“I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
The abbess looked at the bench beneath the olive tree in the courtyard. “We can speak over there.”
Salvo followed her down the steps to the very tree where he had found the girl.
She sat down and clasped her hands. “Please, sit. What troubles you?” Her eyes showed genuine concern.
Salvo revealed the morning events to her.
Her eyes widened. “Where is she now?”
“I did not know what to do. It was very early in the morning, so I brought the infant to my daughter to care for. I knew she would be awake because she has an infant of her own and could see to the foundling’s immediate needs.”
“You did well to care for the well-being of the child first,” the abbess nodded. “But I believe she was meant for the abbey. It is not the first child found in such a manner. Please go and fetch the child and bring her to me.”
“Grazie, Reverend Mother. I shall do so immediately.”
“Please bring her in the exact same manner in which she was found. There might be something that might help us identify the child’s mother.”
Salvo stood. “Si, I shall only be a few minutes.”
“I shall wait for you inside the abbey.”
Salvo hurried home. When he entered, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the brilliance of the sun to the dimness of indoors. An old woman sat slumped on the pillowed chair by the window. Vincenza was pressing a wooden cup to her lips.
“What has happened? Who is your visitor, Vincenza?” Salvo approached the two, knelt down beside the chair, and studied the elderly woman.
“Shortly after you left,” Vincenza said, “I heard a sound at the door. I thought you must have forgotten something. When I opened it, this woman lay on the ground unconscious. I brought her inside to tend to her. She had vomited on the doorstep. Although I can’t make out what she is saying, she seems to have recovered slightly, but keeps staring at the basket.”
Salvo studied the poor woman’s face. She seemed vaguely familiar, but he did not know from where he had seen her. The woman’s eyes looked glazed and confused, yet she kept glancing at the basket where the foundling slept as if in search of something. Deep wrinkles etched her face. The left side of her mouth drooped. Wisps of grey hair stuck to her sweaty brow. She sputtered a little as she swallowed the water Vincenza offered.
“Can you speak?” Salvo enquired as he took the old woman’s frail hand in his.
“Bbbaaa, bbrr,” she slurred. Spittle dribbled from the corners of her mouth.
“What shall we do?” Vincenza frowned. “Surely she must have some kin?”
“It seems she cannot speak. The best place for her is with kin, but I doubt if we can move her in such a state.”
Vincenza crossed the room and refilled the wooden cup with water from the pitcher on the trestle. “Can you bring the extra cot and straw mattress from the shed? We can set them up near the hearth.”
It took only a short while for Salvo to retrieve the items from behind the house and assemble them. While he checked on the old woman, Vincenza laid out the bedding. All the while, the woman’s eyes flitted over to the basket. Vincenza and Salvo linked arms to form a cradle and carried her to the bed. Throughout the move, she kept her eyes closed, her features tense, disturbed. She moaned.
“What did you learn from the Mother Abbess?” Vincenza glanced at the basket.
“She wants me to bring the baby and basket to her immediately.” Salvo glanced at the visitor and lowered his voice. “I’ll seek advice about her, too.”
Vincenza peered inside the basket and caressed the little face before repacking all the baby’s items. She leaned forward and kissed the baby. “Arrivederci, tesora. May God keep you safe in His loving arms.”
Salvo draped a comforting arm around his daughter’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “All will be well.”
“I know.” Vincenza smiled. She lifted the basket and handed it to her father. “Now go take care of the child. I will make some broth for my other charge; that poor soul.”
Salvo took one last look at the old woman, who blinked her eyes as if in acknowledgement, then left the house, closing the door softly behind him. When Salvo arrived at the abbey, he raised a corner of the blanket. The newborn slept soundly. He readjusted the blanket and passed through the iron gates. A short, plump sister awaited him in the abbey’s open doorway. Despite her noticeable limp, she escorted him with impressive swiftness down a long corridor lined with tapestries that depicted Biblical scenes. Inside a private chamber at the end of the corridor, the abbess sat at one end of a long trestle table beneath an open casement window. A crucifix hung on one wall and a niche in the opposite wall held a statue of the Virgin Mary. The abbess rose as Salvo crossed the room towards her. Her eyes remained fixed on the basket he carried.
