Her Double Punishment

by Daniella Wright

  Rosa collects the eggs, almost a dozen of them, and now, finally we head back into the house.

  “Set the basket on the bench,” she says. “I will teach you how to cook pasta properly. From scratch. But first we start with the sauce.”

  For the next hour she has me chopping onions and garlic, tomatoes and capsicum and spinach and chilli, all the things we collected from the garden. She pulls spices from her cupboard as she cooks it all in a huge pot over a wood fired stove.

  The smells are amazing. My mouth starts to water when I first cut the tomatoes, their scent is so pungent and fresh, and by the time Rosa says we’re done my stomach is grumbling.

  “Now we let it simmer,” she says, pulling out the eggs.

  “And now for the most important part of the meal.” She winks at me, and pulls out a bag of flour.

  “Flour is hard work, like olives, harvesting and grinding and milling, and we do not have enough time to make our own, so we barter our olive oil for flour from a farm on the other side of Ostuni,” she says. “It is one of the few things we bring in from outside.”

  I nod. She measures out flour into a large mixing bowl, and then breaks in some eggs.

  “This is how you make pasta,” she says, “if you learn this, you will learn the way to any Italian man’s heart.”

  I blush, and she laughs. “I am not biased when I say Italian men are the best,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “Very skilled, they are.”

  Now my face is burning, but thankfully Rosa has turned back to her pasta.

  “See,” she says. “Now you try.”

  She gives me all fresh ingredients, and I follow her instructions as she gives me approximate measurements and exact methods.

  “That’s the way,” she says. “You’re a natural.”

  She pulls out two rolling pins, and we roll the pasta dough out into long thin mass, and then cut it into strips. Rosa instructs me to grate some cheese as she gets the water boiling, and then immerses the pasta into the boiling water.

  “Perfecto!” she says, a huge grin on her face.

  In the next room we hear the door open, and the family all pour into the house.

  “And just in time,” Rosa says to me, and she heads out to greet them.

  I focus on grating the cheese. I’m not sure I want to see anybody else right at this moment.

  “Smells delicious,” a voice says, and I glance up to see Stefano in the doorway.

  “Mamma says you did this yourself?”

  “Under her instruction,” I nod.

  He heads over to the pot and lifts out the spoon to have a taste. I cringe. I can’t help it. I know he’s going to have some criticism for me.

  “Not bad,” he gives me an approving glance. “Almost as good as Mamma makes.”

  I’m speechless.

  He winks, grins, and leaves the room.

  Chapter 5

  Dinner is delicious, and I wolf it down, but as soon as my stomach is full I’m feeling so sleepy again.

  The girls boast about doing six trees this afternoon, which apparently is their own personal best, but doesn’t help my ego any.

  After dinner I excuse myself and head to bed. I can’t believe this is only the second night I’ve been here. I pull out my phone, and scroll through the messages. The one I tried to send from the airport in Frankfurt is still there, still trying to send. It gives me an idea, and I write a message to Brylee.

  Miss you so much! Wish I could talk to you, or even receive texts. So unfair. Hope my dad has let you know that I’m alive and the reason why I’m not texting you! Am trying to work hard, to get my allowance back, but it’s so hard here. Not sure I can ever please Stefano. He’s as bad as my dad!

  I press send, even though I know it’s not going to be delivered tonight.

  I write another, along the same lines to Jace, and Amaya, and Neveah.

  It makes me feel better about this situation. Being able to tell my friends what’s going on, even if I can’t get a reply, somehow it makes me feel a little less lonely.

  The next day I’m up early again, Marco has cooked breakfast this time, and made my lunch.

  “Don’t tell Stefano,” he says in a whisper, when his brother leaves the room to use the toilet.

  A warmth spreads through my chest at his kindness. “Thank you!”

  “You made a great start yesterday,” Marco continues. “Keep building on that and you’ll be up to our speed in no time.”

  I can hardly believe yesterday was a great start, or that I can catch up to the families’ rate in such a short time. I’ll be lucky if I match their speed at the end of the year! Still it’s nice to get some encouragement, so I flash Marco my brightest smile.

  “I hope so. It’s harder work than it looks, isn’t it?”

  Stefano enters the room again, and the three of us clean up and head out the door to where everyone is already waiting.

  We drive down to where we are harvesting, as with the previous day, and set out all the nets for the morning’s work. Then we get back into it.

  My muscles are sore. My back aches, and my arms, and my legs.

  I grit my teeth against a twinge in my neck, and push on. I feel like I’m slower than the previous day, if that’s even possible.

  Stefano says little, perhaps Rosa has spoken to him? But he watches me, and frowns, and glares, and mutters under his breath, and I know I’m failing.

  Once more Rosa takes me to the kitchen, and once more I cook a delicious meal. Stefano praises those skills, and I wish I could take over the cooking every day, but somehow I know deep down it’s not going to happen.

  I end my day with a text to all my friends.

  Miss you all. So tired. So sore. I need a massage!! :’(

  I stare at the phone for far too long, willing my father to have relented and paid for the international roaming.

  But the message never sends. There’s just the circle, rotating on an endless loop.

