The Inheritance: Chapter 5 - Part II (Updated 11/14)
CuriousSimmer:
The Inheritance
Chapter 2 - Part I
November 1961
I was at Adela's one day buying a loaf of bread when I heard that a new family had moved to the neighborhood. (Even after she opened the new bakery, Adela never did lose her knack for having the freshest gossip in addition to the pastries.) Josephine and I went over to the new family's house, which was situated on the outskirts of town. It was tiny but clean, and I could tell that there was a lot of care that went into the house.
As I rang the doorbell, I glanced back to find Josephine, who was distracted by something I hadn't noticed before: the motorcycle parked in the driveway. "Come along, Josephine," I told her, jerking my head towards the door. She hurried to my side as the door opened.
"Hello," I said with a smile to the brown-haired woman who answered the door. "I'm Elizabeth Moretti, this is my daughter Josephine. We wanted to come over and drop by a cake to welcome you to the neighborhood." I offered her the bag that contained the cake I had baked earlier in the day.
"Oh, how lovely," said the woman in a warm Irish brogue. "I hope you'll come in for a slice and a cuppa!"
As we set to work (her brewing coffee and me slicing the cake), she introduced herself as Judith O'Reilly and told Josephine to "have a seat, dear, let me call my son to keep you company. Donovan!"
A bedroom door opened and a young man about Josephine's age stepped out. "Sit down, would you please, and have a chat with Mrs. Moretti's daughter," said Judith as she gathered coffee cups.
I watched them as I sliced the cake; Josephine was shy and quiet, but there was something guarded about Donovan. He spoke only in response to Josephine's questions.
We all sat down to cake and conversation. "You're Irish, then?" I asked kindly as I took a sip of my coffee.
"Yes, I am. And you're American. I'm told there are several foreigners in the area," said Judith. "Is that right?"
"Oh, yes. Well, less now than before. But there's me, a British family that owns a home here, and the baker, Adela, she's...German." I smiled over my coffee; part of my friendship with Adela was to keep her secrets. "By the way, it's the best bakery in town, you really must try it."
"Thank you, I shall. What does your husband do, Mrs. Moretti?"
"He's a caretaker for several properties in the area. And what does Mr. O'Reilly do?"
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," said Judith as another door opened. "David, come say hello to our neighbors."
David was like a grown-up Donovan. He waved dismissively and said, "Ladies. Keep an eye on him, would you?" The later part, I guessed, was addressed to Judith.
"Yes, dear. Have a nice day at work." Judith smiled as her husband left, then turned her attention back to us. We had more small-talk as we finished the cake and coffee and then Josephine and I excused ourselves. "Thank you so much for the cake and company. Goodbye!" Judith said as she saw us out.
That evening, across town, my friend Adela had closed up her shop and was preparing to spend one more night in a long line of them alone. These bouts of melancholy didn't make sense to her; she had had a remarkable life. She had traveled to six continents in the past fifteen years, trying to forget the sins of her past and the friends she'd lost.
She had many acquaintances, some friends, and close allies. She had memories and mementos and more money than she knew how to spend in a numbered Swiss account from her days in the Soviet secret service. But there was something missing, something big and something important.
As she flipped listlessly through a magazine, she couldn't focus on the pages and the pictures. Adela knew that if she continued on her current path, she would go crazy from lack of social contact.
And so Adela phoned me. "Elizabeth, it's Adela. Are you busy?"
"Not at all," I said.
"I was thinking. I'd like to start a sort of... social club for the ladies of our neighborhood. I'm going crazy alone in my bakery; normally I would just take off on another vacation, but I can't think of anywhere I'd like to go."
I laughed; that did sound like Adela's usual plan of action. "Well how can I help, dear?"
"I can supply the food, but I don't have a venue. I was hoping..."
I cut her off. "Of course, of course. Dante and the children are gone in the day, we could have it at the villa."
"Oh, wonderful. We can be co-hostesses!"
"Excellent, darling, excellent. Listen, can I call you in the morning, I've got to get the roast out of the oven."
"Of course. Good night, Elizabeth. And thank you."
The next morning...
