by Jan Moran
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I considered adoption, but I wanted to keep my baby. And I did have good care. I stayed with Faith and Patrick O’Connell in the city at their private home, not one of those dreadful penitentiary maternity homes.”
“They take in girls like, like you? What kind of sinful people are they?”
Ava’s voice was rising, and Caterina bit back the urge to match her tone. “They’re good people. Faith is a midwife, so she delivered Marisa. And she was once a nun. She served at a Magdalene laundry in Ireland, but she left the order because of the cruel treatment of the girls, among other reasons.”
“She’s a fallen nun?” Her mother sniffed with disdain.
Caterina ignored her cutting remark. “I visited some of the maternity homes. They were awful. The girls there were desperate, and they were treated like prisoners, sinners, prostitutes.”
“Because that’s what they are.”
“Or maybe they aren’t. Maybe they’re just like me.”
Ava held up a hand and struggled to compose herself. “Be that as it may, I’ve decided you deserve another chance. This needn’t ruin your life. Not if we act quickly.”
“Marisa won’t ruin my life. I love her.”
Ava’s expression softened a little. “Of course you do, but so will another family. One that can give her the stability a child needs. You must adopt her out.” Ava smoothed a hand over her arm. Caterina thrust it away.
“No, I will not. I’ll make the decisions about what’s best for her. I’m her mother. And we have a stable family right here.”
“Here?” Ava’s eyes darted around. “Oh no, you can’t bring her here. You’d ruin your chances at a good marriage.”
“Honestly, I don’t care if I ever get married. Look at you, you’re fine. I can manage, too.”
“It’s hard to be alone. A widow with a child is acceptable, but an unwed mother with an illegitimate child is disgraceful. You’re too young to make that decision; you don’t know what you’d be missing.” She grimaced as she considered her words. “Well, clearly you do. But is that what you want? A celibate life? If men look at you—and believe me, they will now—it will be for only one thing.”
Caterina shook her head. “Sex isn’t the dirty, disrespectful thing it’s made out to be, Maman—that is, unless you think it is.”
“Caterina, listen to me. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to maintain our good reputation. You must give up this baby before it’s too late. It’s for the best, believe me.”
“I’m not giving up Marisa, and I’m not asking you for help. I’m simply telling you how I plan to live my life now.”
Ava’s face contorted. For a moment, Caterina thought she would erupt in anger, but instead, she crumpled her face into her hands.
This was not the reaction Caterina had expected. She’d never seen her mother break down before. She hesitated before placing a hand on Ava’s quivering shoulder.
After a few moments, Ava regained control. “Think for a moment. How will you care for a growing child?”
“I’ll manage.” Caterina leveled her gaze at her mother.
“You might have a child, but you’re still a foolish girl, Caterina. Please understand what you’ll have to deal with.” Ava bowed her head. “Consider Marisa’s future.”
“I am.” Frustrated by her inability to reach her mother and gain her understanding, Caterina kicked a rock with her boot and changed the subject to what she’d really come here to speak about. “There’s something else. An investigator from New York was here yesterday. He gave me some documents and mentioned an inheritance. It’s a house in Montalcino supposedly left to me by Papa’s mother, who died earlier this year. Do you know anything about this?”
Ava’s face grew pale, and her expression froze. After a long moment, she blinked. “No, I don’t. I thought she’d died long ago. Before you were born.”
Caterina cocked her head. “Then Papa lied to you?”
Ava licked her lips. “Well, I suppose he must have. But let’s not speak ill of the dead. Your father was a good man.”
“How strange.” Caterina paused, thinking. None of this made sense. Why would her father tell her mother that? They were never returning to Italy. Didn’t her father’s mother write to him? What happened? Her mother’s response raised more questions than it answered. Or was she concealing something? “Maybe I should have an attorney look at the documents and advise me. I could ask—”
“No, don’t do that,” Ava interjected. “I mean, it’s a waste of money. If you inherited a house, simply tell the investigator you want to sell it right away. It’s not as if you’ll ever go there.”
“I might. He said there’s a provision to pay my travel expenses there. On an airplane.” As Caterina thought of it, excitement coursed through her. It would be an adventure. Maybe her last one. “Look, I have a picture of it. It might even have a vineyard with it.” She took out the old photo from her shirt pocket.
“I don’t want to see it. That house is—” Ava stopped herself. “You shouldn’t go.”
“Why not? Maybe I have other family. I’d love to see Italy; I’ve heard so many stories from Raphael and—” Caterina stopped. “I’d just like to go,” she added quietly.
“No. I forbid it,” Ava said.
“I’ll make my own decision.” Caterina put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “That’s my heritage. I have a right to know whatever you’re keeping from me. I have family there, and I know nothing about them. We never even had family photos.”
“I will not discuss it anymore. If you knew, you would thank me.” Ava waved a hand in dismissal.
Caterina pressed on. “Do you know how much I missed having a grandmother? And you told me she’d died.” Ava’s face flushed and she quickly glanced away, but Caterina noticed her reaction. “You’ve lied to me, Maman. Why?”
“I had to.” Ava narrowed her eyes. “It was dangerous.”
“How dangerous could a little old lady be? Especially one who thought enough of me to include me in her will—never having met me or even having heard from me.”
“There is nothing good there.” Ava turned and continued walking.
“Why do you say that?” Caterina fell into step with her again. “The investigator told me he’d been here before and spoke to you. When were you going to tell me?”
“Let the past go.” Ava paused at the end of a row. She took her daughter’s hand and stroked it. “Ma chérie, trust me. Don’t go to Italy.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Ava pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Then I’m going. And I will find out, Maman, with or without you. I’m an adult, and I have a right to know about my family.”
“You, an adult?” Ava said, expressing a puff of air between her lips. “You know so little of life. My father left me and my mother in Bordeaux to serve France in the Great War. Afterward, he was never the same. And my beautiful mother … influenza spared no class, and she succumbed within a fortnight. What I’d gone through by your age doesn’t even compare—”
“I know it was difficult for you,” Caterina said, interrupting her familiar ramble. “But I’ve experienced life, too. More than you realize.”
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking to you.” Ava’s voice was rapidly rising to a shrill level. “You have no idea how I’ve tried to protect you. None. And this is the thanks I get?” She was yelling now. “And as for your life experiences, that’s not something you should be proud of. And you lied about it all.”
Caterina stiffened against Ava’s tirade. “Just like you lied to me about my grandmother.” Something was definitely amiss. She’d never known her mother to tell even a half truth. Or so she’d thought.
Ava stifled a sob, angrily brushing her eyes with the back of her hands.
She noticed Ava’s trembling hands, her quivering lips. Her fear. There was more to this than her mother was telling her. Ava’s angry res
istance only made her more determined than ever. What is she hiding? “I want to meet my family. Why can’t you even acknowledge them to me?” When Ava didn’t respond, she said, “I’m not afraid.”
A strangled sob choked from Ava’s throat. “You’ll find nothing but misery there, mark my words. Go ahead then. Go. But you’ll regret it.” Ava stalked away.
Though she’d tried to remain calm, Caterina was shaken by her mother’s outburst. Why would I regret it?
8
SEPTEMBER 1928 — MONTALCINO, ITALY
Blazing with shame, Ava pinched the apricot silk organza fabric between her fingers and lifted the hem of her dress as she hurried across the crowded patio. It was a balmy Montalcino night with a million shimmering stars vying for brilliance, but the romance of the evening stopped there. All around her, the men were reliving the last war, speaking about atrocities she couldn’t bear to hear again.
When she’d married Luca and moved here earlier in the year, she’d fallen in love with the sheer beauty of Tuscany. But now the charm of Montalcino had dimmed for her, and she found it growing more oppressive by the day. Her husband, Luca, was to blame, but what could she do?
She glanced behind her. The young Italian girls huddled at the far end of the stone-walled terrace were still laughing at her. Their insinuations about her husband’s actions still rang in her ears. Bambino bastardo. A bastard baby.
Luca met her at the doorway. His eyes were glassy, and the sweet stench of grappa hung on his breath. “What’s wrong now?” He blocked her path, mocking her, not allowing her to enter the villa.
Ava could hear the laughter growing louder, and she was dying of embarrassment. “You know what’s wrong,” she hissed. “Go back to Natalie. She’s the one you want.”
“Stop it, Ava. You’re making a scene.” Luca’s steely blue eyes bore into hers.
“Me? They’re saying she’s carrying your child, not her husband’s. Is it true?”
“What if it is?”
It was all Ava could do to keep from bursting into tears in a roomful of dignitaries. The laughter behind her blotted out all reason. When her husband stepped aside, she fled past him into the salon, racing for the staircase.
She knew Luca wouldn’t follow her. He never did. He was obsessed with Natalie.
Glancing back, she saw her mother-in-law. Violetta was cutting through the crowd of dignitaries that had gathered to bestow a posthumous honor upon her husband, commemorating his service to Toscana. She must have witnessed the commotion and argument. Ava was mortified.
Violetta quickly intercepted her. Deep-purple Russian amethyst earrings that were family treasures dangled against her neck. Her hair was swept into an elaborate style befitting her station, and the subtle scent of violets perfumed her smooth skin. Though she was Italian, she spoke quietly in French to Ava. “Come with me, chérie. Let us go upstairs for a respite.”
At just nineteen years old, Ava admired her mother-in-law’s omnipresent dignity. Violetta Romagnoli Rosetta ran the villa and the surrounding vineyards with a firm, yet fair, hand. Some called her unorthodox—and worse—because she dared to rise above the women’s gossip and do as she pleased. Since her husband’s death just two years ago, she’d entered into business agreements with men in the wine industry, and from all accounts, she held her own against them.
When they reached Ava and Luca’s suite on the second floor, Violetta pulled a cord to ring for the maid. “Don’t listen to the rumors. You know what those girls are like.”
“How can I not?” Ava wailed.
“Don’t take them seriously. Luca is your husband. Collect yourself, and return to the party with a smile on your face to spite those wicked girls.”
Ava plopped onto a chair.
“Luca is willful—he always has been.” Violetta pursed her lips. “I’m the first to admit that my son is a difficult husband. But when you have children, you will have something else to occupy your time. And you will have their love.”
A sob caught in Ava’s throat. She’d lost Luca’s child just a few months ago.
“Don’t fret. The doctor assured us there will be more babies for you.” She dabbed Ava’s eyes with her violet-scented handkerchief. “Men have their own agenda, and we have ours. You must be the heart of your family.” She shook her head. “And in my son’s case, the head, too.”
“Haven’t you heard what people are saying about Luca and Natalie?” Tears spilled from Ava’s eyes again, and she wished she could return home to France to her mother and father. But that was impossible. Her parents had died, and she had sold the château and vineyards in Bordeaux with the help of her elderly uncle and his lawyer. This was her life now.
“Ignore the gossip.” Violetta pressed a handkerchief with the embroidered initials VRR into Ava’s hand. She straightened, and her posture was as imperious as in the portrait of her that hung in the salon. “Have strength, Ava. You will need it in this life.”
“I can’t bear it, really I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Now dry your eyes and put a cool cloth on your face. I’ll return to our guests. You will return to the party, too—otherwise, those petty girls will have won. This is our house, Ava. Don’t let that happen.” Violetta turned, her voluminous skirts swishing regally behind her, and shut the door.
Ava huddled on the chaise longue. She wished she could speak to Violetta as she had her own mother. She admired her mother-in-law, but she couldn’t unburden her heart to her.
Ava closed her eyes and thought about how she’d come to this point. She’d met Luca and his family when they’d visited friends who’d lived near her parents. Ava’s father was an optimistic man who always saw the best in people. She could only imagine that he saw the best in Luca, too. At least, at first. One day, Luca left suddenly to return to Montalcino. Later, she wondered if her father might have sent him away.
After her father died of a heart attack, heartbroken over the loss of her mother, she’d received Luca’s letter asking for her hand in marriage. A week later, she was on the train to Montalcino to stay at his family’s villa.
Even now, she didn’t know why she had opened the door to his midnight taps. She hadn’t yet accepted Luca’s marriage proposal; besides, her uncle must approve. And yet she’d let him into her room, willingly, giggling over their naughtiness. Was it her nervousness, her vanity, or her need for comfort?
His passion consumed her, and he forced himself upon her, although it was not yet their wedding day. When his hands quickly found her secret place, she realized her error, but it was too late. He was relentless, despite her pleas and cries. And when he was finished, he left her in a heap with a satisfied smirk on his face.
Stunned, she’d returned to France the next day, hating him. Was this the type of man she should be tied to for life?
She thought not.
But it wasn’t long before her monthly cycle was late, and she was terrified. She was ruined, and worse, she was trapped. Women in a family such as hers simply did not have children out of wedlock. Her uncle, elderly though he was, would have threatened Luca’s life. The only way out was to write to Luca and accept his proposal—if he would have her.
She could not shame her uncle; it would have been the death of him. As it was, he lasted just a few months more, but at least he died in peace, relieved that Ava was suitably married.
After their marriage, Luca insisted that she sell her family home and the surrounding vineyard and move to Montalcino. Their place was here, he reasoned. With a heavy heart, Ava packed her clothes and personal items and prepared the château for sale.
Before she left, she walked the vineyard one last time, remembering her parents’ instructions on growing and harvesting the grapes and crafting their much-lauded wine. Overcome with emotion, she fell to her knees. With her bare hands, she clawed through the dirt and uprooted as many vines as she could that her father had planted. She packed the precious rootstock in a trunk to return to Montalcino. Upon her arrival, she’d
planted the vines in a special place and personally tended them.
Ava passed a hand over her forehead. It wasn’t long after they married that their lives began to unravel. She realized Luca had been in love with Natalie; he’d married her on the rebound after Natalie married Franco.
Luca’s impulsive, reckless nature brought frequent trouble, and alcohol only made his behavior worse. He was drinking in the village with friends the night she had her miscarriage. Violetta had tended to her, nursing her through the worst of it.
Ava shook her head at the memory. What would she have done without Violetta?
The door swung open, and Ava looked up. It was Luca. A chill coursed through her.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” he said, tearing off his tie. “Natalie just left.”
“What’s the matter with you? I’m your wife. I’m the one who has been insulted. Everyone says you’re having an affair with Natalie, and now she’s pregnant.”
Luca didn’t respond.
“What about Natalie’s husband? What about me?”
“She married him to spite me.” Luca’s face twisted into a grotesque, tormented mask. “I wouldn’t have married you if you hadn’t said you were pregnant.”
“But you wrote to me. You proposed.”
“And then you lied to me. You weren’t pregnant.” Fury blazed in Luca’s eyes, and he clenched his fists, advancing upon her.
“But I was.” Ava had never seen such a flash of anger in her husband. She pressed herself against the chaise longue.
He stood over her and lashed out, striking her across the cheek. She cried out, yet it only seemed to fuel his anger.
“Stop! Stop!” She raised her arms to protect her face.
“What’s going on here?” Violetta’s voice sliced through Luca’s madness. She grabbed her son and shoved him from the room. “Never hit your wife. Your father would have been ashamed of you. Get out.”
Ava curled into a ball, sobbing.