Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  12

  Enrico stared at Nanino who dashed into the kitchen, nearly breathless. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I went over to bring Signore Carlo the good news, but it did not go well. I have something dreadful to tell you,” Nanino began.

  Horrified, Enrico listened to Nanino’s account of everything Prudenza had said and all that had transpired in its aftermath. Doubt suddenly enveloped him. He thought about his sons – one dark and one fair-haired. Could it be true? Had Felicia lain with another man, just as his own mother had? He ran his hands through his hair and paced up and down, the sting of betrayal nearly too great to bear. Now he understood how his father must have suffered – the humiliation, the shame!

  Felicia’s unbridled passion before conceiving had been a challenge to keep pace with, requiring his utmost efforts. With such feral desires, and the few times he could not sate her, might she have sought satisfaction elsewhere? God, how he prayed it was not true, but what other explanation could there be?

  After Nanino left the room, Enrico ascended the stairs with a heavy heart. Slowly, he eased open the door of their bedchamber. All was quiet within. Felicia slept soundly, one long chestnut braid over her shoulder and breast, her face peaceful, innocent. The babies slept side by side in the cradle he had made for them next to the bed. Enrico peered down at his sleeping sons. This time, all he noticed was how different they looked – dark-haired Luca, with his round face slightly plumper than his golden-haired, smaller brother, Lorenzo. He stared down at them and lost all sense of time.

  How could he, with his golden hair and blues eyes, have fathered a dark-haired child? Impossible! Felicia must have lain with a dark-haired man. He thought back to what Nanino told him about what Prudenza had said. Due to her Sicilian upbringing, Prudenza had always been knowledgeable about such matters. If his mother, who he once believed to be equal to sainthood, could cuckold his father, then all women were capable of the same – even Felicia. The revelation stabbed him with such force that he could scarcely breathe. Felicia, his love, his life, betrayed him. He did not want to believe it, but the memories of his childhood loss came back and he could not quell his escalating doubts.

  He stepped closer to the bed. Filled with fury and disappointment, he looked down into the face of his sleeping wife. “How can they be my sons? All of Costalpino will be talking about us, about you, and how you put the horns of a cuckold on me.”

  Felicia opened her eyes, groggy and confused. “Enrico? What is it?” She raised herself against the pillow.

  He formed the ancient gesture of infidelity by raising only his index and little finger. “Is this what you did to me? Cheated?”

  “Enrico, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “Did you sleep with another man?” Anguish etched his every word.

  “No, of course not! I would never do such a thing.” Felicia’s face puckered with confusion. “Why would you think it?”

  “It is said that if twins look different, they have different fathers. One look at our sons and you can see they are as different as fire and water.” Hurt tumbled in his gut. “Lorenzo with his golden hair looks like me, but Luca has a round face and dark hair. He cannot be mine.”

  “I have dark hair; he got it from me.” Felicia’s face paled. “I vow before God the babies are your sons!” With tremulous hands, she reached out.

  He pulled away as if her touch had suddenly grown poisonous.

  “Enrico, please believe me!” She leaned towards him, desperation clouding her face.

  All his bliss perished. The grief he had suffered at his mother’s abandonment resurfaced fully. His sons looked no more alike than he and Carlo.

  Felicia heaved herself higher upon her pillows. “Enrico, I swear I have never bedded any other man. Throughout our marriage I have been loyal, faithful only to you who I love with all my heart.” A deluge of tears fell from her eyes. She grabbed his hand, but he yanked it from her grasp.

  He approached the cradle. “One or both are not my sons.” He hated the sorrow that warbled his voice, the world of hurt that stung him. The thought of her infidelity tore through him.

  “No!” Felicia sobbed as she reached out for him. “You are wrong. I have never been with anyone but you. This I swear.”

  Enrico peered out the window again, his mind awash with dark thoughts. This must be what hell feels like. He returned to Felicia’s bedside. “You must think me a fool. For such a thing to happen you must have lain with another man. There is no other explanation. Who is he?”

