“Then we will run off together and marry. They would be upset at first, but in the end they would have to accept it.”
Hope rose at the thought, but as the realities of what their life would become if they took such a path set in, Giustina shook her head. “How would we support ourselves? Everything you love is tied to this land. We would lose Villa Bianca and the land surrounding it, which my father intends for us to inherit.”
Lorenzo raised his hands and turned them so that the palms faced upwards. “With these hands, I can till the earth. I could find work anywhere. We could save my earnings until I can afford to buy a house and land of our own. Everything is possible if there is love and hope in our hearts. Don’t you love me, Giustina?”
“You know I do.”
“Then you must trust me, and trust in what is right. Whenever we are together, I feel as if our souls become one. You belong to me just as the sun belongs to the earth, the water to the ocean and the air to the sky. We are meant to be together, can you not feel it?”
Giustina studied his every contour, and in his eyes, she saw his sincerity. All their lives, he had taken care of her; waiting for her when she couldn’t keep up with his hurried strides, baiting her hook when they fished in the stream, presenting a consoling shoulder whenever she cried. With quiet strength, he had watched over her. How could she not trust him now?
“I know it with all my heart, Lorenzo.”
With his fingers, he caressed her cheek. “I’ll speak to my father again and if he doesn’t agree, then we will leave here. Tell me you will come away with me. Of course, I’ll need some time to make all the arrangements. We will find a priest to marry us and acquire a small house of our own to live in. We will be happy together in a new home – a fresh beginning.” He gave her a wide smile. “All will be well, you will see.”
With his words, he had painted a bright picture of a good life together. She could not deny the man she loved. “Yes, Lorenzo, I will go with you.”
The rustle of leaves nearby caused them to stop talking.
“Did you hear that?” Giustina whispered.
Lorenzo raised his hand to quiet her. His eyes roamed over every bush and he listened for the slightest sound, but all was silent except for the chirp of crickets. “It was likely only a bird. You are all that matters right now.” He swept her into his arms and kissed her until they fell back together on the blanket.
Like a boar rushing through the forest, Prudenza suddenly burst through the bushes.
Giustina and Lorenzo pulled apart and rose to their feet.
“Mamma!” Horrified, Giustina jerked away from Lorenzo and stood, rooted with shock.
Prudenza glared at her. “Get home this instant.” Her mother then turned an icy stare at Lorenzo.
“Please, I can explain everything,” he said.
“No! Clearly, I see what goes on here.” Prudenza scowled with disgust. “And you, Luca’s own brother.”
“We love each other,” Giustina said firmly.
Prudenza grabbed Giustina by the arm. “Your father and I have loved and cared for you all our lives. We have sacrificed much so you could have the best of everything. And you scheme to throw it all away and disappear from our lives?”
Lorenzo took a step towards Prudenza. “Please, do not blame Giustina. I am solely to blame. It was my idea, not hers.”
“This little tryst of yours is over!” Prudenza pulled Giustina away and turned back to address Lorenzo one last time. “Clean up this mess and get home to your parents. And don’t ever let me catch you with my daughter again.”
65
Prudenza yanked Giustina away from the cluster of hazelnut bushes where she and Lorenzo had hidden away like a pair of forlorn lovebirds. Too angry to speak, she fumed at having discovered her daughter in such a compromising situation with him.
Giustina in love with Lorenzo! Why had she not noticed it before? Now they were scheming to run off together. She must do everything she could to stop it from happening. The scandal would be horrendous, the shame to their family unbearable. Luca was the wealthy one, and Luca was the man Giustina must marry.
Prudenza had discovered her daughter’s secret meeting with Lorenzo quite by accident. After lying in bed for a long while, she had risen and returned to the kitchen, having forgotten to tell Giustina to store the soft cheese on the bottom of the cupboard atop the cool tiles to keep it fresh. When she stepped into the kitchen, however, she found the room in darkness and heard the click of the back door as it shut. Curious, she pushed open the door a crack and saw Giustina hurrying off into the night. She shuddered to think what might have happened if she had not followed her.
