“Maybe.” Domenica winked at Sister Matelda. She wrapped herself with the scarf McVicars had sent and walked outside to join him.
McVicars was regal in his navy blue uniform. He remembered a high-ranking officer in the merchant navy who once said to him, “Our uniforms are so sturdy, they will hold you up when you’ve lost your courage.” McVicars was plenty scared that morning. As Domenica walked toward him, with every step she took, his heart beat faster. He believed his future was in her hands.
“The nuns are concerned about their lawn,” Domenica said.
“Is it against the rules to walk here?” McVicars asked.
Domenica had compassion for McVicars. He wasn’t his typical jocular self; ever ready with a joke or pointed remark, he seemed vulnerable. “Why are you here, John?”
He took a deep breath. “Domenica, I know I am not worthy of you.”
“Did you come all the way from Glasgow to tell me that?”
“No, I came all the way from Glasgow to ask you to marry me.”
Domenica buried her hands in her apron pockets. She hadn’t expected a proposal of marriage. She thought he had come to the convent to inquire if she would see him again. If she’d known that McVicars was going to propose that day, she would have put on her blue dress. Instead she was wearing her uniform and apron. It seemed she was never properly dressed when he had something important to say to her. Maybe that was the point. There wasn’t time for artifice; their connection was the destination, not the dance that preceded it. She weighed the idea of life without him against the commitment to him for the rest of her life. Domenica was not an impulsive woman, but she found out in this moment that she could be. She wanted him; the decision had been made the night she met him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“This isn’t how I pictured it.”
He looked around. “There’s no rain. It’s warm. I got a haircut and wore my uniform. I splashed on some cologne.”
“All that for me?” she teased him.
“If it’s not enough, tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
“It’s enough, John. I’ll be happy to marry you.”
McVicars scooped Domenica up in his arms, held her close, and covered her face in tender kisses. She kissed him feverishly before sinking her face into his neck. The scent of the lemon water made her think of Italy, which made her feel torn. A marriage proposal was celebrated by the entire family in her tradition. McVicars swung her through the air, which made her laugh and forget that the circumstances of their engagement were not ideal. McVicars placed her gently on the ground and reached into his pocket. “This is for you.” He gave her a velvet jewelry box from Mattiuzzi’s.
She lifted the watch fob out of the box. It could not have been a better engagement gift. Domenica was practical. The watch was functional, but it was also elegant.
“So the jeweler told me about this stone. Aventurine, it’s called. It came from Mozambique; the gold is Argentine, he believes, and built with rubies from India. Small ones, but they’re there.”
“They sparkle. Small red tears.”
“Or raindrops. There’s a stone in this watch fob from each hemisphere. In a small way, it is bigger than the world. It’s my intention to show you the world. There are places I can’t wait to take you.”
“I want to go.”
“And it works.” John held it up to her ear. “This will be closer to your heart than a ring. I rather like this. It’s like a medal.” McVicars pinned it on her apron. “May we never run out of time.”
Domenica placed her hand over the green aventurine. “What did I do to deserve something so beautiful?”
“You said yes.”
“I would have said yes sooner.”
“Is that true? When did you fall in love with me?” he wanted to know.
“When I found you hiding in the chapel. When did you fall in love with me?”
“After breakfast,” he admitted. “I make my best decisions on a full stomach.”
Domenica put her arms around her fiancé and kissed him. When she closed her eyes and tasted his lips, she was no longer in Scotland. France had already faded from her memory. Instead she was home in Viareggio, where she knew the houses and streets, the exact number of steps it took to get from one end of the boardwalk to the other, the warmth of her mother’s kitchen in winter and the first cool breeze of spring under the pergola in Boncourso’s garden where, if you were lucky, you got kissed under the grapes as they ripened in the sun. John McVicars was part of all she held important; her old life and her new one came together in the gentleness of his kiss.
* * *
Domenica Cabrelli was happily betrothed to Captain McVicars, which was good news for the Sisters of Notre Dame because it meant McVicars the Glaswegian would be close by to do repairs when they needed him. Within a few days, McVicars plugged a leak in the convent kitchen, rewired the dining room chandelier, and even went to the trouble of filling in a large pothole on the stone drive to the convent entrance. The captain remembered the name of each nun, even though it was difficult to tell them apart in their habits. The Sisters laughed at his jokes and reveled in the energy he brought to the convent. It didn’t hurt that McVicars was handsome, with eyes as blue as the robe of the statue of the Blessed Mother in the convent chapel. The Sisters appreciated beauty in all its forms, including the suave McVicars, because it was a gift from God.
Domenica and McVicars conducted a proper courtship, and not always by choice as they walked the garden paths of Notre Dame de Namur. The nuns roamed the same grounds as they prayed, keeping their eyes on the young lovers.
“When we marry, do the Sisters come with you?”
Domenica laughed. “There seem to be more of them around when you visit. They’ve grown fond of you.”
John was leaning down to kiss Domenica when he saw the flutter of a black veil through the trees. He pulled away to a proper distance. “They’re like locusts. We may have to make a run for it.”
“My father and mother would be worse.”
“I doubt it.” McVicars offered his arm to her.