Her Double Punishment

by Daniella Wright

  Twelve months. If I think back, to twelve months ago, I can see how fast a year can pass. I just have to focus on that, and not on all the work I have to do to get through these next twelve months.

  Marco appears in the doorway, and offers me a smile.

  “Coffee?” he asks, holding out a mug.

  “Thank you.” I accept it, and take a sip.

  “Strong.” I say, blinking in surprise.

  Marco’s brow furrows. “You don’t like it? I can make another.”

  “No. It’s fine. Thank you.”

  He grins. “It is how all Italian’s have their coffee,” he says. He takes a sip, and watches me. “Would you like a tour of the farm?”

  I nod. “That sounds lovely.”

  He leads me out the door, and along a path. We’re already amongst the olive trees, which are easily double my height, the rows stretching as far as I can see.

  “How many trees do you have here?” I ask, peering between each row to see that the grove stretches for what seems like forever in either direction.

  “One thousand trees,” Marco says. “My family, my brother and his wife and daughters, and my parents, are all up harvesting the southernmost trees today. We are very lucky; we’ve had beautiful weather. Some seasons are not so good, and we are stuck waiting for the rain to clear, so the trees can dry.”

  “You can’t harvest in the rain?”

  “No, no, no.” Marco says. “That is not a good idea. We need the olives to be dry, for the best possible flavor.”

  I nod.

  “We grow several varieties here, this one has a sweeter flavor, but the variety we are picking tomorrow is more peppery.”

  “Can I try one?”

  Marco raises a brow. “You can, but I would not. The olives are not tasty when first picked off the tree, they need to be processed to extract that perfect flavor.”

  “Oh.”

  “We harvest the olives before they are fully matured, they have a lower acidity, and it makes for a better flavor of oil.”

  Marco turns down a row, and leads me back past his and Stefano’s house to a large stone building.

  “This is our mill. We harvest the olives, and we bring them here, and every few days we come to press the olives to turn them into oil.”

  He takes me inside.

  Against one wall is a stack of crates, taller than me, all filled with olives. There’s a long sloped machine with little steps, which leads up to a great bit tray, with huge stone wheels inside. Below that are various other machines and stacks of circular fabric, and then more machinery and huge vats, and tall stacks of empty bottles along the other wall.

  “We will show you how all this works soon, so I won’t go into detail here. Stefano is very picky about his olives. He is a hard worker, and a strict master, but he is fair. If you do your best, and learn quickly, he will be good to you.”

  I find it hard to imagine Stefano as hard, or strict.

  “He’s been very friendly to me today,” I comment.

  Marco laughs. “You are a visitor, today, a guest.” He shakes his head. “Tomorrow you will be staff, and you will be expected to work hard.” He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. “But do not worry if Stefano gets angry. He is very particular, he likes perfection, to ensure a high price for our oil. He will get over it, and you will learn from it. All will be well.”

  He smiles, and then turns, heading out of the mill.

  I follow behind.

  I still can’t imagine Stefano getting angry. He seems so easy going. I’m not sure if Marco is trying to trick me. Perhaps Stefano gets particularly angry at Marco, my friends all seem to shout at their siblings in a way they would never shout at another person. Perhaps that’s it.

  Outside we can hear the chatter of people, and I realize the sky is starting to darken. All of a sudden my heart rate picks up again.

  “My family are back for dinner,” Marco says, a huge grin across his face. “Come, lets meet them.”

  I follow behind, and Marco leads me to the farmhouse, where everyone seems to have gathered.

  We enter the door, and there is such a warmth about the place, everyone in conversation with someone else, all laughing and chatting over one another. The house seems so full, and yet as I glance over the family I realize there’s only the people Stefano mentioned, his parents, his brother and sister-in-law, his nieces. There’s a pang in my chest at how well this family are getting along, and I have to blink back tears at the thought of my own family and friends, so far away.

