Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  Felicia would not be the first woman to plant a cuckoo in the nest, and she would not be the last. Many a man had accepted a child not of his own flesh and blood. Could he do the same? He did not know. Now he regarded his wife through the stony eyes of a suspicious man and hated himself for it.

  Could Prudenza be wrong about her theory of the twins’ parenthood, or was it merely old superstition resurrected? If she was right, what motive could she possibly have for telling everyone in Costalpino about it, for causing so much trouble for his new family?

  From the window of their upper story bedchamber, Enrico watched Felicia run back into the house in the midst of the rainstorm. His heart softened at the sight of her wet hair plastered to her head and her pale shivering face. Not many women would brave such a storm to acquire a few herbs to enhance breast milk when it was obvious by the sated state of the infants that she already had plenty. Felicia was a good mother, dedicated to the welfare of their children, as she had been a good wife to him.

  Ever since the birthing, they had spent their days with a wall of silence and suspicion between them. Perhaps he had been harsher than necessary with Felicia. Why had he listened to Prudenza’s stupid superstitions in the first place? Why had he allowed her to plant doubt in his mind? Because that particular superstition was the only plausible explanation for non-identical twins, and no matter what he did, he could not discount it as a possibility.

  For the sake of the children, he must try to put all this in the past so they could be raised with both a mother and a father. He would provide for his family, even though he could no longer trust Felicia. His anguish at her betrayal burned inside him each day. Nevertheless, he would not repudiate her or cast her out. Perhaps time would heal the hurt. In the meantime, a flask of wine would help numb his anguish.

  15

  Felicia spent the next day acquiring the items necessary to invoke the spell Cosma taught her. Only one article remained – a personal item belonging to Prudenza. From her window, she glanced over at Villa Bianca. Everything looked peaceful and lazy. The day was hot, and Prudenza had hung laundry out to dry.

  Felicia waited until the afternoon when she knew Prudenza normally took a nap. She crossed over the bridge and pulled one of Prudenza’s chemises down from the line. Felicia rolled it up into a tight ball, tucked it into a pouch that hung from her belt, and hurried home.

  That night, certain Enrico slept soundly, Felicia crept down the stairs into the kitchen. She retrieved Prudenza’s chemise from where she had hidden it behind the wooden keg and dropped it into the empty cauldron hanging from the crane over the hearth. Next, she poured olive oil into a mortar and added some precious black peppercorns. With the pestle, she pounded and stirred it into a paste, and then poured the contents into the cauldron. She sprinkled a handful of thistles, nettles, and basil leaves into the mixture. Felicia uncorked a clay bottle, smelled the pungency of the sour wine, and added it too. She kindled a small fire in the hearth, and with a burning twig, set fire to the contents of the cauldron.

  She stared into the pot and recalled the incantation Cosma had helped her memorize.

  Prudenza, you have done me wrong.

  I rise above you, I am strong.

  Flames of fire – retaliate!

  Wagging tongues, you must abate.

  The curse of the evil eye must end.

  To you, my pain, I will send.

  A similar curse you shall endure.

  And the truth, one day will be secured.

  While speaking the incantation, her eyes never wavered from the cauldron, her concentration intense. With every effort, she willed her words to become arrows shot from the bow of truth. Only when the flames finally died, did she empty the ashes into a clay bowl. Quietly, Felicia stepped out into the night. By the light of the full moon, she scattered the ashes in the olive grove behind her home. Afterwards she returned to bed. For the first time since giving birth to her sons, she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  16

  Prudenza stretched, rose from bed, and flung open the window shutters of her bedchamber. Sunlight spilled into the comfortable room, bathing her in immediate warmth. She looked outside. Below, the stable door was open, evidence Carlo was hard at work already. Memories of last night’s lovemaking brought a smile to her lips. Ever since Felicia became pregnant, Carlo made his desires to sire a child clear. Prudenza had no objection, for she was eager to bear him two children, preferably two sons. Not twins, but one after the other, to rival Felicia’s own and to ensure Carlo never doubted her fidelity. Then perhaps he would be satisfied and stop pestering her with his carnal desires, for she would have done her duty.

