She slept only a few hours that night, with fast-moving dreams. She would startle awake, wishing, wanting everything to be better in reality than it was in her head. But instead, the truths of her life came crashing down on her all over again: Why had she ever mentioned the rat poison to Leda? Why had she left the girl alone with the unlocked box of letters, tempting her?
Caterina even had to wonder if she had wanted Leda to know the worst about her. Wanted to be forgiven, and loved by her completely. At this realization—that perhaps she had done this to herself, willfully—she cried and punched her pillow fiercely. She felt scared to be in her own skin.
The arrival of daylight brought new hope. Caterina looked out to the cheerful boats bobbing on green, sunlit water, and decided she would go in search of Leda. She revived her strength with some Turkish coffee, and put on the same dress she had worn to the ghetto. The hem rip was not too noticeable. Had that trip been only yesterday? Time had seemed to stop, then fold over on itself since she had gotten home and discovered that Leda had read her letter to Pier Antonio.
She hailed a gondola outside her house and headed north, to the edge of the city. Yes, Leda could be anywhere. But the convent of Santa Maria degli Angeli seemed most likely. That she would run back to the place that was most familiar—even if she hated it. Where else in Venice did Leda even know?
The boat rocked on the choppy water and Caterina’s stomach turned over. She had neglected to eat, and black coffee bit at her insides. By the time she switched boats for the final trip out to Murano, her panic had started to rise.
She would have to face Marina.
Would Leda tell Marina all that she knew? About Marina’s betrayal of Caterina for Giacomo, and Caterina’s final revenge? Maybe Leda would even feel new compassion for Marina, knowing now what Caterina had done. Caterina accepted it. She accepted that some sins could never be forgiven. But she needed to know that Leda was safe. If Leda was not at the convent. . . she would ask Marina for help.
A new wave of dizziness washed over her as she spied the walls of Santa Maria degli Angeli from the cabin window. When she stepped out of the boat, the pavement moved like water. She grabbed the gondolier’s forearm for a moment—how warm and strong he felt! Then she steadied herself, and walked alone to the great shut door.
CHAPTER 85
“Caterina Capreta.”
“Eh? Ancora?” The old conversa who had opened the door leaned in to hear her better.
“Caterina. Capreta.” She said her name with more confidence. “I am here to see the abbess.”
The old woman nodded and admitted her, walking her down shining terrazzo hallways to a far corner of the building. The convent was quiet except for the occasional sounds of chattering girls from behind shut doors. Caterina could smell freshly baked bread coming from the refectory. A couple of boarders scampered by, arm in arm and giggling. How young they seemed!
The old woman told Caterina to sit on a bench in the vestibule outside Marina’s chamber. She knocked and went in to see Marina, then came back out with no word for Caterina as to when she might go in. The bench was hard and had no back. Of course, Marina would make her wait. To make her feel small. To make her suffer—just a little. Her palms began to sweat.
Where was Leda?
Caterina wiped her hands on her skirts and bit her thumbnail. She imagined Marina finishing up some unimportant task simply to stretch out time and torture her. Finally, and for no reason that Caterina could figure out, the old woman told her it was time to go in.
Marina sat at her imposing red wood desk, head bent over some writing. Caterina approached and took a seat in the chair opposite. Marina raised her head, and Caterina felt any resolve she had pour out like water.
“Why have you come?” she asked. Marina’s eyes were icy gray in the crisp morning light.
“Leda and I—we had a small quarrel,” Caterina stammered, “and she went out for a walk—it’s been a while, and I got worried—and just to be safe, I thought I might check whether she had come back here—”
“She has not.” Marina dipped her pen and started to write again. It looked like a list of names.
“She has not?” The full weight of the situation fell on Caterina now. Her chest tightened, and without being able to stifle it, a sob rose up.
“I—I don’t know where Leda is!” she cried. “She did not come home last night!”