“Will that be all, Mother Abbess?” the sister asked.
“Yes, thank you. I will summon you if we require anything further.”
After the sister limped away, the abbess peered inside the basket. She lifted the sleeping infant and cradled her in her arms. Her features seemed dispassionate as she held the child and crossed the room to the open window. Rays of glorious sunlight bathed them. Salvo watched intently as the abbess removed the infant’s swaddling.
“She appears healthy with no discernible marks,” the abbess said.
Salvo shook his head. “I do not understand how anyone could abandon such an innocent being.”
“Sometimes it is God’s will. Better to be brought here than abandoned to die exposed in hot or cold weather.” Her expression softened, but she kept her eyes fixed on the infant.
“Perhaps it is so.”
“You have done well to bring her to me.” The abbess seemed to come out of her reverie. “She will be raised here. It is what God intended and the best that can be done for her.”
“Perhaps it would be prudent for me to make some discreet enquiries as to the child’s identity?”
”Of course, it is natural to want to do so, but it is my understanding that in these situations, enquiries rarely result in any answers. Whoever brought her here did not wish anyone to know who the parents are. Besides, they know where the child is. No, it is better for the child if you say nothing to anyone. Otherwise, it may rouse gossip. She belongs to the abbey now. We shall raise her to know the love of Christ.”
“Certo, Reverend Mother, of course. I shall speak of this to no one other than my daughter, Vincenza, who cared for the child briefly. I will see to it that she also says nothing.”
“Excellent.” A look of relief washed over the abbess’ features. She seated herself on a chair at the trestle table. All the while, her eyes never left the child. “I think I shall name her Olivia, after the tree she was found in.”
“A very good name, Reverend Mother.”
Salvo waited for a few moments, but the abbess’s sole attention remained on the child. He reached into the basket and withdrew the ring on the ribbon. “This ring was found with the child, along with this beautiful blanket, and container filled with fresh goat’s milk.”
The abbess examined the ring. “Do you recognize it?”
“No, but the ring and the other items appear to be deliberately left with the child, perhaps as a clue to her parentage.”
“I shall keep them safe for her. Thank you for your honesty. Others would have left the child and kept the ring.”
The abbess concentrated on Olivia again. Salvo nodded, gave a slight bow, and left. He strode down the tapestry-lined corridor, shoulders straight, head held high, and heart glad. Olivia was a good name. She had a home and a chance for a good life. His step was a little lighter after doing his duty.
27
Cosma had never felt so ill, so completely at the mercy of those around her. It seemed as if her heart beat louder than ever before. The relentless pounding in her head was unbearable. Despite it all, she kept her thoughts on the child. She mus
t keep her wits about her as best as she could. She did not know these strangers, but they seemed kind. Could she trust them? Relief swept through her when the man returned from the abbey. He seemed pleased as he took a seat at the scratched and worn trestle table to relay to his daughter all that had transpired. Her body weak and immobile, Cosma lay in her bed, tense, listening to his every word.
When done speaking, he leaned back in his chair and gave his daughter a pointed look. “The abbess took the child and asked that we never speak of the foundling again. I agreed. It’s for the best.”
Vincenza nodded. “I’m happy to know the child is in good hands, but it won’t stop me from thinking about her from time to time. Poor thing, to be abandoned like that. It breaks my heart.”
“I know, but she will have a good life with the sisters. Food, learning, security, and no lack of attention – all important things for any child.” He glanced over at the cradle by the hearth. “So, how is my grandson today?”
