Love Hurts

by Brenda Grate

  Mamma took him and laid him on her chest. She didn’t cuddle him or pull him close and he started to cry. Catarina felt like crying along with him.

  “Go get me some milk. Heat it on the stove and do not come back until it’s ready.”

  Catarina hesitated, confused.

  “I need milk, Catarina. I need milk to bring in my own.” Mamma’s voice grew weak, but there was steel beneath.

  It made sense to Catarina, so she didn’t understand her own reluctance to leave her brother alone with his mother. But she knew the harsh consequences of disobeying her mamma. She left the room.

  For the first time in her life, Catarina deliberately disobeyed Mamma. The milk was heating on the stove, but she couldn’t dismiss her uneasiness. She crept back down the hall. She peeked into the room and let out a shriek.

  “No! What are you doing? You’re evil!” Catarina screamed.

  She snatched the pillow out of her mother’s hands and grabbed the now lifeless baby boy into her arms. She patted his face, blew on him, all the while sobbing in despair. After a while, she realized it was futile and she slumped against the bed. Mamma lay there watching Catarina, no emotion evident on her face. It was like she didn’t even realize she had just murdered her newborn son.

  “What is wrong with you?” Catarina sobbed. “How can you be so evil?”

  Mamma leaned back on her pillows and stared up at the beamed ceiling. “We can’t afford another mouth to feed. I wouldn’t have had him if your father had left me alone.”

  Catarina didn’t know what that meant, but she understood the overall meaning. “You killed my brother because we don’t have much money?” It was beyond belief. Catarina looked down at the still form in her arms and all strength left her body. She slid to the floor, the little bundle in her arms weighing nearly nothing. She cried and rocked him. She cried for all the times she would never get to hear his cries, his giggles. She’d never get to see him grow up and follow his big sister around. She rocked him for all the times she’d never be able to soothe his hurts and wipe his tears. The hole in her heart was shaped like him and would never be filled. So she did the best she could and filled it up with hate. Hate for her mamma. Except she would never call her Mamma again. She would never speak to her again.

  She broke that vow a few minutes later when a weak voice from the bed said, “Now, you have to go and bury it in the garden. Before your papà gets home.”

  Catarina jumped to her feet, clutched Benito, as she decided to call him, to her neck. Fear raced in icy shivers up and down her body. “Never! I’m going to tell Papà what you’ve done!”

  “You will never tell your papà. If you do, I will tell him you did it in a fit of jealousy.”

  Mamma’s voice was terrifyingly calm. Catarina knew she’d do it, but would Papà believe her?

  “I will also call the constable and report you. I will tell them to take you away.”

  That did it for Catarina. There was nothing she could do for Benito now, but she could ensure that he had a nice spot to rest for eternity.

  Moving like she had also died—but her body didn’t know it yet—she gathered a few things. She carefully wrapped Benito in two soft blankets, kissing his blue lips before she covered his face for the last time. She didn’t bother with a coat; she picked him up and carried him out the door and into the storm that still raged.

  Although she was buffeted, Catarina hardly noticed. She fought her way to her favorite tree, a lemon tree. She put the bundle down and covered him with another soft blanket. She pushed through the wind, her dress now clinging to her and her skin covered in gooseflesh. She shivered, but didn’t care. There was a small spade in the shed where Papà kept his few tools. He wasn’t a man who worked his land; he worked with his mind and his talented hands, creating beautiful paintings which he sold for little money.

  Catarina walked back to the tree, dragging the spade behind her. She fell a couple of times, but made no sound. She just got to her feet again and kept moving, her eyes now completely dry. She had no tears left.

  The ground was softened by the rain, so it didn’t take long for Catarina to dig a hole deep enough. Mud kept sliding in, but she worked like she’d been digging holes every day of her life. She crawled to the bundle that was her brother and lifted off the now sodden blanket. The one underneath was still dry. Catarina clutched him close in one arm and crawled back to the hole. She sat down beside it in the mud with her brother tucked under her chin and against her shoulder, just as she would have held him over and over while he grew into a toddler. She didn’t want to let him go and for a while prayed she would die along with him. It was only the thoughts of Papà’s pain of losing her and what lies Mamma would tell that forced her to place Benito into the hole.

  Catarina made quick work of covering the baby. The first clump of wet earth to hit the blanket caused such a searing pain in her heart that she wondered if a ten-year-old girl could die of a heart attack. Once the deed was done, Catarina dropped the spade and collapsed. The storm stopped as if it had been commanded to.

  Catarina woke up as the sun was beginning to send light over the mountains. She got to her hands and knees, her teeth clacking together and her limbs stiff from the cold and the digging. She crawled through the mud and found her way to the front door where she collapsed again. Papà found her there hours later.