  When Marco wakes me the next morning I’m slumped on my bed, not even undressed.

  I rub my face with my hand. What happened to my alarm? But then I see that I didn’t even plug in my phone last night, the battery is completely flat.

  “Right,” I mutter to myself, with a heavy sigh.

  I climb out of bed, aware of every twinge of my muscles. Everything hurts. My back, my arms, my legs. It’s like I’ve been doing some sort of huge workout, though I guess that’s exactly what it is.

  I climb under the shower, cringing again, when moments later Marco taps on the door.

  “Time’s running short, Savannah. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  I get out, get dressed, and race to the kitchen.

  “Don’t forget lunch,” Stefano says. I take a bite of breakfast, and rummage through the fridge and cupboards for ingredients to make a sandwich with.

  It’s not hard, but between Stefano’s finger tapping on his crossed arms, and Marco’s apologetic glances, I’m feeling the rush, and I force down large mouthfuls of food as I spread bread and pile it up with salad.

  There’s a beep outside.

  “Time to go,” Stefano says as I put my sandwich in the lunch box he gave me yesterday. I’m about to head out the door when I realize I haven’t got any water.

  “My drink bottle,” I call, racing back inside.

  Stefano tells Marco to join the others.

  “I’ll bring her down on my bike.”

  I frown. “It won’t take that long.”

  “They’ve already been waiting a good five minutes. I know you’ve been told the weather is going to turn at the end of the week, we’ve got to get as much in as we can.”

  I turn the tap on as far as it will go, and the water streams into the bottle, filling it up and splashing up all over my face and the bench. I can feel my cheeks burning, as I twist off the tap, twist on the lid, and find a cloth to dry off the bench.

  When I glance up, Stefano’s not waiting in the doorway.

&nbs
p; There’s an engine roar, and I head outside, pulling the door shut behind me, to find him astride a motorbike. His jeans are pulled tight by the seat, the top buttons of his shirt open, revealing a small tuft of dark hair on his chest. He’s not wearing a helmet, and even the short ride from the garage to here has tousled his hair.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  He frowns. “Well come on. We haven’t got all day.”

  I climb on the bike behind him, ever so glad I’m female, and my attraction doesn’t create an obvious bulge in my pants.

  “Hold on.”

  He’s gorgeous. And I have to wrap my arms around his chest, and feel the firmness of his muscles under his shirt.

  It’s enough to make a woman wet. I catch the thought, and blush, ever so glad I’m behind him and he can’t see my face.

  He revs the engine, and tears off down the bumpy road. I squeal, involuntarily, and squeeze him harder.

  “Never been on a bike before?” He calls over his shoulder.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “We’ll have to get you used to this, then.”

  Is he laughing at me? I can’t tell. Either way, after a few bumps and bounces we’re at the jeep, and I can see that the nets have already been spread out over the ground, and the rest of the family have already started on their harvest.

  “Behind already,” Stefano notes as we climb off the bike. “Not a good way to start the day.”

  I intend to work harder, to be faster, but the day is another hot one, and I’m struggling, yet again. By mid-morning I’ve still only done one tree, and by lunch I’m only halfway through my third.

  I desperately want to go with Rosa again and help with dinner, but Stefano insists I stay today, to catch up on the time I missed this morning.

  The afternoon is harder, watching Alessandro and Anna’s girls fly down the row, finishing five trees between them, while I barely finish two.

  As the day comes to a close, Giovanni, Anna, Alessandro and the girls walk back to the house. Marco stays to help me finish my last tree.

  Stefano watches, shaking his head as I heft the full crate onto my hip.

  “You can ride my bike back, Marco,” Stefano says.

  Marco glances from Stefano to me and back again. “I’m happy to drive the jeep.” I wish I could throw my arms around Marco, right here and now.

  “I’m sure you are. I’ll drive the jeep. You take my bike.”

  Marco nods, and disappears up the row. Moments later we hear the rev of the engine, and the roar as it disappears along the path.

  “Your work ethic is poor.” Stefano says to me. “How are you supposed to learn if others do the job for you?”

  “I didn’t ask Marco to help.”

  “You didn’t stop him either.”

  “Isn’t it the end of the day? I’m sure everyone wants to go home and eat.”

  “They do. And that is why Marco helps. But that is extra work he shouldn’t have to do. You are not pulling your weight, Savannah.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  The crate is getting heavy, and I turn away from him, heading up to dump it on the trailer. I don’t need to listen to this.

  Stefano keeps pace with me and continues his tirade.

  “Your best is not good enough.” He enunciates each word, his frustration clear in his tone. “You need to work harder and faster. You need to improve. Your room is a spare room for extra workers, Savannah. The food that you eat, and the power you use could be going to someone who can keep up with the rest of the family. I turned down people looking for work, good, strong men and women to take you in, because I respect your father, and I wanted to help him.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him shake his head. He takes a deep breath, heaves an exasperated sigh. “And, truth be told, I did not see how a young woman could be so much slower than a child. Even if your pace matched that of Stella and Sofia, all would be well. But even they are so much faster than you. We have rains coming, and many acres to harvest. And you are too slow.”

