Chapter 17
I penned a letter to Friar Laurence giving Fiametta the introduction she required and assured the increasingly excited Imogene that I was thrilled for her to work with Friar Laurence.
As I walked to my parents’ bedroom, more and more I felt the rightness of her decision, knowing that Imogene would learn as I had and be there in the household for Papà and Mamma and our siblings, and for our dear Montague staff.
I knocked softly and opened the door a crack.
Normally, I would never open that door without listening first to see if they were passionately involved, but in this case, I presumed Papà would be still recovering from his poisoning, and, thank God, I was right.
He was sprawled on the bed, covered in blankets, snoring like a man who relished every breath.
Mamma sat in a rocking chair, holding one of the babies—either Adino or Efron—and with her foot, she rocked the cradle that held the other one.
The twins were so alike that while asleep and from a distance, it was hard to tell the difference.
Once they were awake, it was immediately clear which was which: Adino had a spit-up, a poop, and a grin for every occasion, and Efron punched his fists and babbled with the kind of authority usually reserved for figures of authority.
Mamma gestured me in and said softly, “Once again you saved us, Rosie. Your papà lives!”
“Friar Laurence was the one prepared. I only diagnosed the poison.”
“Only? That was everything! What will we do without you?” Her voice developed a quaver, and she blinked as if she held back tears.
“I’m not going very far. Only across the city, Mamma.” Unfortunately, with the developments from Imogene, it was borne in on me that the separation was in fact happening, and I, too, developed a quaver. “How is Papà?”
“He aches in every muscle from the convulsions, and his throat is raw from vomiting, but he’s alive to love me another day.” With that, she did break down.
I did, too, and we shared a clean diaper to wipe our eyes, and when the baby inevitably woke up, he farted so loudly I was able to deduce, “It’s Adino!”
“Yes,” Mamma agreed. “He takes after your father.”
We both giggled and honked our noses.
Which woke Efron in the cradle. I gathered Adino into my arms, which allowed Mamma to bring Efron up and onto her shoulder, and while we did the baby shuffle, Mamma said, “It’s time the Montagues hosted the celebration of your betrothal. Two nights hence would be excellent.”
“Yes, Mamma, but with Nurse caring for Lady Capulet, I don’t know whether I can arrange it when I spend so much time at the palace with the prince.”
In a smug tone, she said, “I’ve already arranged it.”
I widened my eyes at her. Mamma was not known for her successful organization of anything.
“I did!” She sounded so young and earnest. “I told Cal that the bride’s family must host a dinner.
He told Nonna Ursula and Lady Pulissena, who decided what needed to be done, and dear little Evella put it all together, even a party for the children, which will occupy them in the palace.
Nurse will handle that, which frees us up to do whatever is required to maintain the peace. ”
“Excellent!”
“Evella is a wonder. That child knows everybody in Verona!”
Not to be cynical, but … “Probably because at one time or another, she picked the pockets of everyone in Verona.”
“Yes, there is that.” Mamma loved a reformed character far more than a saint. “She’s working out very well for all of us. Even Old Maria has accepted her. And Evella insisted I choose the musicians!” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“Will we dance?” I asked. Mamma loved to dance, and specifically, she loved to dance with Papà.
“First, soothing music to calm the everlasting ire of our childish families and their endless squabbles.” Mamma was not usually so frank in her displeasure, but it had been a long week filled with challenges.
“Then a troubadour, then dancing, then more soothing music … The musicians have been instructed to play soothing music even during the battle.”
I gave Mamma a painful half grin, for no matter how much we hoped otherwise, we planned for battle.
“If it pleases you, Madam Mother, I will gladly use the preparations for the party as a painted canvas, onto which I’ll add flourishes and symbols that will lift it from the day-to-day wedding celebrations into art so fine it changes our world. ”
Mamma frowned as she worked her way through my convoluted word puzzle. “If I understand you correctly, you’re going to embellish the plans already made.”
“That’s what I said.” Sort of.
“With some goal in mind.”
“All my thoughts are about moving the feud between the Households of Montague and Capulet into the next stage of peace.” In complete earnest, I said, “Mamma, my siblings and I are so tired of being diplomats whose primary job is to avert bloodshed, and when we fail, mop up the blood.”
Mamma nodded. “I do understand. Your wedding should be about you, and not some old and cherished grudges, and of course, we have to wonder if the poisoning is yet another call to war.”
“You mean because no Capulets were poisoned, only Montagues?” Dear Blessed Virgin, I hadn’t even thought of that!
“I don’t believe it. All my life, the fight has been swords and insults and thumb biting.
