Chapter 19 The Vines Bear Witness to Everything #2
I waved to him, then kissed my palm and sent it in his direction.
He acted as if he was catching it, then he set it over his heart.
I waved again when Aunt Lola demanded we get started.
She said she loved it in Piemonte. She had always loved the property.
It was especially romantic with its wine, weather, and the views.
I had to agree. We chatted about this while Ermanno and Uncle Tito spoke about the night of the celebration, when he’d come face to face with a real life cinghiale.
This was all exciting for Uncle Tito, and then he asked Ermanno if he enjoyed boxing.
Ermanno’s face went blank for a moment before the two started up about the sport.
Aunt Lola reached behind and squeezed my hand, laughing some. “Let us go this way, Nipote Biscottina,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. A slew of mums that had been left behind to fend for themselves seemed to grow wild on the property.
The flowers were a mixture of gold and pumpkin orange, and Aunt Lola was excited to take a ride between the rows of them.
I had to hold tight to the handles. We were on a slope, and I didn’t want a runaway wheelchair situation, although she seemed adventurous enough for it.
I could tell she had always been a spitfire.
I guessed growing up in a house full of Fausti men, being the only woman, had to have toughened her up a bit, though she had a princess-like aura about her.
“Ahh, park me here, Nipote Biscottina.” She pointed to a spot in the sun.
“Chrysanthemums are one of my favorite flowers. I shared this in common with my mamma.” She became quiet after that, then sighed.
While she basked in the sun a bit, I began picking some of them to set around the house.
The colors were spectacular. They would bring a bit of fall inside.
An especially cold wind rustled through the trees, and a few dark clouds passed over the sun. I made sure Aunt Lola was covered well before I started picking the flowers again. When I had an arm full, Aunt Lola pointed to her lap.
“I can hold them.”
“Grazie.”
I handed them over, and when I did, a solider magically appeared with garden sheers and a basket. I thanked him, then handed the basket to Aunt Lola while I kept clipping, grateful to have the full force of the sun back.
“The sun feels so nice.” She sighed. She closed her eyes to it, then watched me as I continued. “You are so much like Avelina.”
This stopped me. I cleared my throat. “My grandmother always told me the same.” Sometimes it stopped me in my tracks when I remembered Aunt Lola had been the sister of Ricco and Francesco, also Marzio, who was my husband’s grandfather.
She had been close to the people I could only imagine inside of my head.
She had eaten with them, laughed and carried on with them, cried with them, was close to them.
She nodded. “Elisabetta didn’t speak to us much when we were in town.
” She sighed. “I liked your grandmother, but I have always understood what my last name meant in the world. By association, I could either be loved or hated. In America, a man gives his wife his last name. This is not our way in Italy. No hiding from the truth behind your last name. Even if it is our way to be as ruthless as we are romantic.” She shrugged.
“I am proud of the blood in my veins. As far as I am concerned, I have worn the name well. I am not a man in this family. I did not ever have to abide by the same rules. Violence did not come as second nature to me.”
Spoken like a true Italian princess. I smiled. “Did your family dote on you?”
She grinned. “I have to say yes. I was the youngest and the only girl. However, the strength of my brothers did not skip me. I was as capable as any of my formidable brothers. Muscle is not the win-all. I have always had brain strength—where it truly counted. The fox does not outwit the lion with brawn.”
I matched her grin. “The first time I met you, I could sense that about you.”
Her smile fell a bit, then she shook her head. “I will not bring up your great-aunt if you are not comfortable speaking of her, but she was the same as you. Not only exceptionally beautiful, but a warm comfort as well.”
I took a seat beside her wheel, still clipping flowers. “I have so many questions about her, but I’m almost afraid of what I’m going to learn. If it’s going to be as bad as I imagine it’ll be.”
“I will not say that the truth of the story is pleasant. Your great-aunt died a very young woman with a lot of unfinished life.” She sighed.
