The Woman in Red

by Diana Giovinazzo

  Feliciana slowly grinned. “I’ll sign as your mother.”

  “Dona Feliciana, I can’t ask you to lie for me. It would be breaking the law.”

  “Not if I got permission from a priest to do it. He said in order to rectify this situation he will absolve me of my sin.” She reached out to me. “I am so sorry, I hope you can forgive me, but I have been talking to Father Lorenzo about your situation.”

  I pulled away suddenly, feeling defensive. Feliciana pleaded her case all the more. “He is on our side. He thinks you and José need to be married. He said we can find a way around your first marriage.”

  This was too much. Everything was happening all at once. Feliciana rubbed her hands up and down my arms in an attempt to comfort me. “Father Lorenzo only asks that you meet him for a confession. Nothing has to be decided today, but talk to José. See what he says. Then go talk to the priest.”

  I gave a short laugh. She didn’t know José as well as I did. Convincing him that this was a good idea would not be easy, especially with his views about the church.

  That night for dinner I prepared one of the Italian dishes that I had recently learned. Walking through the front door, José set down his satchel. In addition to teaching, he had begun selling goods imported from Italy, primarily tomato paste, which he kept in crates in our parlor. “I sold two whole boxes of paste today. I would have to say that is an accomplishment. Don’t you?”

  He made his way to Menotti, who giggled, waving his pudgy little arms in front of him. José picked him up in a great swooping motion as the giggles intensified. José kissed my cheek before sitting down at the table with a large smile on his face. Not knowing how to begin, I just blurted out the first sentence that came to mind. “What do you think about getting married?”

  He stopped midchew. “I thought we already were.”

  “Yes, well in our own eyes we are, but not in the eyes of the church.”

  He dropped his fork. “Anita, we have been over this. The church is a vile and corrupt organization. What they say and do holds no sway over us.”

  “What about when you die? What will happen to me and your children?”

  “Anita, why must you think of such things?” He tried to brush me away. “You shouldn’t worry about me dying.”

  “José, you are always going out to battle. You think nothing of risking your life. Of course I am going to worry about these things.”

  “I am not fighting a battle now, am I?” He pushed his plate away as Menotti reached a small hand toward it.

  “It doesn’t mean you won’t fight one in the future, and it certainly doesn’t mean you won’t drop dead in the middle of the street tomorrow!” I put my head in my hands in frustration before looking back up at him. “I am asking you to seriously think about your son’s future. What will happen to him in the eyes of the law, if you die?”

  “Anita, please.”

  “In the eyes of the law he and any future children that we have are bastards!” I watched José as a shadow passed across his face.

  “For the love of Christ, Anita!” He slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. “You and Menotti are all I think about! Before I go to sleep at night I think, ‘My God, this has been a wonderful dream. I hope I don’t wake up from this.’ Every morning I think, ‘This woman can’t still be here by my side in my bed.’ And in the hours when I am awake and supposed to be carrying on with my daily life, do you know what I am thinking? Answer me, do you know what I am thinking?”

  “No.” Menotti began to cry so I took him from José. The scent of José’s sandalwood still lingered as I gently bounced my son in my arms, trying to soothe him.

  “I am thinking, ‘What is Anita doing right now?’ and ‘I hope Menotti is happy.’ So, don’t you dare guilt me when you know damn well that you and my son are everything to me.”

  “I don’t doubt your love for us.”

  “Then why are you making this such an issue?”

  “Because if you die leaving us behind, in the eyes of the law I will not be your widow, and Menotti will be entitled to nothing. Your mother, back in Italy, will she accept your bastards?” I raged. “All I ask is that you think about us. I just want to make sure that if the day comes when we have to live without you, we can. That even if you are gone, you can give your son the best possible future,” I said as I held our crying child.

  José stared at the table for a long time. “We’ll get married. In the church.” He pointed a finger at me. “But it will not be a huge affair. I take it you’ve already figured out how to get this done.”