Marina’s temple twitched beneath her thin, waxy skin. “Let me understand this,” she said, looking up. “I asked you to help me with Leda. To take care of her for a short while. Instead, you have lost track of her.”
“Where—where else do you think she could have gone?” Caterina asked, ignoring Marina’s taunt. Outside the window she watched a few yellow leaves fall in the air. She felt like them—falling, falling into oblivion.
“I have no idea where Leda has gone!” Marina’s sharp voice rattled the room. “And honestly—I don’t care anymore. I run a convent, not a prison. Leda has to make her own choices.”
Caterina fell silent. Was she the only one who cared what became of Leda? It felt as though a part of her own body were lost, floating somewhere out in the open lagoon.
There was a soft knock at the door, and soon after it opened. A hunchbacked nun entered, carrying a gilded porcelain teapot, cup and saucer, and milk pitcher set on a tray. Arcangela! Caterina smiled, relieved to see a friendly face.
“You remember our Caterina?” Marina asked the misshapen nun, who kept her head down while serving her abbess. Now she looked up with squinting eyes and grinned at Caterina.
“Bellissima!” she exclaimed, coming closer to embrace her. Caterina warmly reciprocated the hug.
“How are you?” Arcangela asked, eyeing her from head to toe. “Are you married—and with children?”
“Married, yes,” Caterina answered. “But no children.” Arcangela’s face fell. Just as it had been so many years before, it seemed to Caterina she always fell short of Arcangela’s dreams.
“Still”—Arcangela recovered herself—“how good it is to see you back. Will you be staying long?”
“No,” Marina answered before Caterina could. “Our friend will be leaving soon.”
“Perhaps you can return for Carnival?” Arcangela pressed. “We can play biribisso, like in the old days.” She gave Caterina one of her please-love-me smiles.
“Yes, of course,” answered Caterina, meaning it in the moment. How good it was to see an old friend who had always been kind and wanted the best for her.
“Poverina,” Marina sneered, the minute Arcangela left the room. “That she still loves you so much.”
Oh! Caterina was sick of it. Being made to feel that anyone who loved her was making a mistake.
“Where were we . . . ?” Marina asked now, slowly pouring tea for herself. “Oh, yes. Have you ever wondered why I sent Leda home with you?”
“No—not really,” Caterina lied.
“She reminded me of you.” Marina’s voice became playfully cruel. “Our innocent Caterina, pregnant and in love. Only— who knew at the time how madly in love you really were? Murderously in love.”
Sharp sunlight angled in the window and raked Marina’s face. Her skin looked yellow, the blood and beauty all gone. Caterina knew she had done this to her. She bowed her head, accepting her deep guilt.
“Yes . . . I asked you to take care of Leda to punish you,” Marina went on, slicing out Caterina’s insides. “To make you relive your past. To remember what you once lost—and consider what you did to me.”
“I understand,” said Caterina, mumbling into her lap. She felt naked, entirely unmasked. Yet, from somewhere deep within herself, she found another layer of courage. She knew she would never have another chance like this. She seized it.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for such a long time—” she said, lifting her head to look directly into Marina’s eyes, “how sorry I am for what I did to you. I was out of my mind. Nothing you could ever do would punish me a
s I’ve punished myself all these years. Can you forgive me, Marina? I beg you to forgive me—with all my heart.”
Marina drew in a slow, surprised breath. The room grew silent, except for the distant echoes coming from the hallways. Caterina had no idea what to expect from this old rival, enemy, lover, and friend. This woman who had betrayed her, and whom she had betrayed.
Marina regarded her for another minute or two. Then she spoke, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “What’s done cannot ever be undone, Caterina.” She paused. “Still—we both have done things that we regret.”
Caterina waited for more, and when more did not come, nodded her acceptance. Marina dropped her eyes and went back to her writing.
Feeling light-headed, Caterina stood to go. She had come out to the convent seeking only one thing—to find Leda. Instead, she had received something else. It wasn’t forgiveness. Far from it. But it felt as though Marina had lifted something away from her.
