The American Lady (35 page)

Not de Lucca. Not anymore. Sylvie Steinmann, that’s what she’ll be called.

When Marie woke up Wanda was still sitting by her bed. She was holding Sylvie in her arms. The picture was so wonderful that Marie began crying again.

“Doesn’t she look just like a Steinmann?” she whispered through her tears. “She has the same blonde hair that my mother had. And that you had when you were a bab
y . . .
”

“Do you think so?” Wanda asked, smiling. “Franco won’t be very pleased when you tell him that the baby looks more like our family than hi
s . . .
” She pointed vaguely over to the door, where Patrizia was standing watch.

Marie laughed and then immediately wished she hadn’t. She suddenly felt so dizzy that she had to grasp the side of the bed. She moaned softly.

Don’t faint. I have to tell Wanda everything; I have to get Sylvie to safet
y . . .

“Can’t you see that your visit is harming the patient?” Patrizia hissed. “I am sorry, Signorina Miles, but if you cannot see for yourself that you must go, I shall have to fetch my husband.”

“No! Let Wanda stay. I don’t want to be alone!” Marie cried, gripping Wanda’s hand. “You can’t throw her out! This is my home as well!” she screamed hysterically at the doorway.

Wanda was startled. Looking at Marie, she saw that her aunt’s eyes were wide with fear. She made soothing sounds such as she would use to comfort a frightened child.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay here until you’re quite healthy again. And nobody is going to throw me out,” she said, glancing at Patrizia.

Marie shut her eyes again. Oh, but she was afraid. Afraid that her time would run out.

30

The next few days were the worst in Wanda’s life. Whenever she thought back on that time with Marie, she saw a kaleidoscope of hope, fear, and dreadful despair turning and turning in her mind’s eye.

Once she saw how ill Marie was, Wanda refused to leave the room except to go to the bathroom. She toyed with the idea of sending a telegram to Johanna to tell her about Marie’s poor health, but to do that, she would have to leave the palazzo. So Wanda decided against it. What good would it do Marie if Johanna worried herself sick? It was better not to get in touch with Lauscha until there was good news.

Wanda sat by Marie’s bed day and night. When Marie was asleep, she snatched a little sleep for herself in an armchair that she pulled over to the bedside. But when Marie was feverish and delirious, Wanda forced herself to stay awake. It was frightening to see Marie in such a state. She talked to people who weren’t there and sometimes she cried out, but Wanda couldn’t understand anything other than a couple of names and some scraps of words. It was during these hours by Marie’s bedside that she first understood how many kinds of laughter there were: sometimes Marie giggled like a little girl, sometimes she gave a full-throated laugh of merriment, sometimes she cackled like an old woman who had lost her wits. At such moments, she was in a world where nobody could follow her. It was especially bad when she lay there with a forlorn smile on her face. She looked so lonely then that Wanda felt compelled to hold her in her arms and caress her, never wanting to let her go.

Wanda managed to persuade the countess to bring Sylvie’s cradle into the room. At first Patrizia protested loudly, saying that the baby’s crying would disturb the patient. And the wet nurse’s milk might dry up if she had to sit in a sickroom. And if she refused to come to the palazzo anymore, what would they do then? Of course Wanda didn’t want to risk that, but she nonetheless insisted, hoping that Marie would recover more quickly if Sylvie were nearby.

It turned out that the new arrangement worked for everyone. The wet nurse didn’t mind putting the baby to her breast in the mother’s room, and her milk came just as it had before. Sylvie slept most of the time, and Marie held her when she was feeling strong enough. Those were the best moments, when Wanda could rest and gather her strength, hoping that everything would be all right.

At first Patrizia stood by the door all the time like a watchdog, her eyes never leaving the sickbed. Only when Wanda told her directly that she was not leaving until Marie was well again did Patrizia begin to leave them alone, at least while Marie was asleep or hallucinating. Every time the countess left, Wanda felt she could breathe more freely.

