“Farewell?” I echoed, numbly. In a sense, he had said farewell to me long before. Only I had chosen not to hear it, and to keep fighting and fighting against the tide.
“I have brought you and Marina nothing but misfortune,” he explained. “It is time for me to leave you both behind.”
“But it is not all your doing—” I said, feeling sick he was taking responsibility for what I had done to Marina. Still, I had no intention of confessing to him. Let him believe I was an angel for the rest of his life. Let him never know what I had done.
“I never wished to bring either of you harm,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief at his situation. “You must know that. Yet somehow—I have done just this. Marina is improving, I hear?”
I nodded. Tears began to well in my eyes. “Giacomo, must you leave us both behind on this miserable island?”
“I must, my angel. Please do not cry,” he begged. “I cannot bear to think I have made you unhappy.”
“Yes—you have made me unhappy!” I burst out. I began to cry, not able to keep myself from honestly showing him how I felt. “I loved you, we exchanged vows, and yet they meant nothing to you.”
“Vows of eternal constancy are vows no man should make, even to the most beautiful woman,” he said, fingering a windblown curl near my face. He looked disarmingly into my eyes. “I think we both have learned that—no?”
“No!” I shouted, shaking my head away. “Not, no man should make. You. Eternal vows you should never have made.”
He sighed. “Perhaps you are right. It is me. All I know is—if I could have changed who I am for anyone, it would have been you. I loved you that much. But—what did I once tell you? A man cannot change who he is.”
“Did you ever truly want to change?” I asked, searching his eyes. “Or was it all just a trick?”
“A trick? How can you accuse me of that? I wanted more than anything to be the husband you deserved.” His face became angry. “I was turned away with scorn by your father. Made to feel unworthy. A nothing.”
My heart, broken by him a hundred times, broke now for him. I held his once-beloved face in my hands.
“And if my father had not banished me?” I asked, pleading to understand. “If you had never set eyes on Marina?”
“ ‘If,’ ‘if,’ ‘if,’ Caterina,” he said, turning his face away. “To think on all these accursed ‘ifs’ will only add to our misfortunes.”
I was silenced. He did not want to examine the past, nor step with me into the future. That left only these last, fleeting minutes. Tears slid down my face, hot and stinging.
“Do not cry, my angel,” he said, giving me a wistful smile. “I did not come here to leave you sad. I came here to give you this.”
He took a small, thick book out from his breeches pocket. “It is my copy of Dante’s Inferno. Do you remember the verses I copied out for you, the night before you left Venice?”
“Of course I do,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“Here, then, is the entire poem. I want you to have it.” He handed the book to me. Its leather cover was well-worn and soft, its parchment pages thin as onionskin. “Dante tells us that life is a journey: ‘When I had journeyed half of our life’s way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path.’ I’ve squandered many opportunities in my life, Caterina. Along the way, I lost you, too. But I shall never forget you.”
I held the precious book to my chest. “Nor I, you,” I echoed.
A cold, orange sun was setting into the sea and the black branches above us shook against a darkening sky.
“Farewell, my angel,” he said, bowing one last time to kiss my hand. “My only wife.”
CHAPTER 88
Venice, 1774
“You never saw him again?” asked Leda. She reached out a hand to hold Caterina’s. Caterina felt comforted by her touch and gave her a warm, sad smile.
“Never again. Giacomo was arrested the next year by the State Inquisitors for owning forbidden books on magic, and bewitching noblemen to get money out of them. As he had done to poor Signor Bragadin. He was locked up in the Leads.”
“Imprisoned!” Leda exclaimed. “For how long?”
“The Inquisitors never tell prisoners how long their sentence is. And there was no trial. It didn’t matter in the end—he escaped. He is one of only a handful of men who have ever managed to break out of the Leads.”
“Escaped? How?”