“I love my parents dearly, but times were much different back then. Even in this family. The danger of the men still remains in reflection of the family’s notorious business dealings, but the rules regarding love were not as forgiving.
Back then, it was more acceptable to marry for status.
This is how the men in the Fausti family rose to such high regard in society today.
On the backs of women who had already been a part of high society.
“Royals, heiresses, famous musicians, actresses, dancers, all women who came from wealthy families. The men—the men who captured their eyes—were…you have seen your husband. These men looked perfectly fine on the arms of the women of my blood.”
“Do you mind if I take a guess at the situation with my great-aunt?”
“I will not make you guess, Nipote Biscottina.”
“I know, but my imagination is wild, and I’d like to know if I’ve been right. Or I want to share my thoughts so you can confirm, so I know if I’ve been wrong.”
“Sì,” she said, her voice soft.
“My family were poor in comparison to the Fausti family.”
“My dear,” she whispered. “Most of Italy and beyond is poor in comparison to the Fausti family, in monetary worth. However, your family was not poor. They were not rich either. They were comfortable. Did you know that your great-grandfather, your Nonna’s father, was a physician like my Tito?”
“No,” I whispered. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and not from the chill in the air.
Once upon a time, I thought I wanted to be a doctor too.
My grandmother’s death changed that. I realized how hard it was to keep saying goodbye to people I might care about, because I knew I was going to get attached to some patients.
I’d talk to their families, learn all about them, get involved.
Even more heartbreaking for me would be the ones who had no one.
I felt entirely too much for people like that.
Maybe because without my grandparents, I would’ve been one of them.
Without my husband, I would’ve been one of them again.
That was one thing my grandmother apologized for repeatedly—that she couldn’t live forever, only to take care of me.
I shook my head and placed a yellow flower softly in the basket. “My grandmother never told me that.” My voice cracked.
“It is hard to speak of those times. Times that begin in perfection and safety, and the times after that led to loss and insecurity. War is not peace. Even for the Fausti family, it was a tremulous time. We could not predict the future. Who would be walking down the street and be killed? Who would attack us for any rations, and if they did, who would starve to death? Or freeze to death without what we needed to light the fires.” She pulled down the throw, and with gloved hands, handed me three black and white photos she had hidden underneath the blanket.
“Have you ever laid eyes on Avelina before?”
“No,” I breathed out. My hands trembled as I gazed upon a woman’s face I had never seen before, but I had. It was my face in a different time.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she, Nipote Biscottina?”
My eyes glanced up, meeting Aunt Lola’s, before they returned to the photos.
The first one in the trio was a single close-up shot of my aunt.
She didn’t wear a smile. She gazed at the camera as if she was trying to figure out why it was trained on her.
Even though the picture was moody, I could tell she had dark hair, and it was done in the same style mine had been for the harvest celebration.
The second photo was her profile, and she was clasping a pendent. I felt for the cross, realizing she had been doing the same—to the same cross.
The third photo was taken in front of a villa or farmhouse, my aunt with a few other women.
The look on my aunt’s face had changed. I could tell she was happier.
She was smiling, and she had a hand on the woman’s shoulder who was stooping in front of her.
She looked…free, free in a way only love could unlock.
“During such a dangerous time,” I whispered, “she had found happiness.”
“War will do that as well. Heighten everything.”
I looked up at Aunt Lola. “Do you think that’s the reason for their love? The war? Maybe they found freedom in each other during an uncertain time?”
“No. They had found the truth in love.” She looked down at the pictures.
“She was so soft. As a young girl, I remember being so jealous of her. Then, I do not know, years later, when I thought about having my own children, her name came back to me. Avelina. It almost sounded like a whispered prayer to me. An answered prayer. If I would have had a girl, this would have been her name. Tito wanted Ermanno for a boy. Perhaps this is why he is taken with the Ermanno who is offering his legs and strength to an old man.” She paused for a second, before she shook her head and mumbled what I thought was…
ah, well, some things are not meant to be.