Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  “Could we go there now, see if we can help him?”

  Joseph never could resist that puppy-dog look in those soft brown eyes.

  “We can sort out my clothes later,” Rose continued. “Or I could rotate the three outfits I have in my suitcase. My mother claims all you need is one set hanging, one set on your body, and one set in the laundry. I should be able to manage for the few days. I’d rather we spend the time helping this man.”

  Joseph determined to do both. He’d looked forward to dressing Rose in his designs, and he wouldn’t allow anything to take that away from him. Or her.

  “Okay.”

  Rose gave a little jump. “Hurrah. Would you mind if I prayed for him first? Could you ask him if that’s all right?”

  Speaking Italian, Joseph told the beggar what Rose wanted to do. Hopefully he understood.

  Rose went down on her haunches, took the man’s hand in hers, and gazed into his eyes. Then she bowed her head and began to pray God’s blessings over his life, and their success in helping him to fix his pants.

  Joseph watched the beggar’s lips begin to quiver between his facial hair. His eyes teared up, and his chest heaved. Blinking hard, he leaned his head against the wall behind him and gazed toward heaven for a moment before closing his eyes.

  “In Jesus’ name. Amen.” Rose straightened. “We’ll be back soon,” she said as they turned to go.

  Joseph had forgotten what a soft heart she had. He’d spent a long time telling himself ice ran through her veins. Hearing last night how hard it had been for her to give their child up for adoption, forgiveness had come easy. After all, a confession was all he’d sought. And later today he’d seek her forgiveness. One had to forgive in order to be forgiven, didn’t they? Still, he had to guard his heart and mind. He didn’t want either to wander back to the anger and the bitterness.

  Inside the JoDi boutique, Joseph’s store manager, Luisa, confirmed his fears. They didn’t keep needles and thread.

  “The quality of your clothing is of such excellent quality, we have no need to keep repair kits on these premises,” she said.

  Pursing his lips, Joseph strode toward the men’s side of the boutique.

  Rose and Luisa followed him.

  He flipped through the men’s pants—the dark colored ones.

  Rose came to stand behind him. “I don’t think a new pair of trousers is what the man wants. I think all he wants is to fix what is broken.”

  Don’t we all?

  Joseph pivoted. “It would be wise to go back to him with a backup plan. New trousers are better than no needle and thread. Both would be a bonus.”

  A smile curved Rose’s mouth. “All right. But promise me we’ll at least try to find something for him to fix his pants with.”

  “I promise.” Joseph selected a pair of denim jeans and slid them from the hanger. These would last the longest. He picked out a dark shirt, too. Removing the price tags, he handed the clothes and tags to Luisa. “Please take these off the system and package them. Throw in two pairs of socks, as well.”

  Luisa’s high-heels tick-ticked against the wooden floor as she walked away. She returned a few minutes later with the clothing in a branded paper bag.

  Plan B for the beggar done, Joseph and Rose hurried from his boutique in search of a haberdashery inside the large mall. Finding a store directory, they glanced through the listings. Disappointment sank into his stomach like a rock. No haberdasheries. Only a wool and embroidery shop on the far side of the mall. Might work.

  By the time they got back to the northern side of the cathedral, the sun beat down on the spot where the beggar had lain. He stood dressed in his torn pants, ready to leave—likely in search of a shadier spot.

  Rose handed him the small packet she carried. Neither needle nor thread was ideal, but they were better than nothing. And they’d do the job of repairing his pants.

  Hands trembling, he peeked inside then lifted the pack of needles and the thread and smiled. He dropped the contents back into the bag and raised his clasped hands to heaven. “Grazie. Grazie.” A wide smile appeared, separating his mustache and beard.

  Joseph took the jeans, shirt and socks out of the branded carrier bag and showed him before pushing them back inside. Then he hung the bag over the beggar’s fingers. The man began to weep.

  Rose sniffled beside him.

