“And these have been my happiest years—apart from when I was a child running among the roses.” Anabella laughed. Signora Ferraro joined her.
They sat quietly for a few moments as they looked out over the rose gardens.
“You know, Mamma, ever since you told me how you planted the roses in honor of all those who died in Florence during the war, I have thought about them every day—the lost souls. I know I don’t know their names with the exception of Papà, Nonno, Zio Michele, and Zia Enza, but I still think about them and the families they left behind.”
“I always think about them too. Though it’s painful to remember, it is also good to remember. I made the mistake of trying to repress those memories for so long.”
“Allora!” Mariella stepped outside, carrying a ceramic baking dish.
“Ti voglio bene, Mamma,” Anabella whispered.
“Ti voglio bene, mia figlia.” Signora Ferraro smiled as she told her daughter she loved her. Anabella gave her a hug. Her hair had grown back to her waist, the way she’d worn it before she lost it during her chemo treatments. Signora Ferraro reached out and stroked it before letting her daughter go.
“Close your eyes, Nonna! Can you guess what’s in the baking dish?” Valeria called out as she placed a pitcher of red wine on the table.
Signora Ferraro obeyed and closed her eyes. She could tell they had made manicotti, but she pretended not to know.
“I think I smell sauce, but I’m just not sure.”
“Open your eyes now!” Mariella called out. Once Signora Ferraro had opened her eyes, Mariella lifted the foil from the baking dish.
“Ah! Manicotti! My favorite! Grazie, Mariella and Valeria!”
Dante and Francesco joined them as they began eating. Signora Ferraro looked at her family and froze the moment in her mind. She wanted to remember this happy day forever.
After they had cleaned up, Signora Ferraro excused herself to go take her siesta. She wheeled her chair to her room and waited until Anabella came in to help her onto the bed.
“It’s going to take two of us today,” Dante said as he walked into her room with Anabella.
“I’m exhausted. Sorry, Mamma, but I’ll tuck you in.”
“Now I’m a baby!” Signora Ferraro said, pretending to be mad, but when her gaze met her son-in-law’s and daughter’s, the three broke out laughing.
Dante helped her onto her bed, and Anabella took her mother’s shoes off.
“I don’t know what I would do without you all. I have to be the luckiest mother and grandmother in the world.”
“And we are the luckiest children and grandchildren to have you.”
Anabella and Dante leaned over and kissed her on either cheek before they left to take their own siestas.
Soon, Signora Ferraro was fast asleep and dreaming. She was in her wheelchair, making the rounds of the rose garden. The roses always looked even more vivid in her dreams. Suddenly, her body felt light, and, when she looked down, she saw she was no longer in her wheelchair, but instead on a bicycle—the same bicycle she had ridden when she lived in Florence. How good it felt to pedal, and she then realized she was no longer paralyzed on the left side of her body. She giggled and pedaled faster.
As she traveled down the street of her childhood home, she recognized the route she was taking—it was the same route she’d taken when she had delivered the newspapers for the Resistance. Fear gripped her as she wondered if she was going to run into any German soldiers, but when she reached the Piazza del Duomo, she stopped her bike. People were on the steps of the famed Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Flowers, dancing and cheering. Cars sped by on the side streets as their drivers honked their horns. People were waving Italian flags and singing the national anthem. She resumed pedaling and made her way to the center of the piazza. People were holding signs that read “Victory!” And other signs proclaimed “The Germans are gone!”
Her heart leapt when she realized it had finally happened. Florence was free! She was free at last. Franco would be so happy. But then she remembered he was gone.
As she continued pedaling, she noticed the crowds were moving off to the side and waving to her. She nodded her head and smiled in acknowledgment. People raised their fists in the air and began chanting something in unison. It wasn’t until the chanting became louder that she realized what they were saying: “Grazie! Grazie!”
Instinct made her glance over her shoulder. She was the only one riding down the path. She turned her attention back to the road, and it seemed as if everyone was looking right at her. Why wasn’t there anyone else on his or her bike or walking behind her?
The street narrowed as she approached the Ponte Vecchio. The sun was setting over the Arno River, and she gasped softly—for it was the most breathtaking sunset she’d ever witnessed. She got off her bike and made her way toward the bridge. Throngs of people closed in on her, and for a moment she became frightened, until, one by one, each of them walked up to her and handed her a white rose.
“Grazie, Maria,” they each said.
She looked at them, confused. Soon her arms were filled with long-stemmed white roses. Their white petals gleamed so bright. She’d never seen such a radiant white. When she looked up, she saw a trio of people standing a couple of feet before her. An old man and a couple. They were smiling and holding their hands out. They, too, held white roses. As she approached, she was able to make out their faces. Tears slid down her face. She opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out.
First, the old man approached her. As he gave her his rose, he leaned forward and kissed her. “Maria! My brave, beautiful daughter.”
“Papà,” she said.
