The Woman in Red Read online

  “You’ll never believe it!” He hugged Maria before standing in the middle of the room. “The great Giuseppe Garibaldi is coming to Laguna!” Maria squealed with joy before wrapping her arms around Francisco’s neck.

  “This is such wonderful news!” Carlos exclaimed. “He will liberate Laguna. Where did you hear about this?”

  “My friend is a sailor on his ship. He sent a letter ahead of them. They just finished a campaign in the north and are moving south. He’s bringing with him the North American John Griggs and his fellow Italian Luigi Rossetti.”

  “Carlos, go get the wine,” Dylla requested, wiping her hands on a towel. “The one we have been saving for a special occasion. Tonight, we celebrate.”

  I made my way to Maria, who was beaming, and leaned toward her, whispering, “Who is Giuseppe Garibaldi?”

  She turned to me, her face full of shock. “You don’t know who the Great Garibaldi is?” Maria questioned me so loudly that everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me as the heat of embarrassment rose up my neck and into my cheeks.

  “No, I don’t,” I mumbled.

  “Garibaldi is a man of the people. He lived in Naples,” Francisco began to explain.

  “Naples?” Carlos questioned. “I thought he was from Marseille.”

  “Marseille? That’s part of France!” Dylla responded, putting the large bowl of beans on the table. “No, he’s a Genoan.”

  “How do you know?” Carlos asked.

  “Because all the women like to gossip about handsome foreigners.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she kissed a scowling Carlos on the top of his head.

  “The point is,” Francisco interrupted, “he was banished. His people are divided. The northern Italian peninsula is ruled by Austria, while the south is a stronghold to a Bourbon tyrant. While in Piedmont he and his mentor launched an insurrection. He was arrested and sentenced to death by exile.”

  “And now he is here?” I asked. “Why?”

  “He travels the world fighting for the freedom that has been denied to his own people.” Maria sighed.

  The situation between the gauchos and Imperial Brazil continued to deteriorate. General Gonçalves, recently escaped from prison, was making gains in the west with his band of rebels. They and all eyes were turning to the prosperous port that was Laguna. War was coming.

  Notices were posted all over. Recruits were needed for the rebel army at the northern front. All were welcome. I stood by the wagons, grasping Maria’s hands in mine.

  “Come with me, Anna,” Maria pleaded. “How wonderful will it be to have my best friend and future husband fighting beside me?”

  How I longed to say yes, to taste adventure. But who was I? I could never hold my own in battle. I was only Anna. I was not as brave as Maria. Nor as idealistic as the men she marched with. My fate was here in Laguna.

  “No, Maria, I am no warrior.” Battlefields were for the heroic. I wasn’t heroic. “My place is here. Tending to our wounded.” It was true. I volunteered my services at our little hospital caring for wounded rebel soldiers. “You go. You have enough bravery for the both of us.”

  Maria gave me one last hug. “Watch over my parents, please.”

  “Of course,” I responded, letting her go. I watched as she rode away in a haze of dust kicked up by the overflowing wagon.

  I found solace in my work, apprenticing with the nuns. It was rewarding to be needed and to know that what I did made a difference. I dressed wounds, cleaned up after the men, and helped to feed them when necessary. The blood didn’t bother me as it did some, nor did the nutty, putrid, sweet scent that signaled an infection, which clung to the air. It felt good to be useful.

  I was wrapping a bandage around the calf of an unconscious soldier when my friend Manuela came running up to me. “Anna! Anna! They’re here.”

  When Manuela and I had met at the hospital, we became close friends right away. She reminded me of the tall grass that grew along the coast, swaying like a dancer in the breeze. No one was too far below her class to deserve her kindness, which was unusual for someone in her position. Her husband, Hector, held a position with the local government that afforded them a pleasant life and respect within Laguna.