Giustina said nothing until they re-entered the kitchen. “Please let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain.” Prudenza folded her arms across her chest. “Go to bed. We will talk about this in a few days, after tomorrow’s festivities are over. Perhaps it will give you time to come to your senses and see matters a little more clearly.”
Giustina ascended the stairs dejectedly. When she disappeared from sight, Prudenza slumped down into the nearest chair and stared into the hearth. Time was lost to her, and only when the rising sun’s light began to show through the cracks in the shutters did she rise and climb the stairs to her room to dress for the day.
66
When Sister Vincenza awoke, she struggled to rise from bed to perform her morning ablutions. Ever since Olivia disappeared, dreary gloom seemed to have settled over her and the entire abbey. An unshakeable melancholy held her. She went through the motions of dressing as if she were hollow, completely bereft of spirit. Olivia’s absence gnawed at her day and night. Added to her distress was the fact Olivia had not trusted her enough to confide her secrets. Sister Vincenza had sensed something amiss and regretted she had not forced it out of her. Now, Olivia had disappeared and no one knew where. All she could do was pray the girl was safe.
Without Olivia, the days seemed long and monotonous. Sister Vincenza dragged through each one, the agony of having lost everyone she had loved too much to bear. Grief returned in full force. She searched for Olivia behind every column, archway, or corner, only to be disappointed each time.
Today was a feast of the Madonna, a long-anticipated day filled with celebration and thrill, but she would enjoy none of it. Only obligation drove her to attend this very important celebration. She positioned herself outside the abbey beside the other nuns. Together they would watch the men’s procession as it wove its way through the streets to the church next door.
Excitement and laughter filled the air as women and children from the village joined them to wait for the procession to appear. As hard as she tried, Sister Vincenza could not force a smile. How could she feign enjoyment without the light of her life to celebrate this day with? From the moment she had first held Olivia in her arms and nursed her, they had bonded as though they were mother and daughter. Olivia may not have been the child of her flesh, but she had become the child of her heart.
The first glimpse of the men on horseback leading the procession came into view as they rode down the village’s main street. Behind them followed the artisans, farmers and shepherds, and ultimately the statue of the Virgin Mary. Women lined the route, throwing flowers as they passed. The mounted men reached the square in front of the church first. They formed a straight line, and looked at the entrance. Their leader raised his hand high. “Viva Maria!” he yelled. Their horses broke into two ranks lining up on either side of a path leading to the church.
The crowd cheered. Sister Vincenza scanned the jubilant faces across from her. It was a momentary glimpse, a mere flash, but one face beneath a light blue veil at the back of the crowd sent her heart leaping into her throat – Olivia! Someone jostled her from behind and for a moment, Sister Vincenza lost her view of the young woman. She shook her head in disbelief. Was it Olivia or nothing more than another wishful sighting?
By now, most of the procession stopped, including the team of huge oxen pu
lling a flat wagon upon which rested the statue of the Virgin decorated with garlands of roses around her neck and an array of cut flowers, olives, grain, cheeses, and vats of wine at her feet. The cart came to a halt between the two ranks of horsemen. Men jumped onto the wagon and moved the statue onto a wooden stretcher borne by four of the town’s burliest men to begin their short march into the church.
Sister Vincenza continued to search the crowd; eager for another glimpse of the girl she thought was Olivia. Then she spotted the blue veil again. At that very moment, however, the statue of the Madonna blocked her view as the procession began their entrance into the church. When it had passed by, her happiness plummeted when she could not see the blue veil. Desperate, she began squeezing her way through the throng crowding the entrance into the church. Movement was impossible. As she pushed to make a path for herself, she was not oblivious to the rustle of clothing, grunts of annoyance, and angry looks cast at her, which turned forgiving once people realized she was a nun.
