The door opened behind them. Tia Marta carried the pitcher to the washstand and placed it in the bowl. Then she came out of the anteroom. She did not avoid Quillan but stared pointedly. He gave a slight nod, which she returned, then rushed to Carina and held her. “Ah, Carina, ever the tiger. I told your Mamma . . .” She shook her head. “Ah, but you’re back, eh? She’s crying her eyes out in the kitchen. But she’ll see.”
Carina felt bleak. Mamma crying in the kitchen? Why? Because her daughter made a poor match? How could she tell? She knew nothing of Quillan. Nothing of what they’d shared, suffered, accomplished. Nothing of his own battles. But there was no reasoning with Mamma. “Where’s Nonna?”
Tia’s face jerked up, tears shining. She gripped her hands. “Oh, Carina. Nonna’s in the grave, God rest her soul.”
“No!” Carina’s legs gave way, but Quillan caught her waist and kept her upright. Tears stung her eyes. This was the punishment she’d dreaded.
Tia Marta swiped at her eyes. “She passed two months after you left. In her sleep.” She crossed herself.
Carina’s chest heaved. She sagged against Quillan as Tia Marta went out and closed the door behind her. Nonna gone? Carina gasped for breath. And she hadn’t said good-bye, hadn’t prayed for Nonna’s passing, hadn’t even been there to ease her final hours. She spun and gripped Quillan’s chest. “It’s my fault. She was so worried, so—”
Quillan caught her hands. “It’s not your fault.” He circled her in his arms.
But it was, just as it had been with her baby. If she hadn’t provoked the men, they would not have beaten her child to death inside her. And Nonna had been overwrought at her leaving. She’d seen more than Mamma had. You’ll regret it, Carina. It’s yourself you’ll punish, not Flavio. But she hadn’t listened, and now Nonna was gone.
“Why didn’t they tell me? How could they not tell me?” She poured her tears onto Quillan’s chest.
His voice stayed low, gentle. “What good would it have done? You were too far to do anything.”
“Don’t tell me that!” She cried harder. It didn’t matter that it was true. Nonna had died while she was gone. And it was her fault. She knew Nonna’s heart was not strong, and she had broken it. This loss brought back the other, and Carina cried for the baby and Nonna together. Oh, why had she gone away?
Quillan held her in silence. He stroked her back and let her beat against his chest. This was not how she’d imagined it, not the way she’d wanted it. Had she thought they would welcome her with smiles and laughter, taking Quillan to their breasts and kissing his cheeks? Had she thought Nonna would be standing there, arms wide to welcome her home? She cried harder, shaking with sobs.
Now her whole family resented her, resented Quillan. She had come home, but it was not the refuge she had sought. Oh, Signore. She sniffed painfully. “What will I do? How can I face them?”
“They can’t blame you, Carina. It’s not your fault.”
But he didn’t know how it was, how their lives were intertwined like the very vines in their fields. If something killed one, the others sickened. What weakened one threatened the rest. She was like the insect destroying vineyard after vineyard while Papa worked furiously to keep it from his own vines.
There was a tap on the door, and Tony poked his head inside. “Giuseppe is asking for you, Carina.”
She pushed back from Quillan. Giuseppe. Oh yes, she must see him, now especially. Tony glanced at Quillan, then shut the door without another word. Carina hurried into the anteroom and poured water from the pitcher into the sink. She plunged her hands into the warm, lemon-scented water and splashed it over her tear-streaked cheeks.
Quillan held the towel, and she pressed it to her face, slowing her breath and containing the awful emotion. Help me, Signore! As she prayed, she had a clear vision of Nonna rocking a baby in her arms. Carina gasped and opened her eyes. “She’s in heaven with the baby.”
Quillan furrowed his brow.
Dropping the towel, Carina grasped his hands. “Our baby, Quillan. Our baby’s with Nonna. Maybe she knew, maybe God knew they must be together.”
His expression showed he was not certain she was in her right mind, but she didn’t care. She hurried out to the bedroom. “Come with me.” She tugged him through the door and down the stairs. Women’s voices came from the kitchen, some loud and angry, others trying to hush. Carina ignored them.
Outside they crossed the courtyard where their wagon stood unattended. Quillan hesitated. Carina knew he wanted to see to the horses. But she tugged him by the hand. “It’s over here. By the barn.” She took him through the courtyard gate and over across the yard. The mules would be out to pasture, though the winter grasses were thin. She passed the barn to the cottage beside it, a small whitened structure with a clay tile roof.
She didn’t knock, just burst through the door and found Ti’Giuseppe sitting by his fire. No stove for Giuseppe. He filled the alcove with wood each morning and poked at it through the day. He turned in time to catch her, and she clung to his bony shoulders, kissing his cheeks with tears again streaking her own. He had shrunk. She felt his bones through his shirt, gathered and tied at the neck. “Tio?”
His lips parted on bare gums as his cheeks pulled into myriad lines, forming the smile she loved so dearly. “Bella Carina.” His tongue formed the words, but it was his eyes that spoke them.
Carina knelt at his side. “Tio, this is Quillan.”
Ti’Giuseppe squinted and reached out his hand.
Quillan gripped it, then covered it with his other. “Il piacere è il mio.” The pleasure is mine. Quillan said it with perfect pronunciation, and she could see Ti’Giuseppe appreciated it.
She pulled up a chair beside Giuseppe for Quillan, then settled at his feet. “How are you, Tio?” She had to know he was well.
“I am better now to have you home.” He cradled her shoulder.
Voice shaking, she said, “Tell me about Nonna,” and covered his hand with hers.
His eyes stared away. “Nonna went with the angels. Very peaceful.”
“Was she ill?”
He shook his head. “Only age. And there’s no cure for that. Not even your papa, the dottore, can claim one.”
Her throat tightened. “She had no pain, no suffering?”
Giuseppe’s face softened. “There is always pain when you’re old. She has none now.”
Carina sighed. “I wasn’t here.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You are now. And you’ve brought this man.”
“My husband, Tio.”
“I heard. You caused a fuss?”
Carina nodded.
“Your mamma?”
“Papa, too.” She sank back against Quillan’s legs.
“And Flavio.” Giuseppe spread his papery hands.
She shrugged. “What do I care?” But she felt Quillan stiffen.
Giuseppe shook his head. “He will not take it lightly. The insult.”
“The insult was his,” she snapped.
Giuseppe looked at Quillan. “You watch your back, eh? They will avenge an affront to Flavio’s honor.”
Carina jerked up. “Flavio? With all his peace talk?” Did he not argue the evils of violence, decry physical force? It was his banner, yet underneath . . . No, Flavio would not—surely he would not . . .
Giuseppe spread his hands. “Talk is easy until it touches here.” He tapped a finger to his chest.