The Good Left Undone(24)
Domenica had lost her partner, and when it came to finding buried treasure, she knew she needed one. The obvious choice for a replacement was her brother, but Aldo wasn’t bright, and he was lousy at following instructions, especially when they came from her, so it was unlikely she could bring him in on her plan.
The thought of going up the mountain alone made her uneasy. Domenica had heard the stories of Uomo Morto, the rock formation on the crest of the ridge on the mountaintop that looked like the face of a dead man. Only God could see his expression, she’d heard the boys in the village say. It was a massive image, one that was so startling, travelers had fallen off the edge of a nearby mountain when they came upon it. It must be a horrible thing! It must be avoided. If she ever had to travel north to Milano or Bergamo or Cremona, she would not go over the mountain; instead, she would stay close to the water, following the sea all the way north. She would not climb the marble hills, because she did not want to see the face of death.
Domenica turned over onto her side to sleep. She couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer to think. She licked her lips. Lingering there was the sugar from the bomboloni. She licked them again as her head nestled into the pillow. She was drifting off to sleep when she realized it wasn’t the sugar from the pastry that remained on her lips; it was something else entirely. It was the sweet taste of Silvio Birtolini’s kiss.
* * *
“Domenica!” her mother, Netta, called down to the street from the window. “Take two pails. One for Signora Pascarelli and one for me.”
Domenica looked up and waved to her mother. “Yes, Mama.” Domenica was glad her mother was speaking to her after the trouble with Aniballi, even if it was just to send her down the promenade for fresh water.
“I’ll make the eggs when you get back,” her mother promised before closing the shutters.
Instead of grabbing the pails, Domenica darted back into the house and up the stairs at a clip. Domenica found her mother in the kitchen, ran to her, and embraced her. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Netta held her daughter close and kissed her on her head. “Now go,” she told her.
Domenica flew back down the stairs. Outside the gate, Domenica unhooked the wooden pails from the post. She had turned to take the empty pails down the promenade when she saw a bundle on the step.
She placed the pails on the ground and picked up the bundle. It was addressed to her! Signorina Cabrelli. She opened the accompanying envelope carefully.
Cara Domenica,
You are a good friend. Thank you. The regalo was blessed by Don Carini.
Signora Vietro and Silvio
She untied the bundle, wrapped in clean burlap. Domenica lifted her apron out of the cloth. A small regalo wrapped in a bit of cloth was tied to the bundle with a ribbon. She untied the ribbon, setting the gift off to the side.
Domenica unfurled her apron. It was as white as the sun and the pristine clouds that covered it. There was no trace of Silvio’s blood anywhere on the garment! Even the patches were clean! She pulled the apron on over her head and fastened the button behind her neck. She buried her hands in the pockets. The pressed fabric held the scent of lemon and starch. Domenica realized how much she had missed her apron and its pockets when she no longer had one to wear.
Domenica sat down on the steps and opened the package. A small gold medal tumbled out. She examined it closely. Santa Lucia, the patron saint of vision, glittered in the morning light. She carefully wrapped the note and the medal in the cloth and placed it in her apron pocket. She picked up the empty pails and set off to the promenade to fill them with fresh water.
She felt the outside of the deep apron pocket to make sure the medal was safe inside it. She would not share the note or the medal with her mother, father, or brother. She would not even share it with the LeDonne girl, even though Amelia was known for keeping secrets better than any girl in Viareggio.
Domenica didn’t know a single person in the village who would be happy that the Birtolini boy had given her a gift. Domenica believed Silvio and his mother were good and kind, even if the people of Viareggio did not agree. Besides, only the most devout remembered to get a medal blessed before they gave it to someone. Signora Vietro and Silvio Birtolini had faith despite their circumstances; therefore, the girl accepted their talisman with humility. Domenica Cabrelli had the protection of a saint, and at eleven years old, she knew she would need it.
CHAPTER 9
Viareggio
NOW
Olimpio Roffo parked his car on the street in front of Boncourso’s garden. Olimpio was an amiable husband who looked forward to a hot meal and conversation with his wife after a long day of dealing with artisans and customers. The rain and traffic had been heavy on the autostrada. He took the back road that snaked over the hills in curves that followed the streams that led to the sea. The fog was heavy on the road, which made him overly cautious, so he drove slowly, which caused him to be late. He had a good reason to take his time. Olimpio had news for his wife and wanted to make it home safely to deliver it. Wouldn’t it be like fate to ruin a run of good luck before he had a chance to enjoy it? He turned off the engine. The rain was so heavy, he could barely see out the windows of the car.
He checked the sleeve of paperwork from Banca d’Italia by the light of his phone. He had signed the banknote for Cabrelli Jewelers’ new venture, which, he was certain, would be the last major move of his career. It was also, most likely, the last major move of his life.