  “Thank you, so much,” she said to Joseph, glancing over her shoulder as they walked away from the homeless man. “That was such fun. And so fulfilling. But I can’t believe how difficult it was to find a needle and thread in one of the four fashion capitals of the world.”

  Joseph smiled at her. “We should do that more often—help someone less fortunate.”

  “We should.” She returned the smile. “If nothing else happens today, this day has not been wasted.”

  And it wouldn’t be. This would be a day that Rose would never forget.

  Entering the Duomo di Milano, she sucked in a breath and whispered, “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is inside.”

  So had he. Joseph bowed his head, and crossed himself. Unlike Rose, his religion may be no more than mere ritual, nevertheless, reverence for God’s house had been instilled in him from a little boy. He’d make sure his children grew up learning the same reverence his mamma had taught him.

  Rose slid into a pew near the back.

  He followed her.

  She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She prayed so soft, Joseph could barely hear what she said, and he wanted to hear her pray. He found it fascinating…something to be desired.

  He leaned a little closer.

  “Thank you, Father, that You have allowed me to unburden myself. I should’ve done that a long time ago. Thank You that You turn what we think is terrible, into something good. You’re a good, good Father. Thank you for Your grace, Your forgiveness. Please give me wisdom to know whether or not to tell my parents…or whether some things are best left unsaid.” For a moment she was quiet. Then her sigh broke the silence. “All right, I know I need to tell them. Please give me the strength to do so.”

  Joseph listened, intrigued by the relationship she had with the Creator. If only he shared the same passion for God and had the same relationship with Him as Rose did. Perhaps it would have made a difference. Perhaps she would’ve told him about her pregnancy.

  He could do something about that, though. In fact, he wanted to. He had been listening when Davis spoke to him about who God really was, even though he’d pretended not to, afraid of what becoming a believer would do to his reputation in the industry. But watching Rose pray, he sought the same thing. Suddenly the verse Davis loved to quote made sense. As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for You, my God.

  Spiritually he was thirsty, and he desired to have that thirst quenched. Perhaps he’d ask Rose sometime soon to help him with that sinner’s prayer Davis had mentioned.

  Or he could do it now himself.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, but he had no idea how to approach this creator God. Not like Rose did.

  She nudged him in the side. “Are you praying? Or sleeping?”

  Joseph opened one eye. “Just resting my eyes.”

  “Should we have a quick walk around, and then go? I’ve probably delayed today’s plans long enough.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve enjoyed every moment.” He pushed to his feet.

  Rose looked up at him from the pew with those innocent eyes of hers. “Can we make one last stop…after the clothing?”

  “Anywhere.” He hated to keep his family in Tuscany waiting, but he also wanted to keep Rose happy. He’d give them a call, or text them to say that he’d be arriving later than planned. And that he was bringing a guest.

  “Can we stop by Arabella’s first?”

  Chapter Nine

  “ARRIVEDERCI, ARABELLA,” Rose shouted out the open roof, waving like a crazy person as Joseph accelerated away from Bella Donne.

  Yesterday, he’d picked out a s
oft white chiffon scarf for her at JoDi. She lifted the scarf from her lap and placed it over her head, sweeping the ends around her neck, Hepburn-style. She turned to him and smiled. “There, that should protect my hair from falling prey to the wind again. Thanks for the tip.”

  His heart beat a little faster. She looked as beautiful and elegant as the legendary film and fashion icon. “Molto bello.”

  He stuck his hand in the air and gave a final wave, too, before glancing at the rearview mirror. The woman who had helped them both, who had kept his secret from Rose, grew smaller the further away he drove. Yesterday she’d issued him an ultimatum, giving him until tomorrow to tell Rose everything.

  “You should be together, Joseph, and you know that isn’t possible unless you tell her. Besides, she deserves to know.”

  “Bella, you know she might hate you for telling me.”

  “I’ll take my chances, but somehow I doubt it. Once her initial anger wears off, she’ll come around. And believe me, Joseph, she will be angry when she discovers what you did. What I did. She’ll feel betrayed…years lost out on. It’s up to you to get her to understand.”

