by Diana Fraser
Ursula looked away from Marianna’s thoughtful gaze. “Perhaps he doesn’t want children.”
“He wants children all right. It’s his past he doesn’t want to leave behind.”
“Total opposite to me, then.”
Marianna popped the meat back in the oven and began working on some fish. “How so?”
“I’m quite happy to move on, to leave my past behind. And I won’t be having children.”
“Really?” Marianna stopped what she was doing and stared at Ursula in disbelief. “Why’s that?”
“I hated my childhood. I was brought up by my grandmother when my parents split up. My mother went to live in Antigua with a wealthy man whose plans certainly didn’t include a child that wasn’t his, and my father’s work had him constantly traveling around the world. I have two full siblings who are much older than me, who weren’t so affected by my parent’s divorce. But I was lonely and I’m all too aware of the tragedy of bringing a child into the world on a whim. There will be no whims for me.”
“That’s fair enough, but maybe you’ll change your mind when you meet the right man.”
“I can’t see that happening. No, I’ll never have kids. And that’s fine with me.”
There was a scrape of a chair close by and Marianna and Ursula both turned to see Demetrio pushing his mother’s wheelchair into place under the scrubbed pine table. He frowned as he helped his mother with something. Ursula had no idea whether he’d heard her or not. “Smells good,” he said.
Marianna turned around to stir the sauce for the tortellini which was beginning to catch. “Salt cod, eel, and tortellini.”
“A feast, as usual.”
“Uncle!” shouted Carolina from the other room.
“Excuse me, my tyrants call.” He walked back into the hall where the children were hiding, very ineptly.
“Feast!” Nonna repeated grumpily. “We had plain pasta growing up. Nothing fancy like these southern fish dishes.”
“Oh, Nonna! You know you enjoy them,” said Marianna.
Nonna leaned across the table and began preparing vegetables. “In my day Christmas Eve was a time for fasting. I like tradition.”
Marianna shared a conspiratorial grin with Ursula. “And we like tradition, too, Nonna. First, we have the procession with the torches through the street and the lighting of the fire. And then, although there is food in the square, we will eat back here before we go to Midnight Mass.”
Church? Ursula couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to church with the aim of participating, rather than appreciating its architecture and art.
Marianna reached over and gave the contents of Ursula’s saucepan a stir and pushed the milk towards her, nodded encouragingly for Ursula to blend the two. Ursula sloshed in the liquid and immediately splashed herself with the first turn of the wooden spoon. Marianna passed her an apron.
“Tradition is what I like,” Nonna repeated as if nothing had been said. She looked peevishly out to the hall from where shouts of the children and Demetrio could be heard. “I wish Demetrio was more interested in tradition.”
“How can you say that, Nonna? You know how much he cares about this place.”
Nonna shrugged. “You know what I mean.”
Marianna shot her a quick, perceptive glance. “Are you in pain, Nonna?”
The old lady waved an irritated hand. “No more than usual.” But Ursula suddenly noticed the tell-tale creasing of lines around her eyes and the pinched look around her mouth. “Papa’s gone into town, to get me more medication. I’ll be fine. It’s Demetrio, I worry about. He should have children of his own.”
“Nonna!” Marianna exclaimed as she saw Demetrio standing in the kitchen door, having stopped abruptly as he heard his mother’s last words. But Nonna had her back to the door.
“Demetrio’s waited long enough. Elisabetta’s been dead these two years.”
Ursula watched the fun drain from Demetrio’s face as the children slipped away quietly, aware of the sudden change in atmosphere.
“I didn’t realize there was a set time for mourning,” he said.
Nonna turned suddenly. “I’m just worried about you, Demetrio. I want to see you happy and settled.”
“Nonna’s not feeling well, Demetrio,” Marianna interjected, trying to calm things.
Demetrio smiled reassuringly at Marianna before dropping a kiss on his mother’s head. “Has Papa gone for more medicine?”
“Yes,” replied Nonna. “But it’s you I’m worried about.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for your concern, but I can assure you I’m fine.”
“You’ll be more fine with children.”
“Maybe. But children aren’t something one can pluck out of thin air, not something I can conjure up with a click of my fingers. If, and when, the time is right, then of course I’ll have children.”
Nonna sighed, and patted his hand. “You’re a good boy, my son. I just want the best for you. I don’t understand these modern ways. In my day we courted, married and had children. Life was simple.”
The turn of the conversation was making Ursula nervous, and she focused on the saucepan before her, in which the solid mass remained unaffected by the pool of milk which was beginning to bubble around it. She prodded it with the spoon. Somehow she doubted it should look like that. How did you get two such disparate things to blend? Wasn’t that what electric mixers were for? Or, more to the point, wasn’t that what bakeries were for?
“Orsula, don’t you think Demetrio would make a good father?” Nonna cast her bespectacled gaze on Ursula. Demetrio rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“Nonna!” remonstrated Marianna.
Ursula didn’t like the way this conversation was progressing. She swallowed. She hadn’t felt this nervous since ninth grade when she’d been caught shopping when she should have been at school. “From what I’ve seen, yes, of course,” she said, hoping that would end the conversation. She turned quickly back to the saucepan whose ingredients were no closer to amalgamating than when she’d started.