  “Chiao a tutti!” Marco calls, and the entire room turns to look at him. “Questa e Savannah.” He gestures to me, and as all the eyes in the room focus on me I feel my face burn.

  “Ah! Savannah! Ciao, Ciao.” A large woman, who must be Stefano’s mother, comes forward, her arms outstretched. She holds my head between her hands, and presses olive scented kisses onto my cheeks.

  “You are here. This is good. You come to experience life in Italy, no?”

  I nod, speechless once again.

  “I am Rosa, the matriarch of the Ricci family. We’ve all heard so much about you and your family over the years. It is so good to finally meet you!”

  I wonder what on earth they’ve heard. What could there be to tell? There’s nothing interesting about us.

  She turns to the family. “This is my daughter-in-law, Anna,” she points to a woman in her thirties, I guess, dark hair pulled back into a bun. Anna waves a hello.

  “And my oldest son, Alessandro, and their daughters, Stella, and Sofia. And my husband, Giovanni. And of course you have already met my youngest boys, Marco and Stefano,” she says, as Stefano comes through the door.

  Everyone comes forward to give me a hug and kisses.

  “You had a long flight,” Anna says, the last to greet me.

  “About sixteen hours all up.”

  “And Stefano is going to get you straight into work tomorrow.” She shakes her head, and glances at Stefano. “The girl needs a rest.”

  Stefano laughs, and looks at me. “Her father sent her here to work,” he says. “She wants to see how we live, and so she shall, and while the sun shines we harvest. There is no time for tired.” He grins at me. “Your father tells me you are keen to experience a different way of living, so I am sure you will be fine.”

  I think back to what Marco said about Stefano being strict. Could he be as strict as my father? He’s seems so encouraging still. If this is an example of how strict he is, I’ll be fine.

  Rosa disappears into the kitchen and shortly after calls out that dinner is ready. Anna and Marco go in to help her serve up, and everyone falls into their own conversations, the girls chatting away to their grandfather in Italian.

  “Now, now.” Giovanni raises his hands. “I see from the bewildered look on our guests face that she does not speak Italian.” He glances at me, and I shake my head, my cheeks burning. “What do we need to do to be hospitable to our guest?”

  “Sorry Nonno,” the girls speak in unison.

  “We learnt about America today,” the oldest one, Stella, turns to me.

  “And what did you learn?” Giovanni asks before I have the chance.

  “America is a big country, Nonno. Our teacher put a map of Italy over a map of America, and we are tiny!” She glances at me. “But we are twice the size of your home state of Washington, and we have almost 50 million more people.” She narrows her eyes. “Why do you have a lower population per acre of land than we do? And yet you do not share it?”

  I open my mouth, and close it again.

  “Now, Stella, that sounds like a very rude way to speak to our guest.” Anna enters the room.

  “But it’s true, Mamma. Our teacher spoke about America’s immigration policy. They are very picky about letting people in.”

  “And perhaps the dinner table is not the place to speak of such things, no?” Stefano asks, coming in to the room. “Besides, it is time for you girls to set the table.”

 
The girls run off and soon there’s a clatter of cutlery coming from the dining room.

  “In our family, we all chip in,” Stefano says, looking at me. “Everyone helps in some way or another, to lighten the load for everyone else.”

  I nod, not sure if his words were meant as a lecture, or if there is something that I missed in translation.

  “Come, come,” Rosa says. “Come, eat your fill.”

  The table in the dining room is enormous, with plenty of space for the family, and several more people besides.

  I hang back, waiting until everyone has taken their seats, but Marco sees and pulls out a chair, roughly along the middle of one side of the table.

  “Here, Savannah. Come, sit. Don’t be shy.”

  I make my way around the table, and soon am elbow to elbow with Marco on one side, and Anna on the other.

  In the center of the table are two huge bowls, one filled with pasta, the other with a chunky tomato sauce.

  “Help yourself,” Rosa says, as Anna fills her own plate, and then passes the serving spoon to me. “There is more than enough here, no one goes hungry under my roof.”

