The Inheritance: Chapter 5 - Part II (Updated 11/14)
Astral Faery:
LOL! I didn't even notice!
CuriousSimmer:
The Inheritance
Chapter One - Part IX
September 1945
While I was going through the pain of labor, in town at the Koenig Bakery, Erik and Adela Koenig were experiencing some discomfort of their own.
"What the hell was that?" Adela shouted so loudly that a cat scampered out from the alley between the garage and the bakery. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," Erik admitted. "Be quiet, someone will hear you. For the love of--just be quiet, all right, and we'll figure it out."
"We need to call the Commissar," said Adela forcefully as she drew the curtains on the window.
Adela made no move for the phone, however. She remained staring at the pinboard on the wall. "We had no idea," she said. "I can't believe it. We had absolutely no idea. This changes everything, don't you understand that?" She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking the rings loose in a burst of nervous energy.
"We might not have to call in the Commissar yet," said Erik darkly. "You know he'll just--"
"You don't understand. This was a stupid assignment, it was simple. Find the girl to leverage the Thornycrofts. The Americans weren't even supposed to be involved!" said Adela.
Erik stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It's possible that this is all just personal. He could just be--"
"Don't be stupid," Adela said. "An American soldier shows up in this town, at this time, just after we've set up shop?"
Five minutes later, Adela had dialed and been connected. "Leningrad; the Black Commissariat; clearance level highest; passcode 'Pride of Proletariat'," she said in her native Russian.
"Da, Commissar Ysadrov here."
"Commissar, we have a problem..." said Adela, twirling the cord for the phone around her finger nervously.
"I still don't know about this," said Erik as he settled into his seat. "I still think we should wait more and see how things go."
"It's too late now," snapped Adela. "We're, as they say, locked in. Perhaps we can benefit from Commisar Ysadrov's expertise. In the mean-time, get ready."
They both looked at the chair at the head of the table. Soon it would be occupied and soon, they hoped, they would make sense of this rapidly-complicating situation. And if they were lucky, they might just survive.
Three hours later...
Josephine.
The name meant nothing to me, and it meant everything. It wasn't a family name, or the name of a myth of which I was familiar. But every time I looked into the face of my beautiful baby girl, the only thing I could think was "Josephine". She was perfect; ten fingers, ten toes, and the smoothest skin I had ever felt.
I didn't want to go back to the problems that were swallowing my life, but I did. I left Josephine in her crib and went back downstairs, where Dante and Roger were glaring daggers at each other.
"Are you all right?" Dante demanded.
"The midwife left hours ago, where have you been?"
I gave a weary sigh and took a seat on the sofa with Dante. "Resting," I said.
"How's the baby?" Dante asked.
"Josephine Marie," I said with a smile.
"Can I see her?" asked Roger.
"Um..." I said. I didn't want to have him upstairs; it felt like he was intruding on my life, the life I was trying to build with Dante. But Roger was Josephine's father; I couldn't refuse. "Yes, all right, for a moment. Dante..."
"I'll wait down here," he said softly.
"She's beautiful," said Roger.
"Yes, she is. Roger, now that we're alone, I need to know what it is you want. You faked your death to get away from me; I can't imagine you've come to claim me."
"I realize now that I was wrong," said Roger earnestly. "I mistreated you, I know that now. I want to be a family, with you and little Josephine. What's the harm in that?"
"I've moved on, Roger. You're dead, remember?"
"But I'm not. In the eyes of God, we're still married."
"I don't think so, Roger."
"For God's sake, Lizzy!" he said loudly. Josephine began to wail, and I picked her up.
"Just go, Roger. Please go. We'll talk about this... tomorrow. Okay? Please, go." I comforted Josephine as Roger picked stood and then left. I held Josephine and looked into her face. Her facial features were mine: the slightly upturned nose, the formed cheekbones, the pink lips. But her eyes, I realized... her eyes were Roger's. And for the first time I began to consider that we were a family now. Did I have a responsibility to Roger, after all he'd done? Would he be a good father for Josephine?
These were questions I couldn't answer.
Astral Faery:
I can answer them - tell Roger to go take a hike, lol! I'm sure there's more to his side of the story, but so far he's really looking like a turd to me. We'll have to see if he can redeem himself. Baby Josephine is beautiful.
purpleshoes:
Awh, Josephine is so cute.
I don't like Roger. I think Lizzy should get rid of him somehow and marry Dante.
CuriousSimmer:
The Inheritance
Chapter One - Part X
September 1945
I didn't sleep the whole night, and in the morning I needed advice. I called the local cathedral and spoke to Father Bianchi. He invited me down to speak and pray with him, and I left Josephine in the care of Dante.
"What is troubling you, my child?" asked Father Bianchi. He was an older man, a native Italian, and a man of the cloth. "You look as if you've been through a storm."
"I have a question," I said. "A question about marriage. You see, I married a man named Roger four years ago. Shortly thereafter we became...estranged, but mindful of the church's teaching, we tried to work it out. He went away to war and I received a telegram saying he was killed."
"Yes, my child. The church is very clear on this. What is your concern?" asked the Priest.
"After my husband died, I came here to my family's villa. I met a man there and.. well, a relationship developed and he proposed to me and I accepted. This whole matter is complicated by the fact that, before he went off to war, I became pregnant with my husband's child."
"Are you thinking that, perhaps, continuing this relationship with this new fellow would be being unfaithful in the eyes of God? The Bible doesn't forbid remarriage after being widowed, my child." Father Bianchi patted my hand comfortingly.
"Well," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "The thing is, Roger...didn't die. He faked his death and has come back. He says he wants to be a family with me and our daughter, Josephine. But, Father, I'm not comfortable with this. Roger's deceit makes me uneasy."
Father Bianchi nodded thoughtfully. "The situation is not one that is covered in the scriptures," he said kindly. "I can only say that you should think about it and pray about it and in the end you must be guided by your conscience and the will of God."
The Father blessed me and said to come by if I ever needed anything, and led me to a prayer altar.
Kneeling under the cross, I prayed with all my might that God would grant me the wisdom to make the right choice, for me and for my daughter. Most of all, I wanted a safe, nurturing home for my family. My heart sang for Dante, but my Catholic sensibility said I was pledged to Roger.
As I left the church, I recalled the verse inscribed on the base of the cross at which I had been kneeling. Of all the promises that God had made his people, I felt his promise to be with us was the one that was least fulfilled.
Back at the Villa...
Dante came down the stairs when her hear my car in the drive. "Josephine is soundly asleep," he told me as he helped me out of my coat. I swept my hat off my head and tucked it in the closet before following him into the living room. "Let's open that champagne; we never got a chance last night."
"Here's to us," said Dante. I wanted to tell him everything, about being torn between faith and love, duty and self-indulgence. But I couldn't, not yet, not until I had made a final decision. And so I drank to us.
"Before I forget," said Dante, as he returned our flutes to the bar. "Come here, I want to show you something."
I went over and was shocked to find a service pistol on the table. "Dante, what in the world are you doing with that?"
A sudden wind swept over the hill, and gray clouds billowed outside. Dante said, "I don't like the looks of Roger. Something about him isn't right. I want you to be safe in case he tries anything."
As I looked down at the gun, a chill trailed down my spine. "I hope I never need to use it," I said quietly.
"So do I," said Dante, his eyes brooding.
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