The Sunflower Girl

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “We could meet at the market or even at a café. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

  “Si, that would. Grazie.”

  “Does that mean you will help?”

  Trepidation was still giving Maria pause. She thought about how brave Franco and the other FAF members were. Shame suddenly filled her for being afraid. It would feel good to know she was doing her part—even in a small way. What harm could come from helping Franco with the newspaper?

  “Yes, count me in.” She smiled.

  Franco laughed and hugged her. Maria froze. But he didn’t seem to notice her reaction. Pulling away, he placed his hands on either side of her arms and said, “I know you will be a great asset to us. And if at any time you change your mind for any reason, you can quit. Again, I don’t want you to feel coerced. Will you promise to let me know if anything makes you feel uncomfortable?”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  “I should be returning to the meeting. They’re going to think I was captured again.” He laughed, but when he saw Maria’s frown, he said, “Sorry. That was not funny.”

  “I should get going too before my father worries.”

  Franco walked with Maria back to where she had left her bicycle. They exchanged phone numbers, and Franco promised to be in touch sometime during the week so he could give her a writing assignment.

  “Before I leave, Maria, I have a question. Do you like to dance?”

  Maria looked up at him in surprise. “Si, but it’s been years since I last danced with everything that’s been going on.”

  “We hold a weekly dance at FAF’s headquarters, here at the abandoned church. There is a room in the back of the basement that we turn into a mini dance hall. We have the dance every Saturday night. Would you like to come?”

  She was tempted, but again, she didn’t even know if she was going to work for FAF for long. While it was just a dance, it was still being held at their office. What if the secret police stormed the office and she was arrested?

  Again, Franco seemed to read her thoughts. “I know you’re probably thinking you don’t feel safe here, especially since you just said you would feel more comfortable writing for the newspaper at home. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I just thought it would be nice to dance with you.” He looked at her sheepishly, before averting his gaze.

  She was touched. “Let me give it more thought. If I decide to come, you’ll see me there.”

  “All right. Will you have problems getting away? Will your . . .” Franco’s voice trailed off.

  “Will my father let me go? Is that what you were about to ask me?”

  Franco was staring at his shoes as if he felt self-conscious or was slightly embarrassed. This image was in sharp contrast to that of the man she’d seen earlier at the podium. For there, he had exuded the utmost confidence.

  He looked up, shrugged his shoulders, and gave her a half smile. “That wasn’t the question I was about to ask, but would your father allow you to go?”

  “It wouldn’t be up to my father. I am twenty-eight years old, a grown woman; even though I still live under his roof, I am not his mule.”

  Franco laughed, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way. Many fathers are strict with their daughters, no matter their age, and especially if they still live under their roofs and are unmarried. I see your father is an educated man who respects the women in his life.”

  Maria was taken aback by his comment, but it was true. Papà had always treated her more like an equal, and although they often hadn’t agreed when they discussed politics, he never made her feel like her opinion was worth any less than his.

  “So if your question wasn’t about whether my father would give me permission to go to the dance, then what was it?”

  Again, Franco glanced at his shoes. Taking a deep breath, he stared up at the sky.

  “I was going to ask if your boyfriend would allow it.”

  “My boyfriend? What makes you so sure I have a boyfriend?” She couldn’t help letting a smirk spread across her features. It was mean of her to mislead him and let him think she might have a boyfriend, but she couldn’t help herself. There was something very appealing about him when he was nervous as he was now, acting much like a young schoolboy with a crush on his teacher.

  “How could a beautiful woman like you not be taken?” He looked directly into her eyes.

  Maria swallowed hard, but forced herself not to look away.

  “Well, what would it matter if I had a boyfriend? Surely he would be welcome to escort me to the dance, wouldn’t he?” She opened her eyes innocently.

  Franco’s face reddened, and immediately, she regretted being so cruel.

  “Oh, of course, he would be welcome! I-I . . .” He stammered as he searched for the right words. “I just wouldn’t have wanted you to get the wrong idea and then feel uncomfortable and possibly not want to continue working with me.” He avoided Maria’s gaze and looked back down at his shoes. He was absolutely adorable when he did this.

  “And what would the wrong idea have been?”

  Franco finally looked up at her. His face was still as red as the cherry tomatoes her father grew in their backyard. She was truly mean putting him through this. What was the matter with her? Here he was, admitting to her that he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable if she had to turn him down, and in contrast, she was taking pleasure in making him squirm.

  “Forget I said anything. I’m not making any sense tonight.”

  “So does that mean I can forget your invitation to the dance?”

  “No, you’re more than welcome to come with your boyfriend, of course.”

  Maria had to place her hand over her mouth before a giggle escaped. Forcing herself to remain serious, she lowered her hand and said in a steady voice, “I’ll come to the dance, but only on one condition.”

  Franco looked up at her, surprised.

  “I’ll only come if you dance the first dance with me . . . and maybe a few more. This might come as a surprise to you, but I can be shy.” Maria smiled seductively at him.

