Marco nods. “You are living out your father’s choices, and not your own.”
I shrug, feeling bitter. “This was a choice I made. I could’ve stayed in America, found a job and moved out of home. But I have no qualifications for anything. I’d have to work in a minimum wage job, and that barely covers the rent in any place I’d like to live.”
Marco is silent for a moment, and when I look at him I realize he’s watching me.
“You know. No matter what you do in life, you must work for it, either through mental work, like your study, or physical work, like what we do here. You said you do not like the study. Now you’ve seen how we work, would you prefer to go back to your study?”
At the thought of going back to college, to sit in those stuffy rooms, and read those wordy texts, my chest constricts.
“No.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t.”
“You’d still prefer to be here?”
I think of Stefano’s harsh words, and all the hard work stretching and reaching and lifting heavy crates, and I sink my head into my hands. “I don’t know.”
Marco reaches out to rub my back. “Come back. Have an early night. Sleep it off. See how you feel in the morning.”
I glance at him.
“What about your family?”
“Mamma has set aside a dish of food for you. You can bring your food back to our kitchen, and then shower, and go to bed.”
“What about Stefano?”
“He is having an early night. He’s hoping for an earlier start tomorrow, but don’t you worry about any of that. You’ve been here for three days, Savannah. Despite Stefano’s perfectionism, the rest of us don’t expect you to instantly outshine us all.”
He stands, holding out his hand to help me. There’s something in his eyes, something I can’t quite put my finger on, though it’s more than kindness, I’m sure of that. When I reach out to take his hand a tingle travels my arm, and my heart rate increases.
His touch is so warm that I want to keep holding his hand, but as soon as I’m standing, he drops it and I try to push away the sense of disappointment.
Foolish. I’m an employee, nothing more. And it would be silly to expect more.
“You know, Savannah,” he says, as we walk back to the house. “Sometimes seeing how others live and work can be the best way to learn what it is you want from life. We get a lot of people, just like you, passing through here. Now,” he adds with a laugh. “They generally have educated themselves on what we do, and have made a conscious decision to give it a go, but still, they are exploring, adding to their knowledge and understanding of the world. We offer work for those seeking experience in the olive industry, but we also have workers who are here to travel, and explore Italy and experience our culture. Some are harder workers than others, and it doesn’t necessarily matter whether they want to grow their own olives, or explore, there are stronger workers in both categories, and weaker workers in both categories. People are so different, even those living within the same area. Perhaps what you need is the chance to explore a little, to find what it is you do want to do.”
We reach the house, and Marco sends me in to shower, promising to deliver my meal to their tiny kitchen.
So I shower. When I emerge the house is dark and silent, a single light left on for me in the kitchen, my dinner being kept warm in the oven.
Opening the oven door, a waft of scent hits me. I haven’t felt hungry, but that smell summons a rumble from my stomach, and I eat as though I haven’t eaten all day.
It’s delicious of course, and when I finish I feel full, and satisfied, and when I climb into bed and rest my head on my pillow sleep claims me instantly.
The next morning, I wake up to the sun, streaming in the window. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and what I’m supposed to be doing.
Olives. The harvest! I sit up with a jolt, fear piercing my chest. I’ve slept in.
But why didn’t Marco come to wake me up, like he did the previous day?
I scramble for clothes, and race out the door. The house is empty.
In the kitchen there is breakfast, heating in the oven, and a note from Stefano.
Rest this morning. Come down if you want to, or just enjoy the gardens. We will talk later.
I relax a little, but not much. What could he want to talk to me about? Will he send me home? Will he demand I work harder?
I don’t want to be sent home, that much I’m sure of. I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet, but I certainly don’t want to study law, so until I do know what I want to do, I’d rather stay here, and suffer through it.
I eat the breakfast, but as much as I’d love to enjoy the gardens, I don’t. I make some lunch, find my hat and drink bottle, and head on down to the harvest.
I feel so nervous approaching the family. What will they say?
As I approach I hear them all chattering away in Italian, and I wish I understood even a small amount of what they said. To be able to speak English to me, so fluently there are no misunderstandings, and speak their own language is so amazing, and I’m rather ashamed that I never took up the opportunity to learn another language throughout any of my schooling.
“Savannah! You came!” Marco’s joyous shout echoes amongst the trees, and everyone falls silent, looking my way.
I feel my cheeks burn.
“You didn’t have to come,” Stefano says, and for the first time there is a touch of concern in his eyes. “Did you not see my note?”
“I did.” I nod. “But I wanted to. I…” I take a deep breath, and force myself to catch his gaze. “I don’t want you to send me home just yet.”
“Ah.” He nods, and glances to the others. “We will be back.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and guides me away from the rest of the group.
“We must talk, Savannah,” he says. “We have got off on… how you Americans say it? The wrong foot.”
That’s an understatement.
“Where to start?” He’s quiet for a moment. “Let me tell the long story, from the beginning, when I first met your father.”
Savannah nods, and waits.