  “Hey.” Rose leaned closer and trailed her finger over the edge of his ear. “You seem a million miles away. Is everything all right?”

  He flashed a smile then turned his concentration back to the narrow street, and the traffic. “Traffic, that’s all.”

  “I hate it, too. That’s why I don’t own a car. I catch the tubes, buses, trains, or I walk.”

  “I try to avoid driving in London, as well. Unless, of course, I have a dinner date with a beautiful woman.” Joseph winked at her. “Or need to visit her boutique for a meeting.”

  Rose pouted. “I guess you drive into London often, then?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Was she jealous?

  He shook his head. “Two weeks ago was the first in a very long time.”

  His thoughts returned to Rose’s meeting this morning with Bella. And to the thing that had troubled him since Rose told him everything. Had Bella issued her an ultimatum, too? Is that why she’d confessed? She must have. Why else would Rose want a private meeting with her again today?

  He worried his bottom lip. Would she ever have come clean if Bella hadn’t forced her?

  His insides churned at his decision to rather show her his confession. Showing was way better than telling, wasn’t it?

  Suddenly, he wasn’t so certain.

  Rose trailed her fingers through his hair. “Are you sure something isn’t bothering you? You look preoccupied with your thoughts.”

  Joseph breathed in deep. “Why did you really tell me the truth last night? Did Bella have something to do with that decision?”

  Rose’s eyes widened, and then burned as tears filled them. She retreated from him and sank back into her seat. Turning her head to the side, she focused on the window boxes adorning the buildings they drove past. “She refused to take on Maggie’s dress if I didn’t tell you.” Rose rotated to look at Joseph. “I–I’m so sorry.”

  Small lines formed between his eyes. “Would you have ever told me had she not pressured you?”

  Was he angry with her? Oh, why hadn’t she just told him when they were outside Clover’s restaurant that first night?

  “I–I don’t know. I should have told you. I wanted to. I came so close the night of the dinner with Maggie and Davis when you came looking for me outside on the walkway. But I was afraid.”

  “Afraid? You’re scared of me? Rosa…”

  Rose shook her head and swiped at her moist cheeks. “I–I couldn’t bear for you to hate me. That’s why I kept quiet these past two weeks. Our paths crossing like this came as quite a shock. I never thought I’d see you again. Never thought I’d have to deal with the issue of whether or not to tell you. I figured it served no purpose for you to know, to have you remembering her birthday every year, thinking ‘This year she turned four…this year she turned five.’ I know what hell May the 3rd is, amongst all the other days without her.”

  “May 3rd? Her birthday?”

  “Yes. Sunday’s child, bonnie, blithe, good, and gay. I ache for her…every day.” Rose’s voice quivered. “I didn’t want to put you through that—the wondering, the not knowing…” Her fingers worked the bottom edge of her shirt, curling it into a long tube. “Arabella left me no choice. I’m glad though. I feel free. All I still need to do is tell my parents and my family. That will be hard, too.”

  “You should tell them, Rose. For your sake. I think you’ll be surprised how understanding they will be.” He reached for her hand and folded it in his. “And for the record, I don’t hate you. I never could…even though I tried.”

  She allowed his words to sink in for a moment. “Did you ever speculate that being pregnant could be the reason I broke up with you and disappeared?”

  Joseph nodded. “I did think it was a possibility. And I was angry, so angry. But then—” Joseph sighed and tightened his lips.

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing.” Eyes fixed on the road ahead, he accelerated to pass the car in front of them.

  “Did Arabella ever tell you?”

  He remained silent for a while.

  Why didn’t he answer her question? Hadn’t he heard her, or didn’t he wish to reveal the truth?

  Joseph pulled Rose closer to him. “Lay here against my shoulder and rest.”

  Being so close, the stronger smell of his cologne did strange things to her insides. They tingled, they shivered, and they did somersaults. One thing they didn’t do—be still.

  “I am a little tired. Is there anyone at your home in Florence?”

