Chapter 17 Not All Ghosts are Quiet #2
“The dresses.” I cleared my throat. “This dress is vintage, and the way I’ve styled my hair.
” I’d showered after the crushing of the grapes and after Rocco and I made love, but I’d decided to go with the same style, my hair pulled back to one side, the grape clip still in place.
I lifted my hand to double check, the blanket falling a bit before I fixed it.
He nodded, and his eyes stilled on my wrist. “Even the watch you are wearing.”
I looked down at it. It was a vintage style. I’d found it in Nel Cielo, and I assumed it had belonged to Grazia’s sister, Lucrezia, the woman who had lived in what was now my home.
“However.” He lifted a finger. “It is more than that. More than just the physical. It is as if her spirit surrounds you tonight.”
“I feel her,” I whispered. “Especially since being in Italy.”
He was staring at me, his eyes far off almost, like he was seeing another time. Finally, he nodded and cleared his throat. “Italy is where she was born. Where she lived. Where she, unfortunately, died much before her time.”
“Did she…did Avelina truly love Ricco?”
“Sì,” he said. “She did. But as we both know, the Fausti family has a way of doing things in a manner that is different from the rest of the world. Or they would not be the family they are, ah? It was claimed that Francesco saw Avelina first.”
“The letters give a hint to that.” My voice was quieter than the wind, but he heard me.
I brought up the letters my great-aunt had left behind, realizing he was waiting for more.
“But what I don’t understand is this…it takes two to love.
I’m sure even the Fausti family understands this.
Why couldn’t my great-aunt make the choice, since she was the deciding factor? ”
“This is a complicated situation in the family. A claim should be respected, and if it is not, this is translated into honor being disrespected. Also the will of fate.”
“Isn’t love being disrespected if the two who love each other have to fight for it—all because of a claim made by the unloved party?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps some would see it this way. However, some would see it as a fight for love, and if the fight is true, then they will come out the victors.”
“Is that a kind way of saying Avelina and Ricco were not meant to be?”
He patted my hand. “Not at all, my niece. Or am I allowed to call you something sweeter? Such as…Biscottina.”
I grinned, and it came slow. He wanted to call me cookie, perhaps because he thought I was sweet. “I’ll take it.”
“Bene!” He patted my hand again. “That is a terrible story—the end of Avelina’s life. It not only killed her, but Ricco as well. He was never the same after. Her death killed him.” He sighed. “My nephew, Luca, not only inherited his father’s ruthlessness, but his grandfather’s.”
He became quiet after that, as if he was thinking back in time. Something was nagging at me, though. How he’d said, Luca inherited not only his father’s ruthlessness, but his grandfather’s.
“Was Nonno Marzio’s father in charge of the family then?”
“Sì.”
My eyes focused on the dancers as my mind raced with an idea that was both terrifying and angering.
“Prozio Tito,” I whispered.
Maybe the wind had delivered my voice to him, but I had no doubt his hearing was as sharp as a doctor’s scalpel. He said nothing, but I could tell by the set of his face he’d heard me.
“Avelina was killed in an air-raid.”
“This is the story we were all told.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Sì. There is no questioning a Fausti’s word once he gives it.”
I released the breath I’d been holding. “But there’s more to the story, isn’t there? Nonno Marzio’s father didn’t like the feud between his sons. So, he wanted to get rid of her? Maybe he led her to her death, and it just so happened to be an air-raid.”
His eyes swung to mine so fast, I wondered if it had made him dizzy.
He clasped my hand and squeezed. “Be careful, understand? Be very careful. You are as perceptive as our Scarlett, but our Scarlett is not married to the next king of this family, do you understand? So much is at stake. And whatever is going on with my nephew, Luca, is apparent to me. Even if I, at times, have a hard time walking on uneven land, there is nothing wrong with these eyes or my perception.”
Maestro walked up with Aunt Lola then, and Uncle Tito and I stared at each other until we slowly looked away. Uncle Tito smiled, but I could tell his wife was as perceptive as he was. She looked at me before she took a seat on her husband’s lap and kissed his head.
“This is such a beautiful night,” she said to me. “It brings me back. A bit before my time, but it still brings back memories of the past. You did a wonderful job with the celebration, niece. Thank you for bringing such good feelings to this family.”
