The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(82)
Arriving home, she tethered the horse in Papa’s courtyard and started toward the house. She had half a mind to pack her trunk and go. But now her fighting spirit was kindled. She would not run, and they would not win. If Quillan was willing to earn their approval, she would give him the chance.
Tony suddenly blocked her way. “That’s Flavio’s horse.”
“He lent it to me.”
“Where is he?” Tony looked out through the gate.
She shrugged.
“Carina.” He caught her arm. Of them all, Tony was closest in age and spirit. “Be careful.”
She looked into her brother’s face. “I shouldn’t have to be.” She walked by and went inside.
Strained with fury and frustration, she slept poorly and awoke in a temper. The mission bells were ringing at five o’clock Sunday morning, and she rose automatically and dressed. Without breaking their fast, the family filled two large carriages. Since Lorenzo still lived at home with Sophie, he drove one carriage with Ti’Giuseppe and Tia Marta, and Divina and Nicolo, who had walked over from their villa on Papa’s land, which Nicolo earned by working the fields.
Vittorio drove the second with the rest of them, and a third carryall rattled behind with the servants, driven by Jerome. It was almost a parade, Carina thought, who had never considered it before. Here we come, the DiGratias. She disembarked sullenly and approached the large wooden doors of the adobe Mission Chapel of St. Francis de Solano.
Its red-tiled roof was lined with pigeons that the huge bell, suspended out front from a massive timber arch, had failed to dislodge. She smelled the sweet scent of the prickly pear whose gnarled woody roots and flat thorny leaves stood as tall as she, copious with cone-shaped fruits from which the Indians made many dishes. Then there was the more pungent scent of the blue flowering rosemary—low, dusty green bushes planted the length of the front porch. And then the mellow, mysterious scent of the incense as she entered the chapel.
With her head veiled in black lace, Carina dipped her fingers into the black metal font on the back wall, genuflected, then started down the narrow aisle between the benches. The lower portion of the white plastered walls were striped in ochre, maroon, and turquoise, ornamented with simple geometric and plant designs. The altar rail and five-stepped pulpit were painted a variant green.
They were among the first to arrive, and the silence welcomed her. She closed her eyes for a moment and let its peace enter her. She opened her eyes to gaze at a Spanish painting of Gesù being stripped and mocked. A painting on the opposite wall showed men nailing him to the cross. As she sat between the scenes, Carina’s heart quailed.
She had seen these pictures day after day as she’d attended Mass with her family. But they had never touched her so deeply. Christ’s pain and humiliation. Was there any hardship she could complain of that He had not borne? So she was scorned by her family, in disgrace. Had Gesù not been taunted and spat upon? So her heart longed to be united with Quillan. Had Gesù not wept for Jerusalem to be united with God?
Her temper fell from her like discarded rags as she knelt and folded her hands in prayer. Once it had been only form, but then Gesù had revealed himself, taken her into himself. I am sufficient. He was asking her to trust.
There was a rustling as the Lanzas took their place in the pew opposite the DiGratias, and Carina saw Flavio, stone faced among them. How angry he must be, but he didn’t look her way. He forced a casualness that mocked the carved suffering of the eighth station of the cross above him on the wall. He was trying to look as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
Carina sighed, then lost herself in the ageless words of the Mass, chanted by the mission brothers and the priest. After Mass they went home to breakfast with everyone: Angelo and Renata with six-year-old Carlo, Joseph and Sophie with their daughter Marta and two-year-old Giovanni, Nicolo and Divina, and Sophie and Lorenzo. Tony had asked young Marianna Rossi to join them, and she shyly agreed. Carina looked at them all gathered around the long table, the young ones at a low table of their own. It could have been any Sunday of her life, except that somewhere her husband ate alone.
Outside the peace of the chapel, she was again besieged by fears and longing. If only Quillan sat beside her now, her life would be complete. Mamma made a fuss over Marianna as she hadn’t before. Was Marianna so much better a choice than the others had been, or was Mamma trying to show Carina how good it could be if she had looked closer to home?
Not only was she out of favor, she was watched even more closely.
All day Mamma found things for her to do, or her brothers warded her off. Flavio had, no doubt, told them of her escape, and they were determined not to make the same mistake. She should put her foot down and demand an end to the absurdity, but that could mean complete ostracism, and she was not willing to give up yet.
For four days there was no note at the desk, and Quillan went from the quarry to the store, grabbing a bite in between. Was he crazy? Why didn’t he go fetch his wife and take her away? She had offered Alaska the last time they spoke, and the thought was heady now as his ache for her grew.
But he knew she hadn’t meant it. If he tore her away, she might never heal. Her family was the most important thing; she’d said so herself. He had to find a way to win their acceptance, to prove himself worthy. Wasn’t he trying, working every day with her people to learn their ways, their language, even their gestures and mannerisms?