“Do not argue with me, girls,” her mother snapped, perhaps more harshly than intended. Putting her fork down, she rubbed the smooth wood, one hand flat at each side of her plate, and offered a pale smile. “I want—we—want you to go. You know how much your father enjoys the festivo; it would disappoint him so much if you did not attend.”
Sophia relinquished her defiant posture, Oriana frowned, and Lia chewed on her bottom lip.
“Of course we will go, if it is truly what you and Papà wish.” Reaching across, she took one of her mother’s hands in hers, stilling their anxious gestures.
Viviana heaved a sigh, squeezing Sophia’s hand in response. “It is, ringraziarla, mia cara. You will do your father, and me, much good knowing you are having fun.”
Sophia stood with slow reluctance, thinking to argue once more, but the set of her mother’s jaw told her she would brook no more discussion on the topic.
“Come, Oriana, Lia,” Sophia called.
“Santino and Rozalia will light your way. I know they are just on their way out themselves,” Viviana instructed.
“Sì, Mamma,” Sophia said, certain the married couple that served the family since she was a baby had been ordered to attend and escort the girls through the deepening night.
The sisters gathered their veils and made for the front door. At its threshold, Lia threw off Sophia’s hand, rushed back to her mother, and bent over to wrap the woman in her arms.
Viviana smiled with soft rapture as the tenderness of a child’s love fell like a curative cloak upon her. She stroked her daughter’s arm where it lay draped across her chest.
“Have fun, Lia, eat many sweets.”
Lia giggled, her big round eyes moist but smiling. Returning to Sophia’s side, she took the outstretched hand waiting for her.
Stepping out onto the fondamenta the girls found the di Lucas waiting for them and Sophia smiled with quiet approbation at her mother’s authority. Small and plump, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, the middle-aged, childless couple loved these girls as they would their own, had God seen fit to bless them. Instead, he had brought them to the Fiolarios, and their service to the family had been a blessing itself; to serve and love, and be loved in return, by these caring people had been their destiny.
“Come, cara,” Rozalia threw a chubby arm around Lia’s slim shoulders, the lace covering upon her pinned-up gray hair wafting gently in the evening breeze. “You will have a wonderful time, I promise.”
Lia stayed between the protective confines of the di Lucas as Oriana and Sophia followed behind. The warmth of the day still rose up from the ground, warming their legs as the cool evening breeze off the water cooled their shoulders. Crickets thrummed faster and faster, spurred on by the growing heat of the summer days.
The small quiet group turned up the fondamenta and crossed the Ponte de Meso. As they grew close to San Pietro Martire, she wondered if Damiana was home, but then thought better of it. Her family, like Sophia’s, always celebrated Rendentore, more than likely at the church on La Guidecca. At the intersection of the Rio dei Vetrai and the larger Ponte Longo, they passed more and more revelers, cheerful partygoers, talking loudly and laughing riotously. Two obviously inebriated yet harmless men passed them, singing painfully off-key and guffawing at their own vocal inabilities. Lia giggled behind a cupped hand and Sophia wondered if her mamma was not right; perhaps they all needed a bit of amusement. Her father had loved to laugh, and to make others laugh; he would not want his illness to chase it from their lives.
With every step they drew closer to Santi Maria e Donato, the signs of merriment becoming more and more plentiful; musicians played in groups on every corner and peddlers hawked their wares, their glass potion bottles clinking as the men pushed their carts along. From rooftop altane, music and laughter flowed down. Groups of handsome young men swaggered by, greeting the young girls with respect, their tones laced with appreciation and innuendo. Oriana smiled flirtatiously, flashing them all a flutter of her azure eyes. Enticing aromas spiced the air and Sophia felt her stomach gurgle in anticipation, her appetite returning in the festive aura.
“Puppets,” Oriana cried with delight, clapping her hands.
Sophia laughed. Her sister noticed every handsome rake they encountered, staring at them hungrily, yet her childish delight of the marionettes had not fallen by the wayside of her womanhood.
