“It is such a shame that I only have this house to host you. Due to the Austrians’ meddling we have to consolidate in order to survive with comfort. Alas, this is the only estate in Italy my family has left.”
“Oh, Senhor Antonini, this will be more than enough for us.” I looked back at our host and smiled. The grandness of the home was overwhelming.
“Please, if we are to live under the same roof, I would request that you call me Paolo.”
There were two footmen waiting for us; one opened the carriage door, and the other held open the front door. We walked past the stoic young man into a black-and-white marbled front entry. Small tables held large vases with long-stemmed blood-red roses. Teresita made a dash for one of the tables, but I grabbed her by the shoulder just in time.
“Perhaps the children would be more comfortable in the nursery. Please follow me.” Paolo led us up the winding marble staircase and to the left wing of the house. “The nursery used to belong to my brothers and me. I hope it will meet your standards,” he said, addressing Menotti and Teresita as he opened the double doors to an expansive room filled with every leisure item our children could ever dream of. The walls were painted teal with a white trim along the ceiling and floor. One whole wall was lined with a large bookcase. Rocking horses and toys of every shape and size were scattered through the room. In the center of it all stood a dollhouse painted in various shades of pink. A small bundle of dolls draped over each other next to the little house waiting to be played with. The children let out a burst of laughter as they ran into the room.
“We didn’t have much in the way of toys for little girls, so I had some made for Teresita.”
“Senhor, your kindness is too much. You will spoil my children,” I said as I marveled over the toys in the room.
Paolo waved a hand in dismissal. “Children deserve to be spoiled. Life as an adult will come too soon and with it many troubles. Let them be happy now while they can.”
A young lady in a black uniform approached us. “May I take Ricciotti?”
Instinctively I pulled back, hugging my baby to me. Paolo put a kind hand on my arm. “This is Giulia. She will be the children’s nurse.”
“Nurse?” I asked, looking from José to Paolo.
“Yes.” The woman smiled. “I am here to help you take care of the children. I am the eldest of twelve; rest assured your precious little ones are in good hands. May I?”
Reluctantly I gave him to her. Giulia smiled as she gently bounced him in her arms. He giggled and shoved a fist into his mouth. “When was the last time he ate?”
“This morning, before we docked.”
She patted his bottom. “He could probably do with a change.” Drool oozed out over Ricciotti’s fist. “And maybe a bit of rabbit. I’ll have the cook send up some treats for the children as well.”
She walked past us into the nursery, where she proceeded to introduce herself to Teresita and Menotti.
“Come with me, I will show you to your room.” Paolo led us to the end of the hall, where a set of double doors opened into an expansive suite. Our bedroom, if you could call it that, was the size of my first home in Laguna. A large canopy bed stood in the center. To the right I saw a small table with two chairs. On top of the table was an overflowing plate of fruit.
“There is fresh water in the basin if you would like to wash. Dinner will be served at eight. Feel free to rest until then.” Paolo left the room, closing the doors behind him. I continued walking around our new dwelling in awe.
José sat down on the bed with a huff and watched me with a hunger in his eyes. “You know, you are allowed to enjoy yourself.”
I stroked the gilded brushes that perched atop the vanity. “The smuggling business seems to be treating the Antonini family well.”
“The Antonini brothers have sacrificed for the Italian cause time and time again. They pride themselves on being able to get almost anything under the long nose of Austria. They use this wealth to the benefit of the rebels. The Antonini family is devoted to making Italy a unified country. Life in Italy is going to be very different from the life we knew in the Americas. I suggest you start getting used to it.”
“Different is an understatement. I could fit the whole village I was born in inside this house.”
José laughed, pulling me toward him. “I can bet this bed is softer than any bed in Laguna too.”
“I am sure it is,” I said, letting him pull me down onto the bed. As José began to nuzzle my neck there was a knock at the door. With a sigh he let me go. Three months on a ship didn’t allow for much alone time, and this disruption was not welcome. “Come in,” José called, the sting of disappointment in his voice.
One of the footmen held a message out for him. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but it is urgent.”
“Thank you,” José said as he took the letter. After a moment of reading he looked up at me. “I have to go back into town. It’s Anzani. They don’t expect him to make it through the night.”
“Well, wait. I’ll go with you,” I said, gathering my things.
“No. Stay here.”
I stopped and stared at him. “You said that we were stronger together. We just got here and now you want to leave me?”
“Anita, it’s not like that.” He took my hands in his. “Italy is not like South America. The men, they wouldn’t accept you as a soldier.”
“I don’t care what others think,” I said, pulling my arms out of his grip. “And since when have you?”
He let out a puff of air. “The culture here is different. We need to tread lightly. Let the people get to know you. I am sure they will fall in love with you just like I have.”
“I still don’t like this.” I was uneasy about being left alone, about not being useful.
“Think of the children,” José said, trying to console me. “They need their mother.”
“I am thinking of the children,” I responded through gritted teeth. “It’s not just our children’s lives at stake, it’s all the children of this country.”
