The tears returned once more along with the heavy sobs that always followed soon afterward. After Anabella’s departure, she’d had these severe crying episodes every day for the first two weeks. But then they’d subsided to just a few times a week. She walked over to the yellow roses—Anabella’s favorite. Plucking one from the stem, she held it tightly, indifferent to the sharp thorns that stabbed her. She pressed the rose to her nose, inhaling deeply and remembering how Anabella would always offer each rose to her mother to smell first before she took in its scent. Even as a child, she’d been utterly selfless.
Soon, the tears stopped, and Signora Ferraro felt herself able to breathe normally. Her beautiful roses. They’d always been able to calm her and make her happy. But that feeling of elation had been disappearing. She told herself it was just because she missed the roses that grew in the gardens, and that nothing compared to watching new life spring from the earth. It had nothing to do with losing her daughter. The roses were a constant. Even when disease attacked the roses and they were killed, she could always grow more to take their place.
Ever since Signora Ferraro had overheard her neighbors that day at the market discussing how they thought she was crazy with her obsession over her roses, she had realized that probably most people who knew her felt this way. But none of them had any idea just how much these roses meant to her. Now that Anabella was gone, they were all she had. And as she grew older and contemplated her mortality, she knew her days with the roses were numbered—just as her days with her family, Franco, and Anabella had been numbered.
Yes, her roses had been a lifeline to her when she’d been ready to completely give up. Signora Ferraro had never shared the secret of them with anyone, not even Anabella. She could tell that even her employees thought she was obsessed with the roses, and that was why she was so demanding, expecting nothing but perfection from her workers. She’d eavesdropped on the conversation of two of the teenage boys she’d hired recently.
“These roses are her lovers! Who knows? Maybe she takes a bunch of them into bed with her at night!”
“You’re terrible!” The other boy had scolded the first one, but he still laughed.
“This is what happens to old maids. They become miserable and have to obsess over the lack of a lover in their lives. Some people collect pets. As for Signora Ferraro, she can’t stop expanding her rose gardens. But her property is almost used up. I wonder what she will do then.”
“She’s not an old maid. I’ve heard the older workers talking about her daughter. They had some falling out.”
“She probably got tired of the roses.”
They had laughed so hard that she saw one of the boys wiping his eyes. Signora Ferraro had been tempted to show herself and berate them. She knew she should’ve fired them. But the thought of exerting so much energy had been draining. So she’d ignored them and had walked away before she could hear more of their ugly words.
From the greenhouse’s skylight, she could see dusk quickly taking over. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was ten minutes before five. She was starting to feel light-headed and remembered she had not eaten her midday meal, which wasn’t uncommon these days. What once was a lavish meal shared with Anabella as they laughed and discussed topics that interested them had now become a cold, lonely experience. And even when she did eat in the middle of the day, she merely had a piece of bread with a sun-dried tomato on top, drizzled with olive oil, or a piece of fruit. Her dresses had begun hanging off her, but she didn’t care. Little mattered to her anymore—except for the roses of course.
As she locked the door to the greenhouse, she heard a car pull up onto the property. She frowned; it was late at this time of year to be receiving customers. In late autumn and winter, she closed the nursery at two o’clock. Maybe one of the workers had forgotten something.
She wrapped her coat around herself and walked over to the car. But she stopped after just a few steps. Surely, she was seeing things. It could not be.
Anabella stepped out of the driver’s seat of the car. But she looked far different from the daughter who had abandoned her seven months prior. She had gained a lot of weight, and her face . . . It had lost the innocent look she’d managed to hold on to even into her twenties. As soon as Anabella looked up and locked eyes with her mother, Anabella ran to her.
Signora Ferraro let out a gasp. She had come back! Walking quickly toward her daughter, she began to cry as Anabella caught up to her and embraced her tightly.
“Mamma!” Anabella said through choked sobs. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Signora Ferraro wanted to tell her how much she, too, had missed her, but she was still overcome by shock.
Anabella pulled away. She stroked back the graying wisps of frizzy hair that had blown into her mother’s face.
“Are you all right? I’m sorry. I should have called to let you know I was coming. I gave you a shock. But I was worried . . .”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence for Signora Ferraro to know Anabella had been going to say she was afraid her mother wouldn’t pick up the phone. For Anabella had tried calling a few times, but Signora Ferraro had always let the answering machine pick up and had ignored the calls.
She struggled to find the right words. But what was she to say after all these months? So instead she merely said, “I was about to go in to have a panino. Come.”
Anabella locked her arm with her mother’s and walked slowly with her. Whimpering could be heard from behind the front door.
“Bruno!” Anabella cried out, leaving her mother’s side to let the dog out.
Bruno licked Anabella’s face, making her giggle as she told him over and over again, “I missed you, Bruno. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me.”