Cosma closed her eyes and expelled a pent-up breath. She did not need to listen further to their conversation. The deed was complete. Her obligation fulfilled. The infant was safe at the abbey, in the best of hands. Was it only yesterday that she had delivered that shrew, Prudenza, of her children? It seemed as though an eternity had passed. Free from worry, complete exhaustion set in. Lulled by the man’s and woman’s gentle voices, Cosma drifted off into sleep.
28
When Cosma woke, confusion clogged her mind. Her eyes slowly came into focus and roamed about the unfamiliar room. Where was she? She seemed to recall voices before, yet now she found herself alone in a strange home. A baby’s cradle stood near the hearth, but she could not see whether a child rested within it or not. Light from the fire united with sunbeams that streamed in from the open window to bathe the tidy room in golden light. A rich, meaty aroma emanated from a cauldron simmering over the fire. The scent filled her nostrils, causing her stomach to rumble. She craved food and a cup of water to ease her hunger pangs and soothe her parched throat.
Her clouded mind churned up the memory of the infant she had left in the olive tree and how she fell ill shortly thereafter. Cosma struggled to sit up, but her head slipped back onto the pillow. She had not the strength and prayed that these people had generous hearts and would not cast her out.
The door opened and the woman entered with an armful of kindling. “You are awake.” She crossed the room and dropped the wood into a large bin next to the hearth. She wore an ivory colored veil and wimple that complimented the light brown sleeveless surcoat she wore over her dark brown gown. Her cheeks were ruddy from the outdoors as she peered into the cradle and adjusted a blanket before approaching Cosma. She rested a hand upon her forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Beddderr,” Cosma slurred. Her throat was so dry, it hurt to speak.
“Good, I was worried because you’ve been asleep for two whole days.” Vincenza gave her a heart-warming smile.
Could she truly have slept for two entire days? She had thought it only a few hours.
“You must be hungry and thirsty. I’ve a stew cooking, which should be ready by now.”
Cosma nodded and the young mother helped her to sit. Dizzy at first, she thought she might faint, but after a few deep breaths, the feeling passed. She watched the woman ladle the rich mixture into a wooden bowl, pour water into a small cup, and return to her bedside where she raised the cup to Cosma’s cracked lips. The cool water soothed her mouth and throat. After she finished drinking, the woman spooned stew into her mouth. Never had food tasted so good. Bit by bit, Cosma consumed it all until sated, and then she lay down.
The young woman smiled. “My name is Vincenza Vico and my son in the cradle is named Gianni.”
“C-C-Cosma F-F-Furio,” she stuttered, pleased because she could state her name.
Vincenza smiled at her efforts and took hold of her hand. “I’m a pretty good talker, so if you’re not up to it, there’s no need for you to speak.”
Cosma could not help but like this woman with kind eyes and a generous heart. There was nothing out of the ordinary about her. A beauty she was not, but her features were pleasant and her smile could warm a person on the coldest of days. Her clothes were clean and tidy, as was the kitchen where she spent most of her time. Cosma prided herself on being a good judge of people and knew instinctively this woman would cause her no harm.
“Well, Cosma Furio, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Do you have any family nearby that we can summon?”
Cosma shook her head.
“Are you from Sant’Andrea Montecchio ?”
“Cos-Costa-” Cosma tried hard to form the word, but it was impossible. Frustration seized her. Her mind remained clear, but her body failed her.
“Costalpino?”
Cosma nodded.
“Well, then you are not far from home. That is very good.” Vincenza gathered up the cup and bowl then dropped them in a water-filled basin on the trestle table.
A full stomach, the soothing sounds of Vincenza humming as she washed the utensils, and the crackle of the warm fire made Cosma drowsy. Her body felt heavier, more sluggish, and before long, she slumbered again.
With each day that passed Cosma recovered, aided by Vincenza’s gentle ministrations. She slept more than usual. Years of experience tending to the sick convinced her she had suffered a fit of apoplexy. Thankfully, it had been a mild one, with no paralysis and only slightly slurred speech.