Poison is such an underhanded killer, and Capulets are so …
lofty.” Hastily, I added, “Not you, Mamma.”
“Grazie mille.” Mamma managed to load a fair amount of irony into those two words. “I’ve heard no rumblings of conspiracy yet, but … Yes, I cannot help but think that is the next possible theory to be aired.”
“Conspiracies! Does everything have to be a conspiracy?”
Mamma had been raised on one conspiracy theory after another, and the murders that went with them, yet she calmly said, “No, dear.”
Right. Rosie, this sounds like blame, and Mamma does not deserve that. “I’ll consult with Evella about plans I intend to implement.”
“Rosie, you have that look on your face. The one you wore when you convinced our old dog to sit next to Aunt Gemma after you’d fed him cabbage soup.”
I looked innocent, or as innocent as it was possible for me to be. “Aunt Gemma deserved every gut-wrenching stench.”
“As always.” Reflectively, Mamma said, “One wonders why any person takes such joy in making others feel less intelligent, interesting, handsome, witty?”
“Because she’s such an unhappy, dislikable thing, it’s the only way she can make herself feel exceptional.”
Mamma inclined her head. “Should I ask about your plans for the party?”
“You know you love a surprise.” A propitious time to change the subject, so with an assumption of insouciance, I tossed out my first loaded query. “When you and Papà first saw each other, did you feel love and passion at the same time?”
Believe me, that was an unusual question from me; I tend not to ask my mother about love and passion.
I respect my mother, I really do, and love her dearly, but if I have to listen one more time to the raptures Romeo incites in Juliet, I will … I will roll my eyes to the point of self-injury.
Thus, my query focused Mamma’s full attention on my face. “Yes. Love and passion right away, tumbling first in small rivulets, then gaining speed and strength so rapidly that they couldn’t be separated and formed first a sparkling stream, then a great river—”
“Mamma.” I took a breath and gestured for her to stop. “Mamma. You fell in love and wanted to jump his bones at the same time?”
“He was simply so—” She was about to go into more transports.
I moved swiftly to block them. “Yes, I know. Papà is gorgeous.”
“He’s so much more than that!” She smiled at him, still snoring, still pale, still speckled with scraps left behind by sickness, and she put her hand over her heart, as if to still its throbbing.
She was not helping me. I pried Adino’s fist out of my hair and my hair out of his mouth.
“When you’re, say, not so in love with Papà, because sometimes he’s insensitive and loud, do you still want him?
You know, like when you’re fighting or he’s been a jerk, or he’s farting six million times a day, and it smells like he eats New Year’s lucky lentils and garlic every meal, and we can’t open the windows fast enough … ?”
“Even then. Always.” When even Efron made a scoffing noise, she admitted, “Although once a month I find him the most annoying man in the world.” She smiled again, less wildly passionate and more gently adoring.
“Then he brings home my favorite lamb stew from the stall in the market, and I love him again.” Again, she scrutinized me with the acuity that made her such a wonderful mother …
except when I preferred to leave things hidden. “Why do you ask?”
I had to remember I’d opened the conversation, and for a reason. “I don’t love the prince, and he doesn’t love me, but we …”
Mamma blinked three times in a row. It looked like astonishment. “Rosie, have you sinned?”
“No, Friar Laurence caught us before …” I was still frankly disgruntled.
“That is his job.” She rocked Efron, and when he fussed, she said, “Call the wet nurse. She should be back by now, and these lads want to be fed, and we want to talk without distraction.”
As if in agreement, Adino produced one of his giant baby poops, the kind that made the whole family marvel that so much could come out of so small a child.
Mamma swiftly handed me an extra diaper—he was famous for leaking—and with equal swiftness, I walked to the door.
It opened as I approached, and the wet nurse at once understood the situation.
She accepted Adino from me, handed him off to her assistant, came in and got Efron, and the comfortable distraction the babies had provided was gone.
Mamma pointed at the chair next to her, and when I’d seated myself, she said, “Consummation wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.”
“Mother!” Some guardian of my purity she was turning out to be!
“Rosie, you’re not an irresponsible child, and the prince desires you for all his logical reasons. It’s good to know he also desires you with his body, don’t you think?”
“Yes. At least knowing that, I don’t feel so much like the prize in a tournament of checklists divided into good qualities and bad.”
She nodded. She understood that all too well. “If you yield, he won’t refute you now.”
“I trust him about that. I’m simply confused about …” I hated confusion, especially now. Going forward, I needed a clear mind, so I moved to remedy it. “Lysander is my One True Love. He’s handsome and charming, witty and talented. How can I love one man and lust after another?”