  “Shy? No, I would have never thought that about you, but if you insist, of course I will dance the first dance with you and however many other dances you’d like. That is if your boyfriend doesn’t get upset.” He returned her smile, and, in that moment, she could tell that he knew she didn’t have a boyfriend. His face had visibly relaxed.

  “Well, I should let you get going. So hopefully I will see you at the dance, and in the meantime we’ll talk on the phone about your first newspaper article.”

  “Va bene.”

  “Buona notte, Maria.” Franco waved before hurrying off in the direction of the church’s secret entrance.

  “Buona notte,” Maria called out after him. He turned around once to look over his shoulder and smiled. Maria returned the smile. He held her gaze for a moment longer before turning back around and disappearing down the church’s alley.

  As Maria pedaled her bike home, she wondered what it would be like to see Franco and spend more time with him. She felt happy at the thought that she would be seeing him regularly. She smiled and began to hum softly to herself. Yes, she would attend the dance this week. She had made up her mind before leaving Franco, but she didn’t dare tell him that. For it was good to leave him in suspense. And the thought that he would be thinking about her all this week as he wondered whether or not she would go to the dance left her with a glow. Her thoughts then turned to FAF. A thrill ran through her as she contemplated the work she would do for the organization, and in that moment, she felt something she’d never felt before—a sense of purpose.

  CHAPTER 16

  Dante

  Siena, 1970

  Dante was deep in sleep when the sound of his telephone ringing woke him up. He glanced at his watch on his night table. Nine a.m. While it wasn’t terribly early to be receiving a phone call, he’d gone to bed late the night before. It was probably his annoying friends, asking him if he wanted to join t
hem for an espresso at the café in town.

  “Ahhh!!!” He groaned as he sat all the way up in bed and reached for his phone.

  “Pronto! Who is waking me up?” he growled into the phone.

  “Dante? I’m—I’m sorry. I will call you back later.”

  “Anabella? No, wait! Don’t hang up!”

  “It’s all right. I will call you later. I’m sorry for having disturbed you.”

  “You could never disturb me. I thought you were my annoying friends, waking me up to take pleasure in doing so. Please. I’m happy to hear your voice. Is everything all right?”

  Dante looked at his watch again to make sure he had seen the time correctly. Why was she calling him so early?

  “Si. Well, no. I was wondering if we could meet somewhere today. I can’t talk long on the phone. Mamma might walk by any minute.”

  Dante’s pulse raced at the thought that he would be seeing her again so soon after their last meeting. He would not have to wait until next week.

  “Of course. Do you want to meet at the piazza?”

  “No. Somewhere quiet.”

  “The café?” Although as soon as he’d uttered the words, he realized the café, which was always bustling with customers, was not the quietest place either.

  “I guess that will have to do, but can we meet out front and then just take a walk somewhere?”

  Dante frowned. It was as if Anabella was afraid of someone seeing them. And her voice, which had a hushed tone as if she were whispering, shook slightly.

  “All right. That’s fine. But I must say you are worrying me.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distress you. It is probably just me overreacting, but I do need to talk to you. It can’t wait until next week when I come to the piazza.”

  “Va bene. What time works for you?”

  “Can you meet me in an hour? And please, don’t be late. I don’t have much time.”

  “I’ll be there at ten.”

  “Grazie. I’ll see you then.”

  Before he could say good-bye, she had hung up the phone.

  Dante got out of bed and took a quick shower. Then, he hurriedly dressed and left his apartment. He was about to walk to his car when he realized it would be better to take his bicycle. It was Friday, and the traffic tended to be much heavier than midweek when he normally drove into town.

  As he pedaled, he noticed a few of the sunflowers in the fields were starting to wilt. Soon, their petals would be all shriveled up. He needed to paint one last portrait of Anabella with the sunflowers while many were still alive. Once more, he looked at the flowers that were beginning to die. With their dried-up petals and stalks, the sunflowers almost resembled scarecrows. But he still saw some beauty in them. After all, it was another phase of life. The wheels in his mind began turning as he wondered if he could depict Anabella in this stark landscape, but manage to bring beauty to it, even though the flowers were no longer alive. Nothing came to him at the moment. It was difficult for him to imagine a painting in which all of the elements weren’t as vibrant as his stunning Anabella. For now, he stored the idea away. The inspiration would come to him later.

  Thoughts of what Anabella had to talk to him about diverted his attention away from the sunflowers. He had given his phone number to Anabella the last time he’d seen her in the hopes that if she could ever manage to get away during a time other than their weekly meetings at the piazza, she would call him. When she had called this morning, he’d been surprised that she had used the number so quickly. His elation over thinking that she wanted to see him and couldn’t wait until next week was quickly dimmed when he realized there was something important she needed to tell him. His heart suddenly sank as he wondered if she was going to say she could no longer see him.

  Pedaling even more feverishly, he reached the café ten minutes ahead of schedule. His shirt was sticking to him, and he immediately regretted riding his bike like a madman. He took a few deep breaths, trying to do his best to calm down, but he couldn’t help stealing glances at his watch every few seconds.

