The American Lady (34 page)

If only it weren’t so hot! Eleonore tried to loosen her blouse a little, which was drenched with sweat. Then her glance fell on the clock on the wall and she gave a start. So late already!

Six hours had passed, and the child had hardly changed position at all.

For the first time Eleonore felt a touch of panic. She had to do something, or else the child’s life would not be the only one in danger.

“What is it, how long are you going to flap that wet cloth around in her face?” the countess snapped at the young woman. “Can’t you see that she’s almost lost consciousness? Her pulse is getting weake
r . . .
” She let go of Marie’s wrist. The arm fell onto the bed as if Marie were a lifeless puppet.

Eleonore took a deep breath.

“If she won’t lie still I can’t take hold of the baby’s head.” She tried to put a note of authority into her voice. Neither of the other women would like what she was going to say next. “We will have to tie the
signora
down.”

28

The next morning everything happened so fast that there was no time for painful farewells. Richard was terribly nervous, which he tried to explain away by saying that there was a lot at stake for him at the art fair. Wanda knew, however, that he didn’t like the idea of traveling the last leg of the journey on his own.

After one last kiss on the platform, they promised to meet the following Sunday at Richard’s hotel—and then Wanda had to urge him off, waving good-bye.

Unlike the first part of the journey, she hardly noticed anything on her train ride from Bozen to Milan and then on to Genoa. The orchards gradually gave way to vast wheat fields, which were still tinged with green at this time of year. The light in her eyes was caused not by the beauties of the Italian landscape but by the passion of the previous night, which still glowed within her.

“Now you are really mine,” Richard had whispered to her as they lay next to one another, sated. And then he added, “Let’s get married as soon as we get back from Italy.”

She had nodded without saying a word. The hot tears made it impossible to speak. It didn’t matter. She could never have found the words for how happy she felt at that moment.

She knew one thing for certain: not for an instant did she regret last night, even though she had broken every promise she had made to Johanna and her parents.

Richar
d . . .
her ma
n . . .
What was he doing at this moment?

Suddenly she was terribly tired. Soo
n
she would be able to tell Marie everything, woman to woman. That was Wanda’s last thought as she fell fast asleep, leaning against the window, utterly exhausted.

Despite her fears, Wanda found it easy enough to ask her way to the de Lucca family home in Genoa. When she hailed a cab in front of the railway station and gave the driver the address, the driver shook his head sullenly before she could even climb in. He gestured as he talked, and she understood enough to realize that Marie’s home was only two streets away, so it was not worth his while to take her fare. Wanda pointed to her luggage and insisted. The driver grumbled but took her all the same. A few minutes later they stopped in front of a vast rectangular pile with a discreet brass plate on the door that read “Palazzo Delizioso.”

So this was a building by the famous Italian architect Palladio! Marie had written pages and pages about him and the dozens of splendid villas he had built so Wanda was surprised to see how plain the exterior was here. Certainly the Palladian style was impressive, but it was also unusually severe. She wasn’t here to study Italian architecture, though. Wanda tugged the bell pull to the right of the door.

“
Scusi, signorina
, but Countess Mari
e . . .
is unfortunatel
y . . .
unavailable today!” explained the maid who opened the door. Then she curtsied briefly without moving aside.

Unavailable? What was that supposed to mean? Wanda frowned. Had the girl even understood that she had come all the way from Germany to visit Marie? She glanced around at the building’s huge façade as though she expected to see Marie’s head pop up in one of the countless windows.

Wanda tried again, speaking slowly and clearly. “Pleas
e . . .
tel
l . . .
my aunt tha
t . . .
Wanda is here. Wanda! Tell her that, can you?” Perhaps Marie didn’t want to see any strangers when she was so heavily pregnant, but that couldn’t apply to her niece.

The maid twisted her fingers in her starched apron.

“Tha
t . . .
won’t be possibl
e . . .
” she answered in broken German.

Up until that moment Wanda had been holding her luggage in her hands. Now she dropped it with a thump.

“What does that mean? Has Marie gone out? If she has, then she’ll come back sometime, won’t she?” she asked indignantly. Was this how the Italians treated their guests, simply leaving her standing on the doorstep after she’d come all this way? She stepped aside to get out of the sunshine that was beating down on her back. She wouldn’t mind a chance to cool down somewhere and drink a glass of lemonade after her long journey. She suddenly wondered whether the telegram she had sent ahead to announce her arrival might have been lost. Did Marie even know that she was on her way?

