Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  63

  Luca and Olivia rode northward through the woods that ran parallel to the main road. The hilly terrain took them past farmhouses that crowned lush hilltops, copses of vertically soaring cypress trees, and gentle slopes lined with vineyards and orchards. By the time dawn began its ascent on the horizon, Olivia could see the walls of a town in the distance.

  “That is Siena.” Luca pointed. “My home is located at the edge of the city within its walls – it’s your home now, too.”

  Unused to riding, and glad they had arrived at their destination, Olivia sat straighter despite her sore, aching muscles and lack of sleep from having ridden all night. Town guards were in the process of swinging open the gates as they arrived. They followed a queue of supply wagons and people inside. Olivia caught her first glimpse of a stunning new world. Having always lived at the abbey, she had never seen so large or so vibrant a city or town. She marveled as Luca guided their horse through streets lined with villas and tower houses, their roofs unified. He halted their mount in front of the nearly completed Duomo built in the form of a Latin cross with a slightly projecting transept, large dome, and magnificent bell tower.

  Olivia looked up at the large dome with its lantern atop that rose from a hexagonal base with supporting columns. White and greenish-black marble in alternating stripes decorated its exterior, with red marble on its façade. The rose hues of early daylight cast a beautiful luminosity upon the building.

  “Black and white is the symbolic colors of Siena, the same color as the horses that belonged to the city’s founders, Senius and Aschius.” Luca pointed to the top of the façade. “Look, the façade is still under construction, including the gargoyles.”

  Olivia could not look away from the sight of such a massive building, so different from the simple homes and structures in Sant’Andrea Montecchio.

  “If you would like, we can attend Mass there.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  He tightened his arms around her waist and gave her a tender squeeze as he whispered into her ear. “I love you and will do everything to ensure you’re happy here.”

  She caressed his arm in a show of gratitude, acknowledging his promise. They continued riding in a northeast direction. Luca pointed out the various buildings and squares - Piazza del Campo, a large shell-shaped piazza surrounded on all sides by the Palazzo Signorili. “Here is a large market where you can find food and spices and cloths from the far reaches of the world.”

  Already, the first of the stallholders were arriving with overflowing carts. Aromas of cinnamon, newly baked bread, and roasting meet assailed her.

  They turned left onto a side road, following it to the outskirts of town. Luca reined in before wrought iron gates set in a high stone wall. He dismounted, unlatched the gate, and led Olivia and the horse inside. At the end of a long lane edged with cypress trees, appeared a three-storied white stucco villa with numerous windows on all sides.

  He helped her dismount. “This, bellissima, is your new home.”

  Olivia’s mouth fell open. Luca’s home was twice as large as the abbey, which housed sixteen women. A trio of mullioned windows with iron grates on the second-storey hovered above the double entrance doors. To the left of the villa was a cloistered flower garden, a jewel of fascination that astounded her. Roses, ranunculus, periwinkles, and numerous other flowers exploded in a rainbow of brilliance, neatly situated beds of vegetables and herbs.

  What made her gasp with delight was the beautiful pond with a three-tiered red cream marble fountain at its center. Water poured from two magnificent lion heads into a round basin, which then cascaded into several waterfalls past stone maidens that serenely emptied their water vessels and jugs into a larger basin below. Beautiful pink lotuses, their blooms beginning to open, floated on the top of the water.

  Luca bent to pick one and presented it to her. “The blossom of the pink lotus unfolds gradually, one petal at a time, when the sun’s rays touch the flower until it reaches full-bloom. Its dependence on the sun is a symbol of love and serves as a reminder to forget the past and embrace the future. Just as we must do.”

  Olivia brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled its rich, intoxicating aroma of misty forests and gardens. “And I know it for its healing benefits. It not only helps calm the mind and improve concentration, but also allows a gentle release of emotions and hastens recovery from illness. When made into an infusion, it gives one a feeling of joy.”

