The Sunflower Girl

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  “Mamma, you have been through so much. I wish you had told me all of this a long time ago. I wouldn’t have ever gotten angry with you for trying to protect me so much throughout my life. And now that I am a mother, I find myself wanting to shelter the twins. So I understand better why you behaved the way you did.”

  “Please, take it from me that you must allow your daughters the freedom to grow up. Let them get hurt. For none of us can ever truly escape that. I’m sorry, Anabella, that I sheltered you so much, both when you were growing up and even as a young woman. These past few years I have finally realized how many mistakes I made with you and how selfish I’ve been.”

  “No, no, don’t say that, Mamma! I am the one who has been selfish. I should’ve come to you a second time, and, even if you turned me away again, I should not have given up so easily. How many times did Dante plead with me to go to you, but I stubbornly refused.”

  “I suppose we are alike that way.” Signora Ferraro smiled.

  “That’s what Dante says. Two stubborn mules.” Anabella laughed.

  “I didn’t want you to be hurt the way I had been, Anabella. I never wanted you to experience the pain I had felt. In an absurd way, I didn’t want you to fall in love and get married and possibly know the heartache I suffered after losing my husband.”

  Anabella noticed her mother’s cheeks redden suddenly before she continued.

  “And I was terrified of being alone.” She shook her head. “I’ve been nothing more than a stupid, foolish woman who pushed her own sweet child away.”

  “It’s all behind us now, Mamma. Let us not talk about these past few years anymore. What matters now is that we are all together. You have a growing family and God willing . . .” Anabella let her voice trail off.

  Signora Ferraro gripped Anabella’s hand and gave it a tug. “You will beat this illness. Do not give up hope.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say, Mamma. Yes, there is always the thought that I might not make it at the back of my mind. As soon as it surfaces, I do my best to quickly push it out. My children and husband still need me, and you still need me. But I suppose a moment ago when I didn’t finish my sentence, I was starting to give in to the dark thoughts once more. For I was about to say, God willing, perhaps I will have another child—a son to continue Dante’s legacy.”

  “You must still dream, my daughter. That is what will get you through this.”

  “I’m so lucky to have you, Mamma. You have been a tremendous help to all of us since I’ve become sick. And it’s been so wonderful to be back on the rose farm. I grew a few roses and sunflowers in my own garden, but I don’t know, it’s just not the same. Not only because it’s a small garden, but also because you weren’t there. And there’s something about the rose farm. I don’t know how to describe it, but ever since I was a child, it was as if there was a certain magical feeling to it, especially when I was in your special white rose garden, Mamma.”

  “You felt that way in my special garden?”

  Anabella nodded. “I can’t believe I destroyed it that day when I was angry with you, but I wasn’t thinking. Not a day went by in the years we were estranged that I didn’t feel guilty about vandalizing your garden. I know I apologized to you back then, but again, Mamma, I’m so sorry.”

  Signora Ferraro held up her hand. “As you’ve seen, there was no permanent damage done. The roses grew back the following year.”

  They resumed walking through the sunflowers as they remained silent for a few minutes.

  “You know, Anabella, I’m not entirely surprised about the feeling you have whenever you are in my white rose garden. I am moved so much to hear that. It is special, and not just because white roses are my favorite.” Signora Ferraro stopped walking as she faced Anabella. “You see, your father is buried there.”

  “He is?” Anabella’s eyes widened.

  “I wasn’t lying to you when you were a child and I said Papà was always with you.” Signora Ferraro smiled.

  “But he died in Florence.”

