Her temper fell from her like discarded rags as she knelt and folded her hands in prayer. Once it had been only form, but then Gesù had revealed himself, taken her into himself. I am sufficient. He was asking her to trust.
There was a rustling as the Lanzas took their place in the pew opposite the DiGratias, and Carina saw Flavio, stone faced among them. How angry he must be, but he didn’t look her way. He forced a casualness that mocked the carved suffering of the eighth station of the cross above him on the wall. He was trying to look as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
Carina sighed, then lost herself in the ageless words of the Mass, chanted by the mission brothers and the priest. After Mass they went home to breakfast with everyone: Angelo and Renata with six-year-old Carlo, Joseph and Sophie with their daughter Marta and two-year-old Giovanni, Nicolo and Divina, and Sophie and Lorenzo. Tony had asked young Marianna Rossi to join them, and she shyly agreed. Carina looked at them all gathered around the long table, the young ones at a low table of their own. It could have been any Sunday of her life, except that somewhere her husband ate alone.
Outside the peace of the chapel, she was again besieged by fears and longing. If only Quillan sat beside her now, her life would be complete. Mamma made a fuss over Marianna as she hadn’t before. Was Marianna so much better a choice than the others had been, or was Mamma trying to show Carina how good it could be if she had looked closer to home?
Not only was she out of favor, she was watched even more closely.
All day Mamma found things for her to do, or her brothers warded her off. Flavio had, no doubt, told them of her escape, and they were determined not to make the same mistake. She should put her foot down and demand an end to the absurdity, but that could mean complete ostracism, and she was not willing to give up yet.
For four days there was no note at the desk, and Quillan went from the quarry to the store, grabbing a bite in between. Was he crazy? Why didn’t he go fetch his wife and take her away? She had offered Alaska the last time they spoke, and the thought was heady now as his ache for her grew.
But he knew she hadn’t meant it. If he tore her away, she might never heal. Her family was the most important thing; she’d said so herself. He had to find a way to win their acceptance, to prove himself worthy. Wasn’t he trying, working every day with her people to learn their ways, their language, even their gestures and mannerisms?
He threw himself down on the bed and took up the Italian grammar book he had procured. In just four days of studying it, he understood more of his quarry companions’ speech. But now he couldn’t concentrate. His body had adjusted too easily to the workload, not so different from what he had shouldered before. It wasn’t enough to distract him from Carina.
Where was she? What was she doing? And with whom? It was driving him crazy. He reached for the Bible on the bed stand. But even before he opened it, the words of Jesus came to his mind: I am the vine, ye are the branches. That phrase persisted. But what did it mean?
Quillan knew the entire chapter by memory. He understood, or thought he did, the promises therein. If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you. But wasn’t he asking? Why, whenever he thought of that one phrase, I am the vine, ye are the branches, did he feel that he was missing something?
God had a purpose, yes, and Quillan was trying to accomplish it. Wasn’t he? If he could just prove that he deserved Carina . . . but that was the rub. He didn’t deserve her. He was flawed. Something inherently wrong inside made him know that he didn’t deserve her. But he was trying. Surely God would bless that?
Quillan slumped down on the bed, returning the Bible to the stand, unopened. Discouragement ate him, fury as well. What had he done to earn the ire of Carina’s father? Yes, they’d married without his permission, but this was hardly the dark ages. And circumstances had forced it, hadn’t they?
Could he have whisked her safely from Crystal and sent her home to her family? His chest contracted. He’d have never known her as his wife, never felt the healing balm of her love, her acceptance in spite of his flaw. Was that it? Did he have no right to that acceptance? He could hear Leona Shepard’s words: “You have no right to the care we give you. You’re a devil from the pit of hell.” Did her illness let her see more truly than sane minds?
Quillan thought of Carina’s father, so like William DeMornay. You are not my son, not my grandson. You don’t exist. You couldn’t be my daughter’s son, my daughter’s husband. He pulled the locket out from inside his shirt where he wore it next to his heart. He popped open the lid and stared at his mother’s lovely face. He saw some of his own features there and certainly parts of his nature as well.
What would it take for him to prove himself and earn their respect, their acknowledgment? Was he a bastard soul? He’d lived with the epithet his whole life, everyone assuming the worst of his conception.
Was he a bastard son of the Most High?
Carina stood, arm snaked around the trunk of the young almond in the courtyard, head gazing up to the foamy blossoms faintly pink against the beauty of the evening sky. If only things were as peaceful as it looked up there in the heavens. Signore, I thank you for your grace. Without it, she would be reduced by now to rage and despair.
Even so, she felt fractious and worried. What must Quillan think when she had promised to meet him, then not come even once? Mamma had insisted Giuseppe take his meals with the family. “It’s not good for him to be so much alone.” How right and kind it had sounded, but Carina knew it was only so she couldn’t use that way of escape again.
It was absurd. They could not legally separate her from her husband. If she walked away today, they couldn’t stop her. But she would lose them. And Quillan would lose his chance for family. He wanted her to stay; he had said so. Why couldn’t they see his goodness?
Someone touched her from behind, and she cried out and spun.
Smiling, Flavio slid his hand along the small of her back. “I’m sorry, tesora. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She tried to back away, but he locked the fingers of his other hand with the first, trapping her waist. “Your papa said I’d find you here.”
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want.” His voice softened. “And I know what you want.”
She stared into his face. If he really knew, would he persist in tormenting her? If he just said the word, maybe her family would relent. Engagement promises were broken. If both parties were willing. What could he possibly gain by continuing his suit with her already married?
He sobered, dropping his chin just enough. “I was wrong.”
Her breath caught. Had he finally seen? Could they make their peace and be done with it?
“But you have to know Divina never meant anything to me.”
What? What was he saying? What had Divina to do with it?