letter in the center of the table and glanced one last time at the cell where she had lived since childhood. The reality of her departure struck her with full force. She would miss the tranquility of life within the cloister. She would miss the women here, the dignity in which they comported themselves, their dedication to God, prayer, and feeding the poor, and the purity of their goodness
.
A pang of grief seized her. She had sinned and because of it, her life would be forever altered. Luca wanted her, and although fate had deemed she could never be his wife, she knew he held her in his heart. It was enough for her and the child she carried.
She gathered the leather pouch, escaped through the window, down the tree, and over the abbey wall for the last time.
The light of a three-quarters moon lit her way. When she spotted Luca waiting for her beneath the lemon tree, relief ran through her. He was here, just as he had promised, with the reins of his most prized tournament horse in his hand.
In the seconds before he swept her into his arms, she saw the tension in his face fade. “I was afraid you would not come.”
“And I was afraid I would not find you here.”
“Then both of us must learn to have faith in each other.” He let out a soft, silvery laugh that filled her heart with love.
He had brought her a black gown and veil of mourning, and waited for her to dress in it.
After tucking her pouch into the saddlebag, he helped her mount and leaped onto the horse behind her. Beneath her legs, she felt the powerful strength of the tall and majestic creature as Luca nudged it into a walk.
The night was warm and silent. Only the occasional song of a nightingale and the cadence of crickets intermingled with the plod of the horse’s hooves against the soft earth of the path. Luca took care to stay away from the main roads to avoid brigands.
With every step that took her farther away from her beloved abbey, cocooned by his protection, Olivia reveled in the strength of Luca’s arms about her. She was his now, this virulent man with the strength of a lion, but the heart of a dove. This was not the time to look back with sadness, but to look forward to a future filled with hope. She, Luca, and the baby would form a family, albeit from a distance, something that fate had once denied her. In her heart, she would make the most of it and would do whatever it took to keep her small family intact. No sacrifice would be too great, no duty too small.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 21
