Page 24 of The Girl from Sicily

24

LUCIA, MARCH 1944

When Pa arrived the next day, Lucia discovered that fourteen people had been injured by bullets or shrapnel from the grenade.

‘At least no one died,’ he said, stirring black-market sugar into the cup of ersatz coffee Lucia had brewed for him.

‘Thank God for that.’ Lucia shivered, sadness seeping through her. ‘Dinu had no business shooting at innocent people.’ Next time she saw him, she’d reprimand him for sure.

‘Don Nofriu put him up to it, I fear.’ Pa sighed heavily. ‘He told me on his way back to the mountains after going to see the capo about his pardon. But we can’t say or do anything because of the omertà code of silence. I said as much to your mother. We have to act as if nothing has happened.’

‘It’s a good thing Dinu was in disguise,’ Lucia said. ‘How will I tell Gero?’

‘Chances are he won’t have found out.’

Lucia had only received one letter from Gero in the six weeks since he’d left. It had been routed via Algiers and had taken an age to arrive. She hoped he would get some leave soon; she missed him with an ache that cut deep into her heart.

The Separatist army uniforms on the kitchen table captured her attention. Loose tunics, yellow on one side and red on the other, the colours of Sicily. She’d been tasked with sewing the three-legged emblem onto each breast. Annita and Ma had also become seamstresses for the movement, and they’d done a fine job. Would Dinu ever get to wear one of the uniforms? By throwing in his lot with the godfather, could he have jeopardised his position as colonel? But perhaps he would fight for Cosa Nostra and the Separatists at the same time? After all, both organisations were in cahoots…

Pa took his leave of Lucia, and she got on with her spring cleaning. It would be Easter soon, and tradition called for her to thoroughly wash the household linen, scrub the red-brick floors even more vigorously than usual, and polish the walnut furniture with beeswax. Since their wedding, Gero had added to their collection, and had bought a dining-room table with a sideboard, as well as a cabinet in which he’d placed porcelain crockery and glassware.

He truly was the most generous of husbands, and Lucia couldn’t love him more.

* * *

The next morning, Lucia woke with the sparrows. She listened to them chirping, stretched lazily, then drew back the blankets. Sudden nausea gripped her, and she barely made it to the chamber pot in time to vomit. Her skin felt cold and clammy. Had she eaten something that had disagreed with her?

The sickness soon passed, and Lucia got on with her day. She was hoping for a letter from Gero, but none arrived. Evening came, and she’d been on her own in the baglio the entire time.

I can’t carry on like this , she thought. I need to work in the fields as there’s no one else to do it. In Sicily, women didn’t labour on the land, but Lucia couldn’t care less. The baglio was hers, and she wanted it to be as productive as possible. No one knew how long it would be before the war ended, and she planned to sell her produce at honest prices.

The following morning, she sat at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her. She breathed in the rich aroma and, once more, nausea swelled up from her stomach. Her feet skidded on the wet earth outside as she ran to the privy to be sick.

Back in the kitchen, she took the calendar off the wall and did some rough sums in her head. She hadn’t had her monthlies since December. Could she be pregnant?

She touched her hands to her belly and tried to imagine a tiny life growing inside. But the idea seemed too good to be true. Much as she’d love to have a baby with Gero, for them to become a family, her bleeding could be delayed for a different reason. She’d never been regular.

But neither had she been this late before.

After the nausea had subsided, she went outside to work on the land. She resolved to concentrate on the fields nearest the baglio, which were just about manageable, so she spent the rest of the morning hoeing out weeds from the ground where she planned to plant tomatoes and beans.

It was a mild spring day, and the landscape was awash with green. Lucia loved this time of the year when the countryside was carpeted in bright orange, lilac, yellow and crimson wildflowers, and the almond trees had burst into beautiful white and light pink blooms.

She ate a bowl of spaghetti with pesto sauce for her lunch, then tiredness overwhelmed her and she went to take a nap. On waking, she felt lonely for company and set off for the village to visit her mother and sister.

* * *

A chilly wind had sprung up as Lucia made her way along the winding track to Villaurora. She hugged her coat around her and soon she’d arrived at her old front door.

Ma enveloped her in a warm hug, kissing her loudly on both cheeks, and Annita joined in before going to make coffee for them all.

Lucia sat at the rectangular wooden table. She lamented with Ma about Dinu getting involved with Cosa Nostra, but they both agreed there was nothing to be done.

‘He’ll find his own way in life,’ Ma said, sighing.

Lucia lifted her coffee to her lips, but nausea washed through her and she put the cup down.

‘You’ve gone pale,’ Ma said, patting her hand.

‘The smell makes me feel sick.’

‘Is this what I think it is?’ Ma’s face broke into a smile.

‘I’m not sure.’ Lucia shook her head. ‘I mean, I’m late, but there could be another explanation.’

‘Lateness coupled with nausea?’ Ma chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. You’re pregnant, my girl. And about time.’

Lucia’s cheeks grew hot. She’d never shared with her mother about her reluctance to consummate her marriage until she was certain that she loved Gero.

‘I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt.’ Annita leant across the table and gave Lucia a hug.

‘And I’ll be a nonna.’ Ma’s voice bubbled with delight. ‘You’ve made me so happy, my dear.’

