by Diana Fraser
She was wearing Marianna’s coat which was as practical as Ursula’s clothes were sophisticated. She hadn’t had time to style her hair, and its natural wave curled around the edges of the gray woolen hat. And she’d only had time to apply the barest hint of make-up—a lick of mascara and that was it. None of her friends would have recognized her; she hardly recognized herself. But it wasn’t only the lack of makeup which would have made them walk straight past, or the practical clothing. No, it was that she was holding crazy conversations with the kids, while repeatedly retrieving Lorenzo’s gloves which he kept dropping over the side of the wheelchair.
After listening to a zampognari, a roving bagpipe player, play a traditional folk carol, Nonna allowed them to continue to the café, much to the relief of the children, who’d held their hands over their ears throughout the performance. Once Nonna and Papa were settled in the café at a table by the window, where Nonna could see everything that was going on, Ursula and Demetrio went back outside with Marianna and the children.
“I’m going to the Confectionary. Are you coming?” asked Marianna.
“No,” Demetrio answered. He caught Ursula’s eye and smiled. Her stomach fluttered, and she grinned back. “It’s nearly six we’ll go and get ready for the lighting of the torchlights and join the procession, won’t we Ursula? It’s an important tradition.”
“If it’s important,” replied Ursula, “how can I say no?”
“You can’t.”
He took her hand and placed it on his arm. “See you later, sis.”
“Be good!” said Marianna with a grin, as the children pulled her away.
Despite the cold, crisp air, Ursula was warm pressed up close to Demetrio. They arrived at the bonfire which Demetrio had helped erect, in time to watch it be blessed, and set alight. People lined up with unlit wooden torches.
“Who are these people?” Ursula asked.
“They’re Torchlight Chiefs. And I’m one of them. There’s one for each of the torchlights, as we call the bonfires. We’ll lead the procession around all the torchlights, setting them alight as we go.”
Demetrio stepped forward, took a torch from one of the group and dipped it into the fire and the flame, flickering at first, suddenly caught and flared into life. Demetrio held it high, the red glow sweeping the planes of his cheeks, as he looked up at the flame.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes dancing with an intriguing combination of fun and seduction that was enough to make a girl’s heart stop.
And a girl’s mind. For a moment she couldn’t think what Demetrio was asking her if she was ready for. Whatever it was, she nodded in agreement. His smile widened into a grin, and they fell into step with the others, singing Christmas songs as they went from the square towards the other torchlights.
Music and song filled the air; Ursula had never been anywhere where there was such a sense of warmth and friendliness. Old friends, curious visitors, and young and old alike greeted each other with equal enthusiasm. Ursula tried to memorize each new scene in the beautiful medieval town. She never wanted to forget any detail of that night.
When they arrived at the last torchlight, Demetrio stepped forward, climbed the ladder and carefully set the bonfire alight. Ursula turned away and looked along the route the pilgrims would have taken centuries before, now bright with burning torchlights. For the first time in her life, Ursula felt a connection with the past. She turned as Demetrio put his around her shoulders and brought her to him in a brief hug. It wasn’t only the torchlights which were burning bright. And it wasn’t only a connection with the past she felt. She shivered with anticipation.
Demetrio took her hand and pulled it into his coat pocket, his fingers curling around hers. “There, you’ll feel warmer now.”
“I have your sister’s gloves on,” she remonstrated. But she didn’t move her hand. The strains of Bianco Natale, sung by school children, floated across the crisp air. Demetrio started singing, and she joined in.
“Tradition number one,” he whispered against her hair. “Are you enjoying this one yet?”
“Enjoying? Yes. Convinced?” Ursula pursed her lips in a mock pout of disapproval. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I need to see more.”
“You”—he squeezed her arm—“are a hard woman to please.”
She looked away quickly. She’d heard those words before, on a different man’s lips. She’d wanted Alessandro to herself, but he hadn’t been able to commit, and they’d parted ways. They’d remained friends, but nothing more. Demetrio hadn’t learned yet that what he said was true. But he would, and would he want her to stay then?
“However,” he continued. “I’ve never been a quitter, so how about we take a detour?”
He led Ursula away from the square, up a hill toward the rear of the abbey. There, they stopped.
“What do you think of that?” he asked, indicating the view of the town spread out before them.
The ancient abbey and its buildings and walled gardens was an oasis of darkness amid the torchlights which surrounded it. Their flames licked high into the sky, creating a haze of heat and light above the town. The sound of laughter, singing, and music rose up to them in waves. And there, in that moment, with Ursula’s hand in Demetrio’s pocket, and the beauty of his world laid out like a jewel before them, she could no longer deny that this ceremony was an incredibly special one.
“Demetrio?” He turned to face her. “I’m convinced.”
He nodded with satisfaction. “I knew you would be. So, I have that extra night out of you. Now all I have to do is find another tradition.”
“For another night.”
“Yes. And I will find one. Come on, let’s go and join the others and celebrate.”
Ursula wasn’t clear whether they were celebrating Christmas or, from the look of satisfaction in his eyes, the fact she’d agreed to stay another night.