What’s done cannot ever be undone. Still—we both have done things that we regret.
The secret of what Caterina had done had felt like a sharp stone in her hands. Hiding it in shame from everyone, always trying to rub it smooth.
For the first time in twenty years, she began to sense what it might feel like to be free.
CHAPTER 86
Caterina surrendered to sleep on the way home from the convent. Sweet wall of exhaustion: Her mind could not fight it. The rhythm of the long oar in and out of the waves, the sense of someone else taking care of her for a few hours—she stopped worrying about Leda and let the gondolier take her home.
Home. She felt sure Leda would be there by now. If she had not been at the convent, she must be at home.
“Where have you been? I’m starving!” she imagined Leda teasing her when she saw her climbing the stairs. Caterina smiled to herself in the gondola, picturing her little loving rituals for Leda: making her favorite pasta dishes and buying her sweets, smoothing her twisted sheets and blankets, laying a hand on top of her head to kiss her before she went to sleep.
But when Caterina got home, the rooms were as silent as when she had left. The sun had disappeared and the lagoon looked gray outside the windows. It gave the sad feeling that the day was already ending, the best parts of it gone. Caterina sank into a chair. Worry clamped down on her all over again.
Her stomach growled and reminded her to take care of herself. She went to the kitchen and cut an apple and some bread. She gobbled her food, as she often did when she was alone. Some bread got stuck in her throat. By the time it finally cleared she had hiccups, and had lost her appetite. She went back to her chair to wait again.
Caterina heard the outside door slam shut. She sat upright. She strained her ears, and after a minute, heard the soft, shuffling sounds of leather slippers on the stone staircase.
She jumped up and ran to the door, pulling it open.
“Sweetheart!” she cried out. Leda was struggling to climb the last remaining steps. Caterina ran to help, putting her arm around the girl’s back. “Where in God’s name have you been?” she demanded. “Are you alright?”
Leda’s eyes were ringed with purple shadows. She looked pale, but gave Caterina a weak smile. Caterina led her inside. Leda went over to her chair by the windows, and fell into it with a huge exhale. Caterina perched right near her on the footstool. She felt she could not get close enough—never wanted to know that awful distance between them again.
“I—I went to find the little painting of the Madonna,” Leda explained.
“The little painting?” Caterina had no idea what she was talking about.
“The little painting that you once showed me. Near the Frari. The one with the Madonna nursing the baby in the stormy landscape. You said expectant mothers always went to see her. I felt I needed . . . help.”
Ah. Caterina squirmed a little.
“And—did she help you?” She decided not to ask what Leda needed help with. Maybe the magical Madonna had made it disappear.
“I never got to find out!” Leda gave a short laugh. “I got lost trying to find the painting again. I got very thirsty, and tired, and some painful convulsions started. I crouched outside the church of San Pantalon, and the priest found me. He sent for a midwife, who let me stay the night with her until the pains stopped.”
“Che consolazione!” Caterina was grateful to these strangers who had looked after Leda. She had imagined gypsies and thieves preying on her, but instead, Leda had been met with kindness. “Do you think we should send for Dottore de la Motte?” she asked. “Is it your time?”
“Not yet,” said Leda. “The midwife told me the baby’s head has not yet started to lower. But soon.”
Caterina smiled with relief at the news. Leda settled her hands on her belly and closed her eyes—she clearly needed rest. But Caterina was not ready for the girl to drift away from her yet.
“Leda—I—didn’t know what to think when I discovered you were gone,” she stammered. “I know you read that letter. I wondered—I wonder what you must think of me.”
Leda opened her eyes; crushingly deep, so they seemed, and very blue. “I think that this vengeful Caterina is not the Caterina I know,” she said.
“But it is,” said Caterina, struggling to be honest about herself.
“Then—” said Leda, “I think . . . that we all make mistakes. Che consolazione, that yours did not end as tragically as it could have.”
