The Woman in Red

by Diana Giovinazzo

  I sat on the end of the bed and wrapped my free arm around him. “Where did they take Rosita?” he whispered.

  “Rosita went to heaven, my darling.”

  He frowned, looking more serious than any five-year-old I’d ever seen. “Will they take me too?”

  “No, my love, I won’t let them take you.”

  “Or Teresita?”

  “Or Teresita.”

  He thought for a moment more. “Are you still having the baby?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “He won’t know Rosita, though.”

  “No, my darling boy, he won’t.”

  “That’s very sad.” He rested his head against my arm. “Don’t worry, Mamãe, I’ll tell him all about her.”

  I kissed his forehead. “Thank you.”

  I needed to take care of Rosita, one last time. The next day, Marco helped me outside to a waiting carriage. We rode slowly through the semideserted streets. “Can you stop by my home?” I asked.

  Marco nodded, pulling the carriage to the left. He came to a stop in front of our little house. I sat there staring at the front door. I wanted to get up and go in but couldn’t. The house looked back at me, empty and cold. I had faced armies of more than a hundred men; I had stood on a ship, braved a hail of bullets, and never once felt the slightest bit of fear. But the house terrified me. Marco put a hand on my arm. “I can go in for you if you want.”

  “Thank you.” I put my hand on his in return. “I need to get Rosita’s doll.”

  Marco got up from the driver’s seat and made his way into the house. After a while, he returned with the well-worn porcelain doll carefully held in his hands. He handed it to me before taking the reins. As we rode through the streets to the church I looked down at the doll. My fingers smoothed out her blue floral dress. Her porcelain head sprouted messy brown ringlets. With a shaking hand I petted the stray hairs in a vain attempt to tame them. I smiled to myself, thinking about how much Rosita loved her.

  The day José bought the doll for her had been rife with chaos. Menotti and Rosita were bickering every chance they got. Then Teresita fell. She tripped, as all children do, but managed to tear open a large gash on her forehead; there was blood everywhere. And her wails! That child screamed loud enough for all the angels in heaven to hear. I went upstairs and found our savings box sitting empty on our bed. In addition to everything that was happening, I thought someone had robbed us.

  I needed José’s help, but he’d disappeared. I cursed. As soon as he walked through the door, midafternoon, I pounced on him like a cat. “How could you just leave me here?” I hissed, “The children are at each other’s throats. Teresita hasn’t stopped crying, and to make matters worse I think we’ve been robbed. Where have you been?”

  He grew sheepish, looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry.”

  That’s when my anger subsided, allowing me to notice the three brown paper packages that he clutched in his arms. “What are those?”

  “Presents, for the children. I wanted to make them all happy. I thought I could help. I’m sorry, a messenger came by just as I was leaving, there was a meeting for the generals. I got delayed. I intended to come home sooner.” He shrugged as Menotti and Rosita wandered in.

  “I was hoping to buy a roast,” I grumbled.

  José looked over at the children. “So I go without a roast. At least our children will be happy.”

  Rosita reached for her father, but he handed her the box instead. Kneeling down, José helped her open her new treasure. Inside was the doll. From the wide-eyed look on Rosita’s face, you’d think that José had handed her the world. From that day on Rosita and her doll were inseparable. Now, looking at this doll as we made our way to the church, the only thing I could think was how upset Rosita must be without it.

  Slowly, I walked into the church. The empty building felt cold and intimidating, making me feel conscious of the hollow clicking echo of my shoes against the polished terra-cotta-tiled floor. Dread filled me with every step that I took. Father Lorenzo sat in the front pew, staring at the altar.

  As I drew closer, he turned in his seat to look at me. He stood, silently motioning for me to follow him. He led me down to the basement of the church. It was cool with an earthy mildewed scent. Rosita lay in a little coffin on the table in the center of the room. “I’ll give you some time alone.”

  I turned back to Rosita as Father Lorenzo walked away. My beautiful little girl, gone. I reached out, brushing a light brown curl from her face. Silent tears streamed down my face. She was so peaceful that, for a moment, I thought she could have been sleeping. How I wished it were true.

  I tucked her beloved doll in with her, smoothing out both their dresses. At least Rosita wouldn’t be alone. “I am sorry, my love.” Gently, I kissed her forehead. “I should have done more to protect you.” I left the church, the silence crowding around me, making it hard to breathe.

  Thirty-Eight

  I held Teresita closer to me against the gloomy December sky as Menotti and I stood side by side at the threshold of our home. “We should probably go inside,” I said, transferring Teresita to my other hip.

  My brave son nodded, but neither of us moved. Feliciana had offered to let us stay at her home until José got back, but I turned her down. I took a deep breath and steadied myself for the battle ahead as I twisted the tarnished brass knob.

  The air in the house smelled stale. Dust motes swam in the slivers of daylight cutting through our windows. I set Teresita down as I moved about, bringing life back into the house.

  Searching through the cupboard, I was disheartened by how little we had. I jumped slightly when I heard Menotti come into the room and sit down at the table.

  “My darling, what are you doing here? You should be upstairs resting.”

  “I don’t want to.” His lower lip popped out as he bowed his handsome little head, refusing to look at me.

