The yards of gray wool almost tripped me the entire way down the narrow stairs and out into the alley. I almost preferred the strangulating corset and petticoat to the heavy contraption.
I moved as swiftly as I could down the streets to the Ognissanti, fearing that someone might stop me to perform some Godly function. Antonella and Amerigo trailed far enough behind, so it wouldn’t appear as though a lowly nun, who had taken a vow of poverty, had servants. When I reached the tall, wooden doors of the church, I paused for a moment. I knew it was the only way to see Sandro and yet my future realm still terrified me.
“Could you go get him for me?” I asked Antonella, plaintively.
“I cannot be your servant here, remember?” she said, sarcastically. “Go on, we haven’t all night!” She gave me a shove about as gentle as her hair brushing. I tripped three steps through the threshold and by the time I regained my balance, I was well into the narthex. I closed my eyes and cringed, waiting for the Abbess to turn on her death stare and render me a pile of ash. But when I opened my eyes, I was still in one piece, with no one but the gentle Leonardo in front of me.
“Proceed swiftly,” Leonardo urged. “I will intercept her in the Great Cloister.”
I nodded in agreement, and quickly moved past him, my head lowered as if in reverence to God. I thought about how many years I’d spent in the afterlife with the silent remains of Sandro in the Ognissanti, and how magical it would be to experience the church with him now.
I walked into the nave unscathed, but marveled at how different the church looked in this time. The walls were gray and severely stark, lacking any natural light from the not-yet-added vaulted windows, and everything seemed to be coated in candle soot. In the modern day, Sandro’s Saint Augustine is situated on the right side of the nave while Ghirlandaio’s Saint Jerome faces it from the left. Neither Sandro nor any part of his fresco could be seen, but I heard his voice emanating through the church.
A large doorway to the right of the high altar exposed a room full of people and candlelight. I entered the room cautiously, mindful to keep my eyes lowered. Sandro was on the right of the doorway, facing the front of the church, balanced on some scaffolding, while Filippino mixed gesso below.
Another painter, presumably Domenico Ghirlandaio by the gaggle of apprentices that buzzed around, worked on the left side of the doorway. The frescoes were not intended to face one another at all, as they do in the future, nor be prominently displayed. They were only meant to be seen within the cloistered community in this enclosed choir.
I stood behind Sandro for a moment as if in quiet, holy contemplation. Filippino glanced my direction, but kept to his mixing, proving my disguise effective.
“Would you be the one who dares compete with Ghirlandaio?” I asked, in a low tone. Having obviously recognized my voice, Sandro spun around, then gasped when he saw my getup. “I’m Suara Anastasia.”
“Si, Suara,” Sandro coughed to clear his throat. “Not only do I compete, but I shall out-paint the Garland Maker.” He tilted his head, and cast his eyes towards the east chapels, a clear signal meant just for me.
Ghirlandaio turned his head towards Sandro for a moment and laughed. Clearly this was a friendly competition.
I sauntered slowly away from the artistic zone in the direction Sandro had indicated. Shortly thereafter, he followed after me and whispered in my ear, “Meet me in the refectory.”
The refectory was through the Great Cloister, but I had no choice but to chance it. I crossed quickly, taking note of Leonardo sitting next to the Abbess across the courtyard. They were past the colonnade, chatting on a bench. Leonardo was oblivious to me racing by, but the Abbess stared directly at me and smiled, while caressing the Miraculous Medal she wore around her neck. She made no motions to pursue me, but instead informed me of her omnipotent powers with her evil grin.
The refectory was empty when I entered, with nothing but tables and chairs set up to a prison-like order. I stared at the far wall where Ghirlandaio had recently completed his Last Supper, which curved up into the arched ceiling. I had always thought he had won that commission by beating Sandro in their contest, but clearly he simply completed it first.