  We reach the trailer, my eyes pricking with tears.

  “Then send me home.” I slam the crate onto the trailer. “I didn’t want to come here. Did you know that? I tried everything I knew to get out of coming here, and in the end I had no choice. I’ve been pulled from everything I know, my family, my friends—I can’t even call or text them to see how they’re doing.” I pull my phone from my pocket at wave it at him. “I’m surrounded by people I don’t know, in a place I don’t know, in a culture I don’t know. It’s hotter here than it is at home. And no, I’ve never had to do this sort of work, ever, in my whole damned life. And you expect me to arrive and just instantly adapt to your way of life? Is that what you did, when you went to America? Just instantly fitted in with everyone over there?”

  I can’t look at him as I shake my head, blinking back tears.

  “Well I’m sorry I’m not as perfect as you. I’m sorry I can’t suddenly develop the strength and speed I need to pick your stupid damned olives.”

  Stefano stops, his mouth wide. “No one is perfect, Savannah, not even me.”

  I snort. “You expect me to be perfect. You are always telling me how useless I am, how weak, how slow. How am I supposed to get better when you speak to me like that?”

  Stefano frowns. “How do you get better if you are not pushed to do better? How can you know what to fix, if you are not told your shortcomings?”

  “There are better ways to go about it than constantly criticizing people.” I clench my fists. “Being told I’m slow doesn’t make me work faster, it makes me feel useless, like I can’t work faster even if I want to. It robs me of my motivation.” I gesture to the house, where Marco must be. “Marco’s words encourage. He tells me I can do this, he reminds me I’m new at this task, and it takes time for my body to get used to this sort of repetitive movement that it hasn’t done before. That motivates me. That tells me I can do it, that I can improve, that I will get faster. That encourages me to keep going. Your words just make me want to quit.”

  I turn, and stride off along a row.

  I don’t even really know where I’m going, truth be told, though I hope it’s in the direction of the house.

  Behind me there’s silence, and I’m not sure if Stefano is following me or not. I refuse to glance back and check, even though I’ve realized how low the sun is in the sky, and I’m starting to feel slightly scared.

  But then the jeep roars to life, and I hear the trailer bounce its way up the row.

  It doesn’t pass me. I stop, and glance back. He’s nowhere to be seen.

  Dammit!

  I should go back, and follow the tire tracks. But now I’m pissed off that he didn’t even chase after me, and embarrassed at the thought of having to face him and his family after that outburst, so I turn back in the direction I was headed, stomping the ground as I walk.

  I never asked to come to this place. I don’t know what my father thought this would teach me, being criticized at every turn for a job I’ve literally only been working at for two days.

  And what is Stefano thinking? I can’t believe he’s such an arrogant ass.

  Isn’t Alessandro the oldest son? Surely he’s the one who should be my boss, not Stefano? And why doesn’t Alessandro speak up? Or Giovanni? Or maybe they are just thinking what Stefano is saying, maybe that’s why they don’t contradict him.

  I sigh, my shoulders slumping.

  I want to go home.

  But I don’t.

  I know what’s waiting for me if I go home now. The promise I made my father.

  I sink down to the ground, my head in my hands.

  If I could get my allowance I’d leave here, in a heartbeat. I’m sure I could find other work, better work. Maybe I could travel in Italy for a while, Europe even. But that’s just foolish dreaming. I’m never going to work hard enough to get my allowance from Stefano, and my father will never give me the money himself.

  I’m trapped. No matter what
I do. One nightmare, or another.

  And what could be worse? Being criticized and badgered for a whole year, or being stuck in a job I hate for the rest of my life?

  I honestly don’t know what to do.

  There’s a rustling behind me and I turn, to see Marco emerging from between the olive trees. His brow is furrowed, but when he sees me his whole face lights up.

  “Here you are.”

  My eye prick with tears again and I look away.

  How young and foolish I must look to him. A silly American girl.

  He comes and sits beside me, arms resting across his knees.

  “Stefano told us about your conversation.”

  I raise an eyebrow, though I still don’t meet his gaze. “Conversation? More like argument.”

  Marco chuckles. “Yes. Stefano is not good with remaining calm, and listening to others’ perspectives. It is something he needs to work on.”

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  “Stefano says that you told him you did not want to come here.” Out of the corner of my eye I see Marco pick a blade of grass. “And yet you are here. I do not understand how this is so?”

  I sigh, and rub at my face with my hands.

  “I am here because my father wanted me to come here.”

  Marco frowns. “You came for your father? Stefano said your father contacted us, because you want a new experience.”

  I shake my head. “I did not want to do the study that my father wanted me to do, and so he gave me an ultimatum, work with you for a year, continue with my study or move out of home, and support myself.” I sigh again. “I have had a very sheltered life. I realize that now. My parents have provided everything for me. If I went out on my own I would not be able to afford the same standard of living that I have been used to. But I don’t want to study law like my father wants me to, and he’s never given me the opportunity to discover what it is I might actually want to do with my life. I agreed to come here, because I thought that working here for one year of my life would be easier to deal with than working in a job I hate for the rest of my life.”