“When I first went to America, I did know some of what to expect of American ways,” he begins. “We have American movies and television shows here, we see how you live. But still, much was a shock to me.” He glances at me. “I had forgotten that. It is over twenty years since my time in America, and I was so young when I went. But your words reminded me of the struggles I had.” He laughs. “There used to be an Italian pizzeria not far from our University, and the men would speak Italian to each other as they cooked. I would go there every night, just to hear Italian words, just to have the chance to speak them to someone else who understood them. We tend not to remember these things, as we get older, we block out the bad, and remember only the good, or what we ourselves succeeded at.” He glances at me. “And your father, he was so successful, even back then. He put his mind to do something, and he achieved it, no matter the task, nothing was too hard for him. I expected a female version of his younger self, and I judged you on my own expectations, and that is not fair.”
He sighs. “So I apologize for my harsh words. You need time to adjust to this new environment, and to this new workload. I realize I need to change my teaching method, that criticism is hard to take, and is not helpful. So I will try.” He glances at me again. “You have permission to remind me, if I forget.”
There’s a small grin on his face.
I snort. “You’re happy for me to tell you when you’re being too harsh?”
“Of course. We all need to work together. We are all a family here, not just my blood family, but those who come to work for us, for however short or long a period they stay. And families work best when there is communication, and understanding. We all work better when we are at ease with one another, this is something my father, Giovanni, taught me. And it is something I have forgotten in recent times. So I will try to make your time here as ple
asant as possible.”
I nod, relief washing through me.
Stefano speaks again. “Marco tells me you do not know what it is you want to do with your life?”
I shake my head. “I’ve only ever done what my parents wanted me to do. I’ve never really explored what I myself find interesting. The only thing I know I don’t want to do is study Law.”
“Or live on an Olive Grove in Italy,” Stefano adds with a laugh.
I shrug, and lift my face to the warm rays. “I don’t know. It’s nice being outside in the sun, with the cool breeze, breathing in the fresh air. I like that.”
Stefano gives a dazzling smile, his whole face lighting up.
“Well I am glad to hear that! Perhaps there is hope for you, after all. You will learn to do the work, and you’ll love it, and never want to leave.”
I laugh. “I don’t know about never leaving.” I think back to that first day, when I felt I was finally getting the hang of it, before Stefano’s first criticism. “But I could enjoy this work, if I ever get used to it.”
“Ah, you will, you will. It is just physical, that’s all. Your body isn’t used to it. But muscles learn new movements, and soon those movements become natural, and that’s when everything gets so much easier.”
I laugh, recognizing Marco’s words. It seems the brothers have had some sort of conversation about me. “I hope so.”
“Would you like to come back to the harvest now? You are welcome to return to the garden, to take a day off and rest. We did rather throw you into it, getting you started the day after all that travel.”
“I’d like to come and help some more,” I say. “I don’t want to lose what little muscle memory I’ve created by taking a day off.”
Stefano laughs again, and I feel a warmth spread through my chest. He is actually quite charming, when he’s not being cranky.
“Very glad to hear it,” he says. “Come on then, can’t let the team down.” He winks, and we stride back to the family. I grab an empty crate on the way past the trailer, and when I find an unoccupied tree I set it on the edge of the net, and set to work.
It does seem easier today, the stretch in my back is not as bad as it was the previous day, the movements easier. I finish a tree, realizing that I’m only slightly behind Marco, who started the tree next to me just after I did.
“You’re catching up,” he says with a grin as he passes by with his full crate of olives. “Knew you would.”
Chapter 6
The day passes quickly, though I’m certain that is mostly because I started late. But even with the last start I still manage to finish the same amount of trees as I did the previous day, and I end the day feeling more than a touch of pride.
I am improving. I can do this. My muscles are still sore, I’d almost kill for a massage, but I’m actually getting faster.
Tonight I ride with everyone back to the Mill, and we unload together. There’s such a strong sense of camaraderie amongst them, so different to my own family, and so many families I know, where all the members are all so busy with their own individual pursuits that they scarcely see each other, let alone develop this sort of rapport.
We arrive at the mill, and I grab a crate, following Giovanni into the building.
“Woah.” I can’t help but stop in my track when I lay eyes on the stack of olive crates. Last time I was in here there were a few dozens, but that amount has easily tripled.
They’re high against the wall, well above my head, and several layers deep along the back wall.
“Careful there,” Alessandro is behind me, and he manages to swerve at the last minute so as not to run into me with his load.
“Sorry.” I wait till he’s passed and then follow behind to add my crate to the growing pile.
“It’s been a good harvest this year,” Stefano says, setting down his load and standing to admire the harvest, his hands on his hips. We’ve done well, almost half again what we had with the same section last year. And the olives are all of a better quality.” He nods, mostly to himself. “We’ll make a good profit this year.”
“And that will make for one hell of a party!” Marco says, winking at me.
“A party?” I’m surprised, though I don’t know why. What little I know of Italian culture they certainly enjoy their celebrations. I guess I imagined Stefano too strict to allow anything like that.