Patrizia’s behavior was extremely odd. At first glance she really seemed to be a worried mother-in-law, full of concern for her granddaughter and the baby’s mother. But Wanda soon got the impression that the countess was trying to control Marie’s every waking moment; whenever her daughter-in-law woke up and wanted to talk to Wanda, Patrizia would come into the room as though she had been listening at the door or had sent the servants to spy on them. She always brought something for Marie—a pitcher of lemonade, or fresh water and washcloths to make the cold compresses, or a clean gown—but she never brought anything for Wanda. It was as though she were trying to force her out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Wanda rarely went there, though; she was so worried about Marie that her appetite had quite gone.

More than once she sensed that Marie was urgently trying to tell her something. But the impression vanished as soon as Patrizia came into the room. Then there was simply a look of need in Marie’s eyes. But Wanda could hardly throw Patrizia out of the room, here in her own house! So she had no choice but to wait for their chance to talk unobserved and to save up all the questions that were burning inside her.

Why haven’t you written for months? Did our first parcel with the baby gifts even arrive? Why does your father-in-law look at us the way a hungry snake studies a rabbit every time he comes into the room? And why on earth isn’t your husband here? All your mother-in-law has told me is that he’s in New York. In New York? While you give birth to your first child?

But whenever Wanda even tentatively tried to broach one of these subjects and Marie began to speak, Patrizia stopped her.

“Speaking is too much of an exertion for you, remember what the doctor said!” And to Wanda, “You are irresponsible, asking Marie questions like this when she has a fever! Can’t you see that she’s hallucinating?”

Wanda didn’t think that was true at all. It was easy to tell the difference between those moments when Marie was off in a world of her own and those when she could think clearly. She thought that Patrizia was a dragon guarding the cave where Marie was held prisoner.

She grew to dislike Marie’s mother-in-law more with every passing hour. If the dragon had actually mistreated Marie or neglected her, then Wanda would at least have been able to say why she disliked her so. But there was fresh bed linen every morning; light, nourishing meals were served at regular intervals; the pot of herbal tea at her bedside was always full—Patrizia did everything by the book. She also made sure that the doctor came twice a day. Wanda had to leave the room during these visits. She would have liked to talk to him, but he spoke neither German nor English and she had only a very few words of Italian. But Wanda learned all she needed to know when she saw how grave his face was when he left the room. Her aunt’s life was in danger. Every time Wanda asked Patrizia what the doctor had said, the countess replied that the fever was the greatest risk. Marie had suffered a tear during the birth and had to have stitches. Although they had done all they could to keep the wound clean, it had become infected. The fever showed no signs of abating.

At these moments, standing outside Marie’s room in the hallway, Wanda and Patrizia were united in their fears.

A flame, bright yellow, flickering, right there in front of her eyes. But somehow blurred, as though seen through a window on a foggy night in Lauscha. She goes closer to the flame. Or is the flame coming closer to her? It’s all the sam
e . . .
Strange, it’s not as hot as it look
s . . .
The core of the flame is pale. Marie puckers her lips to blow air into the flame. “You have to blow hard to make the flame sing!” That’s Father’s voice! Marie smiles. She can hear him, but where is he? She’s so happy that for a moment she forgets the flame, forgets to blow. The flame dies. And Papa says, “You see, it’s gone out now. Gone out forever.”

When Marie awoke, her nightgown was drenched with sweat. She had been dreaming, as so often during her illness. She tried to remember. She
had
to remember, it was important!

Marie drank some tea, but it tasted flat and dull.

She could hear Wanda’s voice from next door. She seemed to be speaking to Sylvie, or perhaps to the wet nurse. Not to Patrizia. She never used such warm tones with her. Marie had to smile. Dear Wanda. Faithful Wanda. Blood really was thicker than water. All of a sudden she remembered.

It hadn’t been one of those dreams where so many different people danced past her eyes that her head spun trying to follow them. No. This time it had been a very simple dream. She had seen her father. And a flame that went out. Not any old flame from a glassworker’s lamp—this was the flame of her life. The insight struck her so hard it knocked the breath clean out of her.