  As the only daughter of a wealthy vintner, she had grown up surrounded by the raucous sounds of a large family. Her parents had doted upon her, and her six brothers relentlessly teased, but fiercely protected her. Indulged throughout her childhood, she grew up lacking nothing. The envy of her friends, Prudenza took great pride in the lavishness of her gowns and cloaks. Now, married with a home of her own, a child or two would be a good start at recreating her happy childhood. For some reason, however, God had kept her barren; but if Felicia could get pregnant, so could she. Prudenza’s mind spun with determination to make a baby. Day and night, having a child was all she could think of. If Carlo had not already risen, she would have seduced him.

  An idea sprung into her thoughts. She hastily completed her ablutions. She pulled a blue tunic atop her chemise and tucked loose strands of hair back into her silver crespine. She must have Carlo now. Eagerly, she stepped out of the kitchen and into the glorious afternoon sunshine, hastening to the stable. Inside, shards of light brought a gentle luminosity into the dark edifice. The horses, donkeys, and cows had already been turned out into the pasture. Each stall was mucked out and strewn with fresh straw. Dust motes danced upon the golden rays that stole in through the open shutters of the structure’s windows.

  A fresh morning breeze blew through the stable as she entered. For a moment, she watched Carlo sitting on a stool in one of the stalls, absorbed in mending a bridle, the reins crisscrossed over his decrepit leg extended before him. Her father should have sought a better husband for her, one unmarred by such an affliction. Although she reluctantly wed him, with time, his kindness and pleasing personality had helped her tolerate him. Prudenza cleared her throat.

  Carlo glanced up and smiled.

  She stepped into the stall, her eyes steady upon his.

  He looked puzzled and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  She gave him a slow, seductive smile. “I need my husband now.” She drew closer and with one swift motion, swept the bridle from his lap.

  “Prudenza, I, what…”

  She slowly raised her skirts above her waist exposing herself to him. It pleased her to see his eyes widen at her deliberate nakedness. “I need you.”

  His mouth fell open, but before he could utter a response, she straddled him and ground down on him to stir his maleness. She wound her fingers into his hair and pressed her lips to his. The fire in her loins fuelled her wantonness.

  Carlo moaned and he wrapped his arms around her, returning her kiss with ardor.

  Again, Prudenza ground down hard upon his now stiff manhood. With both hands, she palmed his chest and ran her fingers through the wisps of his hair. A loud moan escaped her lips. Together, they tumbled to the straw-covered ground. With blinding urgency, she stripped him of his clothes.

  His moans shattered the peaceful stable.

  17

  Months later, pierced by the wrenching spasms of childbirth, Prudenza cursed her determination to create a child. She had been in labor the entire day. Now, she sat on the birthing chair, limbs splayed wide, her face contorted with pain. Cosma, the healer and only midwife in the vicinity, peered between Prudenza’s legs and probed her birth orifice with gnarled fingers, sending a rippling jolt through her body.

  “Get away from me, puttana! You whore!” Prudenza screamed as she kicked Cosma aw
ay with her leg. “I will kick the remaining teeth from your putrid mouth if you poke me there again.” Prudenza yanked off the cloth that covered her naked body and reached down to her womanhood. She touched the hard, wet skull of her unborn child that pressed through the fissure. She whipped her hand away and raised it to her face. Blood and mucus coated her fingers.

  A brutally strong contraction seized her. “Al nome di Dio! In the name of God! My baby’s coming!” An irresistible urge forced her to arch forward. She sucked in a deep breath, and pushed with all her might. Her moan thundered through the bedchamber, and likely beyond, blasting from her lungs. When the contraction subsided, she shrieked at Cosma, “Get it out of me, you idiotic bitch!”

  “Then keep those legs of yours still and do as I say. Otherwise, I will leave you to your own resources. Do not kick me again. Do you understand?” Cosma directed an infuriated look at her.