“He missed you terribly. For months, he slept in your room every night and whimpered.” Signora Ferraro couldn’t help thinking how Bruno’s behavior had been similar to her own those first weeks after Anabella had left. For Signora Ferraro had often lain awake at night in bed, crying and asking God what she’d done to lose the most precious person in her life. She should tell her daughter how much she had missed her—and loved her—but she simply couldn’t.
Once Bruno calmed down, they went inside. Signora Ferraro got to work right away preparing sandwiches. She noticed out of her peripheral vision that Anabella looked lost in thought as she sat at the kitchen table.
“It is so good to see you, Mamma—and the farm and the house.”
“Even though it’s winter and the gardens are empty?”
Anabella frowned for a moment but then added, “Si. It is good to see nothing has changed. But you look as if you’ve lost weight. Are you feeling all right? I’ve asked Chiara, and she’s told me you have been fine, but maybe she didn’t want to worry me.”
“I didn’t realize you were in touch with Chiara.” Signora Ferraro didn’t know why this surprised her. They had always been close since Anabella was a little girl. Jealousy began to seep through her.
“Since you weren’t answering my phone calls or writing back to me, I needed to know that you were all right.” Anabella looked at her mother, but Signora Ferraro glanced away.
Signora Ferraro joined Anabella at the table. She took a small bite out of her eggplant and sweet pepper panino, chewing slowly. Her appetite had disappeared. Again, she felt at a loss for words, so she pretended to eat and drink. She could feel Anabella’s eyes on her as she watched and waited patiently. But Signora Ferraro remained silent. Anabella finally began eating her panino. She chewed ravenously. It pleased Signora Ferraro to see her daughter eating here again. Finally, she broke her silence. “I’ll make you another one.” Signora Ferraro stood up, but Anabella placed her hand on her mother’s arm.
“No, please. Sit down. I am fine. My appetite is out of control these days.” She smiled and blushed slightly.
“I have noticed you’ve gained weight. And your face. You look very different.”
“I know I do not look my best.”
“No, no. You still look beautiful. Mi dispiaccio. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say you looked bad.” Signora Ferraro managed a small smile.
“You cannot tell.”
“Tell what?”
“Mamma, I am with child. Well, with children.” Anabella giggled softly. “I am having twins!”
Signora Ferraro was stunned. Of course, why hadn’t she noticed the telltale signs that Anabella was pregnant? How could she not realize something so important with her own flesh and blood? Besides Anabella’s obvious weight gain, she had a glow in her face, much like Signora Ferraro had had when she was pregnant with Anabella. She looked at Anabella’s stomach. Her stomach looked quite large and protruded quite a bit, even though she was wearing a rather large cardigan. It looked like a man’s sweater. No doubt it was Dante’s. Signora Ferraro hadn’t thought about him since she’d first laid eyes on Anabella stepping out of her car. Anger began to course through her. He was still in the picture. And now Anabella was having his children. She couldn’t help laughing silently in her head as she chided herself. You fool! What did you think, that she had left her husband to return to you?
Signora Ferraro softly asked, “How far along are you?”
“Five months. I got pregnant right after we were married in October. I look bigger since I’m carrying two babies.”
Signora Ferraro remained silent for a moment before she stood up and prepared a pot of espresso. Neither spoke until she sat down again at the table as they waited for the coffee to percolate.
“Mamma, I know I hurt you terribly by leaving with Dante. I’m sorry.”
Signora Ferraro wrapped her wool shawl around her, keeping her arms crossed. She pursed her lips together. She could feel the well of tears forming inside her, but she refused to let her daughter see just how much she had hurt her.
“Dante and I want you to be a part of our lives—a part of the babies’ lives. As I mentioned to you before we left, we want to live in Pienza.”
“How will the starving artist make a living?” Signora Ferraro said in a snide voice. She couldn’t help herself.
“I guess you don’t remember what I told you in my letters about Dante’s exhibiting his work in several galleries in Florence. He made quite a bit of money. That was why we stayed there so long. He wanted to save enough money so we could come back to Pienza and buy a small house.”
“So he plans on continuing to be an artist, even here?”
“He will go to Florence and Siena whenever he lands an exhibit. His name is spreading among the art world and serious art buyers. We will be fine financially if that’s what you are worried about.”
“So he is going to leave you alone with two children? Is that why you are here? You want me to help you raise your children?”
Anabella narrowed her eyes as if something had stung her. Tears filled her eyes, and soon they dropped onto her cheeks. She whispered, “How can you think that, Mamma?”
“How can I not? You assured me you would be back soon and that your trip would be short, but you were gone for seven months, and in such a short time you married a man you hardly knew—a man whom your mother did not approve of—and now you return saying you want me to be a part of your life again. Your husband will be too busy following a boy’s dream of painting instead of being a man and taking care of his family. Now that you need me, you have come back.”