I sat down in one of the chairs to admire the fresco, which featured Jesus and eleven haloed disciples on one side of the long table, while the halo-free Judas remained alone on the other. I was so fixated on the scene that I didn’t notice a monk enter the refectory until he took a seat next to me—even though there were at least fifty empty chairs to choose from. I decided to keep my eyes straight forward, in humble reverence to the religious painting.
“I am Brother Martino,” he whispered.
Brother Martino?
Most of the words from his future painting escaped me for the moment, but the realization was clear. I brazenly yanked the hood down from the monk’s gray woolen habit, revealing Sandro’s jovial face. Now I knew he used the words to refer to himself.
“I thought this might make you more at ease, Suara.” Sandro laughed.
“You look ridiculous,” I replied.
“Yes, but you are still beautiful. How did you get here alone?”
“Alone? I wish. Antonella and Amerigo are just outside.”
“It has been a night of strange events, I must say. I believe Leonardo is in the Great Cloister sketching the Abbess.
“Oh, really?” I asked, turning my head.
“My wish is to show you my plan for this commission, but unfortunately I cannot. Your father-in-law intended for me to compete with Ghirlandaio’s commission from the Umiliati, but we have opted instead to collaborate.”
“Collaborate? How so?”
“We have decided to paint the frescos as pendants. Domenico’s Saint Jerome is inspired by a small picture by a Flemish painter named Petrus Christus. Lorenzo has it in his collection. But mine shall be exclusively from my imagination. We shall set both in a cell, with Augustine and Jerome writing at their desks. Up until recently the Umiliati order of the Ognissanti vowed to earn their living solely by the work of their own hands, spinning and weaving wool, but now they have adopted the rule of Saint Benedict, which stresses study. Augustine and Jerome shall monitor the brethren from the choir in their pursuit of divine and human learning.”
I still didn’t understand what any of that had to do with Sandro writing words about Brother Martino in his fresco. “Why did you refer to him as the Garland Maker?”
“Because that is the meaning of his nickname.”
“Another nickname?” I laughed.
“His true name is Domenico di Tommaso di Currado di Doffo Bigordi.”
“No wonder he shortened it.”
“His father is famous for creating metallic garland-like headdresses for Florentine women. All of his children are now referred to as Ghirlandaio.”
“Of course, they are.”
I couldn’t help the sarcasm. It would be like calling me doctor, because my biological father was a Cardiologist.
“I am pleased to have seen you before the joust,” Sandro said, gazing at me. I leaned over to kiss him, but he backed away. “But I should not have asked you to come.”
I was embarrassed at first, but then wondered, “Is it because we’re dressed like this and in a church?”
“Yes, of course.” He sighed. “Honestly, no. It is because you are to be given to Giuliano and my hopes remain in vain. Any more contact only makes our inevitable separation more difficult. Perhaps this should be the last time we rendezvous.”
“Really? But—” My argument was cut off by the sensation of another presence in the refectory. I turned to see the Abbess strutting straight towards me, rolling a coin across her right knuckles, and Leonardo trailing helplessly behind. I stood up quickly, and Sandro followed my lead.
“I have something for you, Anastasia,” announced the Abbess; the sound of her voice slicing right through me, leaving my soul bare. She reached her hand out, displaying the coin in her palm.
“No! I d
on’t want it!” I barked, as though she were threatening to melt me with holy water. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself dashing past her, out of the refectory, winding through the Great Cloister, the nave, and the narthex to claim my freedom on the outside.
Chapter 35
Antonella and Amerigo sat idling on a bench in the piazza facing the Arno River, when I hastily rejoined them.
“Let’s go!” I insisted, grabbing them both by the collar from behind. A passerby stopped to stare, as I manhandled the servants in my holy robe.
“Where is the painter?” Antonella asked.
Holy crap.
I had just darted away from him with no explanation, right after yelling at the Abbess like a lunatic. I left Sandro alone with her, and panicked that the Abbess might give me away, tell him I’m an imposter, and reinforce his decision not to see me anymore.
“He’s back in the church, Antonella. He doesn’t want to meet with me again. Can we just go now?”
I did an impatient dance, and when they didn’t immediately spring to their feet, I dashed off alongside the river towards the bridge, without even turning around to see if the Abbess, Sandro, or Leonardo pursued me.
I grabbed the mounds of gray wool that made up my skirt and sprinted across the Ponte alla Carraia, with my veil flapping in the air. When I reached the tavern on the other side, I turned around to find no one but Antonella and Amerigo behind me. While I waited for them to catch up, I tried to concoct an explanation for my hasty flight, but I was interrupted by a drunkard who threw himself down on my feet.
“Sisser, can you help an ol’ man?”
“With what?” I asked impatiently.
“I ‘ave shinned.”
“Well, knock it off!” I barked, as I kicked him from my feet, anxious to dull my night with some vino.
He looked up at me in shock, and I recognized him as the drunk, Paolo, that had tried to pick me up in the tavern the week before.
“Sisser, you’re so be-u-tiful,” Paolo blithered as he struggled to his feet. He reached into his pockets for coins as he had done the week prior.
“Seriously? Have you no shame? I’m a goddamn nun!”
“I’s jus’ tryin’ to make a donation,” Paolo slurred.
“Thanks,” I said, as I ripped a flask of booze out of his hands, and downed whatever horrible solvent it contained. “Now, say a hundred Hail Marys, you swine!” I stomped off towards Antonella and Amerigo, who had already dirtied up their faces.
“Giovanna!” I grumbled to Antonella, “Where do I change outta this crap?”
“At the brothel, of course.” She shrugged and pointed in front of us. I followed her up the stairs to the level above the tavern. I hadn’t noticed it as such, since it lacked a neon sign, red light, or any other markings that would indicate it as a den of sin in my time.
“Buenasera, Guido,” greeted a blonde, heavily made-up prostitute poised behind a counter.
Amerigo leaned onto the counter and smiled. “Buenasera, Vittoria. Could our companion use a room to change her clothing?”
Vittoria scanned me up and down and rolled her eyes as if she’d seen it all, then pointed to a door at the end of the hall. I yanked the servant’s dress out of Antonella’s satchel, and scurried towards the room, quickly shutting myself behind the door in a small, curtained dressing area, before worming my way out of the wooly habit.
When I pulled the frock over my head, I sent the veil flying under the drape. I reached down to retrieve it and couldn’t help but spy a larger room on the other side of the curtain where a prostitute was servicing a customer.
I crouched down and marveled for a moment at the naked, curvaceous woman, as she stripped off the john’s clothing in the candlelight, the look of ecstasy on his face as she caressed him, and whispered to him, and made him feel like he was the only man in the world. It was not at all the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of encounter I would’ve expected. It had been so long since I’d felt that kind of physical pleasure, that even though the scenario wasn’t at all about love, I felt envy.
I thought about Sandro, and his avoidance, and pondered the fact that the following day I’d be given—wrapped like a gift box—to the handsome Giuliano. If I couldn’t have the one I loved, should I embrace the situation and try to enjoy sex with Mr. Wrong? Relish in the knowledge that I’d be the only woman in history to be devirginized twice?
The door opened behind me, and struck me in the side, causing me to somersault naked right into the action. The john smiled broadly as though he were the recipient of a special two-for-the-price-of-one bonus, but I quickly crawled back to the safe side of the curtain.
“Can you not do anything by yourself?” Antonella scoffed from behind me.
“Apparently not,” I answered in shame, as I got up from the floor.
“I shall be there to instruct you at the Medici’s, Simonetta. Do not fear.”
I just sighed and helplessly raised my arms up like the puppet I was, so that Antonella could put on my servant’s gown.
The air was still, as I sauntered down the outdoor stairs behind Antonella and Amerigo, from the brothel to the tavern. The festive atmosphere severely belied my mood, but then I saw Mariano and remembered I had a purpose in this world that didn’t just involve my love life.
I plopped myself into an empty stool at the bar next to Mariano, bearing a Cheshire-cat grin. “Mariano Filipepi! Fancy meeting you here!” I enthused.
He slowly looked up from his goblet, without a smile for me. “I am always here, Stacia. It is you who have been missing.”
“Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Is everything all right with you?” Ever since I’d awakened in this world, we’d never been farther apart.
“As you know, my brother, Jacopo, has been quite ill.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sandro has not been to see him in several days.” Mariano frowned.
“I’d tell him to go to his uncle.” I said, scratching my head, “But I don’t think I’ll be seeing him for a while.”
“May I ask you, Stacia, what is the nature of your relationship with Sandro?”
Without thinking I blurted my answer. “I assure you, it’s not his doing…but I’m in love with him.”
I decided I had to tell Mariano the truth. What was I in this world for, if not to do such a thing? I needed to prove to Mariano that his son was worth loving, even if he was to be loved by the Fair Simonetta.
“You? In love with him?”
“I’m aware that I’m a married woman, but it wasn’t my choice to marry. It was arranged between our parents. Even Lorenzo had a hand in it. If I could choose, it wouldn’t be Marco or Giuliano. I would choose Sandro.” Without another word, Mariano stood from his barstool, and stormed out of the tavern.
Chapter 36
A crowd camped outside the Palazzo Vespucci beginning in the very early hours of the morning as if they were waiting for a Black Friday sale at Walmart. Uncertain if I’d slept at all, I was awake and in a haze when Antonella came to prepare me. I spent the majority of the night pondering what I had botched in Simonetta’s name. Not only had I managed to increase Mariano’s hostility towards Sandro, but I’d also ruined Sandro’s friendship with Simonetta. If I hadn’t pursued Sandro in an intimate way, he wouldn’t have wanted to avoid me. And something about my feelings for Sandro sent Mariano over the edge, leaving the father and son relationship still severely impaired.
I hadn’t even bothered to try on the dress that Giuliano had given me. I knew it would fit perfectly just as the others had. And it was just as beautiful, made of cascading white taffeta, lace and pearls, spangled with gold brocade—fit for a wedding dress of a modern day celebrity.
Lorenzo had sent over an attendant from his own household to assist Antonella with what would be my most complicated hairstyle yet, and the most bejeweled. Braids, weaved and twisted with strings of pearls, and speckled with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds dazzled my head.
The process took several hours, but when complete, I sparkled from head to toe.
“You must take off that god-awful necklace,” Antonella chastised, referring to my Miraculous Medal.
“I won’t, Antonella. Cover it up if you must, but the necklace stays.” I suspected this was just what the Abbess wanted, for me to take off the one thing that connected me with my former self. I knew it was possible that if I did remove it, my consciousness would vanish from this world without even having to wait for Simonetta’s predestined death. Selfishly, I clung to it, and refused to yield.
Carlo guarded my door at all times, and when he finally unlocked it and released me from my cage, Marco was waiting in the sitting room. I couldn’t bring myself to even glance in his direction.
“I came to see you off,” Marco said weakly. “I shall not be seated next to you at the joust.” I snubbed him with my silence, without even casting him a glance. “You must know it is not I who has done this,” Marco said as he pointed to the door.
“It’s your father then?”
“Yes, he will let nothing foil his ambitions.” Marco lowered his head.
“Ambitions for what?”
“The election to the Priorate, of course.”
“So you don’t want a seat for yourself on the Council of the Signoria?”
“No, Simonetta. I have no political ambitions of my own. And now I realize you have been made a pawn in my father’s scheme.”
“Then do something about it, Marco! Get me out of this arrangement,” I wailed.
“I am sorry, Simonetta. I cannot,” he muttered, before scampering out of my sitting room.
Antonella rushed over to me with a handkerchief to pat my tearing eyes. “You shall ruin all my work.” She smiled sympathetically. I felt empty and had no words left to utter.
What Remains of the Fair Simonetta Page 19
