Anabella was overcome once again. She’d always wanted to go to Florence, her mother’s birthplace. How many times had she asked Mamma as she was growing up when they could visit? She’d wanted to see the house Mamma had grown up in and the church where her parents had married. When Anabella was a child, Mamma had promised they would go someday. But as the years went by, Anabella picked up that her mother truly had no desire to return to Florence. Her mother’s eyes would grow distant, and sometimes they would even fill with tears. By the time Anabella reached thirteen, she had stopped asking her. If only Mamma had told her more about her life before she’d had her. Anabella knew how much her mother had loved her father and how hard it was for her to lose him, but she sensed there was more. And why did she hardly ever talk about her family—her father and brother? One time, Anabella had expressed all of this to Chiara and told her how she wished her mother could be more open. But Chiara had said, “Many people changed after the war, and, even if there were good memories before things became so bad, they have chosen to erase them all. It might be best for her that she doesn’t think at all about that time.”
Anabella sighed as she remembered Chiara’s words. How she wished Chiara could be with her right now to advise her. She returned her attention to Dante, who was looking at her as if he were trying to read her thoughts.
“I know I am asking a lot of you, Anabella. If you need more time, we can wait. I can go to Florence for the exhibit and come back for you when you are ready.”
“Are you planning on moving to Florence permanently?”
“No, but I still would like to take you. It is such a beautiful city and has always been an inspiration to me. In fact, I studied art there. I want to introduce you to Florence.”
“My mother is from Florence.”
“She is?”
Anabella nodded. “My father was from there too. But my mother left after he died and the war was over.”
“She has never taken you there?”
“No. I often asked as a child. I was curious to see where she had grown up. But it never happened.”
“Does she still have relatives in Florence?”
“No.”
“Were they all killed in the war?”
“Her mother died before the war. She was ill. And her father must’ve died from old age. I’m not sure how her brother died. I never thought to ask. He must have been ill. I seem to remember my uncle was married.”
“So she never even told you how they died? You just assumed.”
Anabella nodded. Hearing Dante’s surprise emphasized to her even more how strange it was that she knew so little about her relatives.
Dante stood up and sat next to Anabella on the bench. He rubbed his knee. It was only then Anabella realized how long he’d been crouched down on his knee. She leaned into him and held the hand with her ring up to her face.
“From what I can see, it’s pretty.”
Dante laughed. “When we walk back toward the house and have more light, you can inspect it more. If you don’t like it, please don’t be afraid to tell me. We can go exchange it together when we are in Florence.”
“That is where you bought it? When did you go?”
“I took a long weekend trip there not long after I met your mother. My head was a mess, and I needed a break from work. Once I knew I wanted to propose to you, I bought the ring and took the first bus back to Siena.”
“I’m sure I will love the ring when I see it in the light.” She looked up at Dante.
He brought his face closer to hers and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss, and he let himself become completely wrapped up in it, not caring anymore that he needed to hurry before Signora Ferraro woke up and noticed Anabella was gone. He didn’t care if that happened. Anabella had told him she would marry him. That was all that mattered.
When they finally broke the kiss, Anabella asked, “When do we leave for Florence?”
“So you are ready for all of this to happen? You don’t want to take some time?”
“No. I have waited too long for my life to begin. And it has been miserable not being able to see you, and dealing with the tension at home between Mamma and me. I am ready. I can’t continue to live my days being afraid of her and obeying her every command. Those days are over. I have been a coward for too long.”
“You are not a coward. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Anabella.”
They were quiet for a few moments.
“I will wait for you once we return to the house so you can pack your clothes.”
“I can’t just leave tonight, Dante. Even though I am mad at Mamma, I can’t just disappear. As I said, I have been a coward for too long. I will tell her I am marrying you and going to Florence with you.”
“But what if she keeps you from leaving?”
“She can’t. I am a grown woman. She will have to call the police, and surely they will tell her there is nothing she can do.” Anabella’s voice sounded timid.
“Are you sure you can do this?”
“I must. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t bear not being with you, Dante. I’ll assure her that we’ll be back once your exhibit is over. I’ll still come to the farm to help her.”
“But you won’t be able to come every day. I need the car to drive to the piazza to sell my work. We can come once or twice a week.”
Anabella was silent.
Dante continued. “Your mother has Chiara and the other workers on the farm to help her. And she’s been relinquishing more work to them.”
“She’s only taken a small step back. She still likes to be very involved on the farm.”
“How about if you wrote a letter to your mother? This way it won’t be like you have vanished into thin air, and you can give her time to absorb the shock of your leaving and avoid the outburst she would have if you were to tell her in person.”
“That is still being a coward. And I can’t do that to her. I need to face her. Don’t worry. I will be leaving with you tomorrow.”
Dante sighed. “All right. I can see your mind is made up.”
“It is. All I know is that I want to be your wife, Dante. And no one can stop me from being with you. I should return to the house. It’s getting quite late, and I’ll need to pack as well as get some sleep, although with all the excitement you have given me tonight, I doubt I will be able to.” Anabella smiled.