  I looked at her curiously and started to form the question Who? before she grabbed me by the arm. “The Farrapos, silly. The Farrapos are here!” she exclaimed as she pulled me out of the hospital. Farrapos meant “ragamuffins,” a name given to the rebels by the aristocracy. It was easy for them to laugh; they could buy new clothing whenever they wanted without going hungry. Manuela and I ran down to the docks hand in hand. We stopped just before the wall of people who stood at the dock cheering. I let go of Manuela’s hand and fought my way through the crowd, wiggling and pushing against people who were as unwilling to move as a tree. I ducked under the thick outstretched arms of a large cheering man. Looking up, I spied the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

  The sun gleamed over the head of Giuseppe Garibaldi, making his light brown hair shine with specks of gold. His broad smile filled his bearded face. It was dazzling. He was dazzling. For a moment, I felt blinded by him. I watched as he shook the hands of the people who stood around him, kissing babies and the pretty young girls who held them.

  My admiration turned to disappointment as I watched women flock to him. Amid so many beautiful women, how could he notice me? I slipped back into the crowd and quietly returned to my duties at the hospital.

  Six

  July 1839

  Days after Garibaldi arrived, Manuela and I walked through the market. A slave with a basket full of oranges bumped into Manuela. Slaves were meant to be seen and not heard. If they crossed these boundaries, they risked being shamed or beaten. The slave woman took in rapid short breaths. “Sinto muito. Sinto muito.” She bowed repeatedly, refusing to meet Manuela’s eyes. Manuela put a hand on the woman’s arm, causing her to flinch. “It’s all right, there is no need to apologize.” She handed the woman an orange. “Really, it was all my fault.”

  “Obrigada,” the slave woman murmured as she hurried away.

  Manuela and Hector lived in a spacious bright blue two-story home that sat on a hill surrounded by their own personal orchard. I spent so much time there that Hector liked to tease that I was their adopted daughter.

  The week following the arrival of the Farrapos, I took to standing out on Manuela’s balcony to watch the ships. They looked like bucking ponies tied to their posts, anxious to get out and run as they rolled with the waves. How I envied them.

  I closed my eyes, lifting my face to soak in the warm sun as my hair danced in the wind around me. Breathing in, I filled my lungs with cool salt air. My thoughts went to Maria and the last time I saw her, rolling away from me. “I wish I had gone with you,” I confessed to the wind. “Oh, Maria, I promise I will not be so foolish next time.” If there will be a next time.

  I lowered my eyes to look over the harbor. “As God is my witness, if I get to leave here again, I will grab the opportunity by the mane and never let go.”

  * * *

  Early one morning, at the end of the week, I arrived at Manuela’s house to help her tend to the grapes that ran along the edge of her property. The smell of the ocean thick on the brisk air. We moved about the grapevines, trimming back the unruly leaves and harvesting what fruit we could before heading back to the warmth of her home at midday. “Will we be eating these for lunch?”

  “Yes, though I was thinking I would give some to the church to hand out to the poor,” Manuela said, picking up her basket. “That’s assuming you won’t be eating them all before we get in the house.”

  “I only stole a few,” I said midchew as I followed.

  When we reached the back door, Manuela paused in front of a bush of vibrant yellow flowers. “Go ahead without me, I just love the smell of fresh flowers in the house. These will be perfect on the table.”

  I went into the house but stopped quickly. Hector was sitting in his parlor talking to someone. From w
here I stood, within the safety of the kitchen, I could see Hector but not the visitor.

  “I can’t guarantee the cooperation of the magistrate. There are too many loyalists in our ranks.”

  “What makes these men so loyal? The rest of Santa Catarina is preparing to join Rio Grande do Sul in war. Laguna will need to go with them or be left behind,” the visitor responded. “Hector, my friend, they must realize that Laguna is going to be the central point for the war, whether they decide to join us or not.”

  I could have sworn I had heard that voice before. It was an odd accent, not one from South America, but I couldn’t picture who was speaking. The deep purr made my breastbone vibrate. It dawned on me: I knew who was in the other room with Hector. My feet melted into the floor, and I couldn’t move.