The maid looked back over her shoulder as though hoping that someone would come and help her get rid of Wanda. When no help came, she stepped a little closer to Wanda.

“She i
s . . .
very weak after the birth of her daughter yesterday,” she whispered, peering back into the palazzo again as she spoke. She made no move to let Wanda in.

“Marie has a daughter? The baby’s already here?” Wanda asked incredulously. The maid nodded vaguely.

Yesterda
y . . .
Marie had given birth to a little girl while she, Wanda, had been sitting on the train! It took her a moment to digest the news. Then all at once her heart was brimming over with happiness. Marie had a daughter! She wanted to shove the maid out of the way and run into the house. She had to see Marie right away! And the baby.

Instead she took a deep breath. “Of course my aunt needs peace and quiet today, I understand,” she said, smiling at the maid, who looked greatly relieved.

“Where is Franco?” Only now did Wanda think to ask after him. Why hadn’t she thought to do that immediately? The least she could do was congratulate the father on the birth of his daughter. And Franco, of course, would insist that she be given a room in the palazzo rather than having to go and find a hotel while she waited for Marie to recover from the birth. She would take a look at the little one, just quickly, say hello to Marie, and the
n . . .

“Signor de Lucc
a . . .
not here. And his mother, Countess Patrizia, also not. Tomorrow they come back!” Carla answered stiffly and then shut the door before Wanda could react.

Wanda stared in astonishment at the elaborately carved wooden door. It was all well and good that the servants should ensure the new mother had some peace and quiet, but this was going too far! There was only one way Wanda could explain it to herself: the staff had not been told that she was coming. And there were only two ways to explain that: either the household had been in such an uproar at the birth that it had simply been overlooked, or the telegram had gotten lost somewhere.

Perplexed, she picked up her luggage and turned on her heel. The marble chips on the pathway crunched as she walked, and her feet were painfully swollen from the long train journey. Wanda turned around at the gate to the courtyard. The palazzo was certainly large and magnificent—but the people who lived in it had some very strange manners!

She could just about believe that Franco would be in town having a drink with some friends in a bar to celebrate the birth of his daughter, but the idea that his mother had left the house as wel
l . . .
If Marie really was that tired out by the birth, one might expect that her mother-in-law would stay with her. What would Johanna say when she heard that? A tinge of foreboding mixed with Wanda’s outrage, but she was too upset to really think about it.

She came to a crossroads and stopped to get her bearings. The city was indeed beautiful and its buildings magnificent, but she didn’t care about that at the moment. She decided to head down to the harbor, since she figured she might find the hotels there.

Her luggage became heavier with every step she took, and she was annoyed that she hadn’t thought to leave the case full of presents for Marie and the baby at the palazzo. Now she would have to cart it around with her.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would hire a cab to take her from the hotel to the palazzo.

29

The sun hangs low in the sky, shining through beneath the trees. Their long shadows stretch out like grasping fingers, reaching out t
o . . .

Let me go!

Marie ducks away, beneath the branches. She has to get out of this darkness! But the shadows are faster than she is; they slip ahead and are lying in wait wherever she steps. I’m here already, you cannot get awa
y . . .

A game that Johanna’s twins used to play. The pictures flash through her mind’s ey
e . . .
chalk circles on paving stones, skirts swinging, and children’s song
s . . .
one, two, hop! and the shadow eats the words before she can remember any more.

“Marie, come on, get undressed! You have to be naked if you’re going to sunbathe.” Sherlain’s voice, chiding her as she always did for not following Monte Verità’s rules. Hands pluck at her clothes now, and a cloth slaps at her face; she’s gasping for air, but she can’t breathe. It’s so cramped in here, so narrow and tight; she’s scared bu
t . . .

“No, don’t undress me! N
o . . . 
! The man with the beard! He’s coming for m
e . . .
” The thought blurs at the edges like ink on wet paper. What man?

“Quiet now, Marie! Nobody wants to undress you.” A hand pushed her back down into bed. “Let me put that cloth back on your brow. We have to drive this fever away.”