“And do you want children, Ursula?”
“Nonna!” Demetrio and Marianna exclaimed in unison.
Ursula’s heart beat fast, but honesty was important to her. She was a cuckoo in this family’s nest, an interloper, someone who couldn’t cook, and who had no intention of ever having children.
She shook her head. “No.” She smiled regretfully at Demetrio and Marianna. “I’m not planning to have children.”
If the hush had been awkward up till that point, it was even more so now. Ursula glanced from one to the other of them, their faces holding a mixture of surprise and disbelief. All except Demetrio, who looked sad. He blinked and looked away.
“Enough of the interrogation,” Demetrio said, as he poured his mother a cup of coffee and placed it on the table in front of her. “Ursula is a guest here, and her plans are none of your… or our business.”
Marianna mouthed “sorry” to her. But it didn’t make her feel any better. Demetrio’s use of the word “our” made Ursula feel suddenly empty. She stopped stirring. By using the word “our,” he’d accepted the barrier which she’d placed between them. He plainly wanted children, and she didn’t. Family was important to him, and it wasn’t to her. She tried to swallow down the lump that had risen from nowhere. But it refused to budge—much like the lump at the bottom of the saucepan. The gas flame licked around the base of the pan.
“Is that burning I can smell?” Nonna wheeled herself to the stove, and Ursula stepped away as Marianna rushed over and took the pan off the heat. They both looked at Ursula who stepped back toward the door.
“Sorry, I—”
Just then Papa entered the room, whistling under his breath. His eyes darted from one to the other before he poured a glass of water, and put the medicine in front of his wife. “Adela, here’s your medicine.” He sat down. “Ursula, come sit beside me and talk to an old man.”
But she couldn’t. �
��I’m sorry. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just step outside for some fresh air.”
“Of course,” Marianna exclaimed, too heartily. “The path through the farmyard takes you to the top of the ridge. There’s a lovely view from up there.”
Ursula didn’t need telling twice and, without looking around, she went into the hall, donned the oversized gray sweater, hat and scarf she’d borrowed from Marianna, and slipped outside into the freezing air. The cold air burned her lungs, and slowed the urgent beating of her heart which thudded like a warning that, as amazing as this world was, it wasn’t hers and would never be.
She walked past the farm buildings, pushed open the gate that Marianna had indicated and walked quickly along the forest path, hardly aware of the beauty of the white landscape, just needing to put distance between herself and that alien world that could never be hers.
Puffed with exertion, she reached the top of the hill and looked around. Hands on hips she regained her breath as she marveled at the beauty all around her—from the ancient chestnut trees to the mountain that rose up beyond them. The light had changed from the brilliance of early morning and a hazy mist now muted the contours of the land.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She jumped around. “Demetrio! I didn’t realize—”
“That I was following you?” He grinned and walked up beside her. “Of course I was. My mother was worried she’d upset you. My mother wouldn’t usually say such things. But she’s not well, and she appears to be worried about me.” He shrugged. “Why, I don’t know. And so she said things she’d never normally say.”
Ursula shrugged. “She was only speaking her mind.” It was her turn to smile. “I’m not used to that.”
“It’s not always a good thing. But she is sorry, so I hope you won’t hold it against her.”
“Of course not. Your mother has made me most welcome and has been so kind. But…”
“But she’s from a different world. Tradition is everything to her. And, although she doesn’t seem to believe me, it’s everything to me, too. The older I get, the more I realize it. Take these woods. We’ve had offers for this land, but Papa has always refused them. And, when I inherit, I’ll continue to refuse them.”
“What do they want to do with it?”
“One company wanted to build luxury cabins in the woods. Another company wanted the trees for logging.” He slapped the trunk of a tree, stroking his hand against its rough bark as though it were the most luxurious fabric. “But they’re not going anywhere.”
As Demetrio gazed around his white world, Ursula was aware that she was in the presence of an emotionally fulfilled man. He may have loved his wife, may be missing her; he may want to love again, but there was nothing he needed from anyone. He was secure in himself. She’d never met anyone like him before. “This is all you need, isn’t it?”
“Si.”
“Your mother was wrong, wasn’t she? You’re not living in the past. You loved your wife, but you don’t need anyone.”
“Maybe not ‘need,’ but I’d like to share my life—the good and the bad—with someone.” He glanced at her. “A special someone.”
“Good. I like to think of you, and your family, here, preserving traditions. This is your place in the world. You all belong here.”
“And you? Where do you belong?”
“Not here.” She shrugged. “Not anywhere really.”
He turned and faced her, his expression thoughtful. “You are an enigma. You come from nowhere and tell me you’re going somewhere, anywhere—that the where doesn’t matter. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She tried to laugh, but it didn’t sound convincing. “We’re few and far between.” She attempted to drag her eyes from his gaze but failed.
He didn’t join in her laughter. Instead, he stepped closer to her, his expression serious. He brought his hand to her cheek and held it there gently, his eyes holding her gaze, intent, trying to understand. “Will you stay until the New Year?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but no word formed. Demetrio smiled and brought his other hand to her other cheek.