  Dante didn’t have to wait long, for he saw Anabella pull up in her car five minutes later. He waited patiently for her to park. He wondered who had taught her to drive—perhaps her mother. Or was it one of the workers on the farm? Did Signora Ferraro employ any young male workers? Jealousy suddenly coursed through him as he contemplated another man staring at her or working closely by her side. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. What was happening to him? This girl was surely going to send him to an asylum. No other girl he’d been with before had had this effect on him, not even his first love. But now that he compared his feelings for Anabella to his feelings for his first girlfriend, he realized what he’d had with that girl was far from true love.

  Anabella got out of her car and came over to Dante. She looked from side to side and again over her shoulder once she reached him.

  “Ciao, Anabella. Are you sure you don’t want to get an espresso? It doesn’t look crowded inside yet. It should be quiet enough for us to talk.”

  Anabella adamantly shook her head without even glancing into the café. “No, let’s take a walk. Maybe we can go to the sunflower field where you’ve been painting me?”

  “That’s a bit of a walk. I don’t mind, but you said you couldn’t stay for long.”

  “I was able to buy more time. I told Mamma I was going grocery shopping, and fortunately, she added a few extra items to my list, so it’ll take me longer to complete my errand. Besides, she knows the market gets busy on Fridays, and I often get home later.”

  “Let’s go then.” Dante took hold of Anabella’s hand.

  She glanced at him questioningly for a moment. It was the first time he had held her hand. He felt an overwhelming need to comfort her. She looked nervous. Or was he the one who needed to feel comforted? He still wondered if she was going to tell him she couldn’t continue to meet him.

  Neither spoke as they walked. Dante waited patiently for Anabella to begin, but he was ready to erupt. He took a few sighs, willing himself in vain to remain calm. Finally, Anabella broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry if I alarmed you on the phone. I was just so nervous that Mamma would overhear me or pick up the phone in the kitchen to make a call. She would be shocked to hear me on the other line. I never have a need to make phone calls. And then if she’d heard your voice . . .” Anabella’s voice trailed off.

  “That is all right. I understand. Was she very mad at you for coming home late on Wednesday? She didn’t . . . she didn’t hit you or anything like that, did she?”

  Anabella’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course not! My mother has never laid a hand on me.”

  “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. Naturally, I don’t know your mother. Please do not take offense. I just know many parents still choose to discipline their children this way. Although you are a grown woman, and it would be quite ridiculous, even if she had hit you as a child, for her to continue to do so now that you are in your twenties.”

  Anabella laughed softly. “That is true.”

  It felt good to see her laugh.

  “Mamma did ask me why I was returning home late, but I told her there was an accident on the road. She seemed to believe me. Besides, she was late, too.”

  “Did she go somewhere that day as well?”

  “No. I meant she was late with preparing lunch. She is always very punctual with lunch, but when I arrived home, she still hadn’t placed the manicotti she was making in the oven. It was odd. She didn’t seem herself. So I was able to turn the attention back on her and ask her why lunch was late.”

  “That was clever of you.” Dante gave Anabella’s hand a slight squeeze. She blushed slightly and smiled. He wanted to kiss her, but refrained since she had something important to tell him.

  “The reason I wanted to see you is that Mamma told me she might resume coming with me to the piazza every week.”

  Dante stopped walking. He let go of Anabella’s han
d and ran it through his bangs that were always dangling in his line of vision. He then closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to them. It was coming. He knew it.

  “Are you all right, Dante?” Anabella brought her face closer to his.

  “You can no longer meet me. That is what you have come to tell me, isn’t it?”

  “No . . . Well, yes, sort of.” Anabella turned away from Dante, crossing her arms as she paced back and forth. The walk to the sunflower field was forgotten in both of their minds as they stood in the middle of a quiet street. A stray dog passed them and sniffed Anabella’s leg. She stroked the dog’s head and bent over as she spoke a few soothing words. The dog perked up its ears and licked her wrist.

  “I wish I had some food to give it. Poor thing.” Anabella looked around on the sidewalk as if hoping a piece of food would suddenly materialize.

  “Wait here.”

  Before Anabella could ask Dante where he was going, he had broken into a jog. She returned her attention to the dog, who was now sitting by her.

  A few minutes later, Dante came back, out of breath from running. He held a white bag, which she saw was from the café they usually frequented. Reaching inside the bag, he took out a brioche roll. Breaking off a small piece, he fed it to the dog. He then broke off more small pieces from the rest of the brioche and placed them on the ground, by the dog’s feet.

  “That was so sweet of you!” Anabella’s eyes shone as she looked at Dante.

  “Eh!” He shrugged his shoulders. “It was nothing. The truth is I was hungry since I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.” He smiled and took out a biscotto and held the bag toward Anabella. “I got something for you, too.”

  She looked inside the bag. “Almond cake!” She had told him the last time they were at the café that the cake was her favorite. “You remembered. Grazie.”

  “Prego. So you see I didn’t go back to the café for the dog. It was selfishness on my part and to quiet my growling stomach.” He smiled sheepishly.

  “I don’t believe that.” Anabella swatted his arm playfully.