SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Eight
I recovered quickly once I could eat. Mother fed me a restorative broth that brought life back to my heavy limbs, and within days I was on my feet again. To Tommaso’s visible satisfaction, I moved out of the main house into Mother’s shed as soon as I could.
Though he and Savia would not marry until the weekend, all had agreed upon the arrangement, so Tommaso had taken his privilege with her all week. It had been awkward for many reasons to be in an audible range of my sister’s first nights as a wife. At the chance to distance myself, I didn’t hesitate to take Mother’s hand and try the five-minute walk to the shed.
While I’d barely considered the differences between my parents’ tiny house and Cecco’s townhome in Morbegno, the stark contrast I found in this small shed was startling. It was a single room large enough only to take a few steps in any direction, with rough sawn wooden walls that did little to prevent the elements from entering. It wasn’t large enough for Mother and me to exist for long, an inescapable fact that did nothing to soothe the sting of how my world had changed.
Still, Tommaso and Savia invited us each night for dinner in the main house. A more accurate description would be that they expected us there, as we all relied upon Mother to do the cooking.
“You’re happy here, signore?” she asked him upon breaking bread one evening.
Tommaso responded only with a nod as he chewed ravenously on the warm bread he dipped into her pheasant stew.
“We are fine,” Savia answered for him, unable to keep a slight grin from spreading on her face. “Are you comfortable in the little house?”
“It’s too small for the both of us,” I answered. There wasn’t a hint of reproach in the sound of my voice, but Tommaso’s eyes shifted to me with a raise of his brow.
“It isn’t,” I raised my shoulders gently. “Not for the both of us.”
“I never had cause to complain,” he swallowed to remark.
“It is fine for me,” said Mother.
“But not for two,” I nodded gently.
“Might we build another dormitory for Gabriella?” my sister asked, running her hand through Tommaso’s light flaxen hair, curled lightly around his ears. “Or add onto Mother’s house, perhaps, if it’s easier?”
“I won’t have support until Springtime,” he answered. “I couldn’t manage that until I hire my new hand. The first order of business when he’s here, besides planting, will be to build his own quarters.”
It was a simple logic I couldn’t argue with, but it agitated me.
“I could help if you’ll show me how,” I said.
“It takes strength,” he shook his head. “It takes labor to construct, even if I get the materials pre-cut. There’s little you could do to help. You’ve also just been ill.”
I didn’t respond. Both Mother and Savia each maintained their silence.
“What money has your husband provided you?” he asked.
I could tell Tommaso didn’t mean to cause offense, at least I told myself as much, but the question set me off.
“She has no husband, signore,” Mother answered for me.
“Of course, she does,” he replied soberly. “I remember the wedding. I built the tables for the feast. We all sat at one when you served the party, signora. Your daughter is a wife.”
“The only reason this table belongs to you is because I’m not a wife,” I said, eyeing him coldly. “Otherwise, this would be my husband’s house you dine in.”
Tommaso stopped eating to glare at me.
I felt a hand seize my wrist under the table.
“She doesn’t mean to give offense, signore,” Mother interrupted the silent exchange.
“You could’ve fooled me,” he sighed, returning to his food in a moment.
Mother’s hidden grip relaxed slowly as if satisfied that her statement had been accepted.
“Look, I understand your view,” Tommaso continued. “And if it’s your decision to carry on that way here, then do as you will. Tell people the man died. What I’m saying is that no one outside this corner will agree with it. Everyone in Morbegno who’s knows anything about you will say you are the man’s wife. So, why not go back and demand that he assist you?”
Tommaso’s suggestion made me want to be sick.
“Even if he says you are not his wife—if he too wants to pretend you didn’t live in his home for months as his bride—no one else there will accept it. And if he wants you gone, he will pay to be rid of you. Such talk from neighbors cannot be good for a business like his. So, go get what you need from him. It’s only a half day’s journey. We have money enough for you to secure a seat on a carriage, at least going there. If you’re successful, I will find a boy now instead of in Spring and set him to build a two-room house for you and your mother. If we focus, it shouldn’t take more than a couple months. If we start next week, we can finish it before winter arrives, and the boy can move into the shed.”
As horrified as I was by what Tommaso proposed, he made it all sound so logical and straightforward.
