Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  She tasted one or two more items on the plate, and then moved the dessert around with her spoon.

  “You’re not hungry anymore? It’s all right if you’re unable to finish it, Rose. Don’t force yourself.”

  “It’s not that.” She inched her eyes from the sweetness below to meet Joseph’s gaze. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you six years ago.”

  Her pulse began to pound. Irregular. She could do with one of those tiny white tablets right about now. But she’d left the bottle back home in London. Deliberately. With God’s help, she could get through this.

  Joseph set his spoon down and reached for her shaking hands. He squeezed them tight. “This is about why you broke up with me?”

  Rose nodded. “I–I–” She breathed in deep then exhaled slowly. “I was pregnant.”

  Truth. At last. Or at least part of it. Now that Rose had started to open up to him, would she tell him the rest?

  “You were expecting? Our child?” Even though this wasn’t news to him, finally saying the words out loud, to her, choked him with so many emotions—shock, sadness…anger. He drew in a lungful of air to keep them in check. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rose pulled her hands away and leaned back into her chair. “And risk ruining your budding career?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t do that to you. You would’ve hated me for it.”

  “You thought having a child in my life would’ve stunted or halted my dreams and aspirations?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Or were you concerned about your own career, your dreams, your aspirations?” He had to know if that was the real reason for all that had transpired after their break up.

  “No!” Rose lowered her gaze to the fresh passionfruit and lemonade standing in front of her. She reached out a hand and trailed her index finger down the highball glass, wiping away the condensation clinging to the outside.

  Hand still pressed to the cold drink, she turned her focus back to Joseph. “A–at least not initially. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the more I thought about the complications of bringing a child into the world…into our lives… I was young. Stupid—”

  “So you just got rid of it?” he growled and his gaze bored through Rose.

  Rose’s eyes widened. Even in the candlelight, her face paled. But going through the natural line of questioning after hearing such news was necessary, and could be the only way to draw the whole truth from her. It felt good to get a little angry, too. He’d spent so long unable to direct his outrage over this at her, processing it internally instead for months after she’d left Italy.

  Don’t let the anger suck you in. That wouldn’t help the situation one bit.

  “Y–you think I had an abortion? I could never do something like that. It’s murder.”

  “Then what? Did you miscarry, because I don’t know of any child you’re raising?”

  “You barely know anything about me, so you don’t know whether or not I’m raising a child.” Her eyes glistened, and a tear spilled over. Then another. “But no. I didn’t have a miscarriage. I–I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I gave our child up for adoption.” She swiped at her cheeks. “And then I left Italy as fast as I could, because if I hadn’t, I might’ve hunted down the family whose dreams of having a child became a reality the moment I signed those papers. I would’ve demanded my child back.”

  “You gave our child away?” His throat constricted making the words hard to say.

  Her watery eyes pleaded with him. “I’m so sorry. I’ve regretted that decision every day. But I had no choice. I–I wasn’t in a position to raise her on my own—not then.”

  “Her? I have a daughter?” Joseph continued to feign surprise or shock at every piece of new information.

  “Yes. We have…had a daughter.” Rose leaned to the side and retrieved her handbag from under the table. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes before wiping the soft paper under her nose.

  “I couldn’t go home to England from Italy pregnant, or with an infant. I was so ashamed. My family… My parents…”

  “They would have been understanding, Rosa. I’m certain of it. As would I have.” Joseph held her gaze. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve married you. I was in love with you.” Still am.

  Rose sniffed then released a heavy sigh. “I made so many mistakes. I didn’t think clearly then. I should’ve done things so differently, I see that now. But it’s too late. What’s done is done.” Her lips quivered as she attempted a smile. “Arabella told me she went to a good home, a perfect home, a loving one.”

  “Arabella?”

  “She took me in after I left you in Florence. Taught me all I know about embroidery and beadwork, except her ribbon work. I think she left teaching me that until last, hoping it would make me stick around until long after the baby was born. She looked after me from the time I left Florence, until the baby’s birth. She wanted me to tell you—urged me often—but I dug my heels in. I–I thought I was doing what was best for everyone. I convinced myself there were so many childless couples, any one of them would be able to give her the life I couldn’t.”

  Rose began to sob, and Joseph shot out of his chair to her side.

  “Let me take you home,” he whispered.

  She nodded and gripped her handbag as she pushed to her feet.

  Joseph wrapped her cardigan around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. Arm around her waist, he led her to the door.

  Rose stepped outside while he settled the bill. She probably didn’t want anyone to see she was upset.

  Halfway down the flower-lined alleyway, Joseph stopped. He drew Rose into his arms. Looking down at her, he searched her eyes—the mirrors to her soul—and saw the pain. What she’d done back then had not been a decision she’d taken lightly. Reliving the memory had been difficult for her.

  “You must hate me.” She glanced away.

  “No.” He touched her cheek and drew her gaze back to him. Offering a smile, he swept his fingers through her hair then tucked it behind one ear. “Bella Rosa, I could never hate you. I tried, but failed.” He smoothed his hand over the back of her head, gently easing her face closer. Her lips parted and Joseph allowed her warm breath to tickle his cheek.