“Hm?”
She moved her head in his hands, trying to give a negative response but the feel of his hands on her cheek, his fingers moving in her hair under her hat made her close her eyes instead and breathe him in. She swallowed.
“Ursula?”
Then she felt his lips on hers, warm and gentle, moving over hers in a brief but sensuous kiss. She swayed toward him, and he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her under his open jacket. “Ursula? Will you stay a little longer?”
She half-shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but his lips claimed hers once more before she could respond. And there was no thinking with his mouth upon hers, urging her to do and to feel things she couldn’t remember ever having felt before. Eventually, he pulled away.
“You haven’t replied.”
She pressed her head against his chest. “And how am I meant to reply when you keep kissing me?”
He stepped away so he could see her clearly. “I’ve stopped now. Although I can’t promise that if I see another negative response about to appear, I won’t kiss you again.”
“I can’t, Demetrio.”
He frowned. “Why? You said you’ve nothing planned until the New Year.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve all been very kind. I don’t know where I’d be without you. But…”
He lifted her chin with his finger. “But?”
“I don’t want to get to know you any better.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She slapped him playfully on the chest. “You Italians are so vain.”
“It’s nothing to do with vanity. More, Ms. Adamsson, to do with the way you kissed me. I don’t have the wide experience of many men—I was nineteen when I married—but I can tell when someone is enjoying a kiss or not. And you enjoyed it.”
“I can’t deny that.”
“And yet you still maintain you have no wish to get to know me better?”
“I wish to, but I won’t let myself.” She pulled away. “Look around you. As you said, this is your world. It’s not mine. I don’t belong here, Demetrio. It’s that simple. I’m not one for tradition.”
“And what’s so wrong with tradition?”
She shuddered. “It stifles.”
“Only if it’s the wrong kind of tradition. My world, here, doesn’t stifle. In fact, it does the opposite. It sets me free.” He narrowed his gaze which was firmly fixed on her. “What happened to you to make you say that?”
She swallowed and fixed a blank smile on her face. It was the easiest way to recount her early childhood. “After my parents split up I was sent to live with my grandmother. She lived in a mausoleum of a mansion on the outskirts of Stockholm. I had a private tutor until I was eleven and barely left the house.”
“Go on.”
“And then, at eleven, I was sent to boarding school in England. A strange experience for a girl whose little English she did know, was learned from storybooks and was a generation out of date.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was. And I swore to myself that I’d never be trapped in one building, in one place, in one city ever again. And I haven’t been.”
“You haven’t been tempted?”
“Yes, of course. But it never worked out. And”—she shrugged—“in hindsight, it was for the best.”
He tilted his head to one side. “You’re scared.”
“No, I’m—”
“You can deny it all you like, but you’re terrified of commitment.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, of course. I commit to many things.”
“Like what?”
“A job.”
“A job for which you travel all the time.”
“Friends…”
“Friends whom you fly in to see, before leaving again a few
days later. Ursula, you’re a beautiful woman, messed up by your childhood. And instead of addressing it, you patch it up, avoiding the real issues.”
“I’m still leaving, no matter what you believe to be true of me.”
“Are you?” He smiled a confident smile that confused Ursula.
“Yes.”
“Ursula Adamsson, I’m going to win you round.”
She shook her head. “And how are you going to do that?”
“By showing you traditions you’ll like, traditions you won’t want to leave behind.”
“Demetrio! I’m a million miles from the traditions you and your family enjoy.”
“A million miles? You can traverse a million miles, a mile at a time.”
“It’s too far,” she said, wishing she could lie and agree with him. But she couldn’t do that to him.
“If I can show you a tradition you enjoy, will you promise to extend your stay by one more day?”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”
He shrugged. “Might be crazy, but do you agree?”
She couldn’t hold back the laughter that was bubbling up from deep inside, releasing the tension. “Okay. One challenge, one day. Agreed.”
Chapter 4
It was late afternoon before they all arrived at Abbadia. Marianna had driven her mother, father and little Lorenzo, and Carolina and Tomasso had traveled with Demetrio and Ursula in the Land Rover.
Ursula helped the children out of the car and into the snowy square, serenaded by a group of carolers singing traditional songs. It was past five, but the street in front of the Commune building was bright with lights. Golden lanterns hung above the street vendor stalls, and silver lights decorated two huge Christmas trees. And it would soon be brighter still when the massive bonfire in front of the Town Hall was lit. Despite the late hour, all the shops were open, and people spilled from the cafés out onto the street, where every second person appeared to be dressed up as Santa Claus.
With the two children between Ursula and Demetrio, they made their way to Marianna’s car and helped Nonna into her wheelchair. Marianna handed Lorenzo to Nonna who held him firmly under her blankets. Demetrio wheeled the chair, while Papa slipped his arm through Marianna’s. For some reason Ursula couldn’t fathom, both the elder children took her hands so naturally that she briefly stopped in her tracks, unable to believe what she was doing. Then Carolina tugged at her, and she was in the moment again. But certainly not her usual kind of moment.