  “Would you like to go to your friend’s house?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I won’t have you sitting here. Go upstairs and open the windows. Get some fresh air flowing through here.” Menotti grimaced. “What is it? Do you not want to go upstairs?”

  “No.” He traced a finger around a knot of wood, looking very much like his father. “If I open up the windows we’ll lose all of Rosita’s flowers.”

  I thought for a moment and then went into the parlor. I pulled out Rosita’s favorite storybook. It contained fables from all around the world. “Here, Menotti, put your sister’s flowers in this before you open the window.”

  He took the book from my hand before slowly climbing up the stairs.

  I wondered if word of Rosita’s death had reached José. Shuffling into the kitchen, I pulled out the plates for our dinner. I set three plates down and then froze. My brain slowly processed the fact that we no longer needed three plates. The loss hit me all over again. My daughter was dead. I fought the army of tears that welled in my eyes as I shoved the extra plate back in the cupboard.

  * * *

  January 1846

  José burst through the door unexpectedly in the afternoon while I sat in my chair doing my mending. Eyes wild with panic, he quickly scanned the room before training his gaze on me. With two large steps he was in front of me, lifting me up from the chair, pressing me in close. Breathing in deeply, I took in the scents of sandalwood, hay, and dirt. José buried his face in my hair. I could feel his warm breath, ragged and uneven, that of a man who thinks no one can hear him crying.

  When he finally pulled away, wiping his face, he spoke. “They didn’t tell me you were sick. I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.”

  “No, Anita, I should have been here.” He cupped my face in his massive hands. “I arrived in Montevideo this morning to find all of Luisa’s letters written to both me and Anzani. The military didn’t want me to know what was happening with my family.”

  I tried to smooth the tangled hair that flew out around his head. “I
f you had known, you would have left the front lines and returned to me.”

  He put his forehead to mine. “That’s no excuse. I should have—” His voice caught. “I should have been with her. With you.” He pulled a hair’s breadth away and put his hands on my growing abdomen. “And how is this one?”

  “He’s well. Strong, like his father.”

  “Good. We leave for Salto at the end of the week.”

  “Salto? Why do you want us to go to Salto?” Salto was a three-day ride by horse.

  “Argentina is invading from the northwest, cutting us off from Brazil. If we do nothing, we’ll have no choice but to give in to Argentina’s demands.”

  “‘We’?” I questioned. “We can’t bring two small children with us on such a long journey.”

  José shrugged. “It’ll be an adventure.”

  I narrowed my eyes, preparing for a fight. “Giuseppe Garibaldi, I am not going to Salto.”

  “And I will not lose another member of this family!” José bellowed.

  Heavy footfalls pounded on the stairs. We glimpsed Menotti, who we hadn’t seen come downstairs, as he ran up to hide. I moved to follow after him, but José stopped me. “I’ll talk to him.” José kissed my temple and went after his son as I slipped into the kitchen to make tea and ponder José’s proposal.

  As I waited for the water to boil, José’s words clung to me. I will not lose another member of this family.

  Just as I started pouring out the tea, José joined me in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

  “How’s Menotti?”

  “He’ll be all right,” José said as I handed him his faded red gourd. “I had to convince him I wasn’t taking you away.”

  “He is grieving for his sister in his own way,” I said as I took a seat opposite him.

  José thoughtfully took a long sip. “We all are.”

  I watched as he used the bombilla to slowly stir the leaves around in his gourd. “Tell me, why do you want your family to pick up and follow you to Salto?”

  “My orders are to escort a general to Salto in order to lift the siege of the city. It’s the first step in beating back the Argentinian army.”

  Refugees had been spilling into Montevideo as Argentina pressed in from the west, burning villages along the way. They had filled in along the edges of the city in makeshift camps, and the increased population meant tighter restrictions on our food rations. Filth filled our city, overflowing from the gutters and spilling into the streets. Pneumonia was no longer our only concern; cholera had finally made its way to Montevideo.

  The political situation wasn’t faring much better. The Uruguayan army was doing well in its defense of the capital, thanks in no small part to the Redshirts, but there was discord within the government. Rumors abounded; many weren’t happy with Rivera, our current president. Would there be another war inside a war already raging?

  “A pregnant woman and two small children are going to help?” I frowned.

  “You’ll be on the ship. It will be a grand adventure. Just like when we were in Laguna.”

  I sighed. “I don’t need to be reminded of what happened in Laguna. The children and I don’t need a grand adventure.”

  José regarded me. “When you were with me in every one of my battles, I was able to keep you safe.”

  “You kept me safe as much as I would let you. I seem to remember a number of occasions when I tested that. Hell, there were a few times I thought you were going to kill me yourself.”

  He smiled that lopsided, boyish grin I knew so well. “The point is, when we are together, we are stronger. We are safer. I don’t want to be apart from you and the children anymore.”

  I crossed my arms. My husband had a point. All the negative things that had happened to us—the sickness, Rosita’s death—it had all happened when we were apart. We were stronger when we were together. “Then we will go to Salto.”

