Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  Olivia interrupted her. “Of course not. I have no desire to watch the nuptials, even from afar.”

  Nanino stepped forward, his clear, observant eyes assessing her. “You’re leaving?”

  Rosina gasped. “Surely not! You can’t…and the signore…”

  Olivia flopped down on the bed. She did not want to provide a lengthy explanation of her plans.

  Thankfully, she did not have to. Nanino looked at her with understanding. “You’re returning to the abbey.”

  Olivia picked up a stack of her son’s clothes and prepared to tuck it into the bag. “It’s for the best.”

  “Does Signore Luca know?” Rosina took the items from Olivia.

  Olivia shook her head as she held open the bag.

  Rosina carefully tucked the garments inside. “Then there’s no harm waiting a day or two. He’ll be upset to learn you left so suddenly.”

  “I don’t think Olivia planned to tell him,” Nanino said, gazing at Olivia speculatively.

  Rosina opened her mouth to interrupt, but Nanino raised his hand and stopped her. “The tranquility of an abbey is exactly what Olivia needs right now. Look at how pale and tired she is. It is obvious this situation has been trying for her.”

  Olivia gave Nanino a dry, one-sided smile. “I knew you would understand.” She rose and gently removed the bag from Rosina’s grasp. “You will help me finish packing, won’t you?”

  Rosina hesitated. “Oh, Signora, I don’t know…”

  “Please don’t worry. I will send Luca a letter explaining that neither one of you had a part in this, that it was my decision alone, and you only helped at my insistence.” She glanced at her son. “And for the baby’s sake.”

  “When do you wish to leave?” Nanino asked.

  “Today. As soon as possible,” Olivia said with quiet firmness.

  “Va bene,” Nanino said. “I’ll harness the horses and wait for you out the back way. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.” He hurried off.

  “Rosina, I know you are very busy today, but could you please stay with the baby? There is something I must do. I promise it will only take a few moments.”

  Rosina nodded and walked over to the cradle, murmuring affectionately to Giuda.

  Olivia took the pink lotus and hurried to the villa and upstairs to Luca’s room on the second floor. Slowly she opened the door. Her eyes went to the richly carved bed, covered with a grey coverlet and matching embroidered pillows. The grey was a sharp contrast to the lush curtains that hung above the bed. It was tradition for the mothers to prepare the nuptial bed, and although the bedcovers were obviously of the finest quality, the colors and simple pattern of embroidery seemed drab and cheerless. Olivia knew how Luca loved vibrant colors and flamboyant touches. It had been evident in his clothes, the rich tapestries that decorated his home, and the brilliant saddle blankets with which he adorned his horses. An idea came to mind. She set the lotus down on the bedside table then hurried back outside.

  Rosina’s eyes met Olivia’s as she rushed back into the cottage without a word and rummaged through her trunk until she found what she was looking for – her cherished brocade blanket.

  She hurried back to the villa to Luca’s room, the cool softness of her blanket against her hand. It was the most beautiful thing she owned, something she treasured. She spread it over the bed, its golden embroidered roses, and silk pattern catching the sun’s rays. She ran her hand over its loveliness one last time. Giving it to Luca was the only way she could express her gratitude and love for him. She carefully positioned the lotus in the center and stepped back to study her gift.

  She recalled Luca’s words when he had first showed her the beautiful fountain with the pink lotuses. The blossom of the pink lotus unfolds gradually, one petal at a time, until it reaches its fullest bloom in the morning when the sun’s rays touch the flower. Its dependence on the sun is a symbol of love, but it also reminds one to forget the past and embrace the future. When he saw it, together with her blanket, he would know its meaning, and understand that she wished him a happy future. Tears blinded her. She, too, must forget the past and look to the future. Their son would always bind their destinies, but they must learn to live apart from each other. Slowly, she left the room. The sharp click of the door as it closed echoed like thunder in the silent hallway.

  Weariness beleaguered her every step on her walk back to the cottage. Rosina’s smile disappeared the moment she noticed Olivia’s tears. She gave Olivia a motherly embrace, then stepped back to wipe away a tear or two of her own. “Is this truly what you want? You could wait a day or two to think about things.”