  “Anna, you silly girl! What are you doing just standing here?” Manuela shoved me, stumbling, into the parlor. A steady arm reached out and grabbed me by the elbow, keeping me from falling face first into the brown tiled floor. Sheepishly, I looked up into the shining eyes of the mysterious man who had been speaking with Hector: Giuseppe Garibaldi.

  Everyone else in the room fell away as I stared into his face. His eyes grew wide as his mouth hung open. Garibaldi stood frozen, bent over me, his grip firm on my elbow where he had caught me.

  My heart thumped against my chest like a bird trying to escape a cage. I could feel heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. My vision rocked like waves in the sea. I tried to swallow but my mouth and throat were dry. My eyes drifted to his throat as his Adam’s apple slowly bobbed.

  “Devi esser mia.” The words tumbled out of his lips like a prayer he couldn’t stop. I pulled back sharply; not being familiar with Italian, I had no idea what he’d said. His face grew pink with embarrassment.

  I was suddenly acutely aware of where I was and who I was with. I looked at Hector and Manuela in turn. Hector was standing up in front of his chair, looking down at us. Manuela stood in the kitchen, her hand over her mouth. I felt a rush of embarrassment as I looked back at Garibaldi’s hopeful face. Feeling like I had made a fool of myself, I ran.

  I raced up the stairs and flung myself onto Manuela and Hector’s bed. I wanted to hide away. How could I have been so foolish? What was the matter with me? I closed my eyes, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. Manuela slipped quietly into the room, placing a tender hand on my back.

  “Anna?” she asked.

  “I am such a fool,” I said into her pillow. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Manuela laughed softly. “My friend, you have the sickness.”

  “The sickness?” I asked, sitting up.

  “Yes, it’s called love.” Her eyes sparkled with her smile. She reached out to feel my forehead and cheeks before making a tsking noise. “And by the looks of it, you have it bad.”

  I grabbed her hand as she pulled it away. “Manuela, you speak Italian, don’t you?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Do you know what Garibaldi said?”

  Manuela smiled mischievously. “‘You must be mine.’” She patted my arm. “I’ll leave you to collect yourself.”

  I sat in the bedroom, trying to work up the courage to go back down the stairs. I took my time, smoothing my skirt and tucking back my hair as the pounding in my heart subsided. I scurried down the stairs back to Manuela, hoping that I wasn’t seen. She smiled at me as she piled a tray with mate and pastries. Before I could protest, she shoved the tray into my arms, turning me toward the parlor.

  Senhor Garibaldi’s eyes burned a hole into me as I set the silver tea tray on the simple wooden table that sat in the center of the parlor. I took my seat on the burgundy couch, my back rigid with my ankles firmly crossed. With Hector to my right, I was as far from Garibaldi as I could manage. He sat in one of the twin armchairs that matched the sofa. Together the three of us waited for Manuela to enter the parlor before we began the tea service.

  Manuela entered with a tray full of small plates and biscoitos de maizena. She set the tray down before beginning the mate serving ritual. The silver-rimmed gourd she held in the palm of her hand had an intricate leaf pattern carved into it. After scooping the tea into the hollowed-out inside, she shook it, a process as important as the tea itself. Gently, Manuela poured the water into the gourd. She took a sip of the tea from the silver bombilla straw before spitting the first bitter dregs into the fireplace. When Manuela was satisfied with the taste and temperature, she passed the gourd to her husband.

  “May I offer you a cookie, Senhora de Jesus?” Garibaldi held out one of the blue-trimmed plates to me. The sugar cookies looked innocent enough sitting there. However, as I looked into the hopeful face of the man before me, I felt that they were agents in an evil plot.

  Manuela’s head snapped up. A guest, and a man at that, serving during the tea service was a grave misstep. I could feel the blush creep up my neck all over again.

  Taking the plate from him so as not to cause further embarrassment, I mumbled, “Obrigada, senhor.” He released the plate gently, brushing his fingers against mine. His touch sent a sharp jolt of energy up my arm. “And please, call me Anna.”

  “Anna.” The sound of my name coming from his lips caused heat to rise.