  “Technically Nonna, this is our roof,” Stella says, a cheeky glint to her eye. Giovanni laughs, but Rosa puts on a stern expression.

  “You know little bambina,” Rosa says. “Not so long ago I lived under this roof. And I birthed my children, and raised them, and taught them to be good olive growers. I may live in the cottage out the back now, but this is still my roof, and will always be my roof until I’m buried in the soil and feeding the olive trees.”

  Stella sits in stunned silence for a moment, and then Rosa’s face breaks into a grin. “You are precious, bambina.” She looks up, to see everyone’s plate is full. “Now, enjoy!”

  Stefano pours wine into the wine glasses, even a little bit for the girls, and there’s a few minutes of silence while everyone starts to eat.

  “Delicious Mamma,” Stefano says, he glances at me, and I realize I am supposed to say something, too.

  “It is. The tastiest pasta I’ve ever eaten. Thank you.”

  Rosa beams. “Of course. My pasta is the best pasta in all of Italy, as my family will tell you.”

  “Absolutely,” Marco says, winking at me.

  I grin back.

  “So,” Rosa begins. “You have given up study, to come and help with our olives?”

  I nod.

  “What were you studying?” Giovanni asks.

  I swallow my mouthful before I reply. “Law.”

  “Law?” Giovanni’s mouth drops open. “Law? You have given up a wealthy career, to come and work the land.” He shakes his head. “I will never understand the young people these days.” He glances at her. “My boys have the land here to work, and make a living from. But you? You don’t own so much land in America? You can’t have a farm to support yourself. You need something like law to be successful.”

  I grimace, I can’t help it, and Anna gives Giovanni a gentle slap on the arm. “Leave the girl alone, Papa. She does not want to study all those boring textbooks. Who can blame her. Would you? No. You would prefer to be out in the sun, than cooped up in a room all day.”

  Giovanni laughs. “Ah, you are right Anna. I am sorry, Savannah. Sometimes those of us with age see things a little differently to those of you with youth.”

  I nod. I don’t know what to say to that. Anna turns to me.

  “I am the same, you know?”

  I shake my head.

  She smiles. “My father wanted me to study to be a doctor. He thought I would be set for life with those qualifications. And I started the study, to please him. But then I met a gorgeous young olive grower.” She nudges Alessandro, who is sitting on her other side. “And I fell in love, and well, the rest is history.”

  Alessandro leans in to give her a kiss.

  “What did your father say?” I ask.

  “When I told him I was going to work in an olive grove, and marry an olive farmer, and not finish my study?”

  I nod.

  “He was angry, to start with. But then he learned who I was marrying, and that squashed all his concerns.”

  I frown. “He knows Alessandro?”

  Anna laughs. “Not personally. But Giovanni’s oil is renowned throughout Italy, and everyone knows how hard he has worked to build a successful business for himself and his family. My father knows I am cared for, and really, that is all he is worried about.” She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “That is all any father is worried about,” she says. “Ensuring their children have a safe and comfortable future. Sometimes the way they express that is a little harsh, but they still mean well.”

  I find my eyes watering, and I blink back the tears.

  I’m sure she’s right, though sometimes I find it hard to see.

  Thankfully the conversation turns away from me, when Marco asks how the harvest went that day. I don’t really hear any of the conversation, I don’t follow much, talking about weights and quantities, so I focus on my food, and on not crying in front of this family.

  It’s all a little overwhelming, so many people talking all at once. Though in a way I’m glad the attention has been taken from me.

  I can scarcely believe that only a week ago I was staying with Brylee, partying with my friends. I miss them all, so much. I wonder whether they’ve been texting me, whether they’ve been in contact with my dad to know why I’m not replying.

  I finish my meal and glance up to see Stefano watching me.

  “It’s hard being in a strange place,” he says. “Especially when the culture and language and customs are not the same as our own. But you will learn our ways soon enough, and you will be one of the family before you know it.”

