Chapter 7
Allegra loved Sardegna in September, when the lacy petals of the jacaranda trees fell like rain, carpeting the ground with soft purple.
Fields outside the small city buzzed with activity as farmers planted the crocus corms, which would bear the red stigmas of precious saffron in due time.
The island was nearing the end of its “six-month summer,” and the sun still warmed Allegra’s face reliably on her walks by the sea.
The community of water women swam together less, focusing on tasks at home and readying for the next season.
They managed to still see one another often enough as they roamed the hills and shorelines or shopped in the few negozios along the quay.
Allegra spent the mornings gathering plants for dyeing, or if it rained, she sat by the studio window with Lora and Mamma, teasing and carding the sea silk until it was fine and uniform, ready for winter days of sitting at the loom.
Everyone knew she was expecting now. That sort of news didn’t keep long.
Allegra was young, only eighteen, and though she delighted in her body’s new role and recognized some of the telltale changes pregnancy brought, it was still the early days.
Which may have been why, when blood spotted her undergarment, she didn’t worry, not at first. She didn’t mention it because she assumed it meant nothing.
There was no chance to try horsetail or sage because by the time the cramps came and the blood thickened, it was already done, and she’d failed at motherhood before she’d even begun.
Johann held her close and kissed her on the head. She could tell he was disappointed, but he had never felt the weight of this child, the certainty of the life she’d carried as she did—until she didn’t anymore.
“We’ll try again,” he said, his words meant to console. He squeezed her. “What else is there to do this winter when I’m not on the boat?”
She managed a wan smile, trying her best not to give voice to her fears. What if she couldn’t? Passing on this life here on the island, the legacy of weaving the sea silk, was Allegra’s deepest desire.
“Of course,” she told him. “I’m sure it’ll be no time at all.”
“I’ll need some boys to help mend the nets and clear the barnacles off the boat’s hull.”
“I was hoping for a girl,” she admitted.
“Some of those, too,” Johann joked, patting his belly. “More hands to make pasta and bread are good for everyone.”
“I meant for the byssus,” she whispered. Her dark hair swung forward as she bowed her head.
“I know,” Johann said, his voice low. He lifted her chin and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry, Allegra. We have lots of time.”
Time had other opinions about the matter.
By the fall of 1914, Allegra was twenty-one and still childless.
She had learned, again and again, that the hardest goodbye is the one before hello.
She’d even grown quiet amid the camaraderie of the women as they swam together, harvesting the beards of the byssus.
Their banter and companionship no longer lifted her spirits.
“Allegra,” her mother coaxed, “this year you’ll be Susana’s mentor. She needs help with holding a breath, and you’re able to dive longer than most anyone.”
This was true, Allegra thought. She was strong and capable, at least as a diver.
Susana was almost twelve and just starting to accompany the group on their dives.
She was eager and sweet, the oldest daughter of Liza Bernetti.
Ordinarily, Liza might have guided her own daughter, but she was—of course—in the late stage of pregnancy, when women typically abstained from diving.
While Johann ate supper that evening, she told him. “Mamma must have thought me the obvious choice,” she said. “Who better to teach the younger divers than someone who is in no danger of being pregnant?” The dishes clattered in the washbasin as she spoke.
Johann leaned back in his chair and rubbed his dark beard. He’d grown it out this past year, and Allegra thought it made him look older. “Your mother wouldn’t think that,” he said.
“No? Ella’s gone. Lora’s still unmarried, and it’s been four years now for me with nothing to show for it.”
Johann caught her with his dark eyes. “Nothing?” He was hurt, and she softened.
“That’s not what I meant.” Allegra sighed.
“I’m just frustrated. Why can’t we have this blessing?
” In her head, she heard her mother’s soft voice, weary with its own hurt.
“We’re stewards. Somehow, we must steward our pain so it’s not wasted.
” She straightened her shoulders. Tomorrow, she’d pay a visit to Signora Santos, who’d buried a child the week before.
As a gift, she’d bring a little cornicello weaving she’d been working on, the twisted horn a symbol of hope, and they could share a cup of coffee and some time.
“It’s not ours to know why,” Johann said. He drew in a breath and stood. “I have to tell you something, cara.”
At the sound of his voice, she stopped rinsing the saucers and wiped her hands on her apron. “What is it?”
He pulled a folded paper from his vest pocket. “I’ve been called to service. I’m to report in two weeks.”
Allegra sank to the chair, her face drained of color. “No,” she said, grasping his hands. “You can’t.”
“Several of us got notified today. The postal clerk delivered these to us personally. We’ll stick together and keep our heads down.”
“Where will you go?”
Johann shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but there’s talk of a growing front in the north, along Austria’s border.”
“This has nothing to do with us,” she protested. “You’re a pescatore, not a soldier.”
“We’re all soldiers, Allegra. Italy’s going to be in the thick of it. After Ferdinand was shot, it’s all war talk at the wharf.”
Allegra rested her face in her palms. “It’s too much,” she said. “Without you—”
“You’ll have your family and the water women,” he said. “You must pray for me. Put all your strength into it. That will be the thing that brings me home.”
The next two weeks seemed to slip through Allegra’s fingers like sand.
While Johann docked their small boat and tied up loose ends at the quay, Allegra’s fingers were busy sewing and weaving.
She fashioned a heavy vest lined with the warmest wool from their neighbor’s flock.
She took extra care rolling pairs of socks for her husband’s feet, imagining him marching through unfamiliar alpine terrain, and she embroidered thin lines of prayers made of sea silk into the lining of his cap for protection and as a reminder of his beloved Sardegna.
When the days were spent and his bag was ready, stuffed with bread, dried meats, and amaretti for his journey, what else was there to do but say goodbye?
The neighbor’s white donkey stood in the street in town.
He waited for the other three men who’d been called to service to climb into the wooden cart that would bear them to Cagliari, where they’d be picked up and transferred to their assignment.
After one final embrace to punctuate their separation, Johann hoisted himself backward into the cart, his legs dangling from the back like a child’s.
Allegra’s hands held the ends of her apron in a tight knot that she twisted and untwisted uncontrollably.
Heaven protect him, she prayed. Have mercy on me and I’ll protect the byssus forever.
“Adiosu!” People cried and waved as the creaky wheels of the donkey cart began to turn.
“Be safe! Be brave!” Allegra’s voice failed.
The stinging lump in her throat grew until she thought it would choke her.
She locked eyes with Johann and said all she needed to say with that look.
When the wind had blown away the dust stirred up by the cart, she turned to her mother and sister to walk back home.