Marie sat up, soaked with sweat. “Feve
r . . .
”

For a moment she didn’t know who the woman was, dipping the white cloth into a china bowl, wringing it out. Then the memory slowly came back to her: the birth, the terrible pain, then at last, from one moment to the next, merciful oblivion in which she felt nothing and nothing hurt anymor
e . . .

The man with the bear
d . . .
there he is again, hiding in the forest, hiding in among the blue and green an
d . . .
He waves to her, she can see him clearl
y . . .

She remembered something. Something so important that she struggled to sit up again so that she could think clearly. She fought with all her strength against the dizziness that threatened to overcome her. These moments of wakefulness were a rare gift; she had to use each one to the fullest.

“My baby. Where is my baby?”

How could she have forgotten her daughter? She had to look after her. Her Sylvie.

Soothing words reached her ears as though through cotton, calming the panic that rose within her.

“Your bab
y . . .
is wel
l . . .
She’s well.”

Marie’s eyes drooped closed. There was nothing she could do to stop them.

Sylvie, like Marie. A short name. Her baby didn’t need anything more than that. A good name. Sylvie Steinman
n . . .
The dizziness was there again, stronger than before, her head was so heav
y . . .

Something is sparkling behind her eyelids, like droplets after spring rain. But they are not drops of water; rather they are polished prisms of glass that catch the sunlight and refract it in a burst of color.

Georgie is at Marie’s bedside. She’s holding up a necklace of glass beads in front of her face. “You see, the shadow’s gone away!” She laughs and her skin shines in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Now we can have some fu
n . . .
” She swings the necklace back and forth, the prisms melt and flow together, growing rounder and rounder until they become a globe.

“That’s the paradise of glas
s . . .
” Marie murmured.

“Please believe me, Signorina Miles, this really is the worst possible time for you to visit your aunt! The birth was unusually hard on her, since the baby was not in position. We had to tak
e . . .
certain measures to save the life of both mother and baby.”

What measures? Wanda frowned in concern. She couldn’t imagine what the word meant but it sounded awful. Or perhaps the countess had picked the wrong word? Her English was rather broken.

“And how are the mother and the baby now?” she asked, sick at heart. Why was the countess so tight-lipped? How could she sit there so calmly on that dainty little chair and not even tell Wanda what Marie’s daughter was named?

Patrizia shrugged noncommittally. “The doctor was here this morning and examined Marie and the
bambino
. The child is very well, and a wet nurse is taking care of her. Thank heavens that we found her—she lives just a couple of houses away, and she is quite willing to nurse Sylvie alongside her own child.”

Sylvie. So that was what Marie’s daughter was called. “And what about Marie?” Wanda asked urgently.

Patrizia heaved a great sigh. “She has an infection and a high fever. She sees things in her sleep; it seems that she is having hallucinations. The doctor says that the most important thing now is for her to rest.”

“She has childbed fever? That can be fatal, can’t it?” With every word she spoke, Wanda’s heart pounded harder with fear. Her mother had often told her about the women she saw in the New York hospitals’ indigent wards. They gave birth in insanitary conditions and then died of childbed fever soon after they were brought to the hospital.

A shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. “I have to see her, now, just for a little while!”

Patrizia took Wanda’s hand. Her fingers were cool. “Believe me, we are doing everything we can for Marie. But she must not become unnecessarily excited by visitors. The doctor says if she does not have complete res
t . . .
”

Wanda drew her hand away. She had rarely felt such horror at another person’s touch.
If not—then what?

A moment later the countess was on her feet, and her posture clearly conveyed that she considered the conversation over. She didn’t say a word about when Wanda could come again. And she certainly wasn’t going to invite Wanda to live in the palazzo until Marie was better.

What now?
Wanda felt as though she were acting in a play in which the director had forgotten to give the actors their script. The whole situation was so absurd that it frightened her. She had come all the way from Germany to visit Marie, and gotten no farther than this ghastly anteroom. And now Marie’s mother-in-law wanted to put her off with vague excuses. She said that Franco was away on urgent business—and then nothing more about her son’s absence.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

To buy herself a little time, Wanda teased a handkerchief from her pocket while she watched Marie’s mother-in-law from under hooded lids. The countess was already standing in the doorway. The way she held her back ramrod straight as she gazed into the middle distance with a forced smile on her lips reminded Wanda of her mother, who always struck that pose when she had to be polite to people she couldn’t stand. It was a mask behind which anything at all might be hiding.