  I smiled. “I have.”

  “Of course you have.” He grumbled as he ate. He grabbed a chunk of bread, tearing it off like it was the head of one of his enemies.

  The next morning, I made my way to the church to see Father Lorenzo. It was the first time I’d been inside a church since I left Laguna. The sanctuary felt foreign to me with its orange and brown stained-glass windows casting odd shadows over the empty, aging pews. A bald man in black priest’s robes stepped out to greet me with a smile that rose up to the rims of the large spectacles making his kind green eyes look like small moons.

  “You must be Anita,” he said in greeting. “Please follow me, I’ll be hearing your confession in my study. Since I already know who you are, there is no need for the formal veil.”

  His study was stuffed with books. There were multiple rows on the shelves, some slipped in on their sides. Several piles dotted the floor and climbed up the walls, forcing me to navigate around them to get to a chair. He sat down in a weathered brown wingback chair and moved a pile of books from the center of his desk so that he could better see me. “Dona Feliciana told me of your predicament. Can you tell me, have you heard anything at all from your husband?”

  “José? I saw him this morning before he left for work.”

  “No, I mean your first husband, what was his name?” He shuffled through some notes on his desk.

  “Manoel. Manoel Duarte, and no, I have not heard from him since he left.”

  “He left you?”

  “He joined the Imperial Brazilian Army. I stayed behind in Laguna.”

  “You received no letters, no documents from him indicating that he might still be alive?”

  I sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. “Manoel didn’t know how to read. He could understand his numbers because he was a cobbler, but that was it. There was no need for common people to read where I am from. He was probably happy to get rid of me. I was a terrible wife.”

  “But you aren’t now?”

  “I would like to think not.”

  “During your marriage to Manoel, did you have any children?”

  “No, thank God.”

  Father Lorenzo turned his head to the side. “Was it consummated?”

  “Conso-what?”

  “Consummated—did you have relations…er…um, sex.”

  I squirmed. “Yes, we were married and lived as man and wife for three years.”

  Father Lorenzo nodded his head. “I see, I see.” He put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Well, the purpose of a marriage is to produce children, children to serve God. You didn’t have this with Manoel, however; it would appear that you have more of a Christian marriage with Giuseppe Garibaldi.” He took his hand from his face and looked at me. “If you were a man, I would be able to dissolve your first marriage, but as you know I can’t.”

  “If I were a man I would have been allowed to do a great many things, Father.”

  Father Lorenzo gave me a sad smile. “As you know, your situation is complicated.”

  “I did what was necessary for my and my child’s well-being.”

  Father Lorenzo held up a hand. “Dona Anita, I am not testing you for sainthood. The Lord knows, none of us, myself included, are worthy of that. From everything that I have been told about you I feel only admiration. You have braved so much, but what I am worried about is making sure that you and your innocent child are
taken care of. Tell me, Dona Feliciana has been like a mother to you, has she not?”

  “Yes, better than my own mother.”

  “Good. Well, I have a document signed by Dona Feliciana saying that she is your mother and that you are free to marry. I have taken the liberty of preparing the paperwork necessary to marry you and Don José. However, given that it is Lent and I am too close to the situation, I have asked a friend, Father Pablo, to come. He doesn’t know anything about you or your past. All he knows is that he is marrying two people in love.”

  He handed me a handkerchief to wipe the tears that began to escape. “You have friends, Dona Anita, and we’ll make sure you and your family are taken care of.”

  Twenty-Nine

  April 1841

  The entirety of the wedding preparations took us only three weeks. My dress was simple, pale yellow with a tasteful V neckline edged with small ruffles. The bodice came to a point at my waist, which, according to Luisa, made me look taller.

  What made me fall in love with the dress was the intricate embroidery of ocean waves just above the hem of the skirt, which Luisa said looked Roman. It cost us a small fortune. It was extravagant, unnecessary, and everything I didn’t know that I had always wanted in a piece of clothing.