  “Si. But before I left, I buried him in the yard behind my father’s house. And then once the war was over, when I had to go back to sell the house, I dug up his remains and brought them back here with me. That was how it all started—the rose farm. I just wanted to have your father near us, and, in addition to the garden’s being his resting place, I also wanted it to be a tribute to his memory. Then I thought about the other people I had lost—my father, Michele, and Enza—so I planted another small rose garden for them. And then I thought about the other people I knew who had lost their lives during the war, so I planted more roses. And the gardens just grew and grew. Your father came to me in a dream and told me that the roses would be my salvation. We were struggling financially, so I considered his words and realized I could sell the roses and turn the huge property I owned into a nursery. But the roses didn’t just save me financially. They also saved me emotionally. I wanted to die after losing your father. What kept me going was you. But still, I was so close to succumbing to a nervous breakdown. Instead, I poured all of my energy into the roses. So now you know why they have been so important to me.”

  “And everyone thought you were crazy,” Anabella said in a sad voice before she realized what she had said. “I’m sorry, Mamma, I didn’t mean—”

  Signora Ferraro smiled. “That is okay. I know what everyone has thought about me. I’ve overheard the villagers gossiping about me and even a few of the workers. I don’t blame them.”

  “It’s so unfair, Mamma. You didn’t deserve to be spoken of that way. If they only knew the sacrifices you made during the war.”

  “It’s all right, Anabella. Now, you know everything, and I must say I finally feel a huge load has been lifted off my shoulders.”

  “Mamma, I must ask you. Why did you decide to tell me about Papà’s death here among the sunflowers? It must be so painful for you.”

  “It’s time I let go of the past. I’ve been its prisoner for too long. And seeing your husband’s gorgeous paintings of the sunflowers and you in them reminded me of how beautiful they are and how much I used to love them. After all, it was in my father’s sunflower garden that I first laid eyes on your papà. We even made love there for the first time. In fact, that was when you were conceived.”

  Anabella saw something she’d never seen in her mother’s face before—a glow of happiness. She stared at the sunflowers as she no doubt was remembering that day she’d shared with Anabella’s father.

  “I should have remembered all of that instead of only seeing the evil that had happened in the sunflower garden that day.”

  “It’s kind of strange, Mamma—my meeting Dante, who first saw me in his dreams walking in a sunflower field, and your past association with them.”

  “I know. It is a bit odd.” Signora Ferraro glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for our midday meal. How about we clip a few sunflowers to give to the girls? I brought a pair of pruning shears with me. I’ll clip extra to put in vases throughout the house.”

  Anabella’s eyes met her mother’s. She smiled before saying, “That would be lovely, Mamma.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Signora Ferraro

  Fourteen years later . . .

  Pienza, 1989

  Signora Ferraro was enjoying the perfect afternoon in late May. No clouds were visible in the sky. And the roses had begun blooming. She sat in her wheelchair by the wooden table that stood on the porch in front of the house. As she sipped her rose water through a straw, she watched Mariella and Valeria, who were setting the table with the contents of a picnic basket. They were arguing, but Signora Ferraro wasn’t close enough to hear. The girls were now eighteen and were as beautiful as their mother had been at that age.

  Though she was now seventy-four years old and had suffered a stroke last year that had left her partially paralyzed on the left side of her body, Signora Ferraro still managed to get around the farm in her wheelchair as she continued to oversee the workers cul
tivating her roses. While she hadn’t done the physical labor on her farm in quite some time now, she still wanted to participate in whatever small way she could. About ten years ago, Dante had decided he wanted to learn all about growing roses and take a step back from his painting. While he still painted and sold his work, he no longer traveled to Florence or Siena to have exhibits. After Anabella’s illness, he had decided he wanted to be with his family more. Since he’d made so much money those first years with his paintings, he was able to cut back on the number of pieces he created. The rose business had made the most money it ever had since her son-in-law had come on board. It had surprised—but greatly pleased—Signora Ferraro when she learned Dante wanted to manage the nursery.