  “My parents. They live there and look after everything for me.”

  His parents? She hadn’t expected that. Actually, she hadn’t thought about his home being occupied by anyone. She was glad they wouldn’t be alone. No way did she want a repeat of their last visit to Tuscany. And there was no way she could guarantee she wouldn’t be tempted beyond what she could bear. She still loved him. So much.

  “Do they know I’m coming for a visit with you?”

  “They do. I called them when we were at Bella’s.”

  Rose relaxed and closed her eyes. It would be nice to see them again. They were great people. Her breath hitched. What about his eleven brothers, and his sister? Would they all be there, too? Her eyes flew open, and she glanced up at him. “Your brothers and sister?”

  Joseph planted a kiss on her head. “All married with their own families. Don’t worry; this isn’t going to be a stereotyped Italian family weekend. I think you’ll enjoy every moment of tranquility my home has to offer. Now close your eyes. By the time you open them, we’ll be there.” He leaned forward and turned on the radio. The soft sounds of opera filtered through the speakers.

  Rose nodded and got comfortable on his shoulder once again. Soon the motion of the car dulled her senses, and she slowly nodded off.

  “Rose. Rosa.” Joseph whispered in her ear and gave her a gentle nudge. “We’re almost there.”

  “W-h-a-t?” Sleep thickened her voice. She checked his sleeve as she sat upright, praying she hadn’t left a puddle of drool there. Nothing, thank heaven. “W–where are we?”

  “Turning onto the road that leads to my house.”

  “How did we get here so fast? I only dozed off moments ago.” She frowned. “Were you speeding?”

  Joseph laughed. “No. You were asleep for over two hours.”

  “Two hours?” Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. “Did I snore?”

  “Just a soft, cute sound—like a purring kitten.” He mimicked her.

  Rose flicked his arm with a backhand. “Oh you.” She pulled down the sun visor. Removing the scarf from her head, she fluffed her hair then checked her makeup.

  Joseph drove up the long paved driveway lined with tall straight pines, bringing the car to a stop in front of a stone Tuscan villa. Shutters and window boxes framed every window, bright red geraniums d
raping down from their wooden beds. At least that’s what she thought the flowers were.

  “This is your home? It’s magnificent. I imagined something smaller. Something big enough for you and your parents. Perhaps a weekend visitor or two.”

  Joseph laughed. “Where would I fit all my siblings and their families on those Italian family weekends? Of which, this is not one of them.”

  He stepped out of the car.

  Rose didn’t wait for him to open her door. She clambered out her side, stretching as she straightened. She gazed at the round fountain in the middle of the driveway. Water cascaded down its four tiers into the pond below. To her left, a vineyard, its straight rows of vines unmistakable. And to her right, a field of cultivated lavender neighbored extended fields of wild poppies, their red standing in stark contrast to their green background.

  “Joseph, this place is beautiful.”

  He smiled at her as she walked into his embrace. “Wait until you see what’s inside.”

  The high arched front door opened and a small child ran toward them, her long brown hair bouncing with each step. She held onto the large red flower in her hair just above her ear.

  Joseph ran to meet her, going down on his haunches as he got closer.

  The little girl ran into his embrace, almost knocking him over. “Pappa, you’re home! I have missed you.”

  Pappa? He has a child?

  Looked like it didn’t take him long to forget her after all.

  What a fool I’ve been.

  Joseph sucked in a breath as he lifted his daughter in his arms. He spun around to face Rose then walked toward her. Would she recognize Rosannah? How could she not? She was the spitting image of her mother.

  As he got closer, the lines on Rose’s brow smoothed. Her eyes widened and flickered in what he hoped was recognition. “Josephine?” She breathed out the name. Her gaze darted to Joseph. “I–I don’t understand.”

  A giggle split the tension between them. “No...sono Rosannah.” Rosannah smiled wide as she pointed at herself.

  “Rosannah, parla Inglese. My friend doesn’t speak Italian.” Joseph shifted his gaze back to Rose. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Rosannah.”