What does the countess have to hide?
Wanda wondered as she dabbed at nonexistent drops of sweat with her handkerchief. She tried desperately to order her thoughts a little and not to let this cold-eyed woman intimidate her.

Was something wrong with the baby? The idea was so dreadful that Wanda could hardly think what it might mean. Or was there a greater danger to Marie’s health that the countess had not told her about? If there was, then wasn’t it even more urgent that Wanda be allowed to visit her now?

At that moment she wished for nothing in the world so much as to have Johanna there at her side. Or her mother.

But she was on her own, and Marie needed her. Needed her more than anyone.

At last she rose to her feet and went toward the door, stopping only when she was standing face-to-face with Patrizia. How stern the woman looked! Wanda could well imagine that most people would bow their heads and turn away from the look in Patrizia’s eyes, forget their request, and leave without further ado. But not Wanda Miles! Anyone who had run the gauntlet of the Sonneberg wholesalers had nothing to fear from an Italian countess. Without even the faintest note of hesitation in her voice, she said, “I would like to be taken to Marie this instant. If not, the
n . . .
”

She hoped that the implication was enough of a threat in itself. Since she had not the least idea how she could have finished the sentence.

The hissing of the flame grows louder. Soon it will be the right temperature to blow a glass globe. A large one. A glittering globe, with all the colors of a soap bubble. Like the soap bubbles that Father used t
o . . .

“Aunt Marie, are you awake?”

Marie groaned.
Don’t shake me! The soap bubbles will burst.

“Aunt Marie, can you hear me?
I . . .
can wait till you’ve had some more rest.”

Pop! Pop! Pop! and they burst, one by one.

“Wanda?” Marie’s arm trembled as she tried to sit up. She blinked in the darkness of the room. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Wanda answered.

Such a soft voic
e . . .
like an angel’
s . . .
not like Wanda, always so lively and excite
d . . .

Marie struggled to concentrate. To see clearly. Was Wanda really standing there by her bed or did she only exist in her head, like all the others? And then—a hand on her hand, soft and warm. It must really be Wanda.

“Yo
u . . .
came. All this way. How did you know tha
t . . .
” All at once Marie didn’t know which question to ask first. She began to cry.
How did you get here? Are you well? And how’s Johanna?
Her head was so full. A tangle of thoughts from which she could not tease out what was important from what was not.

“I have to tell you somethin
g . . .
” Marie began softly. “I—”

“Shhh, lie still. We’ll talk later. We have plenty of tim
e . . .
” Wanda murmured. She put her arms around Marie and rocked her back and forth like a baby.

Marie never wanted to leave this loving embrace. She was so happy and yet she had to cry. Soon Wanda’s shoulder was wet with tears.

“You see, she’s already becoming overexcited!” Patrizia hissed from over by the door.

“She’s crying because she’s happy!” Wanda answered. Then she let go and gently urged Marie back down onto the pillows. “Your mother-in-law says that you must rest. I’m not allowed to agitate you or she’ll throw me out,” she said and gave Marie a conspiratorial wink.

Patrizia immediately stepped closer. She hadn’t understood what Wanda had said to Marie in German, but she knew that it had been about her.

Wanda, here—this is a gift from God! Dear Lord, thank you! I have to use this time. The dizziness might come back at any moment. All these voices in my head, th
e
. . .
Marie blinked away her tears.

“
I . . .
I’m well. I’m just a little weak still.” She tried to smile. It was good to have her head clear again. She was filled with the hope that everything would be all right. “Have you seen my daughter? Sylvie? Isn’t she beautiful?”

“And she’s so strong! The wet nurse says she’s as big as a boy. No wonder the birth left you feeling tired.”

Make Patrizia leave us alone,
Marie pleaded silently.
There’s so much I have to tell you. But I can’t when she’s looking at me with those sharp eyes of hers
.

“Sylvie de Lucca—what a beautiful name! Wait till you see all the things Johanna bought for the baby!” Wanda laughed, just a shade too merrily. “There are some little dresses in case she turned out to be a girl. And we bought pants for a bo
y . . .
”

Not de Lucca, Steinmann,
Marie screamed inside. How was she going to explain all this to Wanda with Patrizia in the room? She shut her eyes. She would rest for a moment, the
n . . .