Pietro closed the bedroom door.
Netta held up the shoe. “Look. Massimo repaired your shoes.”
“Va bene.”
“They’re heavy now. You won’t feel the cold in these when winter comes.” Netta buffed the shoe with vigor.
“Aldo is supposed to polish my shoes. We had an agreement.”
“He was tired.”
“All that running on the beach. He’s not used to moving fast.”
“At least you can catch him.” Netta sighed. “Even if we had a head start, we’d never catch Domenica. She’s a fox.”
“I don’t know. She’s more intelligent than cunning.”
“Too intelligent”—Netta smiled—“for her own good.”
“No such thing.”
“The children at school are afraid of her.”
“She’s a leader.”
“Who does she lead? She has no friends. The girls don’t invite her over to play. So I said, invite them to the garden. She wouldn’t. Domenica said the girls her age are silly. ‘They giggle too much,’ she told me.”
“Because they do.”
“That’s just how young girls are.”
“If she doesn’t like them, she doesn’t like them. She’s capable of making friends.”
“The wrong ones! I should have forbidden her to spend time with Silvio Birtolini from the start.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. She would have found a way to be his friend.”
“She only became his friend because he has none. She pities him.”
“That makes her kind.”
“No good will come of him. Anyone that associates with him will eventually be marked too. Now he steals.”
“At our daughter’s request.”
“I understand that. But do the women at the church? I don’t think so.”
“It’s up to us to explain what happened. They’re children. Our daughter heard a story, and she was intrigued by the idea of a buried treasure. It’s all quite innocent when the truth is told.”
“How will we pay for the map they destroyed? Aniballi insisted the map was ruined and covered in blood.”
“I agreed to make it right. The library is in need of repairs. It will take me months to complete the work.”
“You make sure the Birtolini boy helps you.”
“Aniballi won’t allow him near the library.”
“It will be a miracle if they let him back in school. So, you see what I mean. Domenica should not be around him anymore. Look at his background.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“They don’t ask whose fault it is when the rock is thrown.”
“And they should, Netta. But they don’t. They bully the boy without a father.”
“He has a father! But his father has a wife and a family in Orvieto. He would not take the boy. I imagine the wife had something to say about that.”
“Gossip. Just gossip.”
“Gossip that affects our daughter and her reputation.”
“The Vietro family are good people. Her father was a blacksmith in Pietrasanta. The mother’s side was from Abruzzo. Honest farmers. One mistake erased generations of pious living,” Cabrelli lamented.
“It was more than a mistake. Don’t feel sorry. It was a mortal sin.”
“A sin that is not ours to atone. All this talk about Vera and Silvio is just that. I don’t want my wife participating in it. Ignore it.”
“I have enough to worry about. I am failing with my own children.”
“Children get into mischief,” Pietro said wearily. “I am not going to beat my children.”
“You’re the only father who doesn’t, and it shows! Domenica fears nothing. I send her to church. She takes her sacraments. But the fear of God is not in her; it floats over her like a vapor and disappears into the clouds like smoke. It does not get in. She challenges the Sisters. They say she is polite when she asks questions, but who is she to ask questions? And if she doesn’t like the answer, look out! She’s wild. She will argue until the school bell rings.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having your own mind. It should be encouraged, especially in an intelligent girl.”
“We have to punish her for her role in the theft because if we don’t”—Netta wiped her tears on a handkerchief—“how will she ever grow up to be a respectable woman? To be a wife? A mother? She believes Viareggio is her kingdom and she makes the rules. She should have been born a Bonaparte. She is arrogant like them.”
Cabrelli sat next to his wife. “You took away her supper and the library. That’s all she has. Domenica does her chores, doesn’t she?”
Netta nodded.
“She studies hard. She says her prayers. She is obedient.”
Netta cut her husband a look.
“She has a problem with obedience,” he admitted. “But she always has a good reason to start a ruckus. She is moral.”
“In her fashion. But this incident shows she lacks judgment.” Netta was bereft.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Tonight.”
“Why the urgency, Netta?”
“That rock was not meant for the Birtolini boy.”
CHAPTER 7
Behind Chiesa San Paolino, down a stone path, before the new barn was built and next to the garden shed, was the stable, used to keep the priest’s carriage and horse. Once the new priest acquired the first motorcar in Viareggio, the horse and carriage were sold, and the stable was left vacant.