To aid her own recovery, Cosma concentrated on moving her limbs regularly. She bent her legs, a difficult task at first. When she tried to stand, even grasping the bedpost, the room tilted and swirled. Black spots marred her vision. She was unsteady on her feet and her memory had gaping holes like the weakest weave of cloth. She could not remember something Vincenza said to her only moments earlier, yet she recalled with impeccable clarity the birth of Prudenza’s daughter and the terrible circumstances that had brought her here to Sant’Andrea Montecchio .
Her balance gradually improved, and so did her speech, until no visible signs of infirmity remained. It consoled Cosma to know she had been mildly afflicted, but she also knew that due to her advanced years she could suffer another attack at any time.
On a cool rainy day, before a roaring fire, she sat across the trestle table from Salvo, who sipped a hot drink remedy for his crippled and arthritic arm.
“To make this, pound the mandrake root with pearl barley and wild cucumber,” Cosma instructed. “Then boil it down in water with a sprinkling of cinquefoil leaves. One cup a day will help ease the ache in your joints.”
“And one cup a day is more than enough of this concoction,” Salvo said with a grimace.
Vincenza hovered beside him sternly, hands on her hips. “I refuse to move until I’ve seen you drink every last drop.”
Cosma laughed at their banter. Next, she began to put together ingredients for an external application. “I’m making a liniment with fenugreek, vinegar, a dash of rue, some coriander and salt, and a good helping of barley flower. In cold damp weather, spread it over the area, wrap it in a clean cloth, and sit next to the fire.”
Salvo rolled his eyes. “As long as I don’t have to eat or drink it, I think I shall manage.”
Vincenza lightheartedly flicked a cloth at her father’s head. “Men! They can be so difficult at times.” Then she went to the worktable and raised a cloth from a bowl to check the bread dough. Satisfied, she scraped it from the bowl with a cupped hand and slapped it onto the counter where she kneaded it vigorously. Gianni, a quiet baby, slept in his cradle.
For the first time in her life, Cosma understood the delight and comfort of family life. When young and still of a marriageable age, she had been consumed with learning the healing arts from her mother. As the years passed, and her mother died, Cosma found herself alone. Ever since then, work had kept her occupied. Now that she was old, she felt the loss of never having had a husband or child. She had begun to think of Vincenza as the daughter she nev
er had, but her life was elsewhere. Her work awaited her and she could not impose on Vincenza and Salvo any longer. “I think it’s time for me to go home,” Cosma announced.
Vincenza stopped kneading the dough. “I think it is too soon. Your strength has not yet fully returned.”
“I feel well enough. Besides, I felt guilty that Salvo has been travelling to Costalpino every day to tend my garden and animals. And I am worried about those in Costalpino who have need of me.” She rose and crossed the room to watch Vincenza at work.
Lips pursed, Vincenza manipulated the dough even more energetically.
“I’ve become fond of you and your father. I will miss you both,” Cosma said.
Vincenza stopped kneading and wiped her hands on a cloth. “Please stay a little longer. It is too soon for you to be on your own. If something should happen...well, you know…who will care for you?”
Cosma knew she must remain steadfast in her determination to return home and resume her work. “You have been more than kind and generous. Were it not for you, I might have suffered much worse, or I could have died.” She grabbed a bundle of cowslip from a basket on the counter and tied it next to the sprigs of belladonna, which hung on a string of twine that spanned the hearth.
“I have enjoyed spending time with you. You taught me how to make the ointment from these herbs to ease the soreness in my father's hand.”
“As much as I complain, ever since you’ve been making me this horrible-tasting tisane, I swear some movement has returned.” Salvo paused. “Listen to my daughter, Cosma. There is no reason for you to rush home.”
Cosma shook her head and gave him a tender smile. “Costalpino is only a short walk from here, no more than an hour. We can visit each other often.”
Vincenza smiled. “I would like that very much.”
Cosma grasped Vincenza's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You have been like a daughter to me.”
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 10