  Enraged, Prudenza met her stare. Before she could spew a retort, another urge to push took hold of her.

  Cosma leaned down and checked. “The baby is ready. Push again.”

  This time, Prudenza bore down so hard she feared she might expel all her innards. Another powerful screech burst forth from her lungs.

  “Very good, Signora. The head is out.”

  Prudenza leaned back into the chair, exhausted. A stream of sweat trickled between her breasts down onto her stomach. Her chest heaved for breath. She felt Cosma arrange her hands around the baby’s head. “Don't break his neck, brutta porca, you ugly pig,” Prudenza yelled.

  Cosma gave her an angry stare. “Women in the throes of labor often react in unexpected manners, but I ask that you show me respect.”

  Prudenza yielded, smothering any further nastiness that threatened to erupt from her lips.

  Cosma’s head disappeared between her legs again. “Push, Signora, push. One more time.”

  Prudenza complied. After a tearing of the flesh, a tug and a twist, the baby ejected itself from her body into the midwife’s hands.

  “A girl!” Cosma raised the wet, mucous-covered baby and positioned it on Prudenza’s fleshy belly.

  Prudenza lifted her head. Had she heard correctly? A girl? But she had expected a boy! Men required sons to carry their names, to inherit their lands. The knowledge that she would have to repeat this horrid ordeal again to bear her husband a son was too much for her to contemplate. She lashed out in anger. “A fica! A girl! Get it away from me.”

  Cosma’s eyes widened.

  Prudenza cared little what the old hag thought. She watched with crippling displeasure as Cosma cut the umbilical cord, laid the child on the table, and washed the birth substance from it. All these months, she had been convinced she would give her husband a son. Felicia had given her husband two sons, and she could not even produce one. Prudenza dreaded the look of disappointment she would see in Carlo’s eyes when he came upstairs to see their child.

  A sudden cramp tore through Prudenza’s exhausted body and she screamed once more.

  Cosma frowned and laid the partially clean baby in the cradle. She hurried to her position between Prudenza’s legs. “There is another baby. I see its head.”

  “I want to push,” Prudenza moaned.

  Cosma nodded. “Go ahead, Signora, push.”

  This time, Prudenza bore down so hard; she lost control of her bowels. At the same moment, in a gush of shit and blood, the second baby slithered out of the birth canal into Cosma’s hands. “Another daughter,” she declared.

  Prudenza bellowed with ire. She watched with shocked infuriation as Cosma tied and cut the cord and wiped the baby clean of feces and blood. This time, when she handed the child to her, Prudenza was too exhausted to refuse and accepted the baby Cosma so carefully set in her arms. Twin girls! What had she done to deserve such misfortune? How could this have happened to her?

  Cosma returned to peer between Prudenza’s legs. “There is only the afterbirth to deliver, Signora.”

  Prudenza nodded, too engrossed in rising panic to care. She stared down at the baby with indifference. Soon, she felt a mass seep from her vagina, slithering directly into the basin beneath the birthing chair.

  Cosma covered the basin with a cloth and then finished washing the first infant who wailed from the cradle.

  With lips pursed, Prudenza studied her second-born daughter resting in her arms. She lost all semblance of time as she watched the infant fall asleep. Despite the blood and mucus, her face was peaceful like that of an angel. Then something unusual happened.

  A tiny spark of warmth crept into Prudenza’s heart, spreading and touching her as she had never been touched before. This baby was her flesh and blood, a girl to love and dress, to keep her company. Perhaps a daughter would not be so bad.

  When Cosma finished washing and wrapping the first-born infant, she laid her back in the cradle and reached for the babe Prudenza held.

  “Do not touch this one!”

  “I only mean to wash her, Signora. I wiped her clean already, but I must now wash her well with water. Why don’t you hold your first daughter while I clean this baby?”

  “No.” Prudenza clutched the newborn.

  “Very well. Here is a wet cloth. Perhaps you would like to wash her.”

  “Not yet. I have to think.” Prudenza stared down at her baby.