  “There is no other. I bought a powerful charm, the mammetta, from Cosma to get myself with child. Perhaps the charm was too powerful.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Enrico, you must believe me. I love you. I have always loved you and no other. I give you my oath and will swear on whatever you deem sacred, on the relics of the holy saints or on the lives of our sons. Look at them closely, Enrico, and you shall see how strongly they both resemble you, their father. Identical dimples in their chin, the same nicely shaped ears, and both have long fingers and toes. What you suggest is impossible.”

  Enrico looked down into the faces of pure innocence. The urge to protect them swept through him. The loss of his own mother had altered him forever. All these years he had carried the memory of her loving arms, the vision of her beautiful face when she kissed him. When she left, it was as if his entire world had crumbled, and from then on, his father found solace in wine until the day of his death. These babies did not deserve to suffer the loss of a parent as he had. In his heart, he knew he could never harm them deliberately. If anything, he wanted to give them the family he had been denied. He went again to Felicia’s bedside. Where he had once beheld her with trust and love, he now saw her through tainted eyes. Yet, he yearned to believe her. Their future depended on it. “You will swear on holy relics?” he asked cautiously.

  “I would swear on anything you like and I will do whatever you wish to prove that I am telling the truth.”

  Could he believe her? Enrico remained unconvinced. “But the reality is that you have given birth to twins. What other possible explanation is there?”

  Felicia responded with an awkward, nervous smile. “How do you think, my love? We cavorted. It should not come as a surprise to either of us.” She cocked her head.

  A flash of acceptance crept into Enrico’s heart, but when he looked at his sons again, it faded. Like a tiny spark that jumped from the blaze, it had ignited doubts that continued to smolder deep inside him. Why could he not believe her? With all his heart, he wanted to, but like a newly sprouted weed, his doubt flourished.

  13

  In the days that followed, the pleasure of motherhood Felicia should have experienced did not exist. Wrath tinged with fear at Prudenza’s cruel words seethed within her. If the woman was capable of spreading such vicious gossip and planting doubt in her husband’s mind, then she was more than capable of worse acts.

  Felicia was convinced now, more than ever, that Prudenza was envious at the birth of her sons and hated her, for she too, wanted sons and had yet to conceive. All it took to cast the evil eye on some poor unsuspecting person was to pay them a compliment while feeling envious. Felicia took care to protect her sons from such wickedness. She tucked a horn-shaped amulet in their clothing, hammered horseshoes at the head of their cradle, and whenever Prudenza visited, she dressed them badly and dirtied their faces lest the woman pay them a compliment and cast the evil eye on them.

  Weeks passed. After preparing Enrico a midday meal of bread, minestrone, figs, and cheese, he rose from the trestle table and went outside. Soon the sound of chopping wood filtered through the open window of her kitchen.

  He had barely spoken to her since the birth of their sons. That was the least of her problems, she thought, while she cleared the plates. Traditionally, in the weeks after a birth, the women of Costalpino visited new mothers. Overwhelmed and completely exhausted by the demands of her newborn twins, Felicia did not immediat
ely notice that no one came to see her. In fact, it was not until her sons’ baptism that Felicia truly grew to be alarmed. Only the godparents, Carlo and Prudenza, attended.

  Prudenza was the last person she wanted to stand as godmother to her sons, but she failed to sway Enrico. Felicia felt forced to accept, though she had learned through gossip that Prudenza, that vile snake of a woman, lay at the source of the scandal and all her troubles. Not only had Prudenza started the horrible rumor about her twins, she propagated it at every opportunity.

  A horrible tension now wracked Felicia’s marriage. She hated it and missed the companionship and warmth that had once existed between her and Enrico before her sons’ births. Gone were the days of holding hands and gentle caresses. Instead, a wall of bitter suspicion filled the void between them, and all because Prudenza had spread the horrible lie about the twins’ paternity. Now, the women of Costalpino either avoided her or downright shunned her.

