CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 43

The sword that Titania used to strike at me dripped with Duke Stephano's putrefaction. My wound developed an infection, and so it was Duke Stephano and Titania did almost kill me. In fact, my Nurse to this day claims that not long after she entered the tomb, I died to the world and only her efforts brought me back from the other side of heaven. I know not what she meant; I remember nothing beyond that time when the stiletto pierced Titania's chest and for one short moment, her eyes returned to sanity and sorrow.

A persistent weakness followed my terrible fever, and thus it was a month before, at last, I could sit up in bed and eat soft grains enhanced with duck egg and nettles, and drink watered wine. I knew how sick I'd been when my mother laid eyes on me, ran and kissed and hugged me, and her tears trickled into my hair. That more than anything healed me—and convinced me I must control my unfortunate temper.

More weeks passed before my siblings were allowed to visit me, and they were hushed and in awe. That upset me almost to tears, and Nurse encouraged them to act like the wild animals they were, which made me laugh almost to tears.

I cried easily.

Not long after, Princess Isabella came to pay an official visit. She understood her role was princess, not the child who played with my siblings. She brought healing foods from the palace kitchen (no better than compost, by the way, but she meant well), she spoke soothing and encouraging words, she praised me for my heroism in stopping such an evil villain. It was odd to encounter royalty when one was used to the child, but of course she'd been trained in her duties and she executed them well.

Even better, when she finished her visit with me, I heard the other children meet her in the corridor. She must have easily discarded her imperial demeanor, for they carried her away in a glorious babble of laughter and teasing. Soon Papà would teach her the sword work he'd taught me and the other children, and she would be safer than ever before in her young life.

I relaxed, for all was right with my world.

When I had the strength to walk with help, down the steps and into the atrium to sit under the lemon tree, I at last felt like myself. There the sun fed my soul strength and hope.

On the table before me sat an olive wood board decorated with enticing tidbits of food: figs, apples and cheese, bread, shaved smoked meats, and salumis. The colors and the scents of the food strengthened my body even as it enticed my soul with the pleasures of the flesh.

Nurse sat at my left side and my mother at my right, and they smiled and wiped their eyes as if I'd died and been reborn.

Maybe I had been.

Papà joined us with Emilia and Cesario trailing behind. Mamma's belly was now large enough for her to place her goblet on it, and we laughed to see the child try to kick it off.

"That one will be a ball player," Nurse predicted.

"I'm sure she will," Papà said. A outcry of protest occurred, although not from Cesario, and Papà shook his head. "What do I need another son for? I have this sturdy fellow—"

One did not brag of health, and to avert the evil eye, Nurse pulled Cesario close and lightly spit on his head.

"And a daughter who sallies forth to fight evil and injustice when she could simply trust her father to handle it!" He glared at me. He'd made no secret of his indignation.

"Papà, I would have. Really! But the idea that Titania was alive seemed so ridiculous. Even now, even with this"—I indicated my bright red, not-quite-healed scar—"I can hardly believe it."

Mamma nodded. "You know she's right, Romeo."

"She almost died from being right." Papà would never stop grumbling.

"I couldn't rest until I was sure. I am sorry, Papà." I made apologetic puppy eyes at him. "You'd have dealt with Titania in better ways, I'm sure."

"Humph." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

Emilia scooched next to me and grinned, and I saw she'd lost another tooth. Soon she'd have a mouth full of adult teeth and a body to match, and my baby sister would be grown. I wrapped my arms around her and hugged. She understood even if Papà pretended not to.

Time to change the subject. "How is Orlando?" I asked.

Mamma said, "With Friar Laurence's help, he's recovered. His parents are so grateful they donated a large sum to the monastery, and a young artist is creating a statue of them as angels praising God."

"Good." I smiled. "Good. Orlando deserves to live and be happy. Perhaps if he's lucky, I'll find him a wife."

"Your talent for matchmaking is unsurpassed," Nurse agreed.

"But, Rosie, not for yourself," Mamma said. "You're the family keepsake, a treasure for us to cherish all our lives. We'll keep you here in safety and, I promise, we'll never again try to match you with a bridegroom."

I never imagined such a result from my escapade. They'd decided to keep me home and safe? B-but . . . "No bridegroom? Mamma, what about Lysander? Is he not worthy? Or does he not now show true interest in the wedding of me?"

Mamma took my hand and held it. "I told you, child, our lackluster dowry might not entice the Marcketti family into a joining with ours, and so it is. The elder Marckettis did in fact approach us with a suggestion of marriage, yet when the negotiations began and they heard what we can settle on you, they backed away."

Papà lost his sulky expression, leaned forward, and said earnestly, "I'm sorry, Rosie, I believe Lysander is most perturbed with their foolishness."

"Indeed, Lysander has been most faithful in his visitations." Mamma nodded significantly at Nurse.

"Nevertheless, the suit does not progress," Papà said.

"Oh." Oh. Where a few months ago my whole self was dedicated to remaining within the Montague household, I was now downcast at the prospect. With Lysander I would have liked to live through the joys and trials of love. I would have gladly borne his beautiful children. Now I must make do with mathematics and household management and caring for my siblings and making matches for them and every other worthy aristocrat and underling in Verona.

Not Prince Escalus, I told myself hastily. He'd rejected my help in no uncertain terms.

"I'm tired." It was true; an hour spent walking with help, sitting up and eating—that was all I could do. My parents looked concerned; Nurse leaped forward to help me to my feet.

I hoped I had the strength to get back up the stairs without resting halfway. I did make it back to my bed, but barely, where I immediately fell asleep.

When I woke it was night, and I found a vast malaise spread over me like a smothering blanket. I didn't want to rise, not ever again, but alas, the body makes its demands and we obey. I slid to my feet and found the chamber pot and used it and, after checking to see that Nurse was asleep, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and followed the strip of moonlight across the floor to the balcony.

The night garden postured in dramatic shades of black and white, with elongated shadows and brilliant shining leaves that fluttered in the autumn's first cool breeze. Close to the house, torches flamed in their sconces. I sank down on the chaise and tried to concentrate on being here, now, and not in some sad and lonely future.

The whistle, when I heard it, sounded like a charming bird trying to attract a mate. It made me smile.

Yet when it didn't stop, when it went on and on, I was torn between wringing the bird's neck and giving it to Cook for soup, and shooing a female bird in the ridiculous bird's direction. Finally, as I contemplated how much I loved well-roasted fowl, a little rock flