Under a Sardinian Sky

by Sara Alexander

  “Everything okay? I assured her we had concluded the sweep this morning. Nothing more found.”

  “Yes, fine. She sent us to give you this.”

  Carmela handed the envelope to him. He reached out a hand and took the lilac package. Carmela noted his scrubbed nails. As he began to unseal the invitation, the doors opened. Kavanagh looked toward the sound. His face lit up. The girls spun round. A slight woman with an elfin, heart-shaped face stood in the doorway. She had a neat auburn bob, a spray of freckles on her white cheeks, and a baby dangling on her hip.

  Kavanagh ran. He wrapped his arms around her delicate frame. Then he took her cheeks in his big hands, gazed deep into the languid green pools of her eyes, and ran his lips all over her face. She laughed and whispered his name. Carmela, Piera, and the receptionist looked on, moved by the unbridled joy of the couple’s reunion while feeling like awkward trespassers.

  The baby caught Carmela’s eye, bemused, till he was swooped up in Kavanagh’s arms. He bowed his head in, inhaling the infant. Carmela remembered doing the same when she had been handed new baby cousins for the first time. Few things came close to the innocent pleasure of a baby’s warm, oaty smell. She bent down to retrieve the envelope from the floor and handed it back to the receptionist, wondering when it would reach the recipient. Then she hooked her arm in Piera’s, signaling their exit.

  Kavanagh disappeared into his baby son and wife. He did not notice the sisters step out into the crimson dusk.

  CHAPTER 9

  In the early morning of the picnic day, Kavanagh pulled into the Curwins’ villa driveway and parked his jeep beside Antonio’s polished taxi. He stepped out and ran around to the other side, took the bundle of baby in his arms, and reached his hand for Virginia, who grasped his fingers and stepped out. She looked up at the house, taking in the bougainvillea blooms creeping around the arched lobby of the huge wooden door. “You’d do well to convince Captain Casler to put you up in a palace like this, Joe. I’m not sure I can put up with the deathly gray of the base for too long! You’re a family man now.”

  “If anyone’s moving off base to a home like this, Ginny, it’ll be Casler.”

  “I saw how he looked at you at dinner last night. He adores you. You’re the son he never had.”

  Seymour squirmed. Kavanagh adjusted his blanket and rang the bell.

  “Buon giorno,” Carmela said, opening the door and welcoming the couple in.

  “Carmela, this is my wife, Virginia.”

  “Piacere,” Carmela said, shaking Virginia’s hand, noticing how delicate her fingers felt. Before Carmela could gesture for them to make their way to the terrace, Mrs. Curwin breezed in, her magenta chiffon beach gown billowing behind her.

  “My darlings, welcome! You must be Virginia. I’m Suzie.” She stretched out her hand and placed the other on the small of Virgina’s back, leading them through to the terrace. “Marito! Here’s the lieutenant’s first lady, bright as a button!”

  “Good morning, it’s a pleasure,” Mr. Curwin said, as he placed his linen napkin on top of his plate, scattered with the crumbed remnants of breakfast. He stretched out his hand for a polite shake of Virginia’s.

  “Your home is simply stunning.” Virginia smiled.

  “If only it were ours!” Mrs. Curwin said, pouring a tiny porcelain cup of coffee for Virginia. “Now I really have something to worry about, a Southern belle with eyes like those. I shan’t get a sensible conversation out of Marito all day!” She placed the saucer in Virginia’s hand with a breathy giggle.

  “Do excuse my wife, won’t you, dear,” Mr. Curwin said with a sardonic smile. “Picnics make British women a little overexcited. We so very rarely get to see the sun long enough to eat under it, you see.”

  Kavanagh pulled out a wooden chair for Virginia. She took a tentative seat.

  “Please do give me that package, Lieutenant. I haven’t smelled a baby’s head in far too long.” Mrs. Curwin wrapped her arms around Seymour and took him just beyond the terrace on a tour of the lemon trees, heavy with summer fruit beginning to glow in the rising sun.

  “Carmela, please see the boys are ready to leave,” Mr. Curwin said. “Antonio will help you load the car.”

  “Yes, Mr. Curwin.” Carmela turned toward the kitchen, catching Kavanagh’s eyes as she did. He took a breath to speak, but Mr. Curwin raised the coffeepot, offering a drink, and his attention shifted.

  Carmela found Antonio and Piera already packing three large wicker hampers up on the kitchen table.

  “She’s like a fairy,” Carmela said, setting down the breakfast tray upon the marble counter by the sink.

  “What’s she done now?” Piera asked without taking her eyes off the large, stuffed loaf she was swaddling in cotton cloths.

  “Not Mrs. Curwin, the lieutenant’s wife.”

  “Perhaps she can magically move the food here, then?”

  “Tell your sister to go half the speed and we’ll get this in quicker,” Antonio pleaded, looking at Carmela. “I say the same thing to my nephew—he’s Papa of the bar for the day, I’m trying him out.”

  Piera waved her hands in the air as if swatting flies. “Gas about the Americans all you like, I have work to do.”

  Carmela took her place beside them and loaded another hamper with peaches and plums wrapped in brown paper. She wanted to mention the fashionable mint green of Virginia’s immaculate linen dress, or the fact that nothing about her delicate frame suggested it had produced another living being only months ago, but thought better of it.

  As Antonio heaved the hampers and several canvas sun umbrellas into the trunk of his taxi, Carmela and Piera tried to round up the Curwin boys—who found great pleasure in hiding at the precise moment their cooperation was required. They were eventually discovered cowering in the bathtub of the upstairs bathroom. Roger, the golden boy, both in looks and personality, was hiding behind Vernon, his elder sibling. The latter teetered on the precipice of pubescence; his matt of dark locks flopping over his black eyes, forever bright with scheming mischief. Their cheeks were bronzed with a Sardinian summer, several shades darker than their usual pale skin. Carmela reached in a hand and hauled them out. “Come on now, you have a brand-new Sardinian taxi to ride in!” They leaped over the side of the tub and scuttled downstairs, sniggering, bundling into the backseat of Antonio’s taxi. Mrs. Curwin was sitting there already, too excited about the trip to let the boys’ escapades fluster her. Mr. Curwin slid onto the front seat beside Antonio.

  “Must we ride with the help?” Virginia asked, as Kavanagh helped her up into the passenger seat of the jeep.

  “It’s the least I can do in return for the scare the other night. Besides, an extra set of hands will come in useful with Seymour, don’t you think? They’re good folk.”

  Virginia looked down at her son’s sleepy face. “It’s hardly the romantic drive you promised, Joe.”

  “Just you wait. The views where we’re going even make me believe in God.”

  “If your father could hear you now, Joe,” she said with a flirtatious grin, “the most blasphemous son of a preacher man I ever did know. I praise the Lord for every irresistible drop of devil in you.”

  Carmela watched as the two kissed. She caught herself noticing the fullness of Kavanagh’s lips. Piera stomped in behind her carrying a leather sack of water and a cloth bag of formagelle, sweet cheese tarts. “If Grandmother could see us now,” she whispered.

  The sisters locked eyes, twinkling conspirators, and took their seats in the back of the jeep.

  The party began the descent toward the coast, winding through the hills on the outskirts of Simius. Each bend revealed neighboring villas. Cypress-tree-lined drives led off the main road toward small crumbling palaces, postcards from the glory days of the valley. Nestled high in the hills tiny, private stone chapels faced a copper horizon. Beyond the military base they turned west and climbed toward the Gennargentu forest, inland. The pavement gave way to white roads that wound through the al
der and yew woods, the air aromatic with lavender, myrtle, and thyme. The road grew steeper. Carmela and Piera could feel their ears popping. Seymour gave a jerk and began to wail.

  “Honey, pull over!” Virginia shouted over the rattle of the jeep.

  “I know a spot a little farther up,” Kavanagh called back, zigzagging to miss a pothole.

  The road narrowed. Carmela looked into the thicket as they passed ancient oaks and craggy corks—a place untouched, somewhere fairy tales were born.

  Kavanagh turned onto a narrower dirt track, the trees’ branches almost brushing against the side of the jeep. Moments later he reached a standstill by the edge of a tiny pool. For a brief moment, the hidden lagoon and the sound of the fresh water trickling over a cluster of low, shiny boulders beside it silenced even Seymour before he returned to his hungry lament with a frantic crescendo.

  “Mrs. Kavanagh, please, I can take baby while you get ready to feed,” Carmela offered, accustomed to helping her aunts with their newborns.

  The expression Virginia flashed her lay between confusion and affront.

  “Thank you, Carmela,” Kavanagh said, taking Seymour from Virginia. He twisted back to Carmela, passing Seymour over as if he were a delicate china cup. Kavanagh’s fingers brushed against her wrists as he pulled away. Although Seymour was red with fury and impatience, Carmela decided his cheeks were still edible, the blue of his eyes the absolute mirror of his father’s.

  Kavanagh opened the door for Virginia and then moved back to the trunk. Antonio pulled in beside him, his backseat vibrating with bickering boys squawking about nothing.

  “The ride didn’t seem quite so long when the children were smaller.” Mrs. Curwin sighed, stepping out and stretching. “But could we have asked for a prettier rest spot? Well done, Lieutenant—you know these back roads like a native!”

  Carmela looked up trying to see where Virginia had chosen to sit and nurse her boy, expecting to spy her on the smooth rocks a little way from the group, but a noise drew her around. Virginia was searching deep in the baggage for something. It was the first time she had seen the hint of a flustered new mother in the woman who, till now, appeared a young girl playing with a doll. A moment later she returned clasping a glass bottle with a decorative picture painted along the side. Carmela watched her unscrew the lid and flip it over to reveal a brown, rubber nipple. She placed it under her arm. Kavanagh, meanwhile, took out a small can and began to open it. A cream-colored liquid was poured from it and into the bottle. Virginia resumed her place upon the passenger seat, waiting for Kavanagh to hand her Seymour. He reached his arms out to Carmela, taking the screaming bundle for his wife. The nipple touched Seymour’s lips. His cries came to an instant halt. The sound of the water had to fight for an audience no longer.

  It came as no surprise that the whole operation had been orchestrated with well-rehearsed, military precision, though Carmela couldn’t help but wonder how on earth the woman scrambled through the nights if this dance had to be performed every few hours in the moonlight. She thought about Lucia, who took but seconds to loosen her shirt and cradle her babe to suckle at her breast.

  “Stop gawping and help me hand out the refreshments,” Piera said, hopping out of the jeep.

  Carmela followed her sister toward the water’s edge. They placed a small linen cloth upon one of the flatter rocks, opened up the cloth sack, and laid out a handful of the formagelle, small cheese tarts sweetened with honey, candied orange, and raisins. The Curwin boys descended upon them as if they hadn’t eaten since Christmas.

  “Boys! Wash those hands! And don’t go too far. This is just a quick pit stop!” Mrs. Curwin yelled. “Let the guests help themselves first.” She walked toward Virginia. “Honestly. One summer running wild and all manners simply evaporate. You’ll forgive them, won’t you?”

  “I am the youngest to five brothers, Mrs. Curwin—”

  “Suzie, please.”

  “I know boys all too well, Suzie. They need to eat a small house-load of food. My mama had two cooks just to keep up with them. This one’s halfway there already!” Virginia looked down at her son’s mouth. Carmela saw an expression flicker across the new mother’s face. It wasn’t the warmth of a maternal gaze she might have expected. Something more stilted, awkward even.

  “Good heavens, Suzie,” Mr. Curwin said, stepping toward the women, “there are ladies who really do speak like Scarlett O’Hara after all. My inner adolescent is performing celebratory somersaults as we speak.”

  Mrs. Curwin rolled her eyes. “Marito! Do ignore him, won’t you?”

  Virginia giggled.

  Kavanagh approached the rock where Carmela and Piera were arranging the tartlets. “Do you ladies cook all day?”

  “You want?” Piera asked.

  “Sure!”

  Carmela crouched down and folded one in a cloth napkin. He took a bite. His expression made the sisters swell with pride.

  “Ginny, you’ve got to try these,” he called back to his wife. “It’s like cheesecake. Only better!”

  Virginia looked up for a brief second, squinting as if she hadn’t heard, before returning to her conversation with Mrs. Curwin.

  “I’ll take another,” he said. “There’s my ruin right there!” He chuckled with a glint of playfulness that Carmela hadn’t seen since the night he had described the island to her, in the half light by Salvatore’s hospital bed. Her eyes were drawn away for a moment, toward Virginia, who she now realized was waving her over. Carmela walked to her. Seymour had inhaled the contents of his bottle.

  “You may wind him,” Virginia said. “I must stretch my legs.”

  She handed the baby over to Carmela like a package delivered to her by mistake and walked to the edge of the water to join Kavanagh. Seymour was not a light package either, despite his tender age. Carmela felt his tiny heart galloping against her shoulder and rubbed her hand up and down his back, enjoying the intimacy of holding Virginia and Kavanagh’s child. A baby felt like the distilled version of the people who created it, a tiny, concentrated version of them in part, even though his personality was entirely distinct. Seymour jerked his head this way and that, trying to understand everything about him. It reminded her of the way his father would study those around him. As she reached the waterfall, Seymour let out a deep belch, more appropriate for an overfed grandfather holding court at the head of a crowded family table. Then his face creased into a scowl, his eyes narrowing in the same way Virginia’s had a moment ago.

  “Carmela, I saved us one,” Piera said, walking over to her and holding a couple of tartlets. “Not bad for a Yank is he, eh? We’ve lived here all our lives and no one ever took us here! It doesn’t even seem real, does it?”

  “Heaven-sent.”

  “Baby’s got you all poetic.”

  “Look at those cheeks, Pie’.”

  “He’s a fat bugger,” Piera said with a grin, taking a wide bite of her tart.

  There was a rustle a few paces away. The sisters froze. Their gaze darted toward the thick of the trees. It wouldn’t be unusual to come across wild boar in these parts, and if she was with her babes she may not think twice about using her tusks. Piera’s eyebrows furrowed. The sisters began silent steps back toward the group, taking shallow breaths. What they saw next stopped them in their tracks.

  A wild horse, its coat a lustrous chestnut, slunk out from behind a large oak. Its tail swished. Its ears moved back and forth, as he intuited whether the two women and baby before him were friend or foe. Piera turned toward Antonio on the other side of the pool. She caught his eye and pointed toward the horse. Antonio touched Mr. Curwin lightly on the arm. He turned toward the trees. The remainder of the herd revealed themselves. The party stood still, gazing at the diminutive animals. They were the size of ponies, but their build was that of a full-grown horse. A few were black, but most were the deep brown of the Sardinian brush. Everyone watched in silence, even the Curwin boys, as the animals bent down to chew on the damp, herb-covered ground. V
irginia, however, powdering her nose, was the last to notice the silence. When she did, she let out an involuntary gasp, startling the herd so that several reared back on their haunches and raised their front hoofs. Seymour followed his mother’s lead and broke into unstoppable shrieks. Kavanagh ran to Carmela and took his baby in his arms. All the while Virginia stayed rooted, in panic, to the ground beside the vehicles.

  Mrs. Curwin put an arm around Virginia. “It’s all right, darling girl, the boy is fine.”

  “Where in Lord’s name have you brought us, Joe?! What other wild animals are there, for Chrissakes?!” Everyone shifted, unnerved by Virginia’s sudden contemptuous snarl.

  Mr. Curwin stepped forward, armed with British etiquette. “Dearest Virginia, I too was most alarmed the first time we came across the wild horses of Giara. They are usually to be found on the plains just beyond here. Perhaps the heat of the morning brings them to this cool drinking hole. Much like us, I dare say. I can assure you that they are perfectly harmless. Like the natives, my dear, they appear far more formidable than they in fact are.”

  The horses’ ears twitched. With a flick of their hair they beat a retreat and were swallowed back into the brush.

  “Well, now I feel quite the fool.” Virginia’s swift recovery was as alarming as her launch into hysteria. “It’s not what I had expected in these parts, is all.”

  “Perfectly understandable, my dear,” Mr. Curwin reassured her. “Though I’m sure a lady such as yourself is no stranger to equine pursuits.”

  Her face lit up. “Absolutely.”

  Carmela moved to the jeep and poured some water from the leather flask into a small enamel cup. She handed it to Virginia, though from her expression it was clear that Virginia suspected the contents to be contaminated. She refused it with an unconvincing smile.

  “Thank you, Carmela,” Kavanagh said, stepping in beside her. “I’ll gladly take some.”

  Carmela reached out for the baby so that Kavanagh could drink easier, but Virginia swooped in. “That’s quite all right, I’ll take the boy, thank you. I’m sure Mrs. Curwin will be needing you.”