The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(88)

“I do not have it. I threw it into the fireplace before Papà could see it.”

I gasped. “You destroyed it?”

“I had no choice. He would have killed us both. I am sorry. But I did manage to read it first.”

“You read it? What did he say? When is he coming?”

“He cannot leave.” She shook her head. “He wants you to go to America. He wants you to marry Ignacio.”

The air became scarce. I put my hands to my head. “No! Rico is my husband! How dare he ask me to commit adultery?”

Sympathy welled in her eyes. “Listen to him, Paolina. He loves you. He wants what is best. He refuses to raise the child in his homeland. It is a prison there. The people are desperate to escape. Have you not read the paper? East Germany is no place for a baby. He wants you to have a good life, and more important, he is trusting you to provide the same for his child.”

Tears blinded me.

“Think of the baby, Paolina. Not yourself. You can no longer be selfish.”

We walked arm in arm back home, each of us lugging a suitcase. I listened as she told me about her travel journey. She had concocted a story, telling our parents that I’d had a change of heart, that I no longer loved Rico. She was coming to get me. We would travel together to America. She had already said her final good-bye to Mamma and Papà.

“I have our papers, your passport, everything we need, in these suitcases. Our ship leaves from Napoli next month.”

“But Rosa, I am not going to America. I must wait for—”

She held up a hand, silencing me. “Mamma and Papà were so relieved, Paolina. Their daughter has come to her senses. They were worried I would have to make the journey to America alone.”

But I knew better. It was Rosa who was worried. She knew she must travel to Brooklyn, especially now that she was carrying Alberto’s child. And she still hadn’t given up on the idea that I’d join her. I forced myself to hold my tongue. When Rosa had her mind made up, there was no reasoning with her. Soon enough, she would find that I could be just as stubborn as she.

“I convinced Papà to purchase two tickets,” she continued. “Our ship leaves in six weeks. Which means . . .” She turned and looked me up and down. “You must deliver this child soon, so we can leave and start our new lives with Alberto and Ignacio, in America, land of the free.”



* * *





Five days later, on the seventh of August 1961, with the help of Signora Tuminelli, a grouchy midwife my sister found in the next village, Johanna Rosa Krause was born. She had thick, dark hair and blue-black eyes, and Rico’s dimple in her left cheek.

They say that motherhood changes a woman. That when she holds her child for the first time, something shifts. Priorities change.

I lay upon the fresh sheets, baby Joh asleep on my chest. I gazed down at her in awe, the miracle of life created by Rico and me. I studied her downy skin, the long lashes splayed against cheeks pink as a sunrise, the ten little matchstick fingers, each capped with a miniature pearl.

“Welcome home,” I whispered to her. “May the essence of kindness fill you. May you be blessed with goodness, and carry with you the best parts of me and the best parts of your father.” Tears blurred my vision. “Your papà may not be here, but he loves you. He—we—want only good things for you. You are going to have a wonderful life, full of opportunity and riches and joy. I promise you. And I promise him.”



* * *





Eight days later, Rosa blew into the apartment waving a newspaper. “They’ve built a wall!” she cried. “Two days ago, the free passage between East and West Berlin was sealed off with barbed wire. Today, they are building a wall out of concrete, five meters high.” She held one hand to her belly as she read from the article. “It will be topped with barbed wire, guarded with watchtowers and machine guns and mines.” She tossed the paper onto the table and took my hands. “Access to the West is closed, Paolina. Permanently. Rico will never return.”





Chapter 46




Emilia

I dab Poppy’s wet cheeks with a tissue, worried that the painful memories are too much for her fragile spirit. She leans back and closes her eyes.

“How could I celebrate the birth of my child while grieving the loss of Rico? The cruelty of the Berlin Wall was too much. I allowed my Joh to slip away. In my sadness, in the darkness of my despair, I didn’t realize how quickly she was fading.”

So that’s it. The Berlin Wall was erected. Rico was trapped. Poppy suffered from severe depression, so all-encompassing she didn’t even realize her baby was dying. I shudder, wondering what, exactly, happened to baby Johanna. Rosa was wise to bring Poppy to America. But she left all hope of Rico behind. Two hearts separated by war and wounds and a godforsaken wall. I kiss Poppy’s hand.

“I am so sorry.”

“Ditto,” Lucy says, her voice thick.

“Rosa’s waiting was finally over. We were both taken by surprise. When my sister arrived in Ravello, she wasn’t expecting motherhood to come so soon. She chose the name Josephina, after our mother’s mother.”

A shiver goes through me. One sister gives birth, the other buries her child. And the names—Johanna and Josephina—so very similar. Could the gods be any crueler? It’s no wonder Poppy transferred her love to Josephina.