  Thirty-Nine

  February 1846

  The Río Uruguay served as a natural border between Argentina and Uruguay, its only outlet being the Río de la Plata, the bay that separated Montevideo from Buenos Aires. We sailed from Montevideo to the mouth of the river. Thanks to France’s meddling, our ship, carrying two hundred and fifty cavalrymen, went unnoticed as we made our way toward Salto.

  The Argentinians had already crossed the river and occupied the little towns that dotted its banks all the way down to Salto. The Uruguayan army had been keeping them at bay from the east, but needed the reinforcements we brought to attack the southern Argentinian lines. As we sailed north on the murky river, Menotti stood on a box in front of the ship’s wheel, helping his father navigate. The men called him piccolo marinaio, “little sailor.” I felt proud as I watched him learn how to sail the ship. José beamed with pride standing next to his son, his hand on the wheel, letting Menotti think he was doing all the work. Teresita was fast asleep in our little cabin, giving me the opportunity to soak in the morning sun in peace. I savored the feeling of the wind as it stung my face and pulled my hair.

  I stood at the bow of the Rivera watching the dark, tranquil water of the Río Uruguay ripple ever so gently with the movement of the boat. The river beckoned me with its smoothness, but I knew different. My body trembled at the memory of being swept away by the current on our escape from São Gabriel. I tightened the shawl that hung around my shoulders, hugging it closer to me against the memory of the frigid river that nearly took me and my child.

  Later that night, as our ship charged through the black stillness, José woke me from a deep sleep. He put a finger to my lips to keep me quiet so that we didn’t wake the children. With a sparkle in his eye he led me to the bow of the ship. The stars glittered around a sliver of the moon in the tranquil night sky. José pulled me to him, gently kissing me.

  “I am so happy to have you by my side again,” he said, brushing his warm thumb against my cool cheek.

  I smiled, placing my hand on his neck, caressing the soft bristle of his jawline with my finger. “It’s where I belong.”

  The boat came to a slow stop just outside of Salto as all our men climbed up top, Anzani among them. He walked through the ranks, hands clasped behind his back, watching as they seamlessly moved to their positions near the little rowboats. Anzani, normally so jovial, reminded me of a stern schoolteacher. He slapped a slouching sailor on the back, commanding him to straighten his spine.

  When Anzani was satisfied, he raised an arm straight into the air. The men took their places in the boats. José raised his arm with his fist tightly clenched, a mirror of Anzani. After a thirty-second count, José lowered his fist. Anzani followed suit, and as he did all the boats were slowly lowered into the water.

  “Tesoro mio, watch.” José pointed to the tree line, and that’s when I saw them: one hundred gauchos dressed and ready for battle leaving the shelter of the trees. They looked magnificent. They sat on their horses with their colorful ponchos and formidable weapons, each one leading an extra horse for our men.

  “How were you able to gather together so many men?” I asked, looking over the edge of the ship in wonder.

  “They have a deeper resentment for Argentina than most of our own men. It also helps that up until the siege, Salto was a major trading post. Argentina put a stop to that.”

  “Naturally,” I responded, watching our men quietly slip through the water.

  Anzani went into a violent coughing fit just as José and I turned from the bow. When he regained his composure, he joined us. I watched as he put away his handkerchief. An unmistakable shock of crimson showed on the ornately embroidered white cloth. Our eyes met, and he quickly shoved it in his pocket. He turned to José. “Our ship is ready whenever you are.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” José turned back, kissing me gently. He pulled away so that his lips were just a breath away from mine. “I have left a small detachment to guard you and the children. I would prefer for all of you to stay below during the fighting.”


  I nodded my agreement. He kissed me again before leaving to join his men.

  The gentle lapping of the oars as they hit the water was the only sound to echo across the river as the soldiers rowed to shore. When I could no longer see José, I went belowdecks to be with the children. Menotti and Teresita huddled together on the bed, their eyes wild with fear.

  “Mamãe, what’s happening?” Menotti asked.

  “The men are going to battle, and we are to stay here.”

  Menotti looked to the door, his brows furrowed in concentration.

  “Don’t worry, my love. We are perfectly safe.” I got into the bed with the children. Pulling Teresita close to me, I relished the faint scent of cocoa and ocean that clung to her. With most of its inhabitants gone, we could hear every gentle creak and pull of the vessel. “I was thinking this would be a good time for a story. How would you like that?”

  Menotti smiled and nodded. Teresita snuggled closer to me. “Once upon a time, there was a girl. A lonely girl who used to dream of sailing away on the ocean looking for adventure. Every day she would go out to the balcony and watch the ships that sailed in and out of the port, pretending that she was on them. What she didn’t know was that there was a very handsome sailor who stood on one of those ships. Every day he watched her with his spyglass. He made a vow; he said, ‘She must be mine.’”

  Menotti giggled. “That’s silly.”

  “It is not. That’s how your father and I met. It’s why you’re here.” I playfully poked him, making him laugh even more.

  The ship drifted forward along the river as the sound of gunfire thundered in the night air. I cast spells with my words, weaving stories about Laguna, about renegades, about sleeping under the stars and facing monsters in the woods. Enraptured by my words, I was able to draw their attention away from the chaos outside.