  Felicia knew well that some circumstances reached beyond a person’s control, and prayer was not enough to set matters right. Whenever the women villagers faced difficult situations, they sought a woman trained in the old ways or the healing arts. Cosma was such a woman. Now, Felicia needed her help. Again! Cosma had helped her become pregnant; perhaps she would know how to help her now.

  Felicia peered out of the window of her home. Dark skies and a strong wind threatened rain. What she must do could not wait. Without regard for the weather and desperate to find a way to stop the wretchedness that had befallen her, Felicia tidied her kitchen, donned her mantle, and stepped out into the weather.

  “Where are you going?” Enrico scowled as he tossed a log onto the woodpile against the house.

  Felicia heaved a sigh. She understood his insecurity and did everything she could to dispel it. “I am going to see Cosma. I need some herbs to boil into a tisane to ensure my milk keeps flowing.” It was a lie, albeit a small one. She had plenty of milk. Ever since she had left her childbed, Enrico kept her under scrutiny. He seemed convinced she had been unfaithful and nothing she said or did could make him believe otherwise.

  Enrico glanced at the sky. “Now? It looks as if it’s going to rain.” He studied her sternly. For a brief instant, her heart leapt when she saw the angry glimmer in his eyes soften.

  Felicia knew she looked tired and gaunt. Lack of sleep and the constant demands of the twins weighed heavily on her. She saw dark circles beneath her eyes when she gazed into the looking glass in their bedchamber. All the turmoil since the birth kept her anxious and upset.

  His look turned cold again. “And our sons? What if they cry out because they are hungry?”

  “I’ve nursed them and they are sleeping. Besides, Caterina is with them. I will return before they wake up.”

  There was no one Enrico loved and trusted more than Caterina. The housekeeper’s presence would silence his concerns.

  “If I go quickly, I can be back before the rain starts.” Before Enrico could say another word, she held her head high, clutched her mantle tighter, and headed for the road that led to the wooded path to Cosma’s house. She shivered because the cloak offered minimal protection against the cold wind that billowed it around her legs as she walked.

  Half way to her destination, the rain lashed down, drenching her and the world in a forceful surge. Felicia shivered beneath the mantle’s sodden weight. She pushed on towards Cosma’s house, her body shaking, as the wind grew colder and the rain heavier. The path thickened with mud. Why was she plagued with such ill luck? Had God sent it from above for this rumored crime she did not commit? Had the ill will of all her friends and family conspired to descend upon her, as this lashing storm did? She longed for a carefree life without strife and cruelty.

  She stumbled over a fallen log that blocked the path and struck her knee on a boulder. She tumbled to the other side, crying out when she struck the ground. The raging wind smothered the sound.

  A short time ago, she could have asked Enrico or friends to accompany her, or come to her aid, but that was before the ugly rumor started. Her tears mingled with the rain. Her friends did not want her around their husbands, brothers, or sons, and Enrico treated her coldly. The world, as she once knew it, had irrevocably changed. Never had she felt so isolated, so abandoned. Hurt and loneliness drove her onward. She rubbed her knee and straightened. She stumbled down the path through the muck, battling the storm.

  Felicia staggered onto the doorstep of Cosma’s cottage. Lightning lit the sky. She called out Cosma’s name as the brilliant flash illuminated everything around her. The healer swung open the door and Felicia stumbled into her arms.

  Inside, flames in the hearth shed comforting warmth. Cosma removed the soaked mantle from Felicia’s shoulders and invited her close to the fire to dry her damp gown. The woman draped the wet garment over the back of a chair and set it near the fire to dry. She then suspended a pot of water on the crane and came to stand beside Felicia. “You are hurt.”

  Felicia nodded and raised the hem of her torn gown. Blood dripped from a small cut on her red, swelling knee. “I tripped and fell.”

  Cosma pulled down a few bundles of dry herbs from the rafters and put several leaves from each bunch into a mortar and pestle. After adding what looked like some oil poured from a little cruet and some cobwebs from a clay dish, she pounded and stirred the concoction into a paste. Cosma raised Felicia’s foot onto a chair and washed the wound clean. With gentle fingers, she spread the mixture over the cut, and then wrapped it with linen.