  “Then I am most eager to imbibe a cup or two with you.” His eyes gentled and he lowered his head as if to kiss her.

  She pressed her hand against his chest and nudged him away, shaking her head. “Please, Luca, we cannot.”

  He hesitated, his expression disconsolate.

  Olivia searched his features, her own anguish resurfacing. “I love you more than life itself, but we cannot. You belong to another woman.”

  He stiffened and a look of resolution formed on his face. “You cannot say that yet. I already told you that I will do all that I can to change that.” His words faded into a near whisper and his face bore evidence of his disquiet. He took her by the hand and led her inside an arched doorway, further words too sorrowful.

  Olivia stood in a marble-floored entrance hall decorated with a pastoral fresco on the ceiling. A plump, very diminutive middle-aged woman with dark brown hair streaked with grey hurried forward to greet them. She was only slightly taller than Nanino. Olivia could not help but notice the mole at the edge of her nostril and the long hair that sprouted from it. Yet, the woman’s face seemed pleasant beneath the shell of her unattractiveness, Olivia sensed a warm-hearted nature. Despite the woman’s huge breasts and ample hips, she carried herself with confidence.

  “Welcome home, Signore.” Her voice sounded gravelly, but she smiled fondly at Luca. Her eyes shifted swiftly to Olivia and took in her black veil and gown.

  “Rosina, this is Olivia. She is the widow of my close friend. I trust you have prepared the large guest chamber on the top floor as I asked?”

  Rosina nodded.

  “Good. That’s where the signora will stay until I can renovate the cottage at the back of the property for her.”

  Rosina’s eyes softened and she gave Olivia a genuine smile. “I bid you welcome, Signora,” she said in a voice filled with tenderness. “I will be happy to show you to your chamber.”

  The woman had called her Signora and it caught her by surprise, but she must learn to get used to it. Rosina waddled up a few steps ahead of them.

  “Grazie, Rosina, but that won’t be necessary,” Luca said. “I’ll show Signora Olivia to her room myself.”

  Rosina’s brows rose at the impropriety, but quickly returned to normal as she stepped aside to let them pass. “As you wish, Signore,” she said, as she descended the stairs and then disappeared down the hallway, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

  Olivia followed Luca up a set of stairs to the third storey and then into a large bedchamber three times the size of her cell in the abbey.

  “How do you like it?” Luca asked with an anticipatory expression.

  Olivia studied the beautiful room filled with ornate furniture, replete with every comfort. She walked towards the center of the room to the bed and ran her hand across a small silk pillow, one of many adorning the bed. Silver candlesticks sat upon two bedside tables to either side.

  Olivia turned to the window and the quaint writing table next to it. She smiled when she noticed the inkwell and plumes that had been set out next to a small stack of vellum. She moved to the corner of the room and stopped before a wooden prie-dieu carved with rosettes on the front. The pleasant room was more than comfortable. She spun around and smiled. “Oh, Luca, it is beautiful. More than I expected.”

  “Yet, all that you deserve. Having been raised in the abbey, I suspect you are one of the fortunate ones who have been taught to read and write, so I made sure there was plenty of ink and paper for you. And the prie-dieu is here so that you do
not feel detached to life as you knew it in the abbey.” He took a step towards her and raised a tentative hand as if to caress her cheek, but he stopped himself.

  She yearned for his touch but remained motionless, intent on giving him no encouragement. The awkward moment passed as he turned to three wooden chests set in a corner of the room. He raised their lids and Olivia gasped at the colorful array of over-tunics, kirtles, and chemises. “These are for you, for later, when the day arrives that you no longer have to wear mourning garments. In the other trunk, you’ll find mourning clothes and veils. I sent Rosina to market especially to purchase them for you.”

  Olivia reached for the wine-colored brocade over-tunic that lay at the top, delighting in the feel of the rich cloth in her hands. She opened her mouth to say something about his thoughtfulness, but words escaped her. She raised her eyes to his.