While Adela and I were hashing out plans, old friends were returning like birds coming back from their winter migration...
"I was reluctant at first," said Lady Thornycroft, her eyes sweeping over the house that her husband built twenty years ago. "But damned if I don't feel wonderful just being back."
"And the doctors say it's good for you," said Grant, Lord Thornycroft as he helped her up the stairs. "And for Eleanor."
"Yes," said Lady Thornycroft, glancing up towards the attic before turning to give a warm smile to her daughter. She reached out and took her hand, squeezing lightly. "All of us together again."
Upstairs, Eleanor was settling into her bedroom--on the second floor, with a door that locked only from the inside. Esther came in and leaned against the fireplace, catching her breath from the stair trip. "Are you comfortable, Ellie?"
"Yes, mother," said Eleanor, whose communication skills had improved greatly over the years of treatment she had received. "It's lovely. Much nicer than...the other."
"I know, darling. Oh, come here, please." Lady Thornycroft spread her arms.
"I'm so sorry, Eleanor. I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you. Can you ever forgive me for being a foolish, vain old woman?"
"Of course, Mother. Everyone makes mistakes." Eleanor hugged her mother tightly.
Esther rocked back and forth on her feet, whispering in her ear: "I was so stupid, Eleanor. So, so stupid. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Fifteen years had passed since I first came to the villa. Then, it was a refuge from widowhood, a quiet place to wait and give birth to my daughter. But now it was more than that. It was my home, my family's home. I was surrounded by friends and the beautiful Italian countryside.
If only I had known then that the idyllic country peace would soon be shattered.
SimKween:
BUM BUM BUUUUUUUM!
CuriousSimmer:
The Inheritance
Chapter 2 - Part II
November 1961
I walked Dante out to the driveway the following morning. He had to survey a property a few hours outside town and wanted to get an early start. As we walked out together, I asked: "Will you be home for lunch? Remember that I'm having the ladies over, but I'm happy to leave a sandwich in the icebox or some leftover meatloaf in the oven."
"That's all right, I'll go to that diner on the highway."
"Don't you like my meatloaf?" I asked, giving him a mock pout. "You always have second helpings."
"I don't like your meatloaf," Dante said after giving me a goodbye kiss. He climbed into his car and rolled the window down so he could look back up at me. "I love your meatloaf. But I don't want to ruin your tea party. Have a nice time, my love."
I waved him off as he drove away, then turned and picked up the newspaper and walked back into the house. I had preparations to make for the ladies' gathering that day.
Meanwhile, across town...
Angela Giorelli had no idea that, in a few hours' time, all the ladies in the neighborhood would be meeting without her. Indeed, in the five years since she had moved to her modest country house just down the hill from the my villa, she had never been invited to an event at which I would attend.By virtue of being married to the man who had conspired to kidnap my daughter, Angela was persona non grata in my social circle. But what she didn't know about the activities of the other women in the neighborhood wouldn't hurt her.
Besides, Angela had other matters to occupy her mind and her time.
For much of her 15 year marriage to Giovanni Giorelli, Angela had believed that compromise was the key to a successful marriage. And so she agreed to live in the city (which she hated) to support her husband's law career.
But when Giovanni was implicated as an accomplice to Roger Williams' kidnapping of baby Josephine, Angela received just the leverage she needed to make certain changes to her lifestyle. You see, Giovanni's actions extended far beyond arranging a safe haven for housing a stolen baby on that fateful night. Angela's leverage was permanent; the statute of limitations on her husband's crimes had no expiration.
And so it occurred to Angela as she looked around the front yard of her modest villa that the key to a successful marriage was still compromise. And though her husband Giovanni hated her more each day for forcing him to live in the country, it was much easier to compromise...
...because, anymore, it wasn't Angela doing the compromising.
A few hours later...
After I had bundled the children off to school and picked up the house, the ladies arrived, Adela with a few bags of goodies. We decided that, because it was such a lovely day, we should have coffee out on the backyard patio.
The conversation was somewhat limited. After all, Judith didn't know anyone there, and even after I introduced her she limited herself to observing and answering questions directed to herself. Eleanor Thornycroft was shy and self-conscious, and her mother seemed unwell, often staring into space at nothing in particular.
