The Mermaid Garden(117)

“This must remain a secret,” he said seriously. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I’m glad you did, Dante. I gave myself to you willingly.”

“But you’re only sixteen. I could go to prison!”

“I won’t tell a soul. It’ll be our secret, I promise.”

Encouraged by her words, he kissed her forehead. “Now you’re really mine.”

“I always have been. From the moment you let me into your gardens, I was yours.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer.

“Don’t be sorry. Isn’t that the way it should be?”

Dante didn’t know, having never deflowered a woman before. As reality shone an unforgiving light onto his recklessness, he was left with the suffocating sense of having made a very deep commitment. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and kissed her temple, whispering “I love you,” over and over again.

Then he was gone.


Floriana waited for rain, but it did not come. She wanted the skies to cloud over and the rain to wash the summer away, so it couldn’t linger to torment her. But it lingered in long, hazy days and golden evenings, and she felt Dante’s absence as sharply as a knife to her chest.

When she went to La Magdalena, the family had left for Milan. The house was quiet—only the staff were there tidying up, closing shutters, and laying dust sheets over the furniture. Good-Night welcomed her in the same affectionate way he always had, but Violetta, Giovanna, Damiana, and Dante were all gone. She wandered around the gardens like a pining dog, besieged by the ghostly echoes of summer carried mournfully on the autumn wind.

School started again, but Floriana got a full-time job in a restaurant. The countess hired a private tutor for Costanza as the count’s summer of networking paid off, rewarding him with various offers of work. They began to discuss the very real possibility of returning to Rome. The two girls saw each other very rarely. Once they had shared everything, but now the gap between them widened, and their brief meetings, outside church after Mass, or sometimes in the town when Costanza came in to shop, were awkward. Costanza had made many friends over the summer; Floriana’s one friend was gone, leaving her isolated and alone.

Dante wrote daily, and Floriana replied, expressing her enduring love in small, deliberate handwriting. She treasured his letters and kept them in a drawer in her dressing table, tied with the pink ribbon Violetta had used to wrap her bracelet. Her diamond ring was her most vital link to him, and she cherished it, taking comfort from its value, which surely reflected his intentions to marry her eventually.

When she began to feel sick, she thought it was the result of not eating properly. But even the smell of food made her want to vomit. After a few days of constant nausea she worried that she might be very ill and went to see Signora Bruno. The old woman asked her a few probing questions about how often she had thrown up and for how long she had felt like this, and Floriana answered earnestly, afraid she was perhaps dying.

But Signora Bruno took her into her apartment and sat her down in the sitting room, closing the door behind her. She looked as stony as a grave and asked whether Dante had made love to her. At first Floriana was evasive, remembering the promise she had made. But when Signora Bruno suggested that she might be pregnant, Floriana admitted that he had.

“Is that how it happens?” she inquired innocently.

Signora Bruno shook her head, appalled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”

“Who was going to tell me?”

“Your aunt?”

“Zita? No, we never discussed it.”

“Curse that woman for her incompetence. What about Costanza?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“It’s not possible. Do you realize how serious this is? You’re going to have a child. How will we hide it?”

“Why would I want to hide it?”

“Because you are a child, my dear, and it’s against the law. Dante could go to jail. He’s a grown man; he should have known better. What came over him?” Signora Bruno wrung her hands. “What will Beppe Bonfanti do when he finds out? God help you.”

Floriana’s initial joy at not being terminally ill slid away as she now realized the gravity of her situation. “What am I going to do?”

“You go and speak to Father Ascanio at once. He is the only one who can help you.”

“Won’t I get Dante into trouble?”

“Father Ascanio’s a priest; he’s bound to secrecy. There’s not a secret of mine he doesn’t know. In fact, I suspect he knows all the secrets in Herba. He won’t tell and I won’t tell, so help me God.” She crossed herself. “But I can’t help you. I’m not equipped. He is the only one who will know what to do.”