  His eyes glimmered with a touch of merriment and she knew her reaction had pleased him. “Olivia, I wanted you to have some clothes other than the homespun gowns from the abbey.”

  “I have never worn such fine garments.”

  He grinned with pride. “A travelling merchant was only too pleased to sell Rosina his entire stock yesterday at the market.”

  Rendered speechless, she swallowed down her emotion.

  “I want you to become used to receiving my gifts. I meant it when I said that you will lack nothing.”

  “As long as you are nearby, I will have all I need.”

  Luca watched as Olivia set down her pouch at the foot of the bed. She unlatched it and removed the carefully folded shawl Nanino had given her.

  “That is all you brought?” Luca said with a frown.

  Warmth heated her cheeks. “It is all I own.” Olivia unfolded the shawl and removed the brocade blanket, and ring. “Other than the Psalter and the mantle and the brooch you gave me, these were the only items with me when I was abandoned at the abbey.”

  Luca selected the ring and held it up against the morning light that poured in from the window. He ran his finger over the intricate B, and then tilted it to look for any engravings inside. “It is finely made. You never learned anything more about it?”

  Olivia shook her head.

  Luca reached out and ran his hand over the brocade blanket. He laid the ring at its center. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes soulful. “Olivia, the past matters not to me. Only the future is important, and I promise to do my best to make you and the baby happy.” He studied her with intensity. “You look tired. Rest for now. I’ll have food and a bath brought to you.”

  Utter fatigue weighed her down and every bone in her body screamed out with the discomfort of so many hours on horseback. Over the past two days, her entire life had completely altered, and her body yearned for rest. She nodded to Luca and gave him a weary smile.

  He took her hand and kissed it, then quietly left the room.

  Olivia lay on the bed, its comfort lulling her into a fathomless sleep.

  64

  The women of Costalpino had gathered in Prudenza’s kitchen to prepare the food for the feast of Saint Galgano. Giustina hummed a merry tune as she washed the dirt off several fennel bulbs.

  Of all the feast days, this was her favorite. She loved the story about this immoral man who had lived an untamed, self-indulgent life until the Archangel Gabriel appeared to him in a dream and asked him to build a round chapel in the town of Montesiepi. Galgano’s mother, however, convinced him not to do it. Then one day, Galgano’s horse took fright and in a frenzied gallop took him to Montesiepi. Convinced it was a sign from Archangel Gabriel, Galgano thrust his sword forcefully into the ground to make a cross at the spot where he would build the chapel. The sword stuck and could not be loosened. This caused quite a sensation and pilgrims flocked to Montesiepi asking Galgano to perform miracles. In total, he performed nineteen miracles.

  To Giustina, Saint Galgano’s story was one of hope; that despite one’s sins, there could be redemption; that despite what others dictated, one’s true destiny could never be thwarted, and in her heart, she knew hers was with Lorenzo, not Luca.

  After the church procession and mass, villagers would arrive here to gather for a meal. Already numerous rows of tables and chairs had been set out in their shady olive grove. The aroma of baking bread, rich broths, stews, and polenta mingled with the sound of the women’s chatter and laughter in her mother’s kitchen.

  The day had been long, but now that everything had been prepared, one by one, the women took their leave. In the morning, some would return to help set the tables and put the suckling pig to roast.

  After so much boisterousness, silence now permeated every corner and nook, bringing blessed relief. Giustina watched her mother douse the fire with a pot of water, wearily flop onto a chair, and wipe the sweat from her brow with the edge of her apron. “What a day! I’m glad everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

  Giustina cast a tense glance at the door. On the bank of the meandering creek between their two properties, Lorenzo waited for her at their designated meeting spot, a tiny clearing amongst a group of hazelnut bushes and cypress trees. They had originally planned to meet after the sun went down, but the women had tarried longer than usual and night had already fallen.