Joyful tears filled Lucia’s eyes as she finally allowed herself to accept she was having a baby.

‘What’s it like giving birth?’ she asked her mother. It was a question she’d kept to herself until now.

‘You and your brother were pulled from my body on our kitchen table by a midwife, Lucia.’

‘Why the kitchen table?’ she asked, wide-eyed.

‘To prevent the bed from getting soiled.’

‘Did it hurt?’ Lucia leant forwards.

‘You were both big babies, so the midwife had a difficult time as my pelvis was so small. I thought you were going to kill me.’

‘Is that why you waited five years before having Annita?’ Lucia asked.

‘I forgot the pain once you and Dinu were in my arms. We decided to have more children almost immediately. But the good Lord saw fit to make your pa and me wait for Annita.’ A shadow crossed Ma’s face. ‘And afterwards I became barren?—’

‘I’d thought it was because you just wanted to limit the number of kids you had,’ Annita said.

‘In New York, that wouldn’t have been frowned upon. But here in Sicily, the size of a man’s family is a matter of pride. People criticise his virility every year that he does not produce another child. I feel so sorry for your pa.’

‘Pa thinks the world of you, anyone can see that.’ Lucia wrapped her arms around her mother. ‘Don’t feel sorry for him.’

Lucia spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening with her mother and sister, then made her way back to the baglio before darkness fell.

The next morning, she suffered from nausea again and was just about to head down to the village to visit the doctor and get her pregnancy confirmed when the sound of a motorcar engine alerted her that someone was coming up the road.

Could it be Gero, about to surprise her? She hastily checked her appearance in the mirror on the wall of their sitting room, then rushed into the courtyard.

The bell was ringing, so it couldn’t be Gero. Lucia swung open the big rustic door and took a step back in shock when she saw Gaetano Sacca standing there. She offered her hand in greeting and wished him good morning. It would be impolite to ask why he was visiting, but she expected it had something to do with the Separatists.

‘ Buon giorno , Lucia.’ Gaetano Sacca bowed over her hand and kissed the air above it. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news. Is there somewhere we can sit?’

Her stomach grew heavy with dread. Something must have happened to Dinu. She led Gaetano into her living room and indicated towards the armchair while she sat herself on the sofa.

‘I received a phone call from Palermo this morning, relaying a message from Charles Rinelli.’ Gaetano made direct eye contact with Lucia. ‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, Lucia, but Gero was killed last week in a Luftwaffe bombardment. I’m so sorry, my dear.’

The blood drained from her face and she shook her head in disbelief as coldness gripped her, squeezing her heart in its icy grasp. Her entire body started to shake.

‘It can’t be true. Not my Gero—’ She clung to the words like a lifeline.

‘He was among over three hundred people who lost their lives. There wasn’t time for an air-raid warning and they were caught out in the open.’

The room swam around Lucia. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to faint. A sob welled up from deep inside her, and she emitted a cry that sounded like a wounded animal.

‘I should have brought a member of your family with me.’ Gaetano leapt off the chair and sat next to her. ‘Can I take you down to the village?’ He held her hand.

‘No, thank you, but I think I’d like to be alone,’ she said, her voice choking.

‘Are you sure? I mean, I could fetch your mother and bring her back here, if you like?—’

‘If that’s not too much trouble—’ She took a shaky breath.

‘No trouble at all.’ Gaetano got to his feet. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

When the rumble of the car engine had subsided, Lucia headed for the bedroom. There, she buried her face in Gero’s pillow and inhaled the vestiges of his scent. How could he be dead? Not Gero. He’d been so full of life, so charming and so generous. Why had fate dealt him such a blow? It wasn’t fair. He’d only been in his early twenties. Far too young to die.

She cradled her abdomen. How cruel that Gero had never known she was expecting their baby. She hugged the pillow and wept until she had no tears left.

Later, she wandered around the baglio, thinking about Gero and remembering the happy times they’d spent together. The kitchen spoke of meals shared and laughter. The sitting room of cosy evenings by the fire. The dining room of entertaining visitors. How was it possible that Gero would never set foot in the baglio ever again?

She made her way over to the ceramic figure he’d cemented into the wall by the entrance door and ran her fingers over the cool turquoise ceramic. Gero had put it there for her and every time she looked at it, she’d be reminded of him. A sudden thought occurred to her. Had he suspected what the future held when he’d signed the baglio over to her? Surely not – he was just being pragmatic, wasn’t he?

The distant sound of a car engine alerted her to Gaetano returning with her mother. She swallowed rapidly to dispel the thick ache in her throat. A feeling of numbness had come over her. But when Ma stepped into the courtyard and opened her arms, it was as if a dam had burst. Lucia ran to her and sobbed her heartbreak into Ma’s comforting chest.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Gaetano said, shuffling his feet.

Ma thanked him, then put her arm around Lucia and led her back indoors. She sat her down at the kitchen table and took her hand.

‘You must be strong for your baby, daughter,’ she said. ‘Thank God the baglio is in your name.’

‘I would like you, Pa and Annita to move in here. Also Dinu when he’s been pardoned.’ The idea had just come to Lucia. ‘It’s what Gero would have wanted, I’m sure.’