When they arrived back in the main square, the Christmas markets were in full swing, serving aromatic Tuscan soups and savories and cakes. The many Santa Clauses milled around the crowds, distributing sweets and candy to the singing choirs. Children, too, were everywhere, amazed to find their families had given them some freedom on this feast day.
“Like it?” Demetrio had to shout close to her ear.
She grinned. “It’s amazing.”
“‘Doing the torch’ is a way we can all come together and celebrate, united for one night, at least.”
“How many actual fires are there?”
He shrugged. “Around the county? Around fifty or so, maybe. It’s said to originate with the monks who gathered in front of the Abbey on Christmas Eve. Abbadia San Alexis was only a tiny hamlet a thousand years ago. The monks and the handful of inhabitants who were subjects of the Monastery, paid homage to the Abbot and gathered around a fire and waited until midnight to celebrate Mass and the birth of the Lord.”
“It’s amazing. Magical.”
“So, you’re still okay with extending your stay by another day?”
“If you’re sure I won’t be a nuisance?”
He grinned. “I’m sure you won’t be a nuisance. In fact, your presence will take the heat off me. You’ve heard my mother—she’s always telling me I should stop living in the past.”
She held her breath, tight in her throat, for a brief moment before sucking in a lungful of cold night air. “And what do you think?”
He hesitated. “I think she’s probably right, but there’s a difference between knowing something’s right and acting on it.”
She felt unreasonably disappointed. “True. It’s the difference between your head tells you and what your heart wants. It sounds like your heart is still in the past.”
“I think a part of it always will be.” He pushed away a strand hair from her face, his hand lingering on her cheek, and her disappointment vanished. His dark eyes searched hers, his face suddenly serious. “But that still leaves a large part willing to move forward if I find a special someone.”
She s
wallowed and shook her head, trying to shed the spell his words had created. It was as if he’d waved a magic wand around her head, and had her held captive, responsive, to whatever he commanded. She shook her head again. “Ah, those special someones can be tricky to find.”
He frowned. “And yet sometimes they appear out of nowhere. Like ethereal beings sent from the heavens to rescue me.” He caressed her cheek. “Like you.”
She could hardly concentrate with the rush of sensation the simple caress created throughout her body. But she had to resist. They were just words, just a touch, nothing she should take seriously. She had to break the spell. “I’m no ethereal being. And I’m pretty sure you rescued me!”
But the spell wasn’t broken. Demetrio narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly serious. “Where did you come from, Ursula?”
“I’ve no idea. I had no intention of coming here. It just”—she shrugged—“happened.”
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “That’s magic for you. You can’t plan for it, you can’t organize it, sometimes the universe conspires to make something happen, and all we can do is accept it.”
And at that moment she believed every word he said. She wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, in this place, and forget about her real life. Because there was nothing more real to her than this man, and this moment in time.
“Demetrio!”
They both jumped, and Demetrio shook his head with a smile as they looked to where his mother sat. Her shout had carried across the square, despite all the people and music.
“I feel like I’m fourteen once more and have been caught red-handed.” He slid his hand down her arm until he held her hand firmly within his. His fingers curled around hers and gripped it tight. “Nonna!” he called. “We’re coming.”
Nonna and Marianna exchanged knowing glances as Ursula and Demetrio walked hand-in-hand towards them. Still holding Ursula’s hand, Demetrio bent over and kissed his mother.
“You see?” Nonna said.
“What?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
His mother opened her eyes wide with a guileless expression. “The fires, of course. They’re alight.”
Ursula looked from Demetrio to Nonna, aware of an undercurrent of communication which, she suspected, had little to do with fires. Demetrio grinned and looked toward the center of the square, where flames licked up into the icy air. “Yes,” he said. “They’re well and truly lit.”
The smell of the newly lit fires filled the square, mingling with the aroma of hot food. Flames shot out between the horizontally placed logs that made an outer framework of nearly eight meters to contain the fire, within which the logs were neatly stacked. It was soon white hot in the middle with an orange halo all around. It was mesmerizing.
“There’s something so primitive about fire; it’s hard to draw your eyes away from it,” said Ursula.
“Si. Destructive, rejuvenating—so useful and magical if tamed, and so devastating if not controlled.”
Like love, she thought. It had proved destructive in her past—so destructive she’d decided she’d never trust it again. “Like so many things, I guess.”
“It’ll continue to burn throughout the night. We’ll return home now for dinner and then we can come back for Midnight Mass if you wish?”
Carolina and Tomasso began jumping up and down, talking ten to the dozen and demanding to go to Midnight Mass.
“No, we can’t take Lorenzo, and we can’t leave him with Nonna,” said Marianna.
“Of course you can!” said an indignant Nonna. “You don’t think I can look after a baby when I’ve brought you all up?”
Marianna and Demetrio exchanged glances.
“Of course Marianna doesn’t think that, Nonna,” said Demetrio. “But it doesn’t matter as Ursula and I thought we’d skip Midnight Mass and keep you company. If you don’t mind, that is?”