Anabella shook her head and stood up, grabbing her coat from behind the chair. “I should’ve known you would act this way. How can you turn me away, Mamma? How can you turn your grandchildren away?” She gestured to her stomach. “My entire life, when you were sheltering me, teaching me lessons at home instead of letting me go to a real school, not letting me play with other children my age, you told me it was for my own good. That I had everything I needed here, and I was the lucky one to be living on this beautiful farm with nothing to want. But that is where you were wrong, Mamma! I had everything to want—friends . . . interactions with others besides you, the farm workers, and my dog . . . experiences that would help me grow up. But instead you wanted me to remain your little girl forever so that I would never leave you. You have only thought about yourself and your fears of being left alone!”
“That is not true!” Signora Ferraro’s voice rose to match Anabella’s.
“It is true! Stop lying to me and to yourself! You are selfish. A mother always puts her children’s needs before hers. I pray I am not the mother you were to me!”
Anabella shoved the chair hard against the kitchen table, causing the vase of flowers on it to topple over. She stormed out of the house with Bruno at her heels.
“Come, Bruno. We are not wanted here.” She held the door for Bruno, who was only too happy to leave with her.
This stung Signora Ferraro. Even the dog didn’t want her. She shouldn’t care. After all, he’d been Anabella’s pet, but Signora Ferraro had taken comfort in his steady presence after her daughter had gone to Florence. Sometimes, she’d found herself talking to him just to hear the sound of a voice in her house again, even if it was just her own.
She didn’t know how long she sat at the kitchen table. Her body felt paralyzed as she kept her hand pressed over her heart. How it hurt. Anabella had been right with her harsh words. It had always been more about her and trying to control everything so that she would be spared the anguish again—so that Anabella would remain safe and protected. In the end though, Signora Ferraro had hurt her daughter worse than anyone else could have. And now it was too late.
Go to her, a voice whispered in her head. She thought about it for a moment. Surely, Anabella would forgive her. And Signora Ferraro could tell that Anabella was also looking for forgiveness when she’d come here. She had noticed how Anabella had waited after she’d told her mother that she missed her and after she’d apologized for leaving her. But Signora Ferraro’s stubborn pride had refused to allow her to make her daughter feel better.
I pray I am not the mother you were to me! Anabella’s words came back to her, sending another sharp stab of pain into her chest. No, she would not go to her and ask for forgiveness. She would not make the same mistakes with her grandchildren that she had made with Anabella. They would all be better off without her.
Slowly she got up from the table and made her way upstairs. Once she entered her room, she took the small framed photo of Franco and herself on their wedding day, which she kept on her night table, and held it to her as she got into bed. How she wished he were here to comfort her and tell her he would protect her—much the way he had every night for weeks after her family was killed in the fire. Soon, she fell fast asleep as she dreamed about the man who had made her so happy—but who had been taken from her too quickly.
CHAPTER 29
Maria Ferraro
Florence, 1944
The beautiful bells were ringing from the nearby Santa Maria Maggiore church. Anabella cried out as she did every morning when the bells rang. But as soon as Maria picked her up from her crib, Anabella stopped crying. Maria loved this time of the day the most; the streets were at their quietest, and the sun was rising higher in the sky. She didn’t mind that Anabella cried every morning. For the feeling of her baby needing her, and only her mother being able to soothe her, was the most gratifying experience she’d ever had. Franco was good with their daughter, too, but he was either at FAF’s offices before Maria or Anabella woke up, or he was out on a mission.
As Maria rocked Anabella, she went over to the window and looked outside. The soldiers who had been stationed out front last night were no longer present. With one hand, she held Anabella, and, with the other, she picked up the birdcage she kept on a nearby small table and placed it in the window. The lovely pale-blue parakeet that sat in the cage had been a wedding gift from Franco to Maria. But for the past few months, the birdcage had served another purpose. When Franco was out, Maria would place the birdcage in the window, letting him know no soldiers were inquiring at their home or standing guard outside. Weekly interr
ogations and searches of homes had become a regular occurrence, and, with the partisans gaining ground, the Nazis were determined to root every one of them out.
Franco had been gone for more than a week. Although his mission was supposed to be over five days ago, the soldiers had been guarding their street for each of those days. This morning was the first that Maria was able to place the birdcage in the window.
“God, please keep Franco safe. His daughter and I need him.”
A month after Maria’s family had been killed, she had wed Franco in an intimate ceremony at Santa Maria Maggiore. The pastor had agreed to wed them in secret. The only people present were their witnesses—Giuliana, the young woman who had been distributing FAF’s leaflets at the outdoor market the day Maria had run into Franco after their first meeting, and Gaetano. Maria had to do her best not to let her mind wander to the day of the leather warehouse fire whenever she looked at him. Every time she saw Gaetano, Vito, or Nino, her thoughts would inevitably return to that day when they watched the flames overtake the warehouse.
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