“I only know what Pier Antonio told me, from gossip he heard around the city. Giacomo dug a hole in his cell with a pike, climbed onto the roof, and lowered himself down with a rope made of knotted bedsheets and napkins.” Caterina laughed. His cleverness amazed her still. “A gondola took him to the mainland—and from there, it is a mystery where in the world he has gone.”
“Can he ever come back?” Leda asked, with youthful hope. “Might he be pardoned by the Inquisitors one day?”
“Maybe, sweetheart,” said Caterina. “Maybe one day.”
Leda leaned back, looking very tired. She closed her eyes, and soon, Caterina heard her soft breathing.
Caterina breathed in her own huge relief. Crossing herself, she thanked God for bringing back her beloved girl.
CHAPTER 89
“You still haven’t told me,” Leda playfully chided Caterina a few days later, “if Zulietta married Stefano Cavallini.”
They sat together in their usual chairs overlooking the shining water, unwrapping the clothes and linens they had bought together on Burano. The time when a little person was going to need them was drawing nearer.
“She did.” Caterina paused and smiled at the memory. She still could not believe what had happened. Perfectly behaved Zulietta . . . had in the end defied every expectation of her.
“Did she end up poor?” asked Leda, incredulous. “She does not seem to be.”
“They did not have much to live on for the first few years—true,” Caterina explained. “Zulietta’s father refused them her dowry. That was no surprise. But once Maria Maddalena was born, he relented. Zulietta was his only child, and the center of his life. I imagine he decided it was not worth holding on to his anger, when he loved her so much.”
“And Stefano lives off her wealthy family?” asked Leda, struggling to make sense of it. It was far out of the ordinary, especially for someone noble born, as Leda was.
“Stefano eventually became prosperous in his own right,” Caterina corrected her, feeling pride in him.
“As a farrier—truly?”
“Indeed,” Caterina said. She was enjoying surprising Leda. “Over time, his reputation as someone gifted in the cure of horses grew. He even tends to the Arabian horses owned by the royal family in Naples. Because of his work, he travels often—leaving Zulietta at home with the children. This saddens her . . . but overall, I think she is happy. Does she not seem so to you?”
“Oh, she does,” agreed Leda. The story seemed to make Leda happy, too. She gazed with soft eyes out the window.
Caterina worried seeing her lost in a daydream. Better to keep her focused on real life before her. “Leda,” she asked, “have you thought of a name yet for your baby?”
“Yes, I have.” Leda turned to answer. Her eyes became filled with mirth. “Cleopatra.”
Caterina started to laugh. “You’re going to name the baby Cleopatra?”
“Only if it’s a girl!” Leda went on teasing. “If it’s a boy, it will be Pompey.”
“Oh Lord!” Caterina shook her head. “Poor baby.”
“But seriously—” Leda changed their joking mood, “I have been thinking. I want to name the baby something that reminds me of you. Of how much you’ve helped me, when I have no living mother.”
Caterina was lost for words and blushed with pleasure.
“If it is a boy, I am thinking of Carus,” Leda continued, “and for a girl—”
Leda paused midsentence. Caterina looked at her puzzled, then realized the words of a song were floating up to them from outside the open windows.<
br />
O graceful, lovely eyes,
my beloved eyes,
living rays from heaven,
so bright and clear . . .
Leda went white and froze. Then she clutched her pendant. Coraggio.
“What is it? Leda? Do you know the song?” It was a man’s voice, melancholic and full of longing. He seemed to be pleading.
. . . since you desire so much,
to see me languish, to see me die,
lovely eyes that I adore . . .
Leda struggled up from her chair and stood to lean out the window. Caterina went to stand beside her, her arm around her shoulders.
Just below them, a man about twenty-five years old was playing a small harpsichord. The instrument sat on a wood table, and Caterina could see that its parts were hinged, so that it could be folded and carried. The man was well-dressed, in a burgundy silk suit, but his shirt and cravat looked unironed and grayed. Long locks of his dark hair fell in his face as he sang.