Then she glimpsed the blue veil ahead of her. “Olivia!” she shouted, but the noise of the crowd trapped her and drowned her voice. She hurried forward, ignoring the smell of unwashed bodies and fetid breath of so many people in such close proximity. When she came within reaching distance, she thrust her arm past a woman and child in front of her, and lunged forward to tap Olivia on the shoulder. She missed. “Olivia!” she called out again, as she tried more aggressively. This time, she succeeded in tugging the veil, but it did not belong to Olivia. The young woman who turned around looked only a little like Olivia. Golden curls and blue eyes greeted her instead of the familiar chestnut-colored tresses and delicate brown eyes. Disappointment ran through her. “Please forgive me, I was mistaken. I thought you were someone I once knew.”
The young woman broke into a gracious smile. “My name is Giustina Benevento, Suora, but I pray you find your Olivia among the crowd today.” Then she turned and made her way into the church.
Sister Vincenza came to a complete halt, unable to move. She could have sworn it was Olivia by her figure and the way she walked; there was some resemblance in her facial features too. She dismissed such thoughts as a desperate yearning to have Olivia back.
People made their way around her and up the stairs into the church. She swallowed the lump of grief lodged in her throat. When the last person had entered the church, she followed them slowly inside.
67
After the procession and celebratory Mass, the villagers gathered at Villa Bianca. The aroma of suckling pig roasting on a spit infused the air. Prudenza presided at one end of a long table and Carlo at the other. The abundant feast had satisfied everyone. The guests now lingered over the free-flowing wine, platters of fruit, and wheels of sharp cheese Prudenza made from an ancient recipe her grandmother had taught her. A celebratory mood prevailed, adding to the day’s pleasure.
Prudenza did her best to flash a smile or respond with a fresh quip when required, disguising her unease at last night’s discovery that Giustina and Lorenzo were lovers.
Luca was absent from the feast. Prudenza took this as a slight, even though Enrico had assured them it was because he was preparing his villa to receive his bride for the forthcoming nuptials. A likely story, Prudenza thought as she studied the Venturas from behind the goblet she raised to her lips.
Her gaze moved to her daughter, who somehow had found a way to sit herself next to Lorenzo. Giustina’s golden curls bounced about her rosy cheeks. Her new azure damask gown, purchased especially for the occasion, enhanced her fair complexion and blue eyes.
Throughout the meal, Lorenzo rarely took his eyes off her. Prudenza watched him tilt his head closer to her and whisper in her ear. Whatever he said persuaded her to laugh, the sound affable, revealing a level of intimacy Prudenza had never before noticed between them. Well, what reason did she have to notice it at all? They were hardly together in her presence, were they? The sound of her daughter’s laughter could rival wedding bells on a sunny spring morning, but today it gave her no joy.
She must put a stop to it. Giustina must marry Luca, not only because of the blood oath between Carlo and Enrico, but because Luca’s success at racing had enabled him to amass a small fortune. With wealth came power. Giustina must make the best possible marriage. After all, she was her only daughter and their futures depended on it.
Prudenza’s thoughts flitted to the secret she had carried all these years, and the daughter she had culled from her life. The secret must remained buried. Somewhere in the world, a child of her blood lived. Did she look like Giustina? How had she fared? Today, more than ever, guilt weighed upon her, but when she thought about how the scandal would have hurt her reputation and destroyed her family, she smothered her laments. Nobody knew she had rejected her baby, nobody except for the long dead Cosma, and with the healer dead all these years, she could rest easy that no one could discover her secret now.
She turned her attention back to their guests. Nearly the entire village was here. Many of the women were talking with Felicia. Somehow, that vacca, Felicia, had survived the scandal and the townsfolk had embraced her again.
Prudenza sipped her wine. The sun was not overly warm. The wooden canopy beneath which they sat blocked most of the sun’s rays. Yet, she sweltered. Sweat glazed her forehead. Her gown clung to her, damp and uncomfortable. She glanced down at her trencher, still heaped with pork slices and roasted vegetables she had barely touched. Nausea squelched her appetite.