  “Grazie, but no, Rosina. As difficult as it will be to leave, I know this is the right thing for Giuda and me. I have deeply hurt the sisters who raised me by leaving them so abruptly. If I stay here, my presence will be an annoyance to Luca, his bride, and her family. It’s for the best that I leave.” Also, Olivia could not risk ignoring Prudenza’s threat to harm her son, but she did not need to mention that to Rosina.

  “I understand, cara. If you ever need anything, just send word.”

  “I am grateful to you, Rosina. I hope that one day we can meet again under happier circumstances.”

  “As do I.”

  They embraced once more before Olivia slung the leather sack over her shoulder and lifted her son from the cradle. Summoning her dignity, she straightened, gave Rosina a smile, and slipped out the door.

  She went to the back gate where Nanino waited with a horse hitched to a four-wheeled, horse-drawn chariot. He held the baby for her as she climbed inside the back. Then he handed her the infant and took the driver’s seat. With a click of his tongue, the horse started.

  Through the opening at the rear of the chariot, blurred by her tears, Olivia watched the villa until it faded from her sight.

  106

  Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, Luca heard urgent knocking and pounding. Deep sleep held him tight, pulling him back into the blackness.

  A hand upon his shoulder shook him hard and male voices pierced his consciousness.

  Extreme fatigue weighed on him, every limb too heavy to move. He opened his eyes briefly.

  His father’s face appeared above him, mouth moving, but the words indiscernible.

  Luca’s head throbbed and his wits were dull. To fall back into the comfort of his sleep was all that he yearned for, all that mattered. He succumbed and drifted back into the void.

  107

  “It is time to leave for the cathedral,” Prudenza announced.

  Giustina turned slowly away from the window.

  Her mother looked her over from head to toe, and tugged on both sleeves of the bridal gown, made a final adjustment to the veil, and then straightened the gown’s hem the before stepping back. “Perfetto.” Her smile turned into a frown. “Try to smile a little, Giustina. This is your wedding day, not your funeral.”

  “I wish for everything to be over,” Giustina said in a voice void of emotion and as empty as her heart. She straightened, staring blankly ahead.

  When her mother offered Giustina her arm, she swept past her, swung open the door, and stepped into the corridor. Without pausing, Giustina walked down the convent’s marble-lined passage, the silk of her sunset-colored gown rustling with each step as she made her way down the stairs to the main floor. She forced back tears, her heart filled with cold animosity at the inescapable path her life had taken. She kept her head high, her step steady. Like a candle snuffed by a sudden breeze, any hint of future happiness had died. She must resign herself that a loveless future awaited her.

  At the entrance hall, several nuns had gathered to wish her well. Numb, she accepted their blessings then stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. In the courtyard, a stable lad sent by her father held the reins of two horses: a white palfrey for her, blanketed with an embroidered cloth that matched her gown and a bay for her mother.

  Giustina climbed the mounting block and settled herself in the saddl
e. Prudenza hurried over to adjust her gown. Giustina stiffened, gazing blankly ahead, until her mother stopped fussing. She waited for her parent to mount.

  The abbey’s ornate iron gates stood open, awaiting her passage into a new life. Giustina gently nudged her mare into a walk and entered the street, her mother riding by her side.

  Townspeople stopped to wave or call out blessings at the sparse wedding procession. By right, she should have had at least ten attendants, all dressed in gowns matching hers in order to confuse evil spirits, but she had not wanted any such formalities. She stared blindly ahead, her face masked by her veil as she rode. Prudenza nodded and acknowledged the good wishes shouted out to them as they passed, as if it were her own wedding.

  Soon the town’s newly constructed Duomo came into view. One could not mistake its alternating stripes of white and black marble, the colors of Siena, which formed its façade. Giustina craned her neck to take in the dome and bell tower beyond the projecting transept – a fitting venue as intimidating as her marriage.