. . . oh look at me a little
and rejoice in my fire.
“Filippo!” called out Leda when the song ended. Tears had sprung to her eyes and were running down her face. Caterina held her tightly.
“Leda!” Filippo looked up. His eyes were dancing with happiness. “I have found you!”
“But how?” Leda called. “How did you know I lived here?”
“Let me come up and I will tell you everything,” Filippo called back, laughing. “I will say—I have visited many convents since I arrived in Venice a week ago!”
Caterina dropped her arm from around Leda’s shoulders. She felt swept up in the happy scene. Filippo’s words had sounded so true, his voice even catching a few times as he sang.
“Do you want to invite him inside?” she encouraged Leda.
But Leda stood rooted where she was. Something held her back.
“I—I can’t,” she said, taking a step away from the window. “How can I trust him ever again? He took my father’s money and ran away and left me. Why is he back now? For more money?”
Caterina’s face fell. She realized she had no wise words to offer Leda. No one had ever come back for her . . . after breaking her heart.
“Will you go and speak to him for me?” Leda asked, startling her. Leda sat back down and was wringing her hands feverishly. “Ask him how he found me here . . . and what he wants from me?” Her tears started again.
Caterina’s eyes were wide, but she wanted to show some maternal confidence. “Of course,” she answered. She smoothed her dress and went to get a fischu to tuck into her bodice before going downstairs.
She gave Leda a reassuring hug on her way out. The girl’s face had turned very pale again. It reminded Caterina of the poem Giacomo had given her, about the lovers Francesca and Paolo . . . their faces pale with longing, frightened by the truth of their desire. But Leda seemed determined not to be conquered by love. Instead, Caterina saw her pull the shutters closed on Filippo.
CHAPTER 90
Caterina approached Filippo as he was packing up his harpsichord. She had never seen anything like it before: the three sections of the instrument folded lengthwise to make a box with a carrying handle. A small crowd had formed around him to hear the song, but now they were dispersing. Filippo knelt down, making last adjustments to the box.
“Filippo?” Caterina touched his arm lightly to get his attention.
“Yes!” He startled, jumping up. He smiled with relief at the sight of her, recognizing her from the window.
“I am Caterina Capreta. I have been looking after Leda since she had to leave the convent.”
“Grazie, Signora,” he said with a deep bow. His face turned red with embarrassment that Caterina clearly knew all about him.
She noticed sweat running down his forehead. “Will you come have a cold drink with me?” she asked. “I want to talk to you . . . about Leda.”
“Certo, Signora.” He lifted the heavy instrument box, and walked slowly with its weight in his hand. They made their way to the nearest café along the water.
Filippo took a seat gratefully. Caterina noticed one of the soles of his shoes was torn. He looked as if he had been walking for days. She felt compassion for him, but also did not fully trust him. He was seductive with his love song—yes. But her cooler reason had returned.
“Tell me, where have you been living since you left Florence?” she asked, trying to hide any judgment in her voice. Where did you run?
Filippo fixed his eyes—one the tiniest bit crossed—on her before he spoke. Just as Leda had said, it made Caterina feel that he was noticing only her. The noisy café with its voices and clattering dishes seemed to recede around them.
“Vienna,” he answered. “Leda’s father threatened to ruin me if I stayed in Italy. I panicked.”
A waiter came by and offered them fresh river water. He set a chilled carafe and two glasses on the table. Filippo poured with a trembling hand, and Caterina noticed his long, musical fingers gripped around the neck of the carafe.
“I realized very soon that I had made a terrible mistake,” Filippo continued, wetting his dry lips with a glassful of water. “I had to come back for Leda. I wrote everyone I could think of, seeking employment in Venice. I knew she was here—locked away in a convent. After several months, the librettist for the Italian opera in Vienna helped me find a position playing in the orchestra here at Teatro San Moisè.”
“But—how did you find us?” Caterina asked. And—why?
