“I know,” Orlando said. “Why did you even agree to go home? It’s too dangerous. It was bad enough that Father came back early and caught us at his shop; we should have left before things became so complicated.”
“Things are already complicated,” Dante pointed out. “And it’s important for us to go home—if only for a day.”
“But is today really the best day?” Orlando asked, flicking a glance toward his father. “You heard what he said about the Sons of Italy. If he knew the truth—”
“You handled it fine back at the shop. He doesn’t know what happened, and he doesn’t have to know.”
“Then why? Why risk everything with a trip home?”
Dante was quiet, his fingers idly tracing patterns on my leg that was pressed up against his. “Father said the authorities had captured the last member of the conspiracy.” He turned his face to his brother. “That was me. He was talking about me and didn’t even know it.”
Orlando paled and Dante swallowed.
“I’m currently locked in the dungeon at the courtroom, waiting for judgment. Waiting for my turn to go through the black hourglass door.”
I focused on Dante’s finger, slowly realizing that he was writing my name on my leg: the round swoop of the A, the double Bs, the elegant Y, complete with a little hook on the end.
“Imagine what it must have been like for Mother and Father,” he continued. “You send your oldest son to war, only to receive word that he died in battle—never knowing it was a lie.”
Orlando opened his mouth, but Dante overrode him as easily as if he had seen the beginnings of his brother’s protest.
“I know what they offered you in exchange for your cooperation—a hero’s death and a life of exile. But even believing your son died as a hero doesn’t bring him back. And there was never a funeral, never a chance to say good-bye.”
Orlando looked down at his hands, locked into fists in his lap.
Dante’s voice was relentless. “Imagine what happens to that sorrow, that grief, when you then learn that your second son has vanished without a trace. At best, there is no story to explain his disappearance, and you spend the rest of your life hoping for some word, some kind of answer. At worst, you are visited by the same officials who broke your heart the first time, and who have come to tell you that your second son was executed as a traitor to his country.”
From where I sat, I could see Alessandro’s face in profile. His strong jaw, the slope of his nose, the black-and-gray hair that held a hint of a curl. “It must have been awful for them,” I murmured. “To lose both of their children at the same time like that . . .”
Orlando licked his lips, his voice a dry rattle. “I didn’t think . . . I didn’t know.”
Dante kept tracing my name, a hint of gold peeking out from the cuff of his sleeve as he moved his hand over my leg. “When I came back, I knew I wanted to have our family together again. Even if it was only for one day. Even if it’s only to say good-bye. I owe them that much, at least.”
We were all quiet for a moment, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
I couldn’t help but think that with time bleeding out of Dante, his good-bye to his family might be a literal one. I stopped that train of thought; we would find a way to fix what was broken.
I leaned my head against Dante’s shoulder, shifting as the wagon hit a particularly bumpy patch of road. The wind blew bitter cold, and I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders.
“Oh, yes, I know lots of stories,” Valerie said to Alessandro, her cheerful voice sounding loud in the brief lull of our own conversation. “Do you want me to tell you one about a pirate?”
“I suppose your parents must be worried about you, Abby,” Orlando commented. “I mean, if they know where you are.”
I half laughed. “I’m more worried about my parents right now than they are about me.”
“Why is that?”
“Do you remember how we saw the river fraying? Different streams branching off in different directions?”
Orlando nodded.
“Well, long story short, my parents are trapped in one of those loose threads. The river is dangerously unstable and unless we do something—and soon—my whole family will be lost in time.”
“We’ll find them, Abby,” Dante said. “We’ll bring them back.”
“I hope so,” I murmured, thinking back to the ghostly visions of my family I’d seen on the bank. I didn’t want that to be the last image I would ever see of them. “Dad hated being lost,” I said, my mind drifting back over a lifetime of memories. “But he would never ask for directions. Made my mom crazy. I remember the summer we took a family vacation to the Grand Canyon when I was thirteen. You’d think it would be easy to find. I mean, it’s only a huge canyon in the middle of the desert, right? But we drove in circles for a whole day before Mom insisted that we stop and ask someone where we were supposed to go.” I laughed a little at the memory. “Everyone was so mad. Mom and Dad were mad about being lost, and Hannah was mad because she’d finished her book hours before and hadn’t thought to bring an extra.”
“What about you?” Dante asked. “Were you mad?”
“Me?” I grinned. “I was furious. All the driving around made me sick, Hannah kept poking me every three seconds out of boredom, and Mom and Dad alternated between yelling at each other and giving each other the silent treatment. It was the best vacation we ever had.”
“Wait—it was the best vacation?” Dante asked.