Why me? I don’t want to die now!

She pulled the covers over her head so that nobody could hear her whimpering. Tears ran down her cheeks.

There was so much she still wanted to do in her life! Her life was like a mosaic in which the most important pieces were still missing.

Johanna and Rut
h . . .
will I never see them again? They had always stuck together. Everyone in the village always called them the Steinmann sisters, as though they were one entit
y . . .
and then she left without even once looking back. Forgive me, Johanna, forgive me!

What will happen to my baby if I die? Who will take care of Sylvie? Who will tell her that she can do anything she wants to in this life? That even a woman can make her own way? But that everything has a price. Will her father tell her that?

The thought of leaving Sylvie alone was more than Marie could bear. She tossed and turned like a wounded animal, whimpering softly.

I can’t di
e . . .
I’m too youn
g . . .
there’s so much I have to d
o . . .
who will do all that, if not me?

Helplessly, she put her hands together in prayer. She wondered what she ought to say at such a moment.

Neither she nor her sisters had ever been particularly religious. They believed in God, of course, and in Heaven, but the good Lord had never played any great part in their lives.

“Dear God, I implore you, make me healthy again. For Sylvie’s sake.” Marie’s voice was thick with tears and sounded strange in her ears. The whole prayer sounded strange. All the same she went on, “But if You must call me to You, then at least tell me what I can do for my child!”

It had been three days since Wanda arrived. She had just finished quickly washing up after another night spent at Marie’s bedside. The previous evening she had persuaded Patrizia to send Carla to fetch some of her luggage from the hotel, so she finally had some clean things to wear.
Perhaps it would have been best to bring all of it,
Wanda mused as she turned the handle to go into Marie’s room. But since Patrizia still hadn’t actually invited her to stay, she had decided to make do with the little traveling bag she had packed with those few things she needed for the journey itself.

“Marie! You’re awake!”

The sight of Marie sitting up in bed flooded Wanda with happiness. Perhaps the fever would break today; perhaps this was going to be the day they had all been waiting fo
r . . .

Marie put a finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide open but they were clear and focused.

“I have something here that I want to give you before she comes back. Quick, take this, hide it.” She was holding a tattered little notebook in her hand. Her gaze darted nervously toward the door, as though she had stolen all the silver in the palazzo and was handing it over to Wanda.

“What is it?” Wanda whispered. Before she even had a chance to look at the book, Marie gestured to her to hide it. She only relaxed a little once Wanda had shoved the book down between her bodice and the top of her dress. Her unease was infectious, for now Wanda found herself glancing again and again at the door. At any moment the dragon might come in with the breakfast tray. It was almost a miracle that she hadn’t appeared yet.

“It’s my diary,” Marie whispered. “I’ve been writing it ever since January. Ever since they locked me away in here.”

“Locked you away?”
Wanda frowned. Was Marie hallucinating again?

Marie raised a hand to stop any more questions. “I know that it sounds crazy. What you’re about to read is even worse than that. But it’s the truth.” She was speaking quickly, not even pausing for breath. “I want so much to tell you everything myself! But I’ve been talking such a lot of nonsense that you wouldn’t know what to believe. Perhaps it’s better if you just read it. Then you can ask me questions. Everything in that book is true, every word of it!” Marie’s voice became louder with the last few words and her chest was rising and falling as though she’d been running hard.

Wanda felt once again that this was all too much for her. It wasn’t good for Marie to get agitated this way; the fever would never break if she did. Where in the world was she supposed to go to read this diary? If she didn’t want to wait for nightfall, then she had no choice but to shut herself away in the bathroom.

Marie gave a tired smile. “I feel so dizzy agai
n . . .
” Her gaze roamed around the room, and she was having trouble concentrating on Wanda. “When you’ve read what’s in there, you’ll understand what I must ask you to do.” Her lower lip began to tremble as she spoke.