As the meal progressed, she felt worse. Soon cold shivers took hold followed by a pounding headache, and aches in her neck, shoulders, and limbs. She did her best to disguise her symptoms, but the urge to vomit threatened.
Her legs weak and aquiver, Prudenza managed to rise, desperate to flee the table before she retched in front of everyone. The world spun around her in a flash of color. The goblet in her hand fell onto the table. Prudenza crashed to the ground as daylight descended into utter blackness.
68
Felicia watched Carlo and Enrico carry Prudenza inside the house. Silence, laced with trepidation, gripped the formerly boisterous guests, along with fear of contagion. One by one, the guests rose, expressed their concern, and departed. Before long, Felicia found herself alone with Lorenzo, who helped her clear the tables of leftover food and dishes. What type of illness could strike so suddenly and without warning? She was too stunned to speak with her son as they scurried back and forth from the house with their loads.
In the kitchen, just as she was preparing to wash the dishes, Carlo and Enrico came down the stairs, their features fraught with worry.
“How is she?” Felicia and Lorenzo asked simultaneously.
Carlo shrugged. “She is feverish, but Giustina is with her now.”
Felicia grabbed a nearby cloth and dried her hands. “I’ll stay and help Giustina.”
Carlo’s eyes widened and Lorenzo’s jaw dropped. The look on Enrico’s face depicted his own shock. They were very aware of the animosity between the two women.
“Don’t gape at me as if I’ve grown a second head! Giustina will soon be my daughter-in-law. It is her mother who is ill, and if she needs my help, it is my duty to help in any way I can.”
Carlo expelled a breath of relief. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“Why don’t the three of you go outside while I check on Prudenza?” She put her hand on Carlo’s shoulder. “Please try not to worry. All will be well. I have tended plenty of fevers before. I promise to do all that I can for Prudenza.”
“Again, I thank you,” Carlo said, as he and Enrico stepped outside together.
Felicia looked at her son. “You too, Lorenzo. See to your father. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“You never cease to surprise me, Mamma.”
“Bah, it’s nothing. I doubt Prudenza would do the same for me, but I’m in a charitable mood.” She light-heartedly flicked a dishcloth at Lorenzo, who kissed her cheek and followed the men outside.
Felicia sat down, leane
d her elbows on the trestle, and rested her head in her hands. Her sense of duty warred with her dislike for Prudenza. Prudenza’s actions had ruined her marriage. She recalled the charm she had once used against her – words she had repeated over and over through the years. She repeated them again now…
Prudenza, you are wrong.
I rise above you,
I must be strong.
Flames of fire – retaliate!
Wagging tongues, you must abate.
This day your lies must end
To you, my pain, I will send.
Similar shame you shall endure.
And the truth, at last, I shall secure.
So far, the charm had failed. No pain or shame had befallen Prudenza. In fact, she had suffered nothing at all. Soon, with Luca and Giustina’s marriage, they would become one family. Felicia loved Giustina as if she were her own child for she had grown up alongside her sons. It was for Giustina’s sake that she would help Prudenza. Whatever her feelings were, from this moment on, Felicia was determined to put them aside, at least to make things easier on Giustina.
Could she forget all the wrongs Prudenza had committed against her? What retribution had there been? Why shouldn’t Prudenza suffer even a little? An idea sparked in her mind – one that would satisfy her need for vengeance and help put the ugly past behind her.
Felicia rose. Gathering some of the leftovers, she quickly made a soup and set it to boil in the crane over the hearth. When it was ready, she spooned some soup into a bowl. After setting the bowl on a serving tray, she stared down at the vegetables and lentils floating in the thick, rich broth. She grabbed an empty cup, lifted her gown, and pissed into it. When done, she adjusted her gown, inhaled a deep breath, and poured some of the warm piss into the soup: not a lot, but just enough to serve her purposes. With a spoon, she stirred it, watching the yellow liquid blend into the broth. A smile crossed her lips. Then she picked up the tray and ascended the stairs.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 23