I laughed and nodded. “We finally stopped for directions at the cutest little bed-and-breakfast, and we decided to stay there for the night. It was a good thing we did because a huge storm rolled in the next day and we spent the whole weekend together, playing games and talking and laughing. We never did visit the Grand Canyon. But, yes, it was the best vacation ever.”
“Sounds like it,” Dante said with a smile in his voice.
“I hope you are able to find your family,” Orlando said. “And if I can help—”
Alessandro pulled on the horse’s reins and the wagon jolted to a stop.
Dante twisted around, his hands gripping the side of the wagon. “We’re here,” he said even though he couldn’t see the landscape or the house. A smile lit up his entire face. “We’re home.”
Valerie hopped down from the wagon without any help. She bounced on her toes, whispering to herself, “There’s no place like home,” over and over like it was an incantation.
Orlando slid out of the back of the wagon and extended his hand to help Dante and me down. I dusted the dirt from my cloak and took my first look at where Dante had grown up.
The house was beautiful. A long walkway lined with winter-brown hedges led to a front porch of a multilevel villa framed with elegant pillars. A small flight of stairs led up to the door. Windows lined the front of the house. Terraces and gables and gardens all created a beautiful balance of symmetry and structure.
The front door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, her hand raised to shade her eyes from the light.
“Caterina, love,” Alessandro called out. “Look who I have found!”
He reached out and slung his arms over his boys’ shoulders, pulling them close to his sides. His grin split his face.
Caterina’s body stiffened. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes opened wide in surprise. Then she rushed outside, down the stairs, her arms outstretched in welcome. Her dark hair frayed out the sides of her bun. The ends of her shawl trailed behind her like wings.
“My boys,” she cried, tears streaking down her face. “Oh, my boys are home!”
• • •
Caterina ushered us into the house immediately. She fussed and fluttered about her family: she touched Orlando on the arm, commenting on his obvious strength; she ruffled Dante’s hair like he was still a little boy, frowning at the bandage across his eyes; she kissed Alessandro on the cheek. Through it all, she kept up a constant chatter of welcome.
Clearly, this was her dom
ain, and she was the reigning queen.
Dante made the introductions, glossing over some of the more complicated details, and answered her expected questions with his well-rehearsed answers. Yes, he was injured. Yes, he would be fine. Yes, he was happy to be home. No, he wasn’t sure how long they could stay.
I smiled, basking in the outpouring of love that filled the elegant home.
Valerie and I hung back a little, unwilling to intrude too far into the reunion without an invitation.
It wasn’t long, though, before Caterina turned her formidable attention to us. She hovered and bustled around us, making sure we were warm, fed, and comfortable. The perfect hostess, she asked just the right number of questions to keep us talking, allowing us to tell the details of our story at our own pace, and not passing judgment on our words or our silence.
I tried to be careful with how much I said, but it was hard not to open up to Dante’s mother and tell her everything. There was something about her personality that made me want to trust her. I could sense a strength in her that told me she could handle whatever might come her way, no matter how strange it might seem.
She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that we were wearing the wrong clothes or that our answers were sometimes on the sketchy side. Her happiness at having her family home spread over us like a heavy blanket, covering and hiding any oddities that might have been out of place.
I was more than happy to surrender to her will. I felt like I had been running from one disaster to the next, and it was nice to let someone else be in charge for a while. Somehow, being under a mother’s protective wing—even if she wasn’t my mother—made me feel warm and cared for. I felt safe for the first time in a long time.
Even Valerie seemed at peace. She soaked up Caterina’s calming influence, a quiet expression on her face and her behavior surprisingly docile and polite. I didn’t know if it was the presence of a strong mother figure or something else, but Valerie seemed more like her old self when Caterina was around.
Eventually, Caterina announced that it was time for dinner, and by then it seemed only natural for us to join her in the back room of the house to change and freshen up.
The low murmur of men’s voices followed us out, and I glanced over my shoulder. Alessandro dozed by the fireplace, but Dante and Orlando were deep in conversation. I hoped that Dante would have a chance to tell his brother about the repercussions we were facing from the broken locket. I didn’t know if there was anything Orlando could do to help, but I knew that giving him all the information we had couldn’t hurt.
The guest room was small, but clean and cozy. A bed filled most of the space, with a washbasin and a mirror placed on a small table. Two chairs waited by the window.
In short order, Caterina helped us wash hands, hair, and faces and settled us both into chairs.
Valerie looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. She tugged at her hair as though trying to even it out.
“Would you like me to help?” Caterina asked gently.
Valerie nodded, suddenly shy.
Caterina ran a brush through Valerie’s hair, carefully working out the knots and snarls. She hummed a soft lullaby tune as she worked, her face relaxed and happy.
And why shouldn’t she be? Her family was home and whole.