I squeezed her hand. “Prego, Prozia Lola.”
She lifted our hands and placed a loud smooch on my knuckles. She looked at Maestro after. “I adore this song, nephew. Would you mind rolling us to the dance floor?”
Maestro answered her by saying, “anything for a beautiful woman.” She laughed and they all waved at me as Maestro took them both to the dance floor, where the couples there made a circle around them, making them the center.
A sigh that felt like it was weighing on my heart slipped from my lips, and at the exact moment I was about to take another drink of wine, one of the shorter Fausti men (who were never referred to as boys, they were just shorter men!) who I’d given a sparkler to earlier tapped me on my arm.
I went to smile at him, but when he had my attention, he shook my arm and pointed to another area of the land.
He was trying to get me to stand up. I did, and he ran ahead of me, motioning me to hurry behind him.
He was rushing to a more secluded area of the property. When we reached a more wooded area, a couple of shorter Fausti men were attempting to stomp out a small fire probably started by the sparklers.
“We will get our ass whooped if our fathers find out!” one of the shorter Fausti men said in a rush of Italian—or that was what I figured it boiled down to. He’d pointed at his behind when he’d said “culo,” meaning ass.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Go back to the party. I’ll take care of this.”
Most of the shorter Fausti men took off. A few refused to budge.
The one Shortie who came and got me shook his head and crossed his arms. “I am not leaving you, such a beautiful woman. I am no coward.”
Another Shorty pointed in the direction the running Shorties went in. “They belong to Francesco’s line. Cowards!” He made a rude gesture to their retreating backs.
“The only reason I came to you is because you are sweet, and we cannot seem to put the fire out alone.”
“It will just not die,” the other short Fausti man said.
In truth, these short Fausti men were extremely young, but they were speaking to me like teenagers. They were speaking to me like men who still had physical growing to do. I got the short Fausti man/men description then.
I waved a dismissive hand. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help. Keep an eye on the fire. I’m going right over there to get some water from the donkey’s trough.”
The Shorty who came and got me sucked in a shocked breath. “You will not go alone, donna bella!”
I grinned as he took my arm and escorted me to the trough.
He retrieved the water, filling the pail up.
Before we turned to walk back, voices echoed in the woods around us.
His eyes widened and, I guess, so did mine.
He put a finger to his mouth and crept toward the edge of the wood.
He made a motion for me to come closer. I crept just as he had.
The other Shorty exploded into the area we were at, and we both jumped a bit. The Shorty who escorted me had a certified name. Ermanno. That was what the other Shorty called him after he tore through the wood like a Fausti tornado.
Ermanno put a finger to his mouth, rather forcefully, and made an eye gesture at his amico, as if to say, be quiet!
Then he whispered his name. Gennaro. Ermanno shoved the pail at Gennaro and pointed in the direction of the fire.
Gennaro didn’t need to be told in words.
He took off in the direction of the fire.
Firstly. The two didn’t seem to truly need me. I was guessing they didn’t know the property and where to find water.
Secondly. I was torn. The voices in the woods were still coming toward us on the wind.
Whoever these people were, they were sneaking around our property.
Was it Massimo? Or was he at the meeting with Luca and Rocco?
The voice drifting with the wind wasn’t masculine.
It was feminine. Feminine and crazed. She was laughing like a witch.
Setting my hand on Ermanno’s shoulders, I turned him toward me. His eyes were wide and glistening with the light of twinkling bulbs above our heads.
“What?” I whispered.
He rubbed his arms. “That is a strega,” he whispered back. “I know these things!”
“Strega or not,” I said, “she shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you not afraid?” He took a step away from me.
“Should I be?”
“Any woman should be afraid of that.” He pointed in the direction the voice was coming from.
I didn’t have time to debate with this short Fausti man about whether the woman in the woods was a witch or not, and why I wasn’t afraid of her. I was more afraid she’d try to sneak into our bedroom at night and cut my husband for scorning her, or me for having him.
“Do me a favor, Ermanno?”
It took a few seconds, but finally, he nodded.
“Once we get back to the party, help me find one of the soldiers.”