“Shhh, lie still. We’ll talk later. We have plenty of time . . .” Wanda murmured. She put her arms around Marie and rocked her back and forth like a baby.
Marie never wanted to leave this loving embrace. She was so happy and yet she had to cry. Soon Wanda’s shoulder was wet with tears.
“You see, she’s already becoming overexcited!” Patrizia hissed from over by the door.
“She’s crying because she’s happy!” Wanda answered. Then she let go and gently urged Marie back down onto the pillows. “Your mother-in-law says that you must rest. I’m not allowed to agitate you or she’ll throw me out,” she said and gave Marie a conspiratorial wink.
Patrizia immediately stepped closer. She hadn’t understood what Wanda had said to Marie in German, but she knew that it had been about her.
Wanda, here—this is a gift from God! Dear Lord, thank you! I have to use this time. The dizziness might come back at any moment. All these voices in my head, the . . . Marie blinked away her tears.
“I . . . I’m well. I’m just a little weak still.” She tried to smile. It was good to have her head clear again. She was filled with the hope that everything would be all right. “Have you seen my daughter? Sylvie? Isn’t she beautiful?”
“And she’s so strong! The wet nurse says she’s as big as a boy. No wonder the birth left you feeling tired.”
Make Patrizia leave us alone, Marie pleaded silently. There’s so much I have to tell you. But I can’t when she’s looking at me with those sharp eyes of hers.
“Sylvie de Lucca—what a beautiful name! Wait till you see all the things Johanna bought for the baby!” Wanda laughed, just a shade too merrily. “There are some little dresses in case she turned out to be a girl. And we bought pants for a boy . . .”
Not de Lucca, Steinmann, Marie screamed inside. How was she going to explain all this to Wanda with Patrizia in the room? She shut her eyes. She would rest for a moment, then . . .
Not de Lucca. Not anymore. Sylvie Steinmann, that’s what she’ll be called.
When Marie woke up Wanda was still sitting by her bed. She was holding Sylvie in her arms. The picture was so wonderful that Marie began crying again.
“Doesn’t she look just like a Steinmann?” she whispered through her tears. “She has the same blonde hair that my mother had. And that you had when you were a baby . . .”
“Do you think so?” Wanda asked, smiling. “Franco won’t be very pleased when you tell him that the baby looks more like our family than his . . .” She pointed vaguely over to the door, where Patrizia was standing watch.
Marie laughed and then immediately wished she hadn’t. She suddenly felt so dizzy that she had to grasp the side of the bed. She moaned softly.
Don’t faint. I have to tell Wanda everything; I have to get Sylvie to safety . . .
“Can’t you see that your visit is harming the patient?” Patrizia hissed. “I am sorry, Signorina Miles, but if you cannot see for yourself that you must go, I shall have to fetch my husband.”
“No! Let Wanda stay. I don’t want to be alone!” Marie cried, gripping Wanda’s hand. “You can’t throw her out! This is my home as well!” she screamed hysterically at the doorway.
Wanda was startled. Looking at Marie, she saw that her aunt’s eyes were wide with fear. She made soothing sounds such as she would use to comfort a frightened child.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay here until you’re quite healthy again. And nobody is going to throw me out,” she said, glancing at Patrizia.
Marie shut her eyes again. Oh, but she was afraid. Afraid that her time would run out.
30
The next few days were the worst in Wanda’s life. Whenever she thought back on that time with Marie, she saw a kaleidoscope of hope, fear, and dreadful despair turning and turning in her mind’s eye.
Once she saw how ill Marie was, Wanda refused to leave the room except to go to the bathroom. She toyed with the idea of sending a telegram to Johanna to tell her about Marie’s poor health, but to do that, she would have to leave the palazzo. So Wanda decided against it. What good would it do Marie if Johanna worried herself sick? It was better not to get in touch with Lauscha until there was good news.
Wanda sat by Marie’s bed day and night. When Marie was asleep, she snatched a little sleep for herself in an armchair that she pulled over to the bedside. But when Marie was feverish and delirious, Wanda forced herself to stay awake. It was frightening to see Marie in such a state. She talked to people who weren’t there and sometimes she cried out, but Wanda couldn’t understand anything other than a couple of names and some scraps of words. It was during these hours by Marie’s bedside that she first understood how many kinds of laughter there were: sometimes Marie giggled like a little girl, sometimes she gave a full-throated laugh of merriment, sometimes she cackled like an old woman who had lost her wits. At such moments, she was in a world where nobody could follow her. It was especially bad when she lay there with a forlorn smile on her face. She looked so lonely then that Wanda felt compelled to hold her in her arms and caress her, never wanting to let her go.