Page 86 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
“Rosaline, have I not taught you better than that?” In a rare fury, Papà advanced on me.
I cringed. “Sorry, Papà!”
“Are youtryingto turn this into a Greek tragedy?”
“No, Papà.”
To dispel the evil eye, he spit lightly on my head, then for good measure on the babies’ heads, and walked out muttering, “Challenge the Fates . . . Used to think she was the brightest of my children . . . No more!”
I used the blanket to wipe the spit out of my hair, and took a moment to contemplate my biggest fault: my inability to keep my mouth shut.
Some things never change.
CHAPTER47
Ididn’t understand how I, who had gone through so much less than childbirth, could stand before my mamma as she cradled her two new sons and still feel a nagging ache in my gut and a consciousness about my very black, black eye.
“Unless the fever takes her, a woman recovers from childbirth,” she assured me. “To have my oldest daughter deliver these two wonderful boys, it’s an omen from God that they are blessed, and you are blessed, and our family, so happy within the realm of glorious Verona, shall be blessed forever and ever. Amen.”
“Amen.” I kissed her and the babes, and held them tight. I felt her hand caress my braid, and keep my head against her chest as if I were once more her infant.
“You will be careful.” It was a command, not a request.
“Mamma, I’m always careful.”
“You’re always impetuous, Rosaline. You fling yourself at life, imagining you are right and end battered and bruised.” She caressed my still-swollen cheek and lifted my face to look into her eyes. “You may be always right, but let you not be dead right. You must always be smart, too. Be strong. Think ahead. Marry, have children, live as the heart of your family, and always, always come back home to us.”
“I will, Mamma,” I vowed. “I go now to the palace and I’ll dig my way through the trash and the lies to the truth.”
“Be wise. Your new brothers need you. We all need you.” She touched my sleeve. “In your manner and your dress, you are a princess.”
“Thank you.” With Katherina’s help, I had dressed carefully today. I wanted to reveal no more weakness than my bruised face. I wanted to be the brave, strong princess-to-be.
Well, no. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be with Lysander, my One True Love, but I well knew how to face a future not of my choosing. That was now my life.
I kissed them all, first Mamma, then Adino, then Efron. Turning from the huddle on the bed, I kissed Papà, then each of my siblings, told them I loved them (knowing how uncertain life can be, speaking aloud of love had become a tradition in our household). I hugged Nurse and in a whisper commanded she care for Mamma and send for the midwife and me in case of fever or any abnormality.
I stepped out the door; the warm autumn day smelled fresh with a breeze that carried away the stench of violence. I boarded the waiting sedan chair for the palace and, with Tommaso running beside, I was carried through Verona’s shouting, odiferous, homey streets to the palace. Knowing Nonna Ursula showed signs of life gave me reason to endure the jostling.
At my approach, the great palace doors opened, Tommaso helped me out, and I entered to . . . no fanfare. Not that I expected ecstatic greeting, but the palace atmosphere—gloomy, tense, and foreboding—contrasted with the vivid, recovering life in Verona.
A footman joined me and murmured, “Early this morning, Prince Escalus went out to walk Verona’s streets. We await his return.”
I thanked him and turned toward Nonna Ursula’s suite, Tommaso on my heels.
Along the great walk, a line of soldiers waited to go into the room Friar Laurence had set up as an examination chamber. I glanced inside; Friar Camillo handed a bag of herbs to Biasio, while Friar Laurence counseled him on how to use them. As far as I could see, tired, grim-faced guards stood about or leaned against walls, suspiciously silent.
Too tired to speak? Or had Nonna Ursula taken a turn for the worse? My sudden suspicion sent me hurrying toward her rooms. Her dark, empty sitting room was stifling and without air, and my heart beat in protest at my blossoming fear. In the bedchamber, the window was closed, the drapes drawn, the fire lit—and a man’s tall, bulky shadow loomed over her bed, his hands reaching for her reclining, immobile figure.
I didn’t hesitate. I bolted across the room and tackled him.
With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor.
I followed him down.
From all around, a tumult of voices and cries broke out.
A woman’s voice screeched, “That girl is mad!”