  Cosma shrugged then gently washed Prudenza, helping her into a fresh chemise and then back into the bed. Quietly, Prudenza watched as Cosma tidied the room and gathered the soiled linens. After bundling them in a large cloth, Cosma dropped the bundle neatly in the corner of the room for one of the servants to remove.

  “Do not leave,” Prudenza ordered, as Cosma retrieved her belongings. “Wait one moment.”

  Cosma faced Prudenza.

  Instinctively, Prudenza took hold of her breast and stroked the baby’s cheek with it. The infant bobbed her head back and forth in search of the nipple. The baby latched on with such tightness, it surprised Prudenza. What was she to do?

  “What do you wish to ask me, Signora?”

  “I need a moment to think.” Prudenza had resurrected the old belief that twins were from different fathers when Felicia’s sons were born. Her daughters looked different in appearance, too. Now the same scandal would damage her reputation. An urge to protect herself and her good name sprung to life.

  Cosma glanced at the cradle and the first-born child within it whose whimpers now faded into sleep. “Signora,” Cosma pleaded. “Your other daughter –”

  Prudenza raised her hand to hush her.

  “Is something the matter, Signora?” Cosma asked.

  Prudenza’s glance flitted between the child in her arms and the one in the cradle.

  Twins! How could this have happened to me? What shall I do? I spoke ill of Felicia when she bore twins. I said that any woman who birthed twins must surely have slept with two men, but I only slept with my husband. No one will believe me. The scandal!

  She glanced again at the cradle as an idea entered her mind. It was the only way to save herself and her family. There was no choice. She raised her hand and pointed a finger at the cradle. “Get rid of that one.”

  18

  “What do you mean?” Cosma cast a rapid look at the child sleeping in the cradle. She returned her attention to Prudenza, overcome with contempt. In tune with the world around her, Cosma had immediately sensed the evil that lurked inside Prudenza. Despite the fact that Cosma had seen many women in the throes of childbirth, Prudenza had cut an offensive vision when she had sat nude in the birthing chair, legs spread wide, with swollen, bloodied genitals. Even now after Prudenza had been washed and dressed in a clean chemise, the woman oozed evilness as she glared with hatred at her first-born daughter abandoned in the cradle.

  “Signora, you have had an extremely difficult birth. A woman’s emotions always surge after birthing. You must not speak so.”

  “I birthed a baby, I haven’t lost my wits.” Prudenza glowered at Cosma. “I asked you to get rid of that baby. I neve
r want to see it again. It is enough that I must rock one baby, wash its soiled garments, make its bed, smell its stench, stay up at night with it, take care of it when it cries, heal its rashes and sores, and on top of that care for my husband and cope with whatever bitterness and drudgery married life involves! Why should I make so much work for myself by tending two babies?”

  Cosma’s came to a sudden stop. She struggled to comprehend the vitriolic words spewing from this woman’s vile lips. “Are you certain? Do you not wish to think about it?”

  “There is no time. I must act now. I know what I want, and I don’t want that baby!” She gestured dismissively at the cradle. “If you’re not willing to do as I ask, then I shall find someone else to help me get rid of it.”

  “Very well.” Cosma lowered her head. What mother did not want her flesh and blood? The baby’s fate was better off in her own hands. Who knew what would happen to her if left with Prudenza? She glanced up. “Where shall I take her?”

  “Abandon her at a church for all I care. Perhaps someone will find her and raise her.”

  “As you wish, Signora.” Cosma set down her belongings and approached the cradle.

  “Be quick about it. I am tired and wish to rest.”

  Cosma paused, hoping the woman would come to her senses. Prudenza relaxed, but her eyes remained fixed and determined. Cosma reached down and lifted the child.

  “I’ll see you receive a good reward for this service,” Prudenza said.

  Cosma did not respond. On rare occasions, she encountered women who birthed unwanted children because they could not feed or support them. Those mothers she pitied, but she felt no sympathy for those who abandoned their children to avoid scandal or for other paltry reasons.