Cecco had returned me here with only a single bag of my belongings. Whatever he might have owed me, my husband seemed to consider our marriage to be nothing more than an arrangement meant to settle my father’s debts. I knew nothing about the greater truth of such things, and Cecco ensured that I could never ask Father about the matter. But if I threatened to expose him, to run to the Vervio’s house and tell Sofia, Cecco would pay well to maintain my silence. I only needed enough to return here and start my life over.
“I will walk you into the village at first light,” Tommaso added. “With luck, if a transport can accommodate another passenger, you might be there before noon.”
I felt Mother’s hand on my arm again, and I turned to see her face, filled with concern for what response I would give.
It was late afternoon before I arrived in Morbegno. The carriage emptied in the town square, only a block from Cecco’s townhome. The journey had started late, but with four horses pulling the coach of six passengers, it had gone much faster than I expected.
I hadn’t walked a few steps from the square before a group of youthful men whistled in my direction. I should have kept my eyes forward, but the unexpected call pulled my eyes toward them. I recognized one; I’d seen his face somewhere before.
I lifted the hood of my blue cape over my head and moved briskly, attempting to stay as close to other people walking in the same direction. It was all I could do not to draw further attention to how I moved through the town without an escort. I should not be walking alone, but I had no choice if I were to see my plan through.
I soon made my way to Cecco’s home and used the iron lion’s head knocker to announce myself. In moments, Apollonia’s astonished eyes greeted me.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Tell Cecco I wish to speak with him,” I answered, drawing my hood back. “Is he in the store?”
“He’s away on business,” she replied.
I stepped forward past the threshold, but the woman didn’t budge.
“I cannot let you inside. He would kill me,” Apollonia muttered, looking left and right for people on the street who might be watching.
Her reaction angered me so much that I almost lost control and shoved her back.
“When do you expect him to return?” I asked with dry revulsion in my eyes.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps this evening or tomorrow. You know how it goes.”
I could see plainly enough that her response was honest.
“Tell my husband that he may call on me at Church,” I almost shouted. “I am going now to meet Father Piero at his residence to discuss Cecco’s actions.”
I turned with a haughty step and walked away. I did not know where Father Piero lived, nor where the church stood, having never been there. I guessed that it stood near the center of Morbegno, and I thought to retrace my steps back to the town square to ask for directions.
Then an idea occurred to me. Why not visit Sofia Vervio at her home? It might play to my advantage to do more than threaten Cecco’s exposure. Even if he’d found a way to turn Sofia against me, and she didn’t invite me into her home, word of my arriving in broad daylight at his mentor’s house would make it back to Cecco. It might inspire a greater urgency to see me out of his way.
I turned right and proceeded down the street toward the Vervio house. Looking ahead of me, I noticed the same youthful man who’d whistled vulgarly with his friends in the square. Without thinking, I turned right down a more narrow side street to avoid him. In seconds, another man stared at me with malice in his eyes and blocked my path. Before I could turn around, I felt hands seize my arms and pull me through an open doorway.
It terrified me, losing control, and I couldn’t think or make any movement better than an uncoordinated struggle against those who apprehended me. The group grew in number once we were through another doorway, which opened into a storage room. They pulled me through a third doorway in moments, and we descended wooden steps to the building’s basement.
I felt the air grow cold but stale.
In my struggle, I didn’t say a word. Perhaps, I felt that if I spoke to my abductors, it would acknowledge their power over me. As we arrived at the foot of the stairs, they released me, and I stumbled forward toward barrels stacked against the basement wall. Despite my intentions, I looked back at them, trembling with uncontrollable fear.
The men filed into the room and stood across from me, gathering in an arc to block the stairs. It was the only way I could see out of the gloomy space, lit only by a single lantern hanging from a support beam in the center.
Time seemed to stop, and they all stared at me in silence. I struggled to breathe as my heart raced in my throat.
When I thought I might faint from exhaustion, I saw two more men descend the wooden staircase. Coming into the light, I saw the first man’s face. Recognizing it immediately, I then remembered the identity of the man who followed him.
Ferrante Vervio led his young manservant through the gathering. The other men separated instinctively to allow them both through.
“Signore Vervio, please help me. I am Gabriella Alfonsi. I know your wife, Sophia. My husband and I have been received at your house—.”
“We know who you are,” he stopped me. “And we know what you are not.”