  Giustina needed to urge her mother to retire so she could sneak away. “You worked hard all day, and tomorrow will be even more tiring. Why don’t you go off to bed, Mamma? I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen.” She glanced at the recently washed dishes and cups that needed putting away and the bread that needed to be covered with clean cloths. If she hurried, it would not take long.

  “Oh, carina, that’s so kind, but you also worked hard. I’ll help finish up here, and we can both retire.”

  “No, Mamma, I’m not tired in the least and I don’t feel sleepy either. Please go and take your rest. There isn’t much left to do, anyway.”

  Her mother glanced around the kitchen and heaved a sigh as she rose from her chair. With both hands on her lower back, she stretched. “Well, if you insist, I will retire. I’ve been feeling a little tired all day and I’m eager to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Giustina gave her a quick peck on the cheek and smiled. “Buona notte. I’ll be up shortly.”

  Prudenza paused and rested her palm on Giustina’s cheek. “You’re a good daughter. I don’t tell you often enough how much I love you.”

  Giustina turned her head to kiss her mother’s hand. “I know that, Mamma, and I love you too.”

  Prudenza walked towards the stairs and ascended a few steps before turning around. “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.” She smiled.

  The moment Prudenza disappeared out of sight, Giustina rushed about the kitchen tending to her tasks. With a final glance that satisfied her all was in order, she extinguished the lantern, grabbed her shawl, and slipped out the back door.

  An occasional owl’s hoot or cricket’s chirp were the only sounds that disturbed the silent night. Giustina knew every rock and every blade of grass. No moonlight was required to light her way. She and Lorenzo had been meeting in their special spot ever since they were children. Sadness accompanied her every step, because their time together would soon end. She must marry Luca, but her heart would always belong to Lorenzo. Their situation was hopeless. Lorenzo had spoken with Enrico several times, as she had spoken with her father, but neither would agree to amend the betrothal promise made so many years ago between her and Luca. The two patriarchs clung to it like drowning men to a raft. Their belief in the sacredness of their blood oath was as strong as their faith in God, it seemed.

  The first drops of dew dampened her delicate slippers as she hurried along the bank of the stream. Her heart pounded an excited cadence when she pushed through the shrubbery and beheld Lorenzo standing in the middle of the clearing. He had brought a candle lamp, which shed faint light. He swept her into an embrace and kissed her with all the passion of his soul, and she returned it with her own urgency. In his arms, she became wh
ole, fulfilled.

  When they parted, he put his arm around her and led her to a blanket spread upon the ground. Two cups, a pitcher of wine, a small wheel of cheese, and a round loaf of bread lay upon a cloth at its center.

  “Does this please you?”

  “Everything you do pleases me, Lorenzo.” Emotion jammed in her throat as he waited for her to sit. His eyes never left her as she arranged her gown neatly around her. How happy he made her. Whenever they stole a few moments together, the sun seemed to intensify and laughter rang louder. Every moment they spent with one another gave rise to a euphoria she could not explain, but which was as vital to her as the air she breathed and the water that quenched her thirst. To feel his flesh beneath her palms, or his warm breath against her neck, or the graze of his lips against hers developed into a driving need.

  Guilt was a dark cloud that marred their happiness, as well as the fact that she would soon be married to Luca. How long could they continue to deceive everyone? After her marriage, family occasions would always thrust her into Lorenzo’s path. Her future seemed bleak.

  “What bothers you, amore?” Lorenzo asked.

  “You need to ask?”

  He put his finger across her lips. “Hush, now. Let us not speak of what is to come. Only the here and now matters.”

  “No, Luca, everything matters. Our love for each other matters. You matter. Our families matter. What would they think of our betrayal? If they were to learn of our love, we would hurt them all.”

  “I have spoken to my father already, but I intend to do so again.” Lorenzo’s expression sagged beneath the weight of guilt.

  “And you know as well as I how stubborn our fathers are. I doubt they will agree to change my betrothal agreement.”