Susan Anderson - No More Brothers

“Sorry to detain your dinner. I won’t take long, but I wanted to assure myself that your spirits had returned.” Serafina took the infant from Graziella and ran two fingers over his forehead, then felt his pulse. “Much bleeding?”

“The usual.” She looked up at Serafina and forced another smile. “Don’t say anything to Rodolfo. If I could take back the words I spoke last night. I was just…”

“Nonsense. No need to explain.” Serafina felt Graziella’s pulse.

Teo ran a tongue around his lips. “Can I hold him?”

“Only for a moment. And be gentle, like I showed you,” Graziella said.

After Teo settled himself, Serafina handed him the baby. He stared at his brother a moment, then began rocking him.

His mother held out a restraining arm. “Not so hard. Easy, like you did last night.”

Teo slowed his rocking and smiled at his brother. He put the tip of his nose close to his brother’s and made faces. The baby stilled.

Graziella smiled.

Silence for a moment.

Finally Serafina said, “He’s a good size, too. You’re both doing well.”

Teo handed the baby back to his mother.

“Another hungry boy. I prayed for a girl, like I told you last night, but his family hasn’t had one in generations. Too many brothers for their own good.” Graziella looked at something indistinct and her eyes began to tear up. “I miss my family.”

Serafina felt a surge of pity for the woman. “I know you’re disappointed. It’s a mother’s right to be dispirited for a week or two after giving birth, but you’ll feel better in no time, mark me, especially if you take the medicinals I’ve brought you-one spoonful in the morning, another at night.” Although they weren’t close, she liked Graziella, remembered her from school where she had the reputation of being lively and independent-a bit of a prankster. Rosa, who knew everything, said her family was related to a prominent gun manufacturer near Brescia. “Trained in the hunt,” according to Rosa. Graziella was tall, had a regal bearing and a way with clothes. Serafina remembered her as a joyous woman until last year when her sisters were lost to cholera.

Reaching into her satchel, Serafina pulled out two bottles. “It’s Mama’s secret recipe for new mothers.”

“New mothers? That’s a laugh. Nothing new about me, I can tell you.”

Rodolfo, who had disappeared shortly after entering his home, emerged, brushing off his hands.

“Finished?” Graziella asked him.

He nodded. “A little rushed today, Donna Fina. You’ll have to excuse us.” He walked over, put his arm around his wife and gave her head a kiss before ushering Serafina out the door.

Serafina wriggled her toes as she left. They were stiff, cold, like the mood in the shoemaker’s home. She wondered what she could do to brighten Graziella back into her former luster.

Loffredo rose when Serafina entered his office. “I took a quick look at the corpse and found arsenic around Ugo’s mouth. Traces of the same compound were on the napkin and glass you gave me.”

She shivered. “I know the strega mixes it into her potions.”

“No need for the strega. The arsenic was a simple garden variety, easily obtainable, often sold by an apothecary. Popular rat poison. Giorgio kept it in his store, I’m sure. But he’d have kept a record of all purchases of a dangerous compound like that.”

She felt light-headed, tried to focus on a spot somewhere in middle distance.

He continued. “The autopsy will give me a better idea of just how much arsenic is present in Ugo’s tissues. Wound to his heart was fatal, but as I say, I will have to examine the corpse before I can issue cause of death.”

“I want to be reassured that there was poison in Ugo’s body.”

He stared at her.

What was wrong? Had she offended him?

The room began to spin.

When she woke up, Loffredo was kneeling by her side. Cradling her head, he held a linen with some wretched-smelling substance to her nose.

“You’re working too hard. You must take better care of yourself. I couldn’t bear it if-”

“Nonsense. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’ll be fine.” She sat up.

Without warning, he held her in his arms.

She pulled away. Their eyes locked and he drew her to him again.

She smelled his cologne, a powerful manly scent. Their lips almost touched before she regained her compass. “We mustn’t. Giorgio’s-”

“Giorgio’s dead, Fina. He’d want you to be happy. We were happy together once, remember?”

She nodded.

“I sense you still have feelings for me, and mine have never dampened. Never.” He brushed a stray lock from her forehead.

Before she could object, he kissed her full on the lips.

“Not here. Not like this.”

“Elena sailed for Paris last week.” He held her tight. “She and her crowd have discovered a new artist and they prepare his exhibit for a grand showcase. Doesn’t open until April and she won’t return until May or June. Come to me tonight after the others have retired. I’ll be waiting.”

She managed to wrench herself free.

How or when she started for home, she couldn’t say. But on the way, she decided once and for all she couldn’t go to Loffredo. Wouldn’t do. Giorgio lay in his grave not quite a year. She’d never stop loving him. Never. After shutting the gate, she glanced up at the smiling angel over the lintel and opened the door.

And yet …

She heard Maria’s piano wafting from the parlor. The rest of her family sat at table, laughing and eating their dessert, a cassata heaped with cream and sprinkled with orange rind. Such a welcome sight.

Serafina tossed.

The Duomo’s bells chimed midnight, half-past. She turned, tangled up in sheets. Slept. Woke. Worried about coins. Why would she venture into the Madonie on a hunch? Was she leading Carlo on a wild chase with no hope? What would they find-nothing or Don Tigro’s thugs smoothing over the evidence and ready to pounce? The bells in the campanile gonged two o’clock.

This tryst with Loffredo: she toyed with folly. Well, she’d been foolish before. Why must she weigh everything? She needed to talk to someone who understood. Talk? Who was she fooling?

Throwing off the covers, she pounded out of bed, opened the shutters. Her eyes swept the heavens, gliding over the ether like the rising moon. She leaned against the sash and pictured Giorgio, his body lean, his curls dripping neroli oil. The image vanished. She opened the window. Beyond the chestnut tree in the front garden, she could pick out moving shapes in the piazza next to the statue. Loffredo, waiting for her? Nonsense, he’d be in bed by now, their secret meeting forgotten. She pressed a hand to her cheek. No, not like him to suggest and forget. In the distance, she saw a ship moving in choppy waters. Quaffing the night air, she gave one last look at the stars before closing the shutters. After all, what was the harm-a few hours with an old friend.

She dressed quickly and made her way down the stairs with practiced stealth, grabbed her cape and midwife’s bag. Anyone who saw her would think she visited a woman in her final confinement. The door snicked behind her.

Should she hitch Largo to the trap? Silly, she could walk to his villa in five minutes. She brushed curls from her face, heard faint music coming from beyond the piazza, a flute perhaps. She continued on, hugging her cape and trying to still her pounding heart.

But near the fountain, she stopped. Such a fool. Did she really want Loffredo? She sat on a stone bench, listened to the hiss and spray of the water, and felt emptiness numb her.