Then the couple approached her. They threw their roses into the large pile she was carrying and embraced her.
“Michele. Enza,” she said through choked sobs.
“We are with you, Maria. We’ve always been with you,” Michele said.
Enza took her by the arm and led her forward. “Come.”
They walked to the wall of the Ponte Vecchio. The sun was even lower now in the sky, casting deep copper and bronze hues over the water. A man was staring at the sunset. When Enza and Maria were about a foot away from the bridge, Enza let go of her arm. The man turned around and smiled the most beautiful smile Maria had ever seen.
“Oh!” she cried out, falling to her knees. The roses spilled all around her. She could smell their sweet fragrance. Even her roses had never smelled this intense.
“You’ve finally come, Maria.” Franco stepped forward and held a hand out to her.
She took his hand and let him help her to her feet. “Is it really you?”
Franco leaned forward and kissed her. And with that kiss, she knew without a doubt her husband was standing before her.
When they finally broke their kiss, Franco said, “I’ve been waiting so long, but now that you’re here, it feels like you were never gone.” He kept his arm around her waist, holding her to him while his other arm remained behind his back.
She leaned into him and breathed deeply, remembering his scent, and then ran her hand through his thick, wavy hair. Her mind raced back to the last night they had shared together as they made love again and again. He was finally back in her arms.
“These are for you.” Franco brought the arm he’d been keeping behind his back forward and held out a large bouquet of sunflowers.
She took them. Their bright petals, like those of the roses, seemed to be glowing.
“I don’t understand, Franco. Why are all these people giving me flowers? Why are they saying thank you?”
“Think about it, Maria.”
She looked into his eyes, and suddenly, she was taken back to her rose farm. Working so hard, always working so hard to plant more roses—the roses that would pay tribute to those poor souls who were lost during the war. Once more, she took in the crowds before her. They were still staring at her and smiling.
“You paid honor to them, Maria. Now they are paying tri
bute to you.”
A strange sensation came over her, and then she knew.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?”
“No, my love. You’ve come home to me.”
“But what about Anabella? She needs me . . . and the twins and Francesco need me, too.”
“They’re fine, Maria. You protected our baby after I was killed. You’ve done a wonderful job with her. I’m so proud of you.”
She bowed her head as tears slid down her face. She thought back to earlier in the day when she had been surrounded by her family. A feeling of contentment had spread through her—a feeling that everything was as it should be. And she had told them all she loved them. It was true. They no longer needed her. Now, it was time for her to be reunited with the love of her life.
“I’m ready, Franco.”
Linking their arms, Maria and Franco walked along the length of the Ponte Vecchio. Maria was still holding the sunflowers he’d given to her. As she admired their beauty, she couldn’t believe she had ever despised them.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
THE SUNFLOWER GIRL
Rosanna Chiofalo
About This Guide
The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Rosanna Chiofalo’s The Sunflower Girl.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Anabella grows up on the idyllic rose farm her mother has created. Signora Ferraro often reminds Anabella when she is a little girl that she lives in a paradise on Earth. Do you feel that Signora Ferraro has created the perfect place for her daughter to live? Or is it a “prison,” as Anabella comes to call it when she is an adult? What are the pros and cons of having a childhood in such a beautiful place?
2. Signora Ferraro loves roses but detests sunflowers. Do you have a preference? Do you feel like one flower more than the other has greater weight in popular culture?
3. Dante becomes obsessed with the “sunflower girl” of his dreams. How has his obsession made him a better artist? When he meets Anabella, he realizes that the woman in his dreams is real; what else do you think drew him to her and made him fall in love with her?
4. In the chapters that flash back to Signora Ferraro’s life as a Resistance fighter, we see a much different person in the young Maria. Were you saddened to see how much she changed later in life? Were you able to see traits in the young Maria that carried through to when she was older?
5. When Maria meets Franco and eventually joins the Resistance, she realizes that, up until that point, she was pretending as if everything were fine in Italy, even though they were at war. Do you think many people felt this way during WWII, before the war took more of a toll on them and their loved ones? How can this coping mechanism help and how can it hurt?
6. After we see Maria’s struggles during WWII, do you think she was justified in how she raised Anabella? Or do you think her trauma clouded her good sense and made her paranoid?
7. Anabella doesn’t mature emotionally until she’s in her twenties because of her sheltered upbringing. Do you think it was cruel and/or selfish of her to leave her mother to go to Florence with Dante? Or was her delayed rebellion against her mother a necessary step in her development?
8. Do you believe Signora Ferraro acted unjustly toward Anabella and Dante when they announced they were seeing each other and later when they told her they were going to Florence?
9. How are Anabella and Signora Ferraro alike? How are they different?
10. Did your feelings toward Signora Ferraro change from the beginning of the novel to the end? After you learned why she was so obsessed with roses and the rationale behind her hatred of sunflowers, did you feel you understood her better, and also understood the choices she made in her life?
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