“You will have a role to play in this conflict. I promise.”
José grabbed his things and left me with a kiss on the forehead. I pulled aside the blue curtains and stood by the expansive window that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Watching the people move between the sprawling tangle of ruins and majestic steeples, I wondered if I was foolish to think that this place was just like South America. Instead of a land that resisted taming, I had found a place that had long since shed the wildness of its youth. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would fit in.
I left the window and curled up in the large bed. Would I never see South America again? Staring up at the light blue canopy, I felt a momentary burst of nostalgia for the rolling hills that reached to the heavens. For hues of green that you could smell. For the community in Montevideo. But this was my home now. It had to be. I determined that I would love this place and make its people love me in return.
Forty-Four
I awoke to polite knocks that steadily grew louder. “Come in,” I groaned. Three maids entered the room, one tall, matronly looking woman leading two younger ones in matching uniforms. The young maids struggled slightly as they dragged my trunk. The older woman wore a simple black dress adorned with a gold pocket watch. Her black hair was pinned back in a neat knot. “Buon pomeriggio,” she said with her hands firmly clasped behind her back. “I am Mrs. Mancini, the housekeeper.” She consulted the watch in her right breast pocket, then pinched it shut. “Madam, it’s nearly time for dinner. I thought we could help get you ready.” She snapped her fingers. The two younger maids opened my trunk and began pulling out my clothes.
“I don’t need assistance,” I protested, getting out of bed.
“Nonsense. We are here to help,” Mrs. Mancini said, overseeing her charges. Holding my clothing up to inspect, they divided it into two piles. I bristled at the sight of my things being pawed at by strange women.
Mrs. Mancini picked up
one of my skirts between her index finger and her thumb. She crinkled her nose before handing it to one of her underlings, who took the skirt and put it in a separate pile of its own. I was about to protest but she held up a dress. “I think this should work for tonight. We will finish unpacking and laundering your clothing while you wash for supper. Cook gets irritable when people are late.”
I felt uneasy about leaving my things with these women, but I did as I was told. This was a new country with new customs that I was going to have to quickly adjust to. When I was ready, one of the footmen led me down to the dining room, which was lined with ornate wooden paneling. Paolo sat at the end of a long wooden table, my children on either side of him. He looked up at me with a smile as I entered the room. “I take it you had a lovely siesta. The children were just telling me the most magnificent stories of their adventures.”
Menotti and Teresita looked utterly pleased with their new friend. “Senhor Antonini said that we can have ja— ja—…What was it called again?” Menotti asked Paolo with all the charm of a seven-year-old.
“Ge-la-to,” Paolo enunciated slowly so that Menotti could learn to say it properly.
“Gelato. Senhor Paolo says it’s the best dessert I will have. But we only get some if we are good children,” Menotti said with glee.
“I a good girl.” Teresita beamed.
“I see you have found your way into my children’s hearts,” I said to Paolo. “Where is Ricciotti?”
“The nurse has already bathed him and put him to sleep.”
“I like Senhora Giulia,” Menotti said wistfully. “She smells nice.”
“An’ she has sweets!” Teresita said in agreement with her brother.
A plate of roasted vegetables on top of pasta was placed in front of me. “Any word from José?”
“No. None as of yet. Tomorrow morning the seamstress will arrive to measure you and the children for new clothing.”
“That is very kind of you, but we can’t afford such luxuries. We will wear the clothing that we have.”
“Nonsense. Your stay and all of your needs are sponsored by my family. You and the children needn’t want for anything.”
“Truly, Senhor Antonini, José and I are used to being able to get by on our own.”
Antonini straightened in his seat. “Senhora, your husband is the figurehead of our revolution. The Garibaldi family is the first family of Italy. It is my job to make sure you look the part. Tomorrow the seamstress will come and the whole family will receive new clothing. I will hear no more protest.”
The awkward silence that followed was interrupted when Teresita leaned in to Menotti. “Uh-oh, no ’lato for Mamãe.”
Paolo could not hide his smile. “I think we can make an exception for Mamãe, just this once?”
Teresita regarded me for a moment, her little black eyes narrowed as she contemplated her judgment. A cunning smile slowly spread across her face. “Yes, just this once.”
* * *
The next morning as I sat down for breakfast one of the footmen handed me a letter from José.
Tesoro mio,
As you read this I will be journeying to Turin with the hopes of receiving an audience with Charles Albert, the king of Piedmont-Sardinia.
I am grieved to report that our dear friend Anzani died in the middle of the night, surrounded by dear friends. Anzani, always ready for duty, wore his red shirt, even in death. I’ve sent word to Luisa in Spain. Thankfully she has the support of her family to assist her in this difficult time.
In honor of our dear friend I have named the Lombardy garrison the Anzani garrison. Lombardy was Anzani’s home. Do you remember when he told us that? It feels like so long ago that we met him on the banks of the river. I think I will always remember him that way, overly friendly and looking for an adventure. He dreamed of returning to the fatherland, and though I don’t believe this was the way that he had wanted, he is more advantageous than some of us who were banished.
