“And watch you slice your throat?” Vittorio took down a shaving bowl and mixed a lather. He dipped a towel into the water held warm on the brazier, then laid it over Quillan’s face.
Carina leaned on the doorway. She’d never seen her husband get shaved. He had as much beard as any man in her family, and it reached down his neck, as well. Vittorio removed the towel and brushed on the lather, then took up the blade.
“I’ll do it myself if you’ll fetch me a mirror.”
Carina stepped into the room. “Behave yourself, Quillan, and let Vittorio shave you. Soon enough you’ll do everything yourself.”
He turned, gave her a fiery glance, then succumbed to the first scratchy glide of the blade. Carina watched the stripe of bare flesh widen with each stroke of the blade. Quillan’s hands lay at his sides, but she saw them clench slightly. Yes, he suffered the care, no more. Then Vittorio took out a small scissors to trim his mustache.
Quillan said, “Leave it.”
“Here, let me.” Carina took the scissors and sat at Quillan’s side. Carefully she clipped the overgrowth of his full, jaunty mustache. What if she took it all the way off? Would his mouth look vulnerable? What if his hair were cut? Would he look gentle and meek? She doubted it.
With her fingertips, she flicked the sides of his mustache free of loose clippings, then leaned in and kissed his lips. Quillan’s eyes flicked up to Vittorio, who stood grinning. Carina smiled, too, as Vittorio toweled the flecks of lather from Quillan’s throat and jaw.
“There. You are presentable to kiss my sister.”
Quillan looked from one to the other, exasperated. Poor man, he didn’t know how to take them.
“Go away.” Carina shooed her brother with her hand. Then she turned from Vittorio’s departing back to her husband’s expectant face.
“Do you intend to make a regular spectacle of me?” He raised a hand into her hair.
She shrugged. “Things are less private here. Our love is part of their lives. My brothers, my parents, cousins, friends—they’re all included.” She spread her hands. “We are family.”
Quillan frowned. “Feels mighty crowded.”
She kissed his forehead. “You’ll get used to it.”
His stormy glance argued back, but both arms came around her in a loose embrace.
She settled into his chest. “You just have to try a little.”
“You sound like Vittorio.”
She laughed. “How hard was it?”
“Hard.” He raised one shaky arm, then dropped it. “I’m weak as a baby.”
“But you’ll try again.”
He met her gaze. “You know I will. The sooner—”
She kissed his mouth, full and feverishly. She didn’t want to hear what he thought he would do when his strength returned. She was suddenly glad God might keep him weak some while. Maybe in that time he could learn to keep still.
TWENTY-SIX
One lesson learned through loss of health is time can be a friend.
The plague it places on your mind cannot itself contend, with what great strides it grants your flesh while bone and sinew knit But how a friend can wear a welcome thin if overlong does sit.
—Quillan
CARINA LEFT HER WEARY HUSBAND and went out to the courtyard. Lingering near the fountain, Divina and Nicolo looked up as she stepped out. Nicolo’s hand was on Divina’s belly, caressing the child—that wasn’t his? Carina stared. Did he treasure that baby because it gave him Divina? Or for its own sake? She looked at her cousin in a new light.
Unattractive in comparison to her brothers and especially to Flavio, Nicolo had never occupied much of her thoughts. And none of Divina’s, she was sure. Yet standing there together, they seemed content, Nicolo having grown in stature and comeliness by it. She joined them, but Nicolo’s hand remained on the swelling gathers of Divina’s skirt.
Divina smiled. “Nicolo thinks he can feel a kick.”
With a pang, Carina remembered her own baby’s soft flutterings. “Can he?”
“Try it.” Nicolo lifted his hand and motioned hers into its place.
Carina put her hand on Divina’s belly. “Do you feel it inside?” Carina looked into her sister’s face, trying not to envy her condition.
“Of course.” Divina waved her hand. “I’ve felt it some while now.”
A tiny thump touched Carina’s palm, and her eyes widened. “I felt it.”
“I told you.” Nicolo pulled Divina close to his side again. “He’s a strong one.”
“He might be a girl.” Divina nudged his ribs. “With a kick like Carina’s.”
Carina huffed. “She’ll have to work hard to aspire to that.” They laughed, Divina’s barb scarcely bringing a sting to Carina’s old pride. Having so recently kicked Mr. Pierce, she could hardly deny the tendency still existed, but she felt no need to defend herself. Maybe her oversensitivity had made more of Divina’s remarks than there ever was.
Anyway, it was Ti’Giuseppe she wanted to see, so she left them to each other and headed for his cottage. She tapped the door, then walked in.
Ti’Giuseppe was not in bed; he sat dozing by his stove, shoulders wrapped in a woolen blanket Flavio’s mother had woven for him. Carina crept close and kissed his cheeks, smiling when his gray filmed eyes opened and his lips parted. She held his face between her hands. “How are you, Tio?”
“Bene, cara. Dreaming of heaven.”
Her heart lurched in her chest. “Not yet, Tio. I need you still.”
He shook his head, smiling. “You have all you need in that young man and the little ones to come. Life is for the young.”
“And for the old. What would we do without you?” Tears stung her eyes again at the thought of Nonna’s absence. To consider Ti’Giuseppe passing away was too painful. But she knew he was frail, more so, perhaps, than he seemed. If he dreamed of heaven, was God preparing him to go? She caught his hand between hers and kissed his fingers.
“Life has been good to me, Carina.” His eyes warmed with the glow from his stove. “When it is time to leave this place, I will leave it content.”
“When the time comes. But not yet.” She squeezed his hand.
“I think I will see the little one.”
“Tio?”
He rested his head against the pressed wooden back of his chair.
“The baby.”
Carina glanced back to where she had left Divina. “Nicolo has felt it kick.”
“Not Divina’s baby.” Ti’Giuseppe tugged one edge of the blanket higher. “Yours.”
She looked into his face. What was he saying? That he would live to see her children? She could only hope so. But the old man did not know that her injuries might keep her from ever bearing a child. “Of course, Tio. You will bless my children.”
He closed his eyes. “This one, at least, I will bless.”
This one. A ripple ran through her. What do you mean? she wanted to ask, but his breathing had deepened, fluttering his lips over his gums. She slipped her hand out of his and stood. He was still dreaming, her dear Giuseppe. She let him sleep.
Back outside the day’s warmth soothed the ache he had brought to her heart. So much loss. Her baby, Nonna, and now fears for Giuseppe.