  “Mamma! I was looking for you. I thought you were still in the greenhouse.” Dante came over to her, holding a gardening hoe in one hand and a bottle of Peroni beer in the other. He bent over to kiss his mother-in-law on the cheek before taking a long swig of his beer. He’d begun calling her “Mamma” about fourteen years ago, and she hadn’t objected when he first asked her if he could do so. She’d been honored that he thought of her as a second mother. And in turn, he came to feel like the son she’d never had. Franco would’ve adored Dante had he been alive to meet him. She was sure of that.

  “It was beginning to get too warm in there. Besides, I wanted to see how the girls were coming along with the picnic.”

  Dante glanced over at his daughters. “Whoa! What are you arguing about? Enough! All you ever do lately is quibble between yourselves.”

  “Don’t worry, Papà, we still love each other!” Valeria called out as she exchanged glances with Mariella, who broke out laughing.

  Signora Ferraro shook her head. They had a lot of spunk. Is that what the young generation called it now? But what Valeria had said was true. While Valeria and Mariella did argue more as teenagers, they were still as close as ever, and she hoped it would always be that way.

  “I’m afraid to see what the two of you cooked for our picnic today,” Dante ribbed them, frowning, but then when they weren’t looking, he winked at Signora Ferraro.

  “Our cooking has gotten better, Papà! Nonna has been helping us with it, so I’m sure you’ll see how much it has improved.”

  “You’ll be wonderful cooks in no time, girls. I’m sure of it. Don’t listen to your father,” Signora Ferraro said.

  “Grazie, Nonna. We love you!” the girls sang out in unison.

  “Ti voglio bene!” Signora Ferraro replied. She grabbed her sunglasses, which she kept in the pocket of her skirt, and quickly pulled them on, not wanting the twins to notice her eyes were filling up with tears. It was silly that she would come close to crying every time they told her they loved her, but she couldn’t help it. She noticed Dante was looking at her and smiling, but he didn’t comment that he’d seen her tears.

  “Mamma, you looked deep in thought when I was walking toward you before. I hope nothing is wrong?”

  “Can’t an old woman have some privacy, especially where her thoughts are concerned?” She made a face, but a soft smile escaped, letting him know she was only teasing him.

  “Fine. Fine. You women are all the same.” Dante shook his head.

  Signora Ferraro hesitated before saying, “Well, if you must know, I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you for a son, and, if Franco were alive, he would’ve felt the same way.”

  Dante looked at Signora Ferraro. His eyes glistened as they filled with tears. He took a sip of beer before saying, “Grazie, Mamma. That means the world to me.”

  Normally, Signora Ferraro didn’t express her emotions readily. That was why she’d paused before telling him what she’d been thinking about. But something deep inside of her had urged her to tell him, and now she was glad she had. It made her feel good to know she’d made Dante happy, especially after all of the happiness he’d brought to Anabella, her grandchildren, and even herself.

  The door to the house swung open as Francesco came running toward them.

  “Papà, Italy just scored against Brazil. You have to come watch the rest of the soccer game. I just know Italy is going to beat them!”

  “All right, I’m coming, but it will be time soon for our picnic.”

  “But we’re going to miss the end of the game!”

  “Enough, Francesco! Your sisters have been working hard all morning cooking, and we cannot let their efforts go to waste. We’ll record the game and watch it after we eat. Besides, if they go into overtime, we might still catch the end of it live.”

  “That’s right, Francesco! You’re not going to ruin our picnic!” Mariella called out to her brother.

  “If it were a real picnic, we’d be having it on the ground or at a park somewhere, not on a porch table!” Francesco shot back.

  Signora Ferraro glanced down, feeling guilty. For it was because of her that they could not have a real picnic. She’d tried to tell them they could lay out the picnic on the ground, and she could just eat her food in her wheelchair, but the girls had refused. She was touched at what thoughtful young women they’d become.

  “Francesco!” Dante bellowed, lowering his face so his eyes met his son’s.

  “It is all right, Dante. Please, don’t be upset with him. He didn’t mean it,” Signora Ferraro pleaded with him.