Anna grins. “The best party. And we don’t even have to wait until we’ve finished harvesting the grove. We’ll have a small celebration at the first processing of the olives into oil. You’ve not tasted anything like it, Savannah.” She kisses her fingertips. “The flavor of freshly pressed oil is like nothing else. Almost instantly, the oil begins to mellow, and age, but that first tasting the flavor is most intense. Delicious.”
“Perfecto.” Alessandro murmurs, coming in close behind his wife. As his hands slide around her waist she twists her head to face him and they kiss.
I feel a strange tingling inside, and my face seems to burn, so I look away.
“Must be time for dinner,” Giovanni says, ushering Stella and Sofia out the door. “Let’s go help your grandmother.”
All the adults laugh.
“Savannah,” Stefano says. “Will you help me sweep out the trailer, ready for tomorrow?”
I nod, and Stefano hands me a broom.
Marco has one as well. “Are we all sweeping the trailer?” I ask. It’s a large trailer, but I don’t see why we need three adults to do the job.
Stefano laughs. “No. Marco is sweeping up all the dropped leaves in here.” He points to the ground. “We don’t want to leave them there. They might go dry and crunchy at first, but soon they start to rot, and that’s when they get slippery. You don’t want anything slippery on the floor when people are carrying large heavy crates full of precious olives.”
I laugh. “No. That’s for sure.”
Stefano grins. “Come on.”
I follow him out the door, and we stand virtually side by side, running the brooms down the length of the trailer.
“Where do you put the leaves?” I ask.
“Just sweep them onto the ground, here, that will be fine,” Stefano says.
We do it almost simultaneously, and then he jumps down from the trailer, offering me a hand to help me do the same. His hand is warm, and the moment our fingers brush together I feel a tingle, ever so glad it’s dusk, and the light is not so bright as before, so he can’t see my face.
Once both my feet are on the ground again I pull my hand away, but he gives it a squeeze and doesn’t let go.
I look up, to see him watching me, his gaze intense.
“I have more to apologize for, Savannah,” he says, his voice husky.
A shiver travels my spine, and I swallow.
“What’s that?”
“Your father and I have been friends for many years. And though I am a good decade younger than he, yet I still cannot quite picture him as being old enough for adult children.”
“Okay.” There’s a waver in my voice, and I swallow, again.
“I have been treating you as a child, Savannah, because in my mind you could not be an adult. But I see that you are. I have been withholding your allowance, as your father asked me to do, but that is not an appropriate way to treat an adult. It is not at all respectful to you, and puts me in the position of master, rather than friend. And I do hope we can be friends, Savannah. I see that you do work hard, that you try your best, and I respect that.”
My tongue is tied and I can’t seem to speak, so instead I simply nod.
“You are a beautiful woman, Savannah. I don’t know if you know that. I find most American women who come here do not see their own beauty, and you should, you all should.”
He drops my hand, and watches me.
I don’t know what to say. My heart is pounding, and there’s a rush of warmth that has spread, not just through my chest, but through my groin too, and all of a sudden all I want him to do is kiss me, but h
e’s my father’s friend, and my boss, and I’m pretty certain that would be a really, really, bad idea.
I lick my lips.
If I lean in, just a little, will he take the hint? Will he kiss me? And if he initiates the kiss, then surely that will be better for me, later, if it doesn’t work out?
“How long does it take two people to clean a trailer?” Marco pokes his head out the door, pulling both our gazes towards him, and I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or frustrated when Stefano strides towards him.
“We are just finished, brother.”
“I should think so,” Marco says. “Time to eat, anyway. I’m starving. You ready, Savannah?”
I realize I’m still standing by the trailer when Marco looks back at me. I see something in his eyes, though I don’t know what it is. It’s not jealousy. Though he does seem a little hurt.
Or perhaps it’s all in my mind. Perhaps Stefano was not just about to kiss me, despite his speech about realizing I am an adult, a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Perhaps that’s just the way all Italian men speak, and there’s nothing to read into it at all. They are supposed to be the best at romance, aren’t they? Maybe it’s because we American women read more into their words than they actually intend.
“Yes, I’m ready. Sorry, just lost in thought.” I start to follow the brothers.
“Ah, yes. My brother is very good at that.” Marco glances at his brother and grins. There’s certainly no hostility there.
I shake my head. It must be my imagination. As if either of these men would be interested in me. Seriously.
Dinner is the usual rowdy affair, though tonight I can’t keep my mind of Stefano’s words, or the look in Marco’s eyes. I try to keep up with the conversation, but my mind is a whirl of possibilities, fantasizing about the impossible.
“Are you alright, Savannah?”
I glance up to see Rosa looking at me with some concern, and I force a smile.
“I am, thank you. Just a bit tired, I think.”
“Ah, yes. It’s been a tough few days for you. A bit of a culture shock, I would think, and so much work. You’ve done a marvelous job adapting so quickly.”
Her Double Punishment Page 8