  As they drew nearer, her eyes settled on the group of people gathered at the front doors. She could make out her father, who stepped away from the group and hurried forward to help her and her mother dismount.

  They all stopped talking and watched her. When she looked back at them, her eyes settled first on the bishop’s rotund shape wrapped in a cope of purple velvet, a golden mitre on his head, and tall crozier in one hand.

  As if by instinct, Giustina’s gaze found Lorenzo. The sunshine bathed him in a golden light as his eyes met hers. His countenance was tense, grim, yet the moment he saw her, his lips curled into a faint smile for her eyes only.

  Prudenza glanced about. “Where is Luca?”

  “It seems the groom imbibed too much wine last night and is still sleeping it off,” Carlo said in a low voice. “Lorenzo will stand proxy for his brother.”

  Giustina glanced at her mother.

  Prudenza tensed at the news, her jaw clenched tightly.

  Giustina’s own heart plummeted. For all her struggles to forget Lorenzo, she must now stand beside him in a proxy marriage ceremony to his brother. Pure torture. Dio, provide me with the strength to endure. Let this day be over soon.

  “Vieni. Everything is ready.” Carlo linked his arm through hers and walked her to the cathedral’s entrance doors.

  Felicia reached out to touch Giustina reassuringly when she walked past. Enrico stood beside his wife, grinning from his drink-hardened, wine-reddened face.

  Her limbs quavered with each step, Giustina halted at Lorenzo’s left side. He looked at her nervously before handing her a bouquet of orange blossoms sprinkled with lavender and rosemary: more charms to ward off evil. Through the haze of her veil, she saw he wore an iron cross on a chain around his neck to prevent anyone from casting the evil eye at them.

  “Are we ready to begin?” Bishop Donnino asked, one eyebrow raised in assessment of the small gathering.

  Frozen with nerves, Giustina could say nothing.

  Lorenzo, too, seemed unmoving, but Carlo and Enrico both nodded for both of them.

  The bishop gave them their blessing and then led them into the cathedral.

  “Are there any known impediments to the marriage of Giustina Benevento to Luca Ventura?” the bishop commenced.

  Silence.

  The bishop turned to Lorenzo. “Lorenzo Ventura, on behalf of Luca Ventura, does he wish to wed Giustina Benevento?”

  She could not tear her eyes away from Lorenzo who swallowed before uttering, “Si.”

  “And you, Giustina Benevento, do you wish to wed Luca Ventura?”

  The response jammed in her throat. A panic set in as Giustina struggled to speak, fearing her voice lost. How could she lie in a cathedral before the bishop?

  From somewhere behind her, she heard her mother cough, and then felt her strong nudge against her ribs.

  “Signorina?” the bishop asked.

  As if engulfed in a dream, Giustina opened her mouth. “Si,” she said, the word barely audible, for it had travelled the vast distance between never and must.

  “It is time for the ring,” the bishop declared.

  From the leather purse that hung from his waist, Lorenzo removed a golden wedding band designed with two clasping hands. He took hold of her right hand.

  At his touch, his love flowed to her soul. Lorenzo slid the ring onto her thumb. “In the name of the Father.” He spoke in a tortured voice. Next, he removed the ring and slid it onto her index finger. “And of the Son.” Once more, he removed the ring only to glide it on to her middle finger where it was to remain until her death. “And of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Giustina’s head swirled. She broke into a cold sweat. With those words, she was married, bound in a loveless marriage to the wrong man. All that remained was to follow the bishop inside the cathedral to receive the Church’s blessing. At the realization, her legs faltered. It seemed as if her soul had died and in its stead, only a lifeless shell remained

  108

  The moment Felicia returned to the villa, she hurried upstairs to check on Luca. Neither of her sons had ever been heavy drinkers, but Luca always avoided over-imbibing in order to keep a clear head for races and competitions. It was not like him to be drunk before any important occasion, and it worried her.

  His room was in darkness when Felicia entered. She crossed to the window and swung open the closed shutters. The sudden blast of sunlight failed to rouse her sleeping son.