  I looked at Feliciana through the mirror behind me as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “You are so beautiful!” she exclaimed through her tears, clasping her hands together. “This is what I always envisioned having a daughter would be like. Thank you.”

  I turned to her, taking her hands in mine. “No. Thank you,” I said, beginning to cry as well. Luisa rushed into the room with fresh tears on her cheeks. “Enough of that. No more tears!” She carried a basket filled with small pink flowers and ribbon.

  Luisa pulled and twisted my hair up with the bows and flowers, making me feel like a princess. Never in my life had I felt so special. On our way out the door, Luisa gasped. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She grabbed a long box tied with a large white ribbon that sat on my table. “Here,” she said, shoving it toward me.

  Nestled inside, wrapped in thin paper, rested a delicate lace veil yellowed with age, trimmed with an embroidered leaf pattern that took my breath away. It was so fragile that I was afraid to touch it. Luisa gently placed it over my head, where it lay gracefully. The faint smell of lavender lingered in the lace. “Your ‘something borrowed,’” she explained. “I wore it on my wedding day, as did my mother and grandmother.”

  Tears started to well in my eyes again, but before I could say anything, Luisa stopped me. “The coach is here. If we don’t leave now, we’ll never get to the church.”

  The great stone cathedral loomed over us as we exited the carriage. Squinting in the sun, I could barely make out the outline of the statue of San Felipe staring down at us, giving his blessing to those who passed by. Feliciana’s husband stood outside waiting for us. When we approached, he looked bashful. “I…I thought since Feliciana was playing your mother that maybe I could walk you down the aisle.” He looked up at me, slightly scared. “That’s of course if you don’t mind.”

  “I would be honored. Now, let’s get me married.”

  My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat when I saw José standing at the altar. He fidgeted with his suit, moving from one foot to the other. But when he turned to look at me all nervousness stopped. A peace fell over him as he watched me walk slowly up the aisle. A smile spread across his face as his shoulders relaxed. José stilled as his eyes locked with mine. His spine straightened, making him look taller as I approached.

  Had it only been two years since I met him? It felt like a lifetime ago that I stumbled into Hector and Manuela’s parlor. So much had happened. So much lost. So much gained. Yet here we were, just as in love, tied together by Destiny and now by God. I chose José Garibaldi and I would continue to choose him until my dying day, no matter where he took me.

  Thirty

  May 1841

  Montevideo stood on the precipice of war. Sitting around the table at the Anzanis’ house, we gleaned as much information as we could about this new threat.

  “What do you know of Uruguayan history?” Anzani asked.

  “I know Uruguay is the reluctant middle child forever pitted between Brazil and Argentina,” José said as he reached for the gourd of tea. “For a long time, no one wanted to colonize the region. It was a patch of barren land used to keep Portugal and Spain from warring.”

  “Yes, but the gauchos began to settle here, didn’t they?” I asked, taking the seat next to my husband. “I remember my father saying that he thought about moving here, but then he met my mother and stayed in Brazil.”

  “Women change everything.” José planted a kiss on my temple. “And yes, the gauchos eventually settled the land.”

  Luisa set a plate of cold meats and fruit on the table. “This isn’t the first time that Argentina has had its eyes on Uruguay.”

  “God help us, if it weren’t for the Treinta y Tres, we would have been under Argentine rule a long time ago,” Anzani remarked before taking a piece of meat for himself.

  “Who were the Treinta y Tres?”

  “The Treinta y Tres were thirty-three men who formed an army to expel Argentina from Uruguay,” Anzani said. “Our last president, Fructuoso Rivera, was a member. Too bad he resigned after his presidential term was over. I would rather have him than Manuel Oribe. At least with Rivera we would not be bending for Rosas and Argentina.”