  Hector took a sip of the mate and passed it to Senhor Garibaldi as they resumed their discussion of Laguna’s politics. I did my best to keep my nerves under control as I tried to hide the emotions that flowed through me like a rushing river. All the while, I chastised myself for my foolishness.

  “How do you like Laguna, Senhor Garibaldi?” Manuela asked. “I’m sure it’s much different from your home in Italy.”

  “Oh, I find Laguna to be quite lovely,” he said. “Perhaps the most beautiful town in all of South America.” He looked at me over the rim of the communal gourd as he said the words. “Senhora Oliveira, this mate is unlike anything I have tasted. What did you do differently?”

  “I added dried oranges. They’re a favorite of Anna’s.”

  “Is that so?” He passed the gourd to me. “I believe it will be a favorite of mine now as well.”

  I tried to keep the blush from spreading anew as I took the gourd from him. It was next to impossible not to think about our lips being in the same place, on the same straw.

  Throughout our conversation I attempted to resist every urge to look at him. Failing, I slyly spied him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze quickly moved away and back to our hosts.

  “Tell me, Anna, are you at all interested in politics?” Garibaldi asked. I met his chocolate eyes for the first time that evening. His gaze held me, momentarily causing me to forget how to form words.

  “Anna had the most interesting perspective on the rebellion. Go ahead and share it,” Manuela said with a smile.

  I tried to brush off my friend’s compliment with a wave of my hand. “No, really, it’s nothing, I’m not a politician like the men.”

  “Please, I would like to hear what you have to say.” His face looked hopeful as he waited for me to speak.

  “A handful of gentlemen became impetuous children because the king isn’t giving them their way.” I sipped my tea, trying to collect my thoughts before going on. “There are justifiable reasons to be angry, but is it truly enough to break away from the rest of Brazil?”

  “But can’t you say that this is an opportunity for the people of Santa Catarina to gain a better station in life?” Garibaldi responded.

  “Is it? This is Rio Grande do Sul’s war. Not ours. What will happen to Santa Catarina when the war is over? We can’t risk taking on the burdens of Rio Grande do Sul.”

  He leaned back in his chair. A small smile played on his lips. “Tell me, Anna, what would you have Santa Catarina do? Your state is caught in the middle between Imperialist Brazil and her brothers of Rio Grande do Sul.”

  “If we are to enter into war, we need to guarantee that our people’s interests will be seen to. If the people of Santa Catarina don’t see that there is something in it
for them, they will never support your cause.”

  “And therein lies our dilemma!” Garibaldi exclaimed. “We are trying to convince the people of Santa Catarina that what we propose is truly in their best interest. If only I had you by my side. As one of my advisors.” A thrill went down my spine at the thought of being by his side. He smiled at me, soft and shy at first, but broader as I met his gaze. What was it about this man that drew me in? For someone who preferred to be alone, I couldn’t explain why I suddenly wanted the attention of the strange foreigner.

  Garibaldi stood up. “If you will excuse me. I have business matters to attend to.” He bowed to Manuela and me in turn before striding to the front hallway. We followed him, the four of us crammed in the narrow hall, Garibaldi and Hector in front, Maria and I behind them. As he reached the door he turned to Manuela and me. “If either of you ladies would be interested, I could arrange for a tour of the ship.”

  “That is a very generous offer, senhor.” Manuela smiled politely. A ship was no place for a lady. Women who spent time surrounded by a bunch of sailors were known as putas, whores.

  He bowed his head quickly before exiting through the door.

  * * *

  “Manuela, it would be rude for us to ignore his invitation.” I hurried after Manuela as she carried an armload of sheets down the hospital hallway.

  “Anna, it would be inappropriate.”

  “Not if you come with me,” I pleaded.

  Manuela stopped short in the hall, causing me to nearly bump into her. “Anna, only putas go on ships, with or without a chaperone.”

  “No one needs to know,” I responded.

  “But they will, Anna. You know as well as I do that this town is full of gossips. If word gets out that I was somewhere inappropriate, Hector could lose his position.”