The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  After a while, Patrice began to moan; we took her blankets off, as her fever was rising. The cycle was beginning again. I abandoned my chair and kneeled on the floor. Without being asked, Patrice’s mother had brought a basin of water and a cloth, and began dabbing her daughter’s head.

  The fever rose. And rose. And rose.

  And stopped.

  And receded.

  The fire that had burned within her had been dampened.

  The woman looked at me. In an unexpected gesture, she quietly slipped her hand towards mine, and squeezed it hard. My emotion was buried deep – I was a doctor, and I couldn’t show how scared, how hopeful, how broken I felt in that moment.

  Patrice’s breath changed, and she fell in a comfortable sleep. The smell in the room changed too, imperceptibly. I know it’s absurd to say it, and unscientific – but I did not smell death anymore.

  I let myself rest my head in my hands on top of Patrice’s nest of blankets, and without realizing, I fell asleep.

  I was woken by a male voice shouting, and some horrible, brute force lifting me up and pushing me against the wall. My eyes met Patrice’s father’s face, contorted in fury.

  “What did you do to her? What did you do?”

  Oh my God. Patrice had died. She had died in the night. And I had fallen asleep.

  Patrice’s mother was shouting too, trying to pull her husband away from me; out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other children cowering in the corner, in terror.

  The man slapped my face; it stung. I was terrified, but also numb with Patrice’s death. Somewhere in my consciousness rose the thought that the man would kill me, and I was simply not strong enough to defend myself.

  “Stop! Stop! Patrice is cured! Look, she’s cured!”

  Cured?

  I turned my head, in spite of the man’s arms clasping my shoulders – Patrice lay with her eyes open, a soft blush on her cheeks, her hair dirty, but dry. She was curled up, like someone who’s finally slept and rested after a long, long time. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead!

  Only, her eyes were blue. The white of her eyes was blue.

  “You did some magic on her! You called the devil to cure her! And look at her now! The devil! I’d rather her be dead—”

  But he didn’t finish the sentence, because Patrice’s mother hit him over the head with the fire poker, and he fell cold on the ground.

  I steadied myself for a moment, and ran to Patrice. My face stung and my shoulders hurt, and I’d been so scared, but I didn’t care. Patrice was alive. I checked her heart, her temperature, her breathing. The cycle had been broken.

  Her mother’s eyes and mine met, and she smiled. Quite surreal, as her husband lay on the ground with a bleeding head. I checked him too; he would live. He was just asleep for a little while.

  “Patrice’s eyes will go back to normal. It’s just the remedy I gave her. I promise you, this has nothing to do with the devil. It’s medicine. Science. Not magic.”

  She smiled wider, and I saw that half her teeth were missing. She took both my hands and kissed them.

  It was really, really hard not to cry then. But I didn’t.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I said. “Your husband’ll be back on his feet then, so keep him away from me,” I added, making a mental note of taking the Conte’s man with me for protection, just in case.

  On the way home, riding on Vento in the chilly morning, I thought of Professor Bacher. Where was he? Where had they taken him?

  Wherever you are, thank you, for saving Patrice’s life, I prayed under my breath.

  And now, bed. I swear, I could sleep for a week…

  Good night, Diary. Or good morning. I’m not sure what time it is!

  Your drained and proud and happy,

  Dottor Stella

  August 23, 1943

  We need to try to be strong, now. Pietro has been taken to Poland, to a work camp. It was Lorenzo Pigna who told us; he was with Pietro, but he escaped. He says he walked almost all the way from Poland; that he walked for months. From the state of his feet, I believe him. He’s like a walking skeleton.

  Mamma told me that since he’d been taken, his mother had lit so many candles in the church that they sprawled on the floor, and Don Giuseppe didn’t have the heart to stop her. She lived in the church more than at home. And now, her Lorenzo is back.

  But our Pietro is not.

  Mamma cried and cried, Papa retreated in silence, the way he does. I must be strong for them. Yes, strong the way women are supposed to be…

  She’d written the word “strong” three times in a few lines. My heart went out to her. My struggles and troubles, how small they seemed in comparison! At least that poor boy, Lorenzo, had come back. Maybe Pietro would too…

  “Rissi!” a voice behind me called out and I turned to see Tommaso, standing behind the wrought-iron fence, looking fresh and cool in jeans and T-shirt.

  I laughed at the use of my nickname, unashamedly happy to see him. “Come on in,” I called back and he jumped the fence with ease.

  “So… how did it go with Flora?”

  “I’m not even going to ask you how you know that Flora was here today.”

  He laughed. “I was repairing those fences I told you about, when she passed right in front of me. She seemed lost in thought. May I join you?”

  “Sure,” I said, and he sat on the blanket beside me, crossing his long legs. “Well, you know, she offered me a job. Believe it or not.”

  “In Passiflora? That’s great! I mean, if you accepted.”

  “I did, yes.” I took a breath. “I’m someone who didn’t change a thing in three years of life, and now I’m changing everything at once!”

  “You get those moments, don’t you? Suddenly, everything is turned upside down. But probably it means it’s the right thing. That your time has come.”