Dante kissed her once more before they made their way back to the house. They walked slowly through the rose garden. Dante stopped and plucked a rose from one of the bushes and tucked it behind Anabella’s ear, pushing her hair back.
“I’m surprised your mother didn’t name you Rosa, given that she loves roses so much and they are as beautiful as you. She was right in adding ‘bella’ to your name, however.”
“There are other beautiful flowers. In fact, sunflowers have now become my favorite flower because they remind me of how you first saw me—in your dreams, running through a sunflower field. And of the times we met and you painted me with them.”
“That is true. But I failed to tell you that when I had that same dream about you, there were always roses present. You were holding them and dropping them behind you as you ran away.”
Anabella could not help but see the irony in this—for she was now turning her back on the rose farm and her mother. Her pulse raced as she contemplated whether she was truly ready to leave the only home she’d ever known. But more important, would she be able to leave her mamma behind?
CHAPTER 24
Signora Ferraro
Pienza, 1970
Signora Ferraro was on her knees, working feverishly as she planted white roses in the garden to replace the ones Anabella had so violently pulled. Her heart still ached when she remembered first seeing the destroyed garden. Anabella had confessed immediately when she returned to the house. Signora Ferraro had never seen her daughter look so terrified. She had wanted to yell at her, but she was too hurt to do so. For it was the first time Anabella had intention
ally set out to cause her pain. True, Signora Ferraro had been hurt when she’d learned that Anabella was seeing that young man. But that was different. She knew Anabella hadn’t done that to hurt her. But this . . . this was done viciously, out of spite. And Anabella had known how much Signora Ferraro loved that garden. How many times had she warned her daughter as a child not to enter the garden and told her that the roses were sacred?
Not until next year would new white roses grow on the bushes. So she went to a different garden on the farm and clipped white roses from amongst those she harvested and sold to clients. She knew it was a poor substitute for the roses that grew on the bushes, but it was better than having a barren garden. Naturally, when the roses died, the bushes would remain bare until the following spring. But they still had several weeks to remain in bloom. Anabella had cut short the time Signora Ferraro would have to admire the roses, and she just couldn’t have that. There were times when she contemplated growing the roses in her greenhouse. The other roses she grew in the greenhouse often bloomed as much as three times a year. This way she always had a steady supply for her vendors. But if she grew her special white roses indoors, she would not have the same pleasure each spring of seeing the buds form on the bushes and watching them flower. And they would lose their symbolic significance. For it was important that these roses grew every year—new life to replace the ones that had died.
Signora Ferraro was completely absorbed in her work when she heard Anabella call out to her.
“Mamma.”
Her voice sounded strained as if something were wrong. Signora Ferraro looked up. Her daughter’s face was as white as the roses, and her eyes were filled with worry.
“What is it, my child? Are you not feeling well?”
Anabella glanced over her shoulder, and it was only then that Signora Ferraro noticed the young man Anabella had had the audacity to bring to the house two weeks earlier. Signora Ferraro frowned. His complexion matched Anabella’s. At least he had the sense to remain a few feet behind her. When he saw Signora Ferraro glaring at him, he turned around and walked farther away, giving them even more space.
“You’ve been out here for so long, and it’s very hot today,” Anabella said in a wan voice. Her eyes remained fixed on the roses Signora Ferraro had planted.
Signora Ferraro remained silent.
“I’m sorry, Mamma.”
“There is no use in apologizing. What has been done is done.” Signora Ferraro could hear the clipped tone in her voice. Now it was her turn to cause her daughter pain. She resumed her work, ignoring Anabella. Her heart began to beat a little quicker.
“Can we go talk somewhere? Please, Mamma.”
“You can say what you need to here. Besides, he’s too far to hear us, but I’m sure he already knows what you are about to tell me.” Signora Ferraro’s voice shook as she resisted the urge to guess what Anabella was going to say.
“Mamma, Dante has asked me to marry him.”
Signora Ferraro stopped working. “I see.” She felt a cold sweat begin to break out on her forehead, even though it was a sweltering summer day. Lowering her head and pretending she was examining the hole she had dug to plant the rose that was in her hand, she did her best to keep her face shielded from her daughter. She would not let Anabella see how much her words had affected her.
“I’ve accepted, Mamma. I know you don’t approve of Dante, but he is a good man, and he did try to get your blessing that day. We can be a happy family . . . together, if you will only give him a chance.”
“We were a happy family—you and I. But I see now that wasn’t enough.”
“No, Mamma, that’s not true.”
“Please, Anabella, don’t lie. I raised you better than that.”
“I have been happy with you on the farm, but I am a grown woman now. There is so much more to see and experience than what is here in Pienza.”
Signora Ferraro continued gardening. How she wanted to place her hands over her ears and block Anabella’s words from reaching them. With each word Anabella uttered, Signora Ferraro felt another blow hit her heart.
“Please, Mamma, will you just stop working and look at me?”