How I long to be with you and the children. I wish I could explore Genoa with you, sharing with you the places of my youth. Have Paolo take you to Il Rifugio Café. That was where I spent most of my time planning the future of this country with my mentor and comrades. I am sure that Paolo can share a number of stories of that time, though I will admit they will not be the most flattering of tales. Stroll through the piazza at sunset. It is a romantic place, which will be made all the more beautiful by the setting sun casting its elegant rays over the cathedrals. I know I will be picturing you there. I dream of the day when you and I sip our morning tea under the great olive trees as our children play. A peaceful life in my home country. Tesoro mio, is this too much to ask for?
Alas, what is the point of dreaming when there is so much work to be done? While I am in Turin and pulling our great country together I need you to be my eyes and ears. Tell me all that you know. I leave you with Paolo Antonini as your guide. Trust in his wisdom.
Until I return to you,
José
Later that morning, after being poked and violated by the seamstress, I met Paolo in his study. The dark wood furniture trimmed in leather and walls encased in books gave the room a dark, warm feeling. One window let in the bright golden light that tumbled over the high-backed red armchairs. Paolo sat with his legs crossed, reading a newspaper, ignoring the fact that I had entered the room. He delicately sipped from a tiny mug as he read. I gently cleared my throat and he looked up at me and smiled.
“Ciao, senhora!” He set his little mug down on the table next to him. “How do you find your stay here?” He folded his newspaper in his lap.
“Lovely, thank you, senhor.” I sat in the matching high-backed chair across from my host as a servant poured coffee into an equally tiny mug intended for me.
“Good, very good.” He tilted his head and studied me. “Though the regiment has left us behind, you and I have work of our own to do.”
“And what work is that?” I asked, taking a sip of coffee. The bitterness caught me off guard. “No wonder you drink your coffee in such tiny mugs!”
“Too strong?” he asked, looking at me as if I were a child.
“Yes. In my country we prefer yerba mate. Though bitter in nature, it is not so bold. Yerba coaxes the drinker toward life; this, it kicks you on the backside like a mule.”
“That would be because it is espresso, senhora.” Paolo laughed.
I set my cup down on the table. “You said that we have work to do. Tell me, does this have anything to do with José being the figurehead of the unification movement?”
“Yes, this has everything to do with your husband being the face of unification. We need you to recruit for the legion.”
“And how will I be helping the cause, specifically?”
“You will talk. There will be a rally tonight in town. You will tell the people stories of your time in the Americas. Let them know why they need to follow our Giuseppe.”
“I’m not sure they will want to listen to me.”
“Anita, you are the closest person to our Giuseppe. You know him like no one else does.” He sat forward in his chair. “Tell them why you love him, and they will see it too.”
I was an outsider. Why would they listen to me? I looked to Paolo, with his hopeful face and slicked-back hair. We each had a role in the war, and apparently mine was to talk, whether or not the people would listen. “All right. I’ll do it.”
“I will have Mrs. Mancini put together a suitable dress for you.”
“No. I will wear my red tunic.”
“But senhora, it’s so old.”
Within every fiber of that old red shirt clung my memories of everything José and I had sacrificed to get here. Yes, it was a simple shirt, but the hope of a nation resided in every stitch. “I will wear no other shirt but the red one.”
Paolo watched me from his chair. “I have a feeling that red will be in fashion this season.”
Forty-Five
That evening Paolo, Mrs. Mancini, and I
rode to Il Rifugio Café in our finest clothing. When we arrived, people were spilling out into the street. It appeared that men and women from all over Genoa had come here to listen to me speak. “José wrote to me about this place,” I said.
My eyes traveled up the old stone building along the crack that rose from the bright green sign to the faded shutters of the apartments above the café.
Paolo smiled as he helped me from the carriage. “Yes, this was the backdrop to much of the trouble that José got me into when we were young men.” He laughed. “Have him tell you about the time we ran from the Austrian guard, through this café and out the back. Only your José stopped short of the trash that had been piled up by the back door. I was not so lucky.”
As we approached the people crowded outside, they parted, staring openmouthed as we walked by. I sat in a chair at the front of the café next to Mrs. Mancini, watching as Paolo walked to the front.
“Esteemed comrades, it warms my heart that so many of you have joined us tonight. As you have heard or seen, we have the Garibaldi family among us.” He smiled at some of the finely dressed women in the front. “Alas, Giuseppe could not be with us today. He has left for Turin already. I cannot share his plans, but I can share with you his incredible wife, Anita. The beautiful young woman who ran away from her family to join our Giuseppe in his adventures.” Paolo encouraged me to accompany him in front of the audience. Standing next to him, I scanned the anxious faces waiting for me to say something.
The little café was filled beyond capacity. Every face looked at me with hopeful eyes. This had never been my place. José was the voice; I was just the woman who stood in the back of the room watching him conjure his magic with his words. What was I supposed to say to these people? Why should they listen to me? I was just a girl from a little town in Brazil. I wasn’t José. Realization dawned on me…I wasn’t José.
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