  He pressed the side of his face to hers, reigning in the temptation to kiss her. This wasn’t the right time. Salty tears traced her skin, and he wanted to kiss every one of them away. All the heartache she had suffered because she thought what she was doing was right—for him.

  Forcing himself to put a little space between them, Joseph stepped back and lifted her right hand. He pressed his lips to the back above her knuckles. He did the same with the left then raised his gaze to meet her moist lashes, slightly smudged mascara beneath the lower lids. Redness circled her eyes. Her nose hadn’t escaped the effects of her tears, either.

  “I didn’t want you losing out on your Italian kisses once again.”

  She managed a smile and glanced at her hands. “Those were by far sweeter.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Stay in Italy until Wednesday, Rosa. Come with me to Tuscany tomorrow. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

  Rose gave a small nod and whispered, “All right.”

  Relief, mingled with a touch of fear, filled Joseph. Tomorrow this could all be over—whatever budded again between them. Or it could be a fresh start for them all. Now it was his turn to bare everything, but would Rose be gracious in her forgiveness?

  Sitting at the hotel dresser in her satin nightie, Rose swept her hair over her left shoulder and brushed out the long strands as she stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe it was her imagination, or the lighting in here, or the fact the weight of the world was no longer on her shoulders, but she looked younger than she had last night when she’d sat in front of her mirror at home in London.

  The words of the Psalmist came to mind, words that she knew by heart, but until tonight had not fully grasped their m
eaning. Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord does not count against them and in whose spirit is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night Your hand was heavy on me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to You and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And You forgave the guilt of my sin.

  Although she had lived under the grace of God’s forgiveness these past few years, it wasn’t until her confession to Joseph tonight, that she felt totally exonerated. Totally free. She should have done this a long time ago. She let out a soft laugh. Could’ve saved herself a fortune in anti-wrinkle cream.

  Rose set her brush down and pushed to her feet. She stepped to the side of the king-size bed, turned her back to the plush covering, and then flopped back into the softness behind her. Arms outstretched, she allowed herself to shed tears of joy.

  Thank You, Jesus for coordinating this all so perfectly. Only You could have brought us together in this manner, to allow me this long-overdue confession.

  Droplets of fear trickled from her mind, finding their way to her heart, doing their utmost to steal her joy. Why did she get the feeling that Joseph had his own confession to make—one that was rooted under a Tuscan sky?

  She crept to her pillow and fluffed it beneath her head, seeking another scripture to drive away the fear.

  Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

  Looking up into the darkness, Rose sighed. Could anything Joseph had to say be worse than what she’d revealed tonight?

  She closed her eyes. Father, whatever lies ahead, please allow me to extend the same grace as has been extended to me.

  Chapter Eight

  JOSEPH’S PULSE RACED AS HE watched Rose close her hotel door and walk toward him, dragging her small red overnight suitcase behind her. Her white cotton top with its bold poppies made him think of the fields in Tuscany beside his house. The fabric swayed over her Capri pants that matched the blooms. White strappy sandals decorated her feet. The perfect outfit for a sunny day in Italy.

  He padded his brown loafers in her direction, closing the gap between the six rooms that separated them. At least they were on the same floor.

  She smiled wide. “Good morning.”

  Oh yes, it was good. And it was about to get better. He hoped.

  Joseph hastened his steps until he stood in front of her. He released the handle of his slightly larger suitcase and trailed his fingers through the soft brown waves that framed her cute face.

  Rose’s suitcase toppled over. Had she let go of the handle too early? Glancing down at the prostrate bag, she shrugged her shoulders then slid her hands up his arms.

  Tiny electric currents tingled beneath his skin at her touch. He hadn’t expected her to get so close to him. Not that he was complaining. Not at all.

  Her eyes searched his as her fingers tightened around his arms. “Did you sleep well last night?”

  He nodded. He had. Although when he woke this morning it was to an ache across his belly. Either hunger was to blame, or anticipation, excitement, or dread over what would transpire once they got to his home.

  Joseph pushed all those thoughts aside and focused on her closeness. He ached to sweep her into his embrace and kiss her. It would be so easy to satisfy his craving for her, but to do so now, without knowing whether a future together awaited them…it just wouldn’t be right. He would never let Rose feel used again.

  He took a moment to catch his breath and steady his heart rate. When he thought he could trust himself to speak, he opened his mouth. “We should probably have breakfast, and then check out. We’ve a busy day ahead of us.”

  Her arms slid from his neck like a receding tide, taking her uncertain smile with it. Offering a small nod, she bent down and retrieved her suitcase. Together they made their way to the elevator.

  Forty minutes later, their stomachs full, Rose and Joseph handed in their keycards at reception. Davis had arranged for their bills to be settled in full. The hotel had his car waiting out front, their luggage already loaded.