But Signora Ferraro continued to ignore her. What did it matter anyway? Her daughter had made up her mind. Anabella was going to leave her and marry this man she’d only known for a few months. Suddenly, fear gripped her. Would he treat her child well? She looked over to where he stood. Though he appeared a few years older than Anabella, he too still retained an innocent demeanor in his face. Signora Ferraro had seen firsthand what evil looked like during the war. The faces of the Nazi soldiers who had occupied Florence had oozed with evil. But not all of them had looked that way. The younger soldiers who were mere boys had looked innocent. While a few of them had not been involved in the more atrocious acts committed, others had been corrupted and had become as evil as their superiors. But it wasn’t just the Nazis whose faces showed their evil souls. A few of her fellow Florentines had had the same look. They were the ones who had turned their backs on their country and people and had gotten into bed with the devil.
Dante’s eyes locked with Signora Ferraro’s, and, as if reading her thoughts, he came over.
“Signora Ferraro, I know you do not approve of me, but I wanted to assure you that I love your daughter very much, and I swear I will always protect her.”
Tears filled Signora Ferraro’s eyes. She looked away. Pain radiated throughout her body. She was getting too old to be dealt such a blow as this.
From her peripheral vision, she saw Anabella turn toward Dante and shake her head. For a moment, hope filled Signora Ferraro that her daughter would not abandon her. She heard Anabella whisper, “I can’t.”
Signora Ferraro now looked directly at them. Dante placed his hand on Anabella’s shoulder. Anabella leaned into him as tears swam fiercely down her face. Signora Ferraro waited patiently for her daughter to compose herself. Finally, Anabella wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took a few steps toward her mother.
“Mamma, we are going to Florence for a few weeks, but we’ll be back. I would like to get married here in the rose garden. I would like for you to be a part of our special day. In fact, Dante and I are planning on living nearby once we are more settled.”
Signora Ferraro could not hide the disappointment that filled her face. Anger began to seep into her and replace the enormous pain she was feeling. It was better to feel angry than to feel the pain her daughter was inflicting on her.
“You might as well get married in Florence. We are too busy here on the farm to have a wedding.”
Anabella looked crestfallen, but Signora Ferraro fought the guilt that threatened to take hold.
“Please, Mamma, don’t do this. We want you to be a part of our life. I can still work on the farm.”
“What happened to wanting to see the world outside of Pienza, ah?” Signora Ferraro waved her hand dismissively at her daughter, and disgust etched her features. “Vai, Anabella. Vai. We do not need you here, and I certainly do not need an ungrateful daughter. I can manage on my own.”
Once more, she resumed her gardening. Her hands worked quickly, mounding the soil around the roses’ stems as she planted them. The sun was now beating down on her, and her throat felt parched. It was getting too late for her to be out here. Besides, it was time for lunch. Suddenly the vision of her eating alone every day appeared before her. A wild look entered her eyes as she looked at Anabella, silently pleading with her not to leave. But Anabella was staring down at her feet. Signora Ferraro’s heart ached as she remembered in that instant her innocent, beautiful daughter as a little girl. If only Signora Ferraro could’ve frozen time, Anabella would have remained her loyal, sweet daughter.
She could not stand this torture anymore. Why didn’t they just leave already? “Vai, Anabella. Don’t worry about me. I will be fine. Just, please, go.”
Anabella broke free from Dante’s embrace and crouched down beside her mother as she hugge
d her. But Signora Ferraro stiffened. Her eyes looked off into the distance.
Once more, Dante placed his hand on Anabella’s shoulder. “Come, Anabella,” he whispered.
Anabella waited a moment before standing up. She then walked away. Signora Ferraro breathed a soft sigh of relief. Finally, they were leaving. She had one more rose left to plant. Instead of using her gardening hoe, she used her hands to dig the hole. As she dug deeper and deeper, her hands worked at a feverish pace. The hole she was digging was much larger than what the rose needed, but she continued pushing deeper into the soil with her hands. Signora Ferraro could feel Anabella getting farther away. She didn’t need to look at her to know this, for she felt a certain energy leaving her body, much like the energy she had felt as Anabella was being born. But that energy had filled her body, consuming her with elation she’d never experienced before. Now, it was as if she were dying. She stared at the large hole she had dug. If only she could bury herself in it.
When she could no longer feel Anabella’s presence, she finally stood up and gazed into the distance. She dropped the last rose she was holding to the ground, forgetting she still needed to plant it, and slowly made her way to the house. Once again, someone she loved had left her behind.
CHAPTER 25
Maria Rossi
Florence, 1943
Maria was pedaling her bike as fast as she could, anxious to make her way back home. She wouldn’t let herself relax until she knew she had made it back without anyone following her. Home was the only place where she truly felt safe these days. She had just returned from delivering ammunitions to a few of the partisans who were staked out in the hills, not too far from where her house was located. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing from the time she left FAF’s headquarters, where she had picked up the ammunitions, to when she met the partisans and handed over her package.
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