  Chapter 4

  My alarm goes off early the next morning. I pull the covers over my head with a groan, but moments later there’s a knock on the door, and Marco pokes his head through.

  “Time to get up, sleepy head,” he says. “The weather report has come in, and it’s due to rain at the end of the week. We need to harvest as much as we can before then. It means we’ve a long day ahead of us.”

  I groan, and pull myself to sitting position.

  “I’m awake,” I say through a yawn.

  “That’s the way. Stefano is cooking breakfast. Have a shower, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

  I drag myself out of bed, and stagger through to the shower. It’s hot, and feels so nice on my back, but I’m aware of the brothers waiting for me, and I don’t want to disappoint them on my first morning on the job.

  I pull on pants and a t-shirt, and a pair of bush walking boots my father bought me for a school camp that I’d never actually worn.

  “Ah, here she is,” Stefano says. “I thought you might be in the shower for longer. Nice to be proven wrong. Good timing, too. Breakfast is ready.”

  Marco pours me a coffee, while Stefano serves up his cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs and tomatoes, served with chunky toasted bread drizzled in olive oil.

  “This is delicious,” I say.

  “I’m glad,” Stefano grins. “Because soon you’ll be making it.”

  My eyes widen, and Marco shakes his head. “We take in turns,” he says to me. “Stefano cooks one morning, I cook the next. We’ll give you some time to settle in before we expect you to get up and cook for us both.”

  Stefano laughs. “A week,” he says, looking at me. “Your father sent you here to work, and work you shall. Which includes helping to cook breakfast. It is only every third day, after all. Not that hard, I’m sure.”

  I shake my head. “I can cook breakfast.”

  “Good.” Stefano nods, and glances at Marco. “See. A bit of structure and everything runs well.”

  I’m not sure what he means by that, and Marco doesn’t respond, just looks at me apologetically.

  Stefano looks me up and down. “Do you have a hat?”

  I nod.

  “Good. You’ll need it. Supposed to be a hot one today
, and we don’t want to lose you to heat-stroke.”

  He reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a drink bottle.

  “You’ll need this, too. Fill it with water, carry it with you. I’ve made lunch for us today, salad rolls, from tomorrow it will be your responsibility to make your own lunch. You can help yourself to anything here, treat this place as your own home.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Stefano says. “The day hasn’t even begun.”

  I swallow the nerves building inside my chest, and focus on eating. If I’m going to be working as hard as I think I am, I suspect I’m going to need it.

  We head out together, and meet with Alessandro and Anna.

  Stella and Sofia are in their school uniforms, and they give us all a wave as they head down the driveway to the bus.

  “They’ll be home early today,” Anna says to me. “We need as much help with the olives as we can, so they do their main classes this morning, and then head home after lunch.”

  “Really?” I can’t fathom that, being allowed to come home from school early to help with the family business. Then again, I also can’t imagine wanting to, either. I wonder how motivated they are to help out after a morning at school.

  Anna nods. “They love harvest time, being home and helping with the family. And it’s educational for them, too, learning about hard work, and rewards, and how the family business works. About how families work, really, everyone chipping in, helping each other. That’s what keeps families together.”

  I think about my family, Dad at work all day, Mom out socializing, me either studying or socializing. There’s no real connection there. No helping each other out. We even pay people so none of us have to do any of the household chores.

  “Are we ready?” Alessandro asks, and I glance up to see him climbing into an old jeep, towing a trailer loaded high with crates and other bits and pieces. “Let’s go.”

  Everyone climbs into the back, even Rosa and Giovanni, and we hold on while Alessandro drives us along the bumpy road, no more than wheel ruts in the dirt, to one end of a row of trees.

  “You made good progress yesterday then,” Marco says, nodding towards the trees to our left. To begin with I can’t really see any difference, but then I realize the trees in front of us are covered in small green and black fruits, while the trees Marco is referring to are empty of those.