  “Mmm. I didn’t even say I was going to think about it. I just said yes. In the space of like, ten minutes of conversation.”

  “What makes you want to stay? Obviously, the family you just found. But… is it the place as well? Do you like it here?”

  I laughed and decided it was better to avoid his eyes, in case he realized that, well, he was one of the reasons why it felt good to stay. His presence was something that made staying here even sweeter. Tommaso knew what I was thinking, I was sure, because he laughed and looked away too.

  “Well, yes, I love it here! Who wouldn’t? Look around you. And I love my home. And, you see, there’s… these.” I showed him the books scattered on the blanket.

  He picked up the one I had been studying and thumbed through the pages. “That’s what Flora does, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I need to learn all this to work in the shop, you know. Back in Texas I was wondering what to do with my life. This has really hooked me.”

  “That’s good. I think that when you find the right thing, it resounds with you. That’s what happened to me with painting. It’ll never be my job as such, but it’s something that keeps me going. It’s one of the things I wake up for in the morning.”

  “I love your paintings… they’re beautiful. Especially…” I paused. I was going to say “especially the painting of Gioele”, but I stopped myself. He must have guessed, because sorrow seemed to pass over him, like a cloud on the hills.

  Without saying a word, he came closer beside me and slipped his arms around me. He leaned against the chestnut tree, taking me with him, and we just sat there, snuggled together.

  My heart was jumping out of my chest. I’d never been so close to a man before.

  “You know, Rissi, I think you’re amazing. You’re in a foreign country, a foreign culture, all by yourself, and you’re making your way. Figuring it all out.” The sound of his voice in my ear made my skin tingle. I wanted to close my eyes and just listen to it.

  “Oh, I don’t know about figuring it all out,” I managed to say, though I was very much distracted by his scent. This was going too fast. Definitely too fas
t. But it felt right, and I didn’t want to stop it. I’d been so cautious, since I came out of the care system. Anything could upset my hard-earned, brittle balance. But now I seemed to have forgotten fear and just embraced life. I hoped with all my heart that I would not end up face first on the ground.

  “It seems that Flora has begun to open up a little. Did she tell you anything more about your family?”

  Was it the right time to tell him that my biological father was Carlo Caporale’s son?

  I had to. He would find out, sooner or later.

  “Tommaso, have you heard about someone called Davide Carpentieri?”

  “Well, yes. He was my grandfather.”

  “He was a kind man.”

  “How do you know?”

  I smiled. “Never mind. Listen, Tommaso… Flora told me something quite… upsetting, actually.”

  “She did? I’m sorry,” he said. I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t asking directly what it was but waiting for me to speak.

  “My biological father, Malva’s husband… he was Paolo Caporale,” I whispered, and then stilled, waiting for his reaction. With the way we were sitting, I couldn’t see his face. I felt him contract, and I turned around.

  He looked aghast.

  “The Caporales took everything away from me, Callie.” He hadn’t called me Rissi. My heart sank, and I wrenched myself from him. I was kneeling on the grass, while he was still sitting with his back against the tree; but not for long, because he stood, his face white.

  “I never knew my father, Tommaso. As far as I know, he abandoned me. He’s dead now.”

  He nodded. I could see he was making a tremendous effort to control himself, to pretend this didn’t matter; but there was no need for words. His upset was plain to see. I followed suit and stood, trembling all over.

  “It’s not my fault. I didn’t even know who he was. I didn’t know any of this…” I opened my arms.

  “Callie. I’m sorry. I… I have to go.”

  “Tommaso—”

  “I’m sorry. Just… give me some time.”

  “Fine. Fine. You know, Tommaso, I have nothing to do with that man. Flora said he destroyed my mom and he abandoned me. And now you give me the cold shoulder because… why? Because I might have inherited some of his nasty genes?” I was angry now. It was all so unfair, so undeserved.

  “You came looking for your family. You found them. The Caporales are your family too.”

  “Like, who? My father’s dead! Sure, had he been alive I would have wanted to meet him. I can’t deny that. I know he was bad. I know it from you and from Flora, and I believe you. But I would have wanted to look him in the eye, at least. But he’s gone… I have nothing to do with the Caporales now. Nothing.”

  “You still have a cousin. Denis. The nice guy who took my family away!” His fury shocked me. “You were looking for someone who shared your blood. Well, you found him.”

  Something in me deflated. I was floored. “You think I might be just like him? Just like them?” My voice came out small, laden with disappointment.

  He looked down. He didn’t deny it.

  “Just go, Tommaso.”

  He turned away, jumped over the fence and disappeared, leaving me bereft.

  It was a long night. I sat on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket, cradled by the crickets’ song and watching the still, black profile of the mountains. A waning moon hung in the sky, moving slowly as the night went on. Sleep evaded me, of course. I kept thinking of Tommaso.

  I cried tears of frustration and anger – because I understood a terrible truth: he knew he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help himself. The Caporales had taken away his father’s life, his wife and the boy he’d believed was his – everything he loved – and the slightest brush with them, even through me, hurt him terribly.