  Francesco was beet red now. He looked down at his feet. Signora Ferraro noticed he had inherited the same trait his mother had had of staring at her feet whenever she was embarrassed—or in Francesco’s case whenever he was in trouble, which seemed to happen a lot. With a rebellious streak, he reminded her a little of herself when she was young and had stood up to her father and brother. And he was a dead ringer for Franco. Dante and Anabella had named him “Francesco” in honor of Franco.

  “I’m sorry, Nonna. You’re right. I didn’t mean it. I just forgot. You know I love you.” He gave his grandmother the most charming smile she’d ever seen. Like his grandfather, he knew how to win over hearts.

  “Come here.” Signora Ferraro waved to him with her arm that was still good.

  He walked over, glancing at his feet the entire way. When he reached her, he finally looked up and leaned forward, placing a kiss on both of her cheeks.

  “I love you, too, Francesco. You’re a good boy. Don’t forget that. But you need to respect your father and even your sisters. I know that’s not fair, but they are older than you. Someday, you will understand.”

  “What is all this yelling out here?” Anabella stepped out onto the porch, her hands on her hips.

  “It’s nothing,” Signora Ferraro quickly said before Mariella and Valeria could rat their younger brother out. She whispered in Francesco’s ear, “Now, go inside with your father and watch the game.”

  Francesco walked toward the house, avoiding his mother’s gaze. Dante followed him, but stopped as he passed Anabella and gave her a light kiss on the lips. Signora Ferraro was amazed at how he never failed to shower affection on his wife throughout the day. And she noticed they still looked at each other as they had that first day all those years ago when they’d come to her, asking for her blessing. To think she had almost put an end to their union. She shuddered now to think of the grave mistake she had made. Thankfully, Anabella had rebelled and not listened to her.

  As Anabella walked toward her, Signora Ferraro admired the burnt-orange sundress her daughter was wearing—a dress Anabella had made herself. Though she was now forty-five, she looked as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than when she was younger. Just as Signora Ferraro had told her she would that day when Signora Ferraro had taken Anabella out to the sunflower field, Anabella had successfully won her battle with leukemia. And two years later, she’d given birth to Francesco. Signora Ferraro had thanked God every day since then that He’d answered her prayers. For once, He had not taken someone she loved from her.

  “Dinner is ready, girls. Why don’t you start carrying it out, and I’ll be in to help you in a moment,” Anabella called out to her daughters.


  “Wait until you see what we cooked for you, Nonna!” Mariella said as she and Valeria walked by. Signora Ferraro could hear them giggling as they hurried inside.

  “How are you feeling, Mamma?” Anabella placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder.

  “Fine. Before you know it, I will have my full mobility back, and I’ll be in your hair and the children’s hair again.” She patted Anabella’s hand.

  “You are never in our hair, Mamma.”

  After Anabella had recovered from her illness, she and Dante had asked Signora Ferraro if they could permanently stay on the farm. Signora Ferraro had been stunned. She’d always thought they would return to their own home once Anabella was better. But Anabella had told her she didn’t want to be apart from her again. And the girls had loved having their grandmother with them every day. So they’d sold their house and moved in. Once Francesco came along, Dante had added an extension to the house, which gave them an additional two rooms.

  “When you get old and become more reliant on others, you begin to feel like a burden.”

  “Mamma! Don’t ever feel that way! You know how much we love you.”

  Signora Ferraro wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just feel more emotional today.” Signora Ferraro thought about how she’d felt the overwhelming need to tell Dante earlier how much he meant to her.

  “Ah! We all have our days like that. And I can relate to what you said about feeling like a burden when you become more reliant on others. Remember I felt that way when I was sick? And you chided me back then for feeling that way, just as I’m scolding you now.”

  “True. I must say we have been blessed these past fourteen years, ever since you recovered. Anabella, these have been the happiest years of my life—well, apart from when your father was in my life.” Once again, Signora Ferraro managed to surprise herself with her candid sentiment.