The American Lady(143)

When Marie awoke, her nightgown was drenched with sweat. She had been dreaming, as so often during her illness. She tried to remember. She had to remember, it was important!

Marie drank some tea, but it tasted flat and dull.

She could hear Wanda’s voice from next door. She seemed to be speaking to Sylvie, or perhaps to the wet nurse. Not to Patrizia. She never used such warm tones with her. Marie had to smile. Dear Wanda. Faithful Wanda. Blood really was thicker than water. All of a sudden she remembered.

It hadn’t been one of those dreams where so many different people danced past her eyes that her head spun trying to follow them. No. This time it had been a very simple dream. She had seen her father. And a flame that went out. Not any old flame from a glassworker’s lamp—this was the flame of her life. The insight struck her so hard it knocked the breath clean out of her.

Why me? I don’t want to die now!

She pulled the covers over her head so that nobody could hear her whimpering. Tears ran down her cheeks.

There was so much she still wanted to do in her life! Her life was like a mosaic in which the most important pieces were still missing.

Johanna and Ruth . . . will I never see them again? They had always stuck together. Everyone in the village always called them the Steinmann sisters, as though they were one entity . . . and then she left without even once looking back. Forgive me, Johanna, forgive me!

What will happen to my baby if I die? Who will take care of Sylvie? Who will tell her that she can do anything she wants to in this life? That even a woman can make her own way? But that everything has a price. Will her father tell her that?

The thought of leaving Sylvie alone was more than Marie could bear. She tossed and turned like a wounded animal, whimpering softly.

I can’t die . . . I’m too young . . . there’s so much I have to do . . . who will do all that, if not me?

Helplessly, she put her hands together in prayer. She wondered what she ought to say at such a moment.

Neither she nor her sisters had ever been particularly religious. They believed in God, of course, and in Heaven, but the good Lord had never played any great part in their lives.

“Dear God, I implore you, make me healthy again. For Sylvie’s sake.” Marie’s voice was thick with tears and sounded strange in her ears. The whole prayer sounded strange. All the same she went on, “But if You must call me to You, then at least tell me what I can do for my child!”



It had been three days since Wanda arrived. She had just finished quickly washing up after another night spent at Marie’s bedside. The previous evening she had persuaded Patrizia to send Carla to fetch some of her luggage from the hotel, so she finally had some clean things to wear. Perhaps it would have been best to bring all of it, Wanda mused as she turned the handle to go into Marie’s room. But since Patrizia still hadn’t actually invited her to stay, she had decided to make do with the little traveling bag she had packed with those few things she needed for the journey itself.

“Marie! You’re awake!”

The sight of Marie sitting up in bed flooded Wanda with happiness. Perhaps the fever would break today; perhaps this was going to be the day they had all been waiting for . . .

Marie put a finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide open but they were clear and focused.

“I have something here that I want to give you before she comes back. Quick, take this, hide it.” She was holding a tattered little notebook in her hand. Her gaze darted nervously toward the door, as though she had stolen all the silver in the palazzo and was handing it over to Wanda.

“What is it?” Wanda whispered. Before she even had a chance to look at the book, Marie gestured to her to hide it. She only relaxed a little once Wanda had shoved the book down between her bodice and the top of her dress. Her unease was infectious, for now Wanda found herself glancing again and again at the door. At any moment the dragon might come in with the breakfast tray. It was almost a miracle that she hadn’t appeared yet.

“It’s my diary,” Marie whispered. “I’ve been writing it ever since January. Ever since they locked me away in here.”

“Locked you away?” Wanda frowned. Was Marie hallucinating again?

Marie raised a hand to stop any more questions. “I know that it sounds crazy. What you’re about to read is even worse than that. But it’s the truth.” She was speaking quickly, not even pausing for breath. “I want so much to tell you everything myself! But I’ve been talking such a lot of nonsense that you wouldn’t know what to believe. Perhaps it’s better if you just read it. Then you can ask me questions. Everything in that book is true, every word of it!” Marie’s voice became louder with the last few words and her chest was rising and falling as though she’d been running hard.