  All Catarina remembered years later, was the naked fear on Papà’s face as he picked her up in his arms and cradled her, mud and all. Catarina was sick for a month, and Papà later told her they’d feared at one point they were going to lose her along with the baby. By the time she got out of her bed, Mamma had told Papà the baby boy died at birth. She said she didn’t understand why Catarina was so bent on burying him. Papà was confused, but he never blamed her. Mamma insisted on leaving him where he lay and erecting a gravestone under the lemon tree.

  They named him Benito. Catarina insisted on it, although she said it to her papà and never spoke a word to her mamma again. She left Italy when she was eighteen, already carrying her own child in her womb. She’d fallen in love with a local boy. Even though she knew she would never love anyone again as she did him, the hate that filled her heart was stronger and she wanted nothing more than to be away from her evil mother. She knew she took Papà’s heart when she left, but she promised him she would never stop painting. It was the last thing she had left to give.

  Chapter 22

  Anna dropped to the floor at the end of the story and wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs. She sobbed, feeling the pain deep in her heart. Mamma petted her head while she cried. Jilly moved to the sofa beside Mamma and took her hand.

  “I’ve never told anyone that story before,” Mamma let out a big sigh. “I’m glad I finally told you two. It was time.”

  Anna stared up at her through a sea of tears. Mamma had never looked so peaceful.

  “How could she have done that?” Jilly burst out, rage coloring her light skin. “To murder an innocent child. And your papà never knew?”

  Mamma reached a hand to Jilly, who in her anger didn’t seem to notice. She let it fall to her lap. “I think somehow Papà did know. Remember, I was sick for many weeks after because of being so drenched in the cold and my own despair. I think I actually lost the will to live.”

  “No wonder,” Jilly said.

  “Things were never the same between my parents after that. My mamma kept to herself and didn’t bother me much. Maybe she felt guilty—she must have—but she never spoke of it again. I actually think she was relieved when I left the village.”

  “Of course she was,” Jilly commented, her face still an angry red. “You were the only one who knew her secret and could expose her.”

  “Jilly,” Anna said, “I understand you’re angry. I’m angry, too, but I don’t think it helps Mamma.”

  Jilly looked at Mamma and dropped her gaze. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I understand how you feel, obviously. I fe
lt the same way for many years. Every time I think about it and remember my baby brother’s face …”

  Jilly jumped in. “That’s the face, isn’t it? The face in all your paintings.”

  “Yes. He’s been haunting me all these years. I felt like I failed to protect him. He was tiny and completely helpless and I let that monster … ” she broke off with a choke.

  Anna rubbed Mamma’s leg trying to convey both sympathy and comfort with her touch. She knew it was a small attempt, but she couldn’t do the thing she really wished and bring that innocent child back to life.

  “You didn’t fail him,” Jilly said. “You did the best you could do as a small child yourself. You can’t blame yourself. All it does is hurt you and the people you love. I know that firsthand,” she said with a quick glance at Anna.

  Anna would never reveal to Mamma what Jilly had gone through in the past. Mamma would only find reason to blame herself yet again.

  “I finally realized, and should have much sooner, that the hate for my mamma caused me to keep you girls at a distance. I couldn’t allow myself to care for you in case I lost you too.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and put her hand on Anna’s upturned face. Anna could feel the wetness from Mamma’s tear mingling with her own. “All I succeeded in doing,” Mamma continued, “was in driving you away.”

  “Oh, Mamma,” Jilly said.

  Mamma turned to her youngest daughter. “You know it’s true. I could never let you know just how proud I was of your art. I don’t even really understand it myself. All I know was that part of me despised you.” A sob caught in her throat and she struggled to gain control again.

  Jilly kept her gaze fixed on Mamma’s face.

  “I despised the parts of you that were just like me.”

  “Oh, Mamma,” Jilly said again. “I’m just like you. I’m proud to be like you. For the first time in my life I’m proud to be me.”

  Anna watched her mother and Jilly find peace, and their harmony settled over her like a velvet-lined cloak. It felt comfortable. Anna had tried for so many years to bring peace between them and it had never worked. Now she watched while the miracle happened without any of her input. It felt right, satisfying.

  “Mamma, have you thought about going back?” Anna asked.

  Mamma shook her head. “I don’t think I could. I left for good and swore I’d never go back.” She smiled at Anna. “I understand that you’d like to find your father, but I don’t think I could do it.”

  Anna smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand. “Yes, you could. I did.”

  Mamma thought about it for a moment. “You’re right. You left just as I did. Both of you girls did. But you took it further. You came back and faced me.”

  “You made it easier for us, Mamma. You reached out to us. Without that, we wouldn’t have come.”

  The housekeeper entered the room on silent feet. “Would you like me to serve tea, Ms. di Rossi?”

  Mamma glanced at her delicate gold watch, which suited her tiny wrist. “Yes, please, Moira. Thank you.” Her tone must have been different than normal because a tiny smile lifted the corners of Moira’s mouth as she turned to leave.

