Chapter One: The Baby in the Canal
I wasn’t supposed to have little Maria in my life. Indeed, our paths crossed by chance. Or perhaps tragedy.
Her late mother, Angela Marcella, was being burned at the stake in the Plaza del San Michaelangelo when my gondolier, Paolo, fished out a writhing bag a pair of soldiers had dropped into the filthy canal of Venti just inches from the gondola we were riding in.
“If it’s a group of puppies…” Elisabetta, my lady’s maid, muttered as Paolo cut open the bag to rescue whatever poor creature had been trapped inside. “…Saints preserve us!” She shouted, crossing herself.
I stared down at the pink little wrinkled baby that stared up at me. A shock of black hair framed her raisin like face. She was naked and the stump of her umbilical cord hadn’t had a chance to scab over. “Did you get a good look at the soldiers?” I asked, removing my red silk shawl and wrapping the baby up in it.
“No, mi Signora. I didn’t get a Good look at them. But I recognized their colors.” Paolo said, his voice dropping and eying the area to ensure nobody was listening.
From a prominent family no doubt…probably wanting to get rid of a bastard child one of their indiscreet daughters pushed out.
A loud scream cut through the lapping water and silent salty air. It came from the direction of the Plaza. A black trail of smoke rose to the sky, fading away into grays before disappearing like a ghost. The baby wailed, her cries weaker than a kitten’s.
Maybe it was because I had left a son of my own with my first husband’s family. Maybe it was because I would soon enter confinement with my second husband’s first son.
Or maybe…maybe something else. Something selfish and thoughtless of me.
In any case, something in me caused me to pick up this frightened weak babe and hold her close.
She opened her baby blue eyes and looked at me, as if trying to recognize me.
I craved to be that person she wanted more than anybody else.
It was selfish of me…maybe there was something wrong with me.
“Shall we keep sailing to the convent?” Paolo asked. “The nuns will happily take her in.”
“Yes.” I said with a nod, my mind set on doing the right thing.
My husband would not be pleased if I took in a child. While we had only been married for maybe six months at that point, I was still intimidated by the face cut like stone, sharp black hair and eyepatch that made his one brown eye look as sharp as a hawk’s.
Honor and duty to the city was important to him…as well as to his family name.
“Poor little bambina.” Paolo said, picking up his pole and pushing us down the canal. The baby continued crying. I rocked her up and down as I remembered doing to my sweet little boy.
Little Donatello loved that the best, the motions always calmed him down.
He was now ten, living with my husband's family and learning the fine art of manhood. I knew he was in good hands, far better than when Fredo had been alive.
I had only seen glimpses of him and I could tell from those sweet green eyes that I was a faded memory, just like a painting left out in the sun for too long.
Tradition dictated that I disappear like a mist from his life starting when he was breeched.
I sighed the memories away as the baby continued fussing. Her little lips were smacking and when her cheek brushed past my breasts, heavy with milk, she turned for it.
“I think she’s hungry.” Elisabetta said. “Too bad we don’t have any milk for her.”
A thought bloomed in my mind.
I wanted to nurse little Donatello. Fredo didn’t like the idea. “You know we have wet nurses for that.” He had said. “There’s no need for you to do such a common task. It won’t look good otherwise.”
So I consented to his wishes…but I spent a long time interviewing wet nurses to ensure that my son would inherit the best temperament through the milk.
I moved the corner of my shawl up to my shoulder and pushed down the poplin bodice. On account of my visiting the good nuns who had educated me, it was a simple dress, which to my relief, made it easier.
Elisabetta’s face was red. “What are you doing, my lady?!”
“She’s hungry.” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “What do you want me to do? Just let her starve when I have enough milk in me?”
“I know…but…what will people think?!” She hissed.
I pointed at the narrow streets lining the canal, which were devoid of people on account of the burning. “Who will see us? Also, I’m not dressed as Lady Agrippina so it won’t be a problem.”
“But still…” Elisabetta hissed as the baby latched onto my breast and gulped down as if she hadn’t been fed in months. I gasped in surprise at the sensations.
“Let her.” Paolo said, ducking low so he could pass under the bridge in front of them. “If it makes you happy, mi Signora.”
I smiled, thinking of my Donatello and refusing to think about giving up this sweet little joy that the Lord had seen fit to send to me for a few hours.
“It does make me happy, thank you, Paolo.”