  He was the first guy I’d opened up to in my twenty-one years of life, and now he despised me, for reasons completely out of my control. The injustice of it took my breath away.

  I had to admit that Tommaso had been part of my decision to stay and accept Flora’s offer of a job; but even without him, I would stay. I wanted to unravel my family’s secrets, I wanted to be with Flora, as moody as she was; I wanted that job. I yearned to learn about naturopathy, and work in Passiflora. It fascinated me in a way I’d just never felt, for anything. Now that I’d come alive, I was beginning to realize how dead inside I’d been. Finally, life was mine for the taking. I would go ahead with my plans, no matter what Tommaso thought or did.

  I checked my watch: it was the early hours of the morning here, afternoon in Texas. It was time. I went and perched myself on the windowsill where the signal was strong, and tried to phone Kirsten. I’d barely finished dialing, when she picked up as if she’d been waiting for me to call; I felt guilty, because I knew I’d been neglecting her. The long list of missed calls and messages I’d seen earlier that morning haunted me.

  “Finally! I was worried! Is everything okay?” She was at the Windmill – I watched her picking up the call and rushing to the break room to speak. We weren’t allowed to answer the phone when we were working, so I assumed she must have talked to Shanice about my silence and asked if she could reply if I called.

  “I’m so sorry… things have been crazy.”

  “Tell me more!” She sat on one of the chairs in the break room – the familiarity of that scene tugged at my heart.

  “Oh… it’s… it’s complicated.” I’m not sure why I couldn’t find it in myself to explain to her the tangled threads of all that had been happening. “I’m… staying a little longer.”

  “Oh. Oh.” Her face fell. “Okay. Have you told Shanice?” she whispered, and briefly looked behind her. “Because she’ll want to know.” I could see Kirsten was trying to sound breezy, but she couldn’t hide the hurt. And I felt terrible about it.

  “Not yet.”

  “She’ll freak.” Another look behind her.

  “Yes. But… I have to make some big decisions about my life, Kirsten.”

  “Your life is here!”

  I stayed quiet.

  “Callie, I’m worried for you.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, but of course I knew why. I was, after all, on the other side of the world, in a big house all by myself, chasing something that might turn out to be elusive.

  “So far away… With those people…”

  “Oh, is that Shanice there?” I saw my former manager coming in, and I didn’t want to get into private business with her around.

  “She is, yes… Shanice, Callie is on… Bye then, Callie,” she said, and the coldness of her tone was unmistakable. Never before had a call between us come to a faster conclusion.

  “Hey! Kirsten was carrying that phone everywhere, waiting for you,” Shanice said, smiling. “I told her you were probably too busy sunning yourself and drinking vino to mind us!”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing that too. Shanice, look, I’m staying over here for a little longer.”

  “Oh.”

  I was disappointing everyone. Was I mad to undo all the work that I’d done to build myself a life?

  “Ooo-kay,” she continued. “What do you mean by that? Give me something a bit more precise.”

  “At least until the end of the summer.”

  The idea of summer in Montevino stretched before me: the sun, the lush garden of Firefly House, the long evenings laden with the scent of blooming flowers…

  Shanice pulled me back to earth with a bang.

  “Callie, honey, what do you mean by ‘at least’? Because this girl I have now is leaving to go backpacking in China. If you’re away until the end of the summer, I’ll hire a student who’ll go back to college in September, all fine. But if you tell me you’re not coming back… I’m starting all over again. This place doesn’t work like that. We’re family. We work together. Servers who come and go just don’t—”

  “I know. I know.” I had to interrupt her; I just couldn’t hear anymore.

  “You
have a good thing here, Callie. That’s all I’m saying,” Shanice added.

  “I have a good thing here too.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. And I support you, girl. I’ll tell you what. Take a week to decide, then let me know.”

  “Shanice… I have decided. I’m staying for the summer, like I said. If you can’t keep my job open, I understand.”

  She sighed. “I will keep it open until Penny leaves for China. If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “I will,” I said.

  I won’t, I thought.

  I still wasn’t ready to go to bed, so I made my way back to the terrace – I stopped still and smiled to myself. Little yellow lights were dancing on the grass. Fireflies… It was the first time I’d seen them in my garden.

  I took it as a sign.

  12

  I was walking down the hill towards Passiflora, when a burgundy car slowed down beside me. It was Michela, Flora’s landlord. And the girl who, for some reason, I could not bring myself to warm to.

  “Hello. Want a lift?”

  “Ah, no, thanks. It’s such a lovely morning.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you about the shop.”

  Me? Why would she not ask Flora? Maybe she had something to say that Flora couldn’t hear; maybe it was about the rent; perhaps Flora had given me a sanitized version of her financial situation? If so, I had to help.

  “Okay, then,” I said with a smile. It was important to keep a good relationship with our landlord, and I was fond of Michela’s sister, Paola; but there was something about Michela, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, that got on my nerves. It was skin deep.

  “How are you finding life in Montevino?”

  “Good. Great. What did you want to talk to me about?”