Nonna looked both relieved and annoyed at the same time. “Of course, if that’s what you like. Orsula, you don’t mind missing mass?”
“No, I’d enjoy staying home with you.”
Demetrio shot her a grateful look. “Then that’s settled.”
As Marianna wheeled Nonna and the children away, Demetrio walked beside Ursula.
“Thank you for that. Although you’re welcome to go with Marianna if you wish?”
She shook her head. “I’ll come back with you. Although I’m not sure I’ll be much help with the baby.”
“Moral support will be fine. I’m the eldest in my family, so my mother had me carting my little sisters around at an early age.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go have our second tradition of the night—”
“You can’t squeeze two traditions in one night!”
“I can, and I will. Our second tradition is our Christmas Eve dinner. And I’m sure you will approve that tradition, and you will have to agree to yet another night.”
“Just how many traditions do you have? Am I ever to leave?”
He shrugged and smiled. “That, Ursula, may be up to you.”
She took his hand and walked across the busy square, hardly aware of all the activity, laser light displays projected on to the abbey walls, or the brass bands playing O Holy Night, only aware of the heat of his hand over hers, and the steady flare of warmth in his eyes. It was enough to thaw something that had been frozen for a very long time.
* * *
With the traditional Christmas Eve dinner eaten, and Marianna and the children at Midnight Mass, Nonna and Papa waited until the clock struck midnight before going to bed, leaving just the three of them still up—Demetrio, Ursula, and Lorenzo, who lay slumped over Demetrio’s shoulder.
“Is he asleep yet?” whispered Demetrio. For all his experience with children, he hadn’t managed to settle him in his own bed.
Ursula peered around Demetrio. Lorenzo’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was regular. His reddened, plump cheek was pushed up against Demetrio’s shoulder, and a pool of Lorenzo’s saliva darkened Demetrio’s pale t-shirt. “Yes, he's asleep.”
Demetrio kissed the baby’s arm which was slung under his neck and stood up. “Time to put him to bed.”
Together they went to Marianna’s room and carefully lay Lorenzo down in his cot. Lorenzo fidgeted once, his face twisting into a brief grimace as Demetrio and Ursula held their breath, and then he relaxed, his arms flicking up either side of his head in an attitude of surrender as he fell into a deep sleep.
“At last,” said Demetrio, in a hushed voice. “I thought he’d never go off.”
“Poor thing. Marianna wasn’t sure if he was coming down with something or if he’s teething. That trick Nonna did, pressing her finger against his gums, seemed to work well.”
“Yes, although I think it’s more likely to be the way I rubbed his back, and sang him a lullaby.”
“It wasn’t the lullaby.” Ursula laughed.
“Are you saying I don’t sing in tune?”
“I wouldn’t be so rude! Maybe I was just thinking it was more likely to be how you rubbed his back?”
He shrugged. “It’s true; I have a magic touch.”
“And what’s so magic about it?”
“Come here, and I’ll show you.”
He sat behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders and began massaging them. She groaned, relaxing instantly. “No false modesty, there. You do have a lovely touch.”
He smoothed her hair away from her shoulders and moved his fingers down her backbone. She arched her back as his fingers molded over her spine, moving lower, down to the small of her back. Then with both hands, he swept up and over her shoulders, somehow sensing where the tension lay in her muscles and then massaging them until they relaxed under his fingers.
Suddenly there was a blast of cold air, and Marianna entered, with a sleepy child practically dangling from each hand. “Am I interrupting something?” She raised an eyebrow, and smiled.
“You’re interrupting us recoveri
ng from your teething baby.”
“Poor Lorenzo. And poor you, too. The least I can do is get you another drink. What is it you were drinking? Would you like another glass of wine? Or a hot chocolate? Would you like a slice of panettone with it?”
Ursula shook her head, and held up her half-full glass. “I’m fine, thanks. The panettone was delicious.”
Demetrio moved opposite Ursula, with the remains of the fire between them. “How was Mass?”
“Crowded. But very beautiful. It always is. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Marianna looked down at Tomasso and Carolina, who was leaning heavily against her hip. “Even with these two sleepy heads. They hardly made it past the first hymn before they fell asleep.”
As if to illustrate this, Tomasso slid onto the floor, fast asleep. “I’d best get them off to bed. Good night.”
The fire flickered once more into life as Marianna closed the door behind them. Ursula tucked her feet under her and sipped her wine. She held it up to the now dwindling fire and swirled it around. The red flames lengthened and split in the cut-glass. Then she moved it and noticed Demetrio was looking at her, a slight frown on his face. He had a beautiful face, she decided. The dark skin and eyes, enriched and warmer than ever under the glow of the firelight. But there was a light in his eyes which had nothing to do with the firelight.
She swallowed, unnerved by his direct gaze. “Why are you frowning?”
He raised his eyebrows as if waking himself from a dream. “I’m trying to puzzle you out.”
“I’m not so hard to work out.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You know you. I don’t. Look at it from my perspective. You appear one cold and snowy night, your blonde hair brighter than the snow, like some apparition.”