  “Oribe is an ignorant man who takes every offense as a personal strike. Men like him, who have a weakness of character, are drawn to stronger men regardless of their motives,” José added, using the bombilla to stir his tea. “Now we are forced to play nice with Manuel Rosas and his corrupt Argentine bureaucracy.”

  The danger was further pressed upon me the following week as our Italian family gathered together. I sat at the table chopping herbs as the women gossiped, and before long Argentina became the subject of discussion.

  “It doesn’t bode well for Oribe to be making alliances with Rosas,” one of the women said, shaking her head over the pot of rice that she was stirring.

  “We’re safer if we make an alliance with the homem do saco.” A number of women gasped and crossed themselves at the name of the mythical sack man who stole children.

  “I don’t understand. What makes Rosas so evil?” Immediately, I was sorry that I had asked. All of the women turned and stared at me as I shrank with embarrassment until Luisa’s laughter, tinkling like a bell, filled the kitchen. The rest of the room broke into laughter along with her.

  “My dear Anita, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time,” Luisa began, “there was a beautiful girl by the name of Camilla. She came from a prominent family and was destined for a fortuitous marriage.”

  “To one of Rosas’s cousins, wasn’t it?” someone asked.

  “No, his nephew.”

  “Ahem, ladies. May I continue?” They all quieted as Luisa began to talk again. “However, Camilla was in love with another. A meek and handsome young priest, with eyes like the sea and a face so handsome that women wept over his devotion to Christ. However, the priest could not resist the beautiful Camilla. It was a secret love affair until our young Camilla found that she was with child. It was then that the priest and Camilla stole away.”

  Luisa moved through the kitchen with the grace of a dancer. All our eyes were locked on her as she wove her story. “Our ill-fated couple found their way to another village. They thought they had run far enough away. They thought the ruse they invented, a young married couple looking to make a fresh start, was convincing. But what they forgot was, once you cross Juan Manuel de Rosas, you can never get far enough away.

  “Rosas and his army found them,” Luisa continued, “and our couple was brought back to Buenos Aires. There was no trial because in Argentina there is only one sentence when you break the law…death.” Luisa paused for effect as everyone in the room crossed themselves. “First, they put the young
priest in front of the firing squad, so that Camilla was forced to watch her lover die. Then it was her turn, but as she was tied up and the guns were raised, poised to fire, the archbishop called out for the soldiers to stop. ‘What about the baby?’ he protested. ‘Surely Senhor Rosas could have sympathy for the child.’ Rosas considered this, for after all he was a good Catholic. ‘Baptize the womb!’ he ordered. Camilla’s belly was quickly baptized before the firing squad killed her.”

  I gasped.

  “This is why, my dear Anita, we are all so nervous about our new president’s best friend,” Luisa said.

  That night I lay in bed, tossing and turning. Every time my eyes closed the vision of a pregnant Camilla haunted me.

  “Tesoro mio, what troubles you?” José turned on his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand.

  “Is Rosas as awful as they say he is?”

  José’s face darkened as he focused on a spot somewhere around my collarbone. “He is worse.” He met my eyes. “What stories were the women discussing in the kitchen?”

  “We were talking about the priest and his lover, Camilla.”

  “Oh, that is a good one but alas, not my favorite.” He rolled over on his back and closed his eyes.

  “Which story is your favorite?”

  “You can’t sleep, and you want me to tell you a story that will give you nightmares?” The eye that he opened sparkled with mischief.

  “Yes. I want to know,” I said, playfully hitting his shoulder.

  “Right, well, the one that always stuck with me more than any other is the ritual he has when he kills his rivals. He cuts off their heads and plays fútbol with them.” He pulled me toward him.

  “No!”

  “You told me you wanted a story,” he said, touching his forehead to mine, a laugh escaping his lips.

  “I know, but good God, he is an awful man.”

  José wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in closer to him. I nestled my head in the soft space between his shoulder and neck. “Why would Oribe align himself with such a monster?”