Filippo’s face brightened. “Ah, Signora. It is quite a story. Of course—the only convent I knew was the Pietà, because of its music conservatory.”
Caterina nodded. Yes, the singing orphan girls at the Pietà. They were famed all over Europe.
“I asked one of the maestri there to help me. He gave me the names of a few other convents where Leda might be. But I tell you—none of those nuns were too happy when I showed up looking for her!”
Filippo chuckled and poured himself more water. Caterina drank hers, and glanced up to the closed shutters of her house. She knew Leda must be in torment inside, waiting for her return.
“After a few days my gondolier took pity on me,” Filippo went on. “He told me, Gondoliers know all the secrets in Venice. Tell me what she looks like. And sure enough—he found a gondolier who remembered her.” Filippo smiled at the memory of his good fortune. “This gondolier recalled, in early spring, taking a beautiful girl with purple-tinted hair from Santa Maria degli Angeli to this neighborhood. He showed me your house.”
Ah. Leda’s dyed hair. Long since returned to its natural brown. Caterina could not restrain a small smile, remembering the odd boarder she had taken home from the convent only six months before. She stole another glance up to her windows and saw Leda was now peeking out from the shutters, watching them.
“Filippo,” she said, pulling her eyes away from the windows before Filippo turned and got lost staring up at her, “Leda worries she cannot trust you again. You accepted her father’s money. She wonders whether you are only back for more—”
“No! I am not!” Filippo’s voice was anguished. “The opposite is true. One of the reasons I came back is to return all the money to Leda. I should never have taken it.” At these last words, he lowered his eyes. Caterina was sympathetic to his shame. She knew the feeling well.
“Signora—” he continued, facing her worst doubts about him, “if I were after money, why would I come back for Leda? I’m sure her father will cut her off if she ever agrees to marry me. It will be a hard life for us, maybe—I will never be rich. But I am making my way. My contract with the orchestra is for the fall Carnival season. It is a good start.”
He nodded confidently as he spoke, showing Caterina he believed in himself and his talent. She liked that.
“It’s not money I am concerned about,” Caterina said. This was true; money had never meant much to her. “More importantly—will you stay with Leda and your son or daughter if life does turn out to be hard? Or will
you run away again?”
Filippo flinched, as if she had surprised him with a hidden blade. But he quickly recovered. “You have my word, Signora. I am determined to take good care of my family. I will work hard to give them a good life.”
Caterina gave him her first smile. She felt reassured, sensing that while Filippo had been scared away by Leda’s father—surely—he was back to stay. But forgiveness? That would have to be Leda’s own choice.
“Filippo,” she suggested, “why don’t you tell me a place where I can bring Leda to speak with you? This way, she can decide whether she wants to come—or not.”
She glanced up to the windows one last time, as if seeking Leda’s approval of her plan. But the shutters were now closed.
“Signora—what a good idea!” Filippo stood up so excitedly, he came close to knocking his water glass off the table. “Ask her to meet me at Teatro San Moisè tomorrow at one in the afternoon. The musicians will have all left for pranzo. We will have the theater to ourselves.”
Oh—that eager smile, Caterina mused, watching him closely. There was nothing she missed more from her own youth than seeing that smile on a lover’s face.
CHAPTER 91
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Leda asked Caterina in the gondola cabin the next afternoon, crossing the Grand Canal on their way to Teatro San Moisè.
Caterina squeezed her hand. She understood why Leda was afraid to take a risk right now. The baby changed everything.
“At least listen to what Filippo has to say,” Caterina encouraged, as Leda took several long, deep breaths. Caterina had insisted on not sharing any details of her conversation with Filippo the day before. She wanted Leda to make her own decisions.
Only one thing Caterina had told her—no matter what, Leda would not be going back to the convent. No. Caterina had decided this the frightening day the girl had disappeared. Leda’s home, together with the baby, was with her and Bastiano—if she needed it.
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