Adela, though, was in her element. She sat opposite me at the head of the table and behaved as the social butterfly that she longed to be. As she chatted away to Judith, Esther, and Eleanor, I thought she looked happier than she had in a long time.
After we finished our coffee, I wanted to give Adela a chance to be a solo hostess. "I'm going to go wash out the coffee cups and bring out the sandwiches. If you'll excuse me, please. No, Adela, you stay and entertain your guests!" I waved Adela away and she sank back to her seat to continue talking. Next to me, Judith sprang up before I could refuse her help.
"Thanks for your help," I told Judith as we walked into the kitchen, each with an armful of coffee mugs.
"Not at all," said Judith cheerfully. "But to be perfectly honest, I'm afraid my motives weren't entirely altruistic. I wanted to get you alone and ask you a favor."
"Oh really?" I asked as I filled up the sink with hot, sudsy water. "What can I do for you, Judith?"
"First of all, let me ask. Miss Josephine--does she speak Italian?" asked Judith.
"Yes, of course. All the schools are Italian here, naturally." I began to wash the cups in the sink, carefully rinsing each one afterwords and placing it in a dish rack.
"That's exactly right. My Donovan, though, he's having trouble with Italian. I was hoping that we could procure Miss Josephine's services as a tutor. We would pay her, of course," Judith added nervously as she began to dry the cups from the dish rack.
"Well, it's up to her, of course. When she comes home from school this afternoon I'll ask her about it. If you leave me your telephone number I'll have her call you with her decision." I went to the refrigerator and picked up a tray of sandwiches. "Could you get the sun tea off the windowsill, Judith, and bring it out to the patio?"
"Of course," said Judith happily. "Oh, that's wonderful!" said Judith. "That's such a relief. I do hope she'll help him."
We went back out to the patio and continued the party, which broke up soon after the finger sandwiches were eaten with promises to meet again on a regular basis.
Later that night...
I went to tuck the children into bed that night. Josephine and Lara were asleep in the girls' room, and Andre was dozing in his bed in the boys' room. Marco, however, sat quietly at the desk in the childrens' common room, sketching in a notebook. "Sweetheart, it's time for bed. You have school in the morning."
"Yes, mother. May I just finish this?" he asked, gesturing at his notebook. "It'll only take a few more minutes."
"Is it homework?" He shook his head. "Then it will keep until the morning." I bent to kiss him on top of his head, his smooth black hair so reminiscent of his father's against my cheek.
"Yes, mother." He packed his notebook up in his bookbag and went off to bed, his face downcast. For a moment, I wanted to stop him, to ask if the melancholy shadow that crossed his face was my imagination. But then he was gone, disappearing into his bedroom. The door shut across my inquiring gaze.
The next morning...
I went to bed the previous evening concerned about my son and woke up feeling the same concern. As I waited for Dante to finish brushing his teeth so I could do my morning routine, I finally lost control and had to ask: "Dante, do you think Marco is happy?"
"What?" he asked, stepping out of the bathroom with a touch of toothpaste on his chin. "Why shouldn't he be? He's doing well at school, he's strong in his faith, he has good friends."
"I don't know why he shouldn't be," I confessed, watching as Dante shook his wet hair loose with his fingers. "But sometimes, maybe it's the lighting, I look at him and he looks...lonely. Am I being ridiculous?"
"No, darling," he said, wiping his chin off with the back of his hand. "You know, when I was about his age, my mother arranged for me to sit down with Father Bianchi to discuss what I wanted to do with myself. Maybe we ought to do the same for Marco."
I stood and embraced my husband. "This is why I love you, Dante. You always know what's best." But even as his arms encircled my waist, I couldn't bring myself to discuss my darkest anticipation: that Father Bianchi might tell us something about Marco that we didn't want to hear.
eefje00704:
Ooh you always manage to keep the tension up!
Daizzie21:
*Gasph* Oh! My GOD!
I have a suspicion on what it might be but I'll wait and see. :)
Love your story, keep them coming. ^_^
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