shiny smile made him look old and sad. “I'm sure, but you're safe now, and you
have a kind husband to look after you.”
“I do.” She snuggled up against Christopher and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
“I'm so glad.” He looked away for a long moment.
“What was that all about?” Christopher asked his wife quietly.
“He wanted to be sure I was safe. He knew about my father's behavior.”
Seeing Alessandro's attention wander away, Christopher hugged his wife gently.
She leaned into his embrace. They turned together to watch the hills outside the
carriage window. A river ran parallel to the road. The Arno, their research had told them. On the other side, a massive olive grove shivered its myriad branches
in the evening breeze.
After a little time passed, Alessandro returned his attention to his guests,
catching them snuggled together. He raised his eyebrows, but both looked back steadily at him, unwilling to release each other.
“Well, this brings up another question,” Alessandro addressed them both in
English. “In the past, when I have had visitors from England, husbands and wives have demanded separate rooms.”
“One will do,” Katerina told her grandfather firmly.
“I suspected as much.” He winked at them. “That will be fine. Well, children,
here we are. Come along.”
They climbed down into the chilly evening air and walked quickly to a
gracious, tile-roofed home constructed of golden stones. Full dark had fallen, concealing the olive trees from view, but the golden glow of lanterns illuminated
the house and complimented the warm sunshine yellow of the stones and the thick creamy mortar between.
It was an irregularly-shaped construction, charming in its eccentricity; a two-
story rectangle, with a sharply protruding exterior wall to the right, and a recessed area in the center. All the wings had sloping roofs that appeared, like the buildings in Livorno, to be of bumpy red tile, although in the dark, the detail
was hard to discern.
As they approached the front entrance with its huge, arched double door,
Katerina noticed that to the left, what appeared to be a square stone tower rose
two stories above the normal roofline of the house.
The chill had turned biting, so they hurried through the door and down a hallway lined with cream plaster walls. An ancient wood floor gleamed in the dim light of lamps fueled by olive oil.
They entered the dining room and sat at a rough-hewn table. There, as
promised, a hot meal waited. It seemed to be a kind of stew or casserole made of
beans and sausage, piled on thick yellow plates.
The three ate eagerly. The rich red table wine tasted as delicious as
Alessandro had promised. As they devoured the repast, Katerina asked her
grandfather a question. “Nonno, where is my grandmother?”
Alessandro's eyes turned sad. “She passed away about six years ago.”
Her hand fluttered around her mouth. “Oh, I never knew. I'm sorry.”
“Thank you, dear.” He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I miss her still.”
“What was her name?” Katerina asked.
“Caterina, just like you, but with a C,” he replied.
“It's not normal to use the K, is it?” Christopher asked before taking a hearty
bite of hot homemade bread.