  “That feels much better. Thank you.”

  Cosma walked to the fire, adding chamomile and honey to the pot of boiling water. She let it steep for several moments, and then poured the tisane into a cup, which she handed to Felicia. “Drink; it will warm and soothe you.” Felicia took a sip, enjoying the hot liquid as it made its way from throat to stomach.

  Cosma sat across the trestle and peered at her. “Why have you come?”

  Felicia inhaled deeply and described her troubles.

  Cosma listened without interruption.

  “Each woman who has heard the rumor, whether rich or poor, now hates me. Not one person believes me, not even my own husband.” The act of unburdening herself unleashed a torrent of tears.

  Cosma handed her a handkerchief and placed a kindly arm around her. “You must give it time. It will pass.”

  “People have long memories. Scandals never die. Please, is there something you can do?”

  Cosma stared at her through narrowed eyes. “I am a healer.”

  Felicia pulled and twisted the handkerchief in her shaking hands. “Is there a charm, a spell perhaps, which can help put a stop to my troubles?”

  Cosma inhaled a deep breath and she frowned. “Well, I am not a strega, even though everyone believes I am. I am a healer who knows a few charms for the good of others, nothing more.”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean to imply...I mean...”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Cosma grinned, making the wrinkles around her eyes more prominent. “I know the ancient arts well, especially as they pertain to fertility or women’s ailments. That’s why I could make the mammetta for you, but I have never used my knowledge for dark purposes.” She cast Felicia a pointed look.

  “I do not wish to harm anyone. I only seek to put an end to the rumor that has turned my life upside down. I want people to respect my sons. I want my husband to smile at me once more. I want my friends to visit me and laugh with me again.”

  Cosma rubbed her chin in thought. “It sounds as if you’ve been cursed with the evil eye. Think hard. Do you recall anyone paying you a compliment while being envious at the time?”

  Felicia recalled the day so many months ago when she had announced her pregnancy to Prudenza. She remembered her unease when Prudenza wished her and the child well. How could she have been so blind? That must have been when Prudenza cast the evil eye! No one else in the village would or could do such a thing. She shrugged her shoulders in response to Cosma’s q
uestion. “I suspect I know who did it.”

  Cosma poured some water into a wide shallow bowl. She whispered a prayer as she made the sign of the cross on Felicia’s forehead three times. Then Cosma dipped her fingers into a cup of olive oil and shook them over the water, sending golden droplets into the clear liquid.

  “See, the oil beads into a circle. The evil eye plaguing you most probably came from a woman. If it were a man, the oil would bead into lines.”

  How cruel of Prudenza. Every other woman she knew would have been happy for her.

  “There is something I can offer you that might help offset the malevolence,” Cosma whispered.

  Felicia’s heart leapt. “Please, tell me. I am willing to try anything if it restores my marriage and returns my friends to me.”

  “Are you certain? The spell is strong. It will turn the lies back onto the person who uttered them and may cause them great harm.”

  “Just as I was harmed?” The bitterness in her voice alarmed her. “I am certain I know the person who did this. It is –”

  “No, do not tell me. It is best I do not know. You alone must bear the responsibility. Are you certain you want to proceed?”

  “I have never been so certain of anything in my life. If it means restoring Enrico’s faith and love, then I will risk anything.”

  “Very well, then, this is what you must do...”

  14

  Enrico looked down into the cradle where his sleeping sons lay. They looked so innocent, so helpless, not yet ready to brave the dangers of the world. He tried to see his own resemblance in their faces, but their features were too undeveloped to discern anything.

  After his mother’s abandonment, he could not fully trust any woman. Yet, from the time he first met Felicia, she had slowly rebuilt such faith. He had come to trust her completely. There had never been any reason not to. She had been a good, devoted wife. Now that Prudenza had planted the seeds of suspicion, however, he could not dispel his multiplying doubts.