  Luca lay fully dressed on top of his bedcovers, deep in sleep. An empty goblet and flask sat on the bedside table. Felicia reached for the flask and smelled the syrupy dregs – pomegranate juice. No wine fumes lingered about her son. Why was he still sleeping? Trepidation clutched her gut as she laid her hand on his forehead, but to her relief, it was cool. Next, she tried to shake him awake. The movement roused him, but only slightly. Encouraged, she jostled him harder. “Luca, wake up.”

  He stirred in response to her persistent prods, finally opening his lids and looking up at her with glazed eyes.

  “You have to get up and get dressed. You’ve slept through the blessing and wedding ceremony. Everyone is expecting you.”

  Luca muttered incoherently, staring blankly at her. Then, as though he recovered his wits, he sat up. “The wedding!”

  “It has already taken place. Lorenzo stood proxy on your behalf. Everyone thinks you drank too much last night and couldn’t rouse yourself this morning.”

  Luca closed his eyes and groaned. He rubbed his forehead. He looked up at her again, his eyes desolate. He swung his legs over the bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands.

  His hunched posture, his grieved look, verified what she already knew. She ran the back of her palm against his cheek. “I’m so very sorry.”

  He grabbed her hand in his and kissed it. Then with a stony face, he forced himself to stand. “Please go. I will be down shortly.”

  “Luca, I –”

  He raised his hand and stopped her. “I can’t speak of this now.”

  Gone were the days of his childhood when she could easily comfort and bring him solace from hurt. Now that he was a man, all she could do was respect his need for privacy so he could vent his anguish alone. Quietly, she slipped from the room.

  109

  What in the devil had gone awry? One moment he was waiting to take Olivia away, and the next, he had missed his wedding.

  When his mother left, Luca grabbed the goblet and peered inside it. What had forced him into such a deep sleep? The only possible answer was that he had been drugged. Who would put a sleeping potion into his drink? The answer came swiftly. Prudenza! Only she had motive. Only she was capable of such an act.

  He flung the goblet hard against the wall, chipping the fresco where it struck. Enraged, he backhanded the flask from the bed table, splintering it into shards. The crack of bone and immediate sting stopped him. He cursed, pacing, while he cradled his injured knuckles. When the thr
obbing subsided somewhat, he collapsed onto edge of the bed, fighting back the urge to bellow out his rage.

  Prudenza would pay for this. Maybe not today or the next, but a day of reckoning would surely come. He would force her from his life; keep her from him and everyone he held dear. And he could easily do it too. Racing took him to all parts of the country. He could make his home anywhere. He would take Giustina, along with Olivia and his son, and move them all somewhere far from her slithery reach. If she were here now, he would wrap his hands around her scrawny neck and choke the life out of her. Were it not for the sleeping potion, he, Olivia, and their son would have been long since gone.

  A transformation happened within him. Gone was his innocence, his carefree youth, his zest for life, all replaced by a cold sense of duty. His future lay before him, bleak and disappointing. He was married, but could such a marriage stand without his presence, without his consent? He was determined to find out.

  He bound his hand in a cloth and left his chamber. His mind still clouded, he stormed across the courtyard to the few guests gathered. Already, the wine flowed, encouraging cheerful banter.

  “Ah, here is the groom,” someone called out.

  All heads turned to watch his approach.

  Luca’s eyes remained solely on Prudenza, who sat calmly beside Carlo, a golden goblet raised to her lips. He waited for her eyes to meet his, and then he hardened his stare. Soon, you will account for all you have done, woman. He must bide his time, however, for he needed to think clearly. No race could be won without a sound strategy.

  Giustina’s pale countenance and emotionless expression matched his own. Lorenzo, who sat beside her, gave him a distressed look as he stood to give up his chair.

  Enrico, already well into his cups, rose on unsteady feet and raised his vessel. “Ah, here is the groom. Let us make a toast,” he slurred. “Look! My son can barely keep his eyes open after last night’s celebration. It is said: Keep your eyes wide open before the wedding, half shut afterwards!”