  Anna glanced at the clock over the mantle. It had been hours since dinner. She was hungry. Tea and whatever came with it would be nice.

  Anna got to her feet, legs cramped from sitting on the floor. She sat opposite Jilly and Mamma. “Will you at least think about it, Mamma?” she asked. “I would go with you. What about you, Jilly?”

  Jilly leaned back against the arm of the sofa, still turned toward Mamma. She studied her for a few seconds. “I’d really like to, Anna, but I think it’s something you two need to do together. Besides, I need to get home to Matty and Gregg. I talked to my little guy today, and it was so hard to hang up the phone.”

  “I really hope I’ll get to meet your son and your husband.”

  “Of course, Mamma. Just as soon as you get back from Italy.” She gave them both a wide smile.

  Subtlety had never been one of Jilly’s traits, Anna thought.

  “Let’s have some tea, and you girls can tell me more about your lives.” She turned to Anna. “I promise I’ll think about taking that trip.”

  Chapter 23

  Anna sat alone at the breakfast table eating eggs and toast while she thought about everything that had occurred in the few days since she’d been back in Toronto. She hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before and so was up before seven. She made her own breakfast and cleaned up before she ate, as she didn’t know how Moira would feel about a stranger, even her employer’s daughter, in her kitchen.

  Anna picked up a bite of egg on her fork and froze. She remembered the egg-shaped dolls she’d brought back with her. She finished up her breakfast, in a hurry now, washed up the dishes and put them away.

  The dolls were tucked away in her suitcase, protected in a rolled-up sweater. Anna sat back on her heels in front of the case and cradled them. She wanted nothing more than to give them back to her mother, the rightful owner. She was sad now that she’d stolen them and hoped Mamma wouldn’t be too angry.

  The sunlight streamed in her bedroom window, one of the guest rooms. Anna was glad Moira hadn’t put her in her old bedroom. Mamma must have requested it. With the sun so strong, Anna knew where to find Mamma.

  The studio door was only halfway open and Anna peeked around the corner, keeping as quiet as she could. Mamma worked on a new painting. She saw, with a catch in her throat, that it was one of the three of them: Jilly, Mamma, and her. How she could paint a portrait without someone sitting in front of her was beyond Anna’s ability to conceive. She knew, though, that her mother’s talent was exceptional. She wondered about her Nonno’s talent. Was he as good or better than Mamma?

  “Mamma?” she whispered.

  Mamma turned with a soft smile, utter peace bathing her face.

  It startled Anna a little to see it. Her mother, even at nearly fifty-two, was a stunningly beautiful woman. I hope I look even half as beautiful at her age.

  “Good morning. How did you sleep?” she asked while cleaning her brush.

  Anna entered the studio and stood beside Mamma, examining the canvas. It was in early stages, but already Anna could see her own likeness. Catarina di Rossi was an incredible artist.

  “I slept well, thank you,” Anna said.

  “Are you sure? You look a little tired.”

  “Well, I was a little restless. So much has happened in such a short time.”

  “Yes, that’s very true. And how about your young man? Are you going to see him today?” Mamma smiled at the surprise on Anna’s face. “Jillian told me. You know your sister. Can’t keep a secret for half a second.”

  “So true.”

  “But I’m glad she did. I always liked Chris. He’s a good man.”

  “Have you seen him since I left?” Anna moved to the window and looked outside at the clear summer morning. The sky was a pale imitation of Chris’s eyes.

  “Yes, a few times.”

  Anna turned around, not having expected an affirmative answer. “Really? Where?”

  “Once at the hospital. I was visiting a friend and he came in to see a patient in the other bed. I guess it was someone he’d brought to the hospital the day before and he wanted to check on him.”

  Anna smiled to herself. That’s just like Chris.

  “He recognized me and we chatted a little. I didn’t miss the pain in his face, though. He was very kind.”

  Anna grimaced at the reminder of what she’d done.

  Mamma continued, “I saw him again at one of my art shows. He bought a painting, as I recall.”

  “A painting? I didn’t know Chris was into art.”

  Mamma laughed quietly. “It wasn’t the art that drew him, but the subject. It was a painting of you.”

  “Of me?”

  “Oh, yes. It was a beautiful portrait and I hadn’t intended on selling it. I only added it to the show at my agent’s insistence. But when tha
t sad young man asked me if he could buy it and that he’d pay anything, my heart broke for him. I guess I was also thinking about another young man who’d been left heartbroken in Italy. So I sold him the painting. For a dollar.”

  “What? Why a dollar?”

  “Well, I could have given it to him, but I could tell he wanted to buy it, make it his own. So, since I didn’t want money for it, I said I wouldn’t take more than a dollar. He argued, but the painting was more important to him than his pride, so he took it. That was the last time I saw him, although I did receive a very nice thank-you note from him a few days later.”