I used my fingers to comb through my own hair. I felt a pang of something that felt a little like envy and a lot like longing. As wonderful as it was to be safe in Dante’s home, surrounded by people who treated me like family, I still wished I could be with my family. Thinking about the vacation we had taken had been both good and bad. It was good to think of the past, but bad because I missed Dad’s laugh, the sound of Mom’s voice; I even missed Hannah’s moods.
But Dante had promised we would restore my family, and I trusted him.
Tucking my thoughts back into a corner of my mind, I focused my attention on Caterina.
She was what I’d always imagined when I thought of a lady. Regal and graceful. Her face reflected a life spent with hard work, but also still held the traces of her youthful beauty. She had unpinned her bun, and her long black hair showed hints of gray. She was a woman who knew who she was and how she had gotten there.
“You have pretty hands,” Valerie said as Caterina worked, smoothing out Valerie’s hair. “I bet you’ve done a lot with those hands.”
“Thank you,” Caterina said. “And, yes, I have. I love to sew and cook and paint. Most importantly, though, I’ve raised two boys with them.”
“What was he like?” I asked. “Dante. When he was a child, I mean.”
Caterina smiled as only a mother could. “Oh, he was a curious child. He wanted to know everything about everything. And he had so much energy. He would finish a task in half the time I thought it would take.” She picked up a dark ribbon from the table. “But he was also careful and precise. He could be quiet and still for hours on end if he needed to be.”
“He hasn’t changed much, then,” I said, reflecting on how Dante had managed to find his balance between action and thought. I remembered that Leo had called Dante a dreamer. It was still the best description I could think of for him.
“I’m not surprised,” Caterina said. “Dante was a boy who always knew exactly what he wanted out of life, and he was determined to get it.” She tilted a look in my direction, a half question in her eyes but a certain smile on her lips.
Was she implying what I thought she was? Without meaning to, I glanced toward the door that led into the main room. I could hear Dante’s voice—not his exact words—but the rhythm was familiar and instantly recognizable to me.
Dante had once told me that even when we were apart, he could always point to me; he always knew. And I realized I knew that about him as well. It was as if an invisible chain connected us, a link that let me know exactly where he was.
“There,” Caterina said, tying the ribbon in Valerie’s hair. “What do you think?” She handed a small mirror to Valerie and stepped back.
Valerie turned her head one way, then the other, patting the shape of her hair with the flat of her hand. “Good. Now we can go shopping.”
She hopped up from her chair and made a beeline for the narrow cupboard standing in the corner. Throwing open the door, she flipped through the clothes as intently as if she were at the mall.
“Here. Let me help you,” Caterina said, following in Valerie’s wake. She deftly reached past Valerie’s shoulder and withdrew three dresses that she then laid out on the bed.
“These are beautiful,” I said. “Did you make them?”
Caterina nodded. “I find sewing relaxing. And there is a certain satisfaction in seeing something you designed and created come to life.”
I smiled. I understood why Dante’s love of art and his creative skill were so healthy and alive; his mother had the same fire in her.
“Oh, I like the green one,” Valerie said, scooping up the heavy fabric and clutching it to her chest. She looked across the room to me. “Dress shopping with you is always an adventure.”
I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t thought Valerie remembered that long-ago shopping trip we’d made with Natalie, but her eyes were steady and clear. Maybe she really was getting better. I hoped so.
Caterina nodded. “That one will look lovely on you.” She turned to me. “Abigail, which one do you like?”
I looked back at the remaining dresses, but it wasn’t even a choice. I stepped forward and touched the warm golden-brown dress with a gentle hand. “This is beautiful.” The bodice had a white lace overlay, and the buttons down the back looked like pearls. A strip of gold ribbon lined the round neckline.
Caterina measured me with smiling eyes. “Yes, I think that one will be a perfect fit. You can change behind there.” She nodded toward a folded wooden screen painted top to bottom with a beautiful landscape of flowers and a sky full of birds. “I’ll help your friend.”
I lifted the dress from the bed and slipped behind the partition, noticing that the artwork cont
inued all the way around to the back. The lush greens of the landscape scene were soothing while the bright reds and yellows of the flowers popped like living blossoms. Birds darted and swooped from tree to tree, caught in midflight.
“This is a lovely screen,” I said as I kicked off my shoes. Before I took my heavy cloak off, though, I carefully collected the pieces of the locket from the inside pocket. I couldn’t leave the locket behind, but I didn’t know where I could keep it. I couldn’t wear it around my neck anymore, and Caterina’s dress didn’t have any pockets.
“It is, isn’t it?” Caterina agreed. “Dante painted it for me before he left for his apprenticeship with da Vinci.”
I paused. Of course. How had I not recognized his work immediately? He had a way of infusing life into his art. A vibrancy that lifted my spirits.