Chapter 18
Mamma tossed her hands into the air. “Rosie, do you realize I’m not the one to answer that question?
I’ve lived a fulfilled and happy married life.
I have no experience with the conflicts you’re describing, and honestly, my friends have differing experiences.
Most married according to their father’s wishes, some according to their mother’s, some in the belief that they’d found affection, and some for advancement in their status and, of course, for money.
Sometimes the matches were made for the most mercenary, the most unhappy reasons.
” She contemplated the marriages she’d seen, then switched her attention back to me.
“Sometimes a man of means sees a woman he must have, and a match is made by means of coercion, blackmail, or bribery.”
“You’re reminding me I’m not the first to marry for such reasons.”
“Not the first at all. Many aristocratic men, men of wealth, fall to the lure of promised passion and the belief a woman is like a country who can be conquered. Of course, there are men who use their fists and boots to stomp out any rebellion, and they get their way.” Mamma got tears in her eyes, for she’d lost friends to cruel and indifferent husbands who would never dream of beating their dogs or horses but thought nothing of brutalizing their wives.
“At least for a time,” I reminded her. “At least until the wife learns the efficacy of poison.”
She didn’t laugh, but she half smiled and nodded.
We both knew those wives, bruised and broken, who had visited the female-run apothecary shop, Toil and Trouble, and bought their marital freedom with a fatal potion.
If caught, the penalty was execution, for men feared a woman who controlled her own destiny, and quoted the Bible and called down God’s wrath upon her head.
Yet as Friar Laurence’s apprentice, I understood the variety and symptoms that resulted from different amounts, various preparations.
… A brute could die slowly or quickly, in agony or in his sleep, from food or drink or a lotion and never know he’d taken a deadly dose.
“What I see when Prince Escalus gazes upon you is a brooding devotion, an intent to absorb you into his being and create that rare and marvelous union where man and wife become one.” Mamma’s words vibrated with emotion.
I felt emotion, too, but not the same as hers. “That sounds awful! A loss of myself.”
“Or you can absorb him,” Mamma said sensibly. “The result is the same. Your papà and I … sometimes we—”
“More often than sometimes, if the number of your progeny is any indication!”
“Impertinent child, not that!” She waved me to silence.
“What I’m trying to say is, I’ll be thinking something.
Something that has nothing to do with anything around me.
Something odd and unrelated, a plan for next Christmas, a recipe, what to do with that wedding bowl Aunt Samaritana gave us that looks like a giant glossy cow’s udder …
And Romeo will suddenly wonder out loud, ‘Who would think a bowl that looks like a giant cow’s udder is attractive?
What can we do to get rid of it without incurring Samaritana’s wrath? ’”
“You cannot give that to me.” I needed to get that in there right away.
Mamma looked hurt. “Of course not, dear.” Fake hurt.
I said it again, more emphatically. “No, Mamma. Cal is a stickler for art, architecture, good taste, powerful paintings, glorious sculptures from the long dead past. You think I can introduce a shiny cow’s udder bowl into the palace and he won’t notice?
He’ll repudiate me. Do you want me off your hands or not? ”
She laughed. “Both of your sisters said the same thing at their weddings.”
I took a relieved breath. Prematurely, as it turned out.
“Besides, Aunt Samaritana has arrived in Verona, and she’ll have some other monstrosity to present to you.”
I knew only too well Mamma had an unexpected streak of mischief. “You jest.”
“Not at all.”
Was she serious? I could tell by her smirk she was. “Mamma! How could she? She sent word she was too old to travel. She’s got to be a hundred!”
“Not quite that, dear. Younger than Princess Ursula, upright, and in a fine condition. She prides herself on walking her Padua estate every day.”
I groaned. “Where is she going to stay? Not here. And not at the palace!”
“Remember, she owns a house in Verona. I believe she’s already installed herself and her staff.
” Mamma went back to my topic as if she hadn’t flung a bag of night soil in my already overflowing lap.
“Papà and I know each other’s minds so well, he plucks my thoughts from the air.
Not always. Half the time …” She changed direction.
“Most of the time, he’s oblivious. But yes.
I don’t understand it, but it’s uncanny. ”
“You do the same with him.” I’d seen it happen, but I hadn’t thought about it. Sensitivity to each other’s thoughts was simply something I expected from my parents. “Which marriages succeed?”
“You might as well ask what Nonna Ursula will predict next! The only answer is, some of them. No matter the reason for the match, some of all of them. I’ve attended many weddings, and I’m wise enough to never wager on a marriage.”
I nodded. In my twenty years I’d seen what she’d seen. Logic did not rule the marital union, and sometimes the most unlikely, tumultuous matches were the most loving.
“More important for you, in the end, you made a choice. You chose Prince Escalus not for his wealth or status but because it was the right thing to do.”
I nodded again, rather gloomily.
“If anyone has wisdom on these matters, I’ve never met that woman. Or man.” Mamma’s own wisdom was her frank admission of ignorance. In matters of the heart, if Juliet Montague didn’t know, no answer existed.
“Thank you, Mamma.” I kissed her hand, then her cheek. “I go forward, ever confused, yet I’ll do my best.”
“As you always do, Rosie.” She hugged me hard. “What actually happened between you and the prince? Or … almost happened?”
I told her, she made a suggestion, and I left her chamber, if not enlightened, then inspired.