They turned a corner and the vast Campo San Donato opened up to them, filled with activity, bursting with people, laughter, food, and music.
“We’ll let you girls wander on your own for a bit.” Santino di Luca leaned close to the small group, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophonous merrymaking. “But stay together. And don’t head back without us, sì?”
“Sì, Santino,” the girls agreed, thankful to be left to their own devices.
“Signorina Fiolario, a moment, per favore.”
Sophia turned to the soft summons, blinking with surprise at the person she found rushing toward her. The face she recognized instantly; it belonged to the young woman whose acquaintance had been made with an accidental collision, but whose contact had caused such discomfort on Sophia’s first visit to the Doge’s Palace. The name she floundered for, Bianca, she mused, unsure if she had ever heard the woman’s last name. Sophia couldn’t prevent the frown from creasing her forehead and the pursing of her lips, nor could she force herself to turn and walk away as she wished she could do, had her mother not raised her so well and her curiosity not been so persuasive.
“Buona notte, signorina,” Sophia gave a curt genuflection, as did her sisters, though she had no intention of making any introduction.
The delicate blonde answered with her own curtsy and a hesitant smile. “Buona notte. I hope you are well this evening.”
“Yes, quite well.” Sophia could not keep a cynical lilt from her voice, skeptical that this woman’s wishes for her well-being were genuinely meant.
“I saw you speak with professore Galileo.”
Sophia’s stomach muscles clenched with heightened wariness.
“I am…he is…” Bianca licked her lips as if she could taste the right words to say. “He is an amazing man. There is so much we can learn from him.”
In all her wildest musings, Sophia would never have thought this woman knew of Galileo’s teachings, let alone supported them.
“Sì, he most certainly is,” she said with unfettered astonishment.
Bianca smiled, a small, sweet gesture, like a tiny treat placed upon her lips. Sophia answered with one as equally and genuinely meant.
“Enjoy your evening, signorine,” Bianca dipped gracefully once more.
“And you,” Sophia answered, her curtsy this time a deep and unaffected gesture of respect.
The pretty girl fairly skipped away and Sophia turned back to her sisters with a puzzled though pleased shake of her head.
“What was that all about?” Oriana asked with a whisper and a sly glance over her shoulder.
“I…I’m not quite sure,” Sophia answered honestly. “I know this, I am not wise enough to know what lies at the heart of every human.”
“But Sophia,” Lia leaned in, “I thought you knew everything?”
Oriana laughed and Sophia with her, but not without a tender pinch on her younger sister’s cheek.
Sophia took her sisters by the hands, leading them toward the right side of the crowded square.
“Come. I want to light a candle.” She led them toward the large doors of the Santi Maria e Donato church.
Once named just for the Madonna, the twelfth-century church had changed its title after the acquisition of the body of San Donato. The oddly angled, multi-leveled building was a perfect fusion of Romanesque design and Byzantine influence, and its rooftop stood out distinctively in the Murano skyline.
Sophia led them around the polygonal dell’abside, so enduring yet so delicate with its abundance of round niches and white stone columns. Lowering the lace of their veils before their face
s, the girls entered the church through the round door set in the wide front of the building. The sisters were not alone in their need to make a petition; the main chapel and the two smaller side chapels separated by the high arches and marble columns were filled with the devoted at prayer.
Lighting their candles within the small reliquary, the girls knelt upon the hard bench, heads bowed before the Madonna high above them. Sophia prayed with fervency; surely, on this day of all, the Lord would hear her prayers for her father, would deliver upon him the redemption he so desperately needed. She heard a sniffle from her left. Lia’s entreaties had turned to tears.
Sophia stood and took her hand, pulling Lia up.
“Come, God has heard us by now, I’m sure,” she said. “Would you like some pastries?”
Lia nodded silently and Oriana stood with them, allowing their elder sibling to lead them from the murky confines of the church.