Caterina could not suppress a small smile, hearing this traditional Venetian phrase from Leda’s lips. Che consolazione.
“Can you ever forgive me?” she asked, softly.
“Forgive you?” Leda echoed. “I think a better question is . . . can you forgive yourself?”
Could Caterina ever forgive herself? She wasn’t sure. Her soul was a turbulent sea. But it felt, ever since Leda had come to stay with her and listened to her story, that maybe it would come to her one day—a new lightness and joy in life.
“Tell me,” Leda said now, hoisting herself up to sit straighter in her chair, “how is it that Marina survived arsenic poisoning? And Giacomo—did he ever know what you had done?”
Caterina breathed in, readying herself to be completely truthful with Leda for the first time.
And for the first time to tell another soul the last part of her story.
CHAPTER 87
Murano, 1753
“Abbess Paulina, I must get some air.”
“Certo, Caterina. You have taken good care of your friend.”
I glanced at the table clock in Marina’s room. It told me most of the day had passed, passed as long days with the sick do: with shuttered windows, murmured words, hopeful offerings of water, a cool cloth, maybe a bite of food. It had been six days since I had given Marina the arsenic-laced chocolate. Nobody knew what I had done. She was finally tolerating spoonfuls of the garlic- and onion-soaked beans the convent physician had prescribed. At times she sat propped up on pillows. But her eyes were dead. I had snuffed out her beauty, and her fire, too.
“Abbess, may I go, too?” I heard Laura, Marina’s conversa, parrot me. Poor Laura. She had been servant to the Queen of the Convent—Marina Morosini, with her exciting comings and goings, her lovers, her money and influence—and now, it had come to this. A stinking room that made you want to run away. Even the canary was gone, rescued by Arcangela.
“Yes—yes,” conceded the abbess. “Both of you go. I will stay until Vespers.” It wasn’t like Abbess Paulina to tend to the sick, but Marina was a rich noblewoman. The abbess couldn’t afford to lose her.
“Caterina,” Laura whispered as we closed the door behind us and I turned to go to my room. “I have a message for you.”
“A message? From whom?”
Laura stepped closer and placed a folded piece of paper from her pocket into my hand. She was gone almost before I realized I was holding something.
I continued down the hallway, my heart beating wildly. Had someone figured out what I had done? Was this a thre
at? I opened the door to my room, closed it with shaking hands, and stood to read.
Come find me where you first saw me.
Giacomo. I recognized his handwriting immediately. Only no name, no place given. Cunning, as ever.
Come find me where you first saw me. What did he mean? My mind went first to Venice: our meeting at my house, almost a year before. But he knew I could not leave the convent.
Come find me where you first saw me. The day of Leonora Vendramin’s profession?—after my miscarriage. Down by the water. The old tree.
I threw a wool cloak over my shoulders and slipped outside, running to my past. I had no illusions left. Too much sadness had killed our love. But I ran anyway, if only to touch my memories one last time.
The abbess, I knew, was preoccupied in Marina’s room. Still, there were other busybodies at the convent I worried might see me. I ran through the cloister, finding it empty. Arriving at the top of the brick path to the lagoon, I looked across the empty winter lawn. All the nuns and boarders were inside, keeping warm. With one glance back, I ran down toward the water. Cold wind blew against my cloak and skirts.
I arrived within a few paces of the old tree. Its leaves were gone, just bare branches scratching the sky.
“Caterina!” I heard a loud whisper from behind its thick, knotted trunk. I stepped around, following the familiar voice.
“Giacomo!” I exclaimed. How worn he looked. His eyes, once dark and glittering, were dim, and sad. There were a few new lines in his forehead.
“How can you risk being here?” I asked, pulling my cloak around me and trembling. He was also wrapped in a thick cloak, with brown wool breeches showing beneath. No more bright silks.
“I had to come. I wanted to say farewell.”
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