  The wind lifted Rose’s hair in all directions as they drove toward Joseph’s city center boutique. She pulled her hair back, and then tied it in a high ponytail with an elastic band she’d retrieved from her handbag. Seemed she wasn’t taking a chance again with her hair blowing in her face from the open roof of his car.

  She turned to him. “Thank you for listening with such grace last night.”

  “Grace? I got angry with you, Rose.”

  She shook her head. “Not an nth of the anger I was expecting. You extended grace to me, Joseph. And I thank you. I know what I had to say could not have been easy for you to hear.”

  “You should never have kept that from me. But I do forgive you. We all make mistakes.”

  “Oh, Joseph. I accept your forgiveness. Please know that I don’t take it lightly.” Rose shook her head. “It seems so unbelievable that you could forgive me—I cost you your daughter. I’ve tried for so long to forgive myself. I think perhaps after last night, I might now be able to find a way.” She twirled the ponytail around her hand, sliding her fingers down its length as she smoothed the thick tail of hair over her shoulder. “This has given me such a better understanding of God’s grace, though. I cost the Father his son, too, because of my sin. And yet, He loves me so much that through His son’s sacrifice, I’m forgiven.”

  Davis had shared a similar understanding of God with him. Not that long ago. Now Rose. Was God trying to catch his attention?

  Rose reached for his hand as he geared down, bringing the car to a stop at the red traffic light. “Grace is an amazing thing, Joseph.”

  He glanced at her and smiled. “So is love.”

  Sadness filled her gaze.

  “Are those tears brimming in your beautiful brown eyes?”

  She gave a slow shrug. “I–I don’t know if I can tell my parents. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell them. I mean, what would be the purpose? We can’t get her back. Perhaps it’s better they don’t know they have a granddaughter living somewhere in Italy—if she’s still in Italy. Anyone could have adopted her, I guess.”

  Joseph stretched out his right hand and brushed her cheek. “Bella Rosa, you’ll know when the time is right to tell them.”

  When the light turned to green, Joseph accelerated and the Maserati pulled away.

  Rose gazed out of her window as they drove past the façade of the Duomo di Milano on the main square of Milan. The elaborate Gothic cathedral—second largest Catholic cathedral in the world—drew Rose’s attention. Focused on the building, she said something that got lost in the bustle of traffic, the car’s open roof, and the fact that her speech was directed away from him.

  “Scusi?”

  She turned to face Joseph. “I asked if we could go there before we leave for Tuscany.”

  “Of course we can, mio amore. I will take you anywhere you want to go. We’ll park the car near the mall housing my JoDi Milano boutique. There’s a parkade there. It’s only a few blocks from the cathedral. We can walk here first, and then afterward go and choose that four-day wardrobe for you.”

  A grin, much like the ones he fell in love with so long ago, lit her face. “I like that idea. Thank you.”

  Soon Joseph and Rose walked hand-in-hand through the city streets, headed for the cathedral. They’d never been together in Milan until this weekend. Hopefully this would be the first of many such trips to this exciting city.

  A catchy tune filled the air from a piano accordion player. Rose stopped to listen, moving her body in time with the song. Nimble fingers flying across the black and white keys, the musician gathered quite an audience. It was hard not to stand still while listening to him play, so Joseph took a slow stroll toward the street musician and deposit
ed a twenty euro note into the square velvet-lined case near his feet.

  When he got back to Rose’s side, he encouraged her to continue on toward the cathedral.

  As they rounded the northern side of this impressive building that took over six hundred years to complete, a beggar called out from where he lay in an alcove of sorts, legs outstretched and covered with a tattered blanket. Dark, unkempt hair hung down, touching his shoulders, and a matted beard covered his cheeks and chin. Patches of gray patterned his facial hair.

  Rose slowed her step. “We should help him.”

  Joseph nodded.

  As they moved closer, the beggar’s stench permeated the area. It had been a long time since the man had seen any semblance of a bath. Joseph swallowed hard. He could do this, for Rose.

  The homeless man spoke in a strange dialect. Sounded like Italian, but it wasn’t. Joseph recognized a few words here and there, like pantaloni, though the repetitive word in the garbled sentence wasn’t hard to recognize with the beggar tugging at Joseph’s white chinos.

  Joseph took a step back.

  The beggar pulled the blanket back to reveal his thin bare legs, feet covered in red threadbare socks. A crutch lay beside him—the other against the wall behind his head.

  “Pantaloni.” He eased up on one elbow and reached inside the black plastic packet that he’d rested his head on moments before. Likely his worldly belongings were kept in that one confined space. He pulled out a pair of old, stained trousers and held them up, revealing the split seam that stretched from one side of the crotch to the other. He made a gesture with his hands.

  Rose leaned in close to Joseph and whispered, “I think he wants something to fix his pants with. A needle and thread. You would have something like that at your boutique, wouldn’t you?”

  Joseph blew out a huff. “I’d have something like that at my factory. I doubt we’d keep sewing items in any of our retail outlets, but we can have a look. Failing that, we can try to find something for him.”