They opened the door, and the refrains of music and voices crept in to meet them, and dispel the reverent aura. As soon as they stepped through the egress, the visages of Teodoro Gradenigo and Alfredo Landucci rose up to greet them.
“Oh,” Sophia and Oriana said as if a chorus, but one spoke from surprise and the other from salacious delight.
Lia looked at them with equal confusion.
Teodoro’s eyes fell on Sophia and his lips split into that singular smile that belonged solely to her, as if she were the only one who could coax it from him. It was a gift he offered and she accepted it eagerly.
“Buona notte, signorine.” Teodoro bowed as did Alfredo beside him and the sisters curtsied in kind. “We saw you enter the church and thought we’d wait to pay our respects.”
“It is…it is a pleasure to see you,” Sophia said, finding few words in the myriad of thoughts that rushed through her mind. “These are my sisters, Oriana and Lia. Girls, this is Teodoro Gradenigo and Alfredo Landucci.”
“Signori,” the younger girls said with polite bobs of their heads.
Oriana stared unabashedly at Alfredo’s comely face and Sophia rolled her eyes at her sister’s overt flirtation.
“It is a pleasure to meet you both, ladies.” Alfredo rose to the challenge with a rakish half-smile, taking a step forward, only to be yanked back by a swift and sure grasp of his friend’s hand. Sophia lowered her head with a small grin; Teodoro protected her sisters from his roguish friend as if they were his own and his gallantry pleased her greatly.
“What brings you to Murano?” Sophia asked, ignoring Oriana’s pout of disappointment. “I would have thought you gentlemen would be at Il Rendentore?”
“Usually we are.” Teodoro nodded. “But we are staying with our friend Navagero at his villa for a few weeks and heard the celebration here was nearly as good, so here you find us.”
“Oh, it is,” Oriana piped up. “We have much to offer our visitors.”
“I’m sure you do,” Alfredo replied with a sigh, ill-disguised regret upon his fair features. “Ah, there is Navagero now; I think I will join him. Teo.” He offered his friend a meaningful nod. “Ladies.” He bowed to the girls and sauntered sprightly away.
Oriana’s longing followed him until his dashing figure was lost in the jubilant crowd.
“Do you have many friends with villas here, signore?” Sophia asked. “I don’t get to see them often, as I rarely travel to the area, but know they are quite beautiful.”
“A few acquaintances, though not many. Sì, the villas are quite magnificent. There is an abundance of beauty on Murano.” Teodoro’s penetrating eyes brushed her face; Sophia felt them like the touch of his fingers.
“They’ve lit the garden,” Teodoro motioned to the patch of greenery behind the church. “I hear it is splendid beneath the torchlight.”
The blush rose on her cheeks, her thoughts flashed to the memories of her last time in a garden with Teodoro, and hoped the dim light hid it from her sisters.
“Would you care for a stroll?”
Sophia wavered, spinning to the young women beside her and back to Teodoro. “I…uh…”
“She would love to,” Oriana answered for her.
“What?” Lia squeaked, grabbing Oriana’s arm with two hands. “But—”
“Sophia loves gardens,” Oriana said, squeezing Lia’s hands between her arm and her side. She turned Sophia’s shoulders toward the foliage and gave her a small nudge in the back. “Go on, go on. Lia and I will be right here when you’re done. Look, Lia, here’s some pignoli right here.”
Oriana grinned at Sophia; tempting Lia with a treat she could rarely resist was almost unfair. The young girl, easily diverted by the cookies, bobbed to her sister and her escort and capered off in the direction of the sweet dough. Teodoro offered Oriana a graceful, grateful bow, raising his arm to Sophia.
With a perplexed smile and confused glance over her shoulder at her retreating sisters, Sophia stepped beside Teodoro, following his lead into the garden.
Oriana stared at them long after they had disappeared among the foliage. Within seconds Lia returned, a small salver of pastries in her hands.
“Did you see the way he looked at her?” Oriana said with a wistful whisper full of wonder. “I’ve never seen the like.”
Lia munched on the almond-paste and pine-nut cookies. “But he’s not da Fuligna. She is betrothed. She can’t…she shouldn’t—”
“No, she can’t.” Oriana stared off into the clandestine garden, petals and leaves rustling with a strange cohesion, as if not only alive, but a single living entity engaged in a spirited dance. Her squinting eyes softened as did the smile that played around her lips. “She can’t…but perhaps she should.”
The curtain of foliage closed behind them and the dim light descended like a guardian of their privacy. Teodoro stopped. His navy blue eyes raked over her face. With one sure, dominating motion he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, cupping her face in his hands and lowering his lips to hers, capturing them in a delicious embrace.
Sophia gasped, for an instant overwhelmed by the sensual assault, at once surrendering to it, answering the caress of his mouth, lifting her hands up to clasp his hard and tense upper arms. Their lips met, their tongues teased, and their breath quickened and deepened.
With a low moan, Teodoro pulled away, though not far, keeping his face just inches from hers. His brows knit worriedly upon the smooth skin of his forehead.
“I’m sorry. I do not mean to…I do not presume…” he groped for the proper words but did not release his hold upon her. “It’s just that when I see you, when I am with you, I am undone.”
Sophia lowered her eyelids, not with guile but chagrin. If he was at fault then she was equally to blame, for she desired him with the same insistent, undeniable need. He was the specter that haunted her dreams, filled every thought; that he would have the same feelings for her only heightened the pleasure and the pain of it.
“I know there are no expectations, for neither of us can have them, can we?” She stared at him, painting his features on her mind’s canvas. She shrugged with an almost silly grin. “Will God punish us for these stolen moments? I hope not.”
Teodoro laughed softly. “If he will, then this is one sin I will gladly pay for throughout eternity.”
He released his hold upon her face with one lingering caress with the back of his hand, and took one of her hands in his. They strolled over the dirt trail, the torchlights like stars leading them along a heavenly corridor. Here and there they passed other couples meandering through the gardens, whispering privately, polite in their neglect.
“What did you pray for?” he asked.
“Scusi?” Sophia asked, puckering with perplexity.
“In the church, what were you praying for?” Teodoro explained, then recanted. “I’m sorry, is that too private a question?”
They arrived at an empty wooden bench and sat upon it as if it were their intended destination from the onset. Sophia left her hand entwined in his arm, but leaned her back again
st the rails.
“My father,” she answered, surprising herself with her own candor.
Teodoro turned with a penetrating gaze. “He is in need of prayers? Why?”
Sophia became acutely conscious of his unwavering attention. She set her jaw, trying to force herself to speak, but the words felt like pieces of half-masticated food stuck in her mouth. Logically, she knew she couldn’t say anything, shouldn’t say anything, but her aching, heavy heart and the tender empathy she saw in his eyes defeated any rationalization for subterfuge. Her abdomen quivered with a quelled sob and her need to unburden herself became greater than her fear of the truth.
“He is very ill.” She felt the hot tears spill down her cheeks.
Teodoro’s smooth forehead wrinkled with concern. “How ill?”
Sophia shook her head, her chin falling toward her chest. “He has the dementia and grows worse every day. He will…it may not be long now.”
“Oh my dear Sophia.” He took her into his arms, squeezing with restrained power, rocking her as he would a small child.
She closed her eyes, releasing herself to his care.
“Pasquale will send me to Padua,” Sophia said, her mouth against his shoulder, her voice muffled. “And my mother and sisters to convents.”
“Surely not,” Teodoro rebuked gently. “He is not that much of a monster.”
Sophia pulled her head up. “It’s true. He has told me himself.”
Teodoro stilled their rocking. Unfurling his arms, he straightened, pushing her lightly from him but keeping his hands upon her shoulders. He stared at her for the longest time, his silent examination giving no hint to his thoughts. She imagined her words had brought to mind his own sorrow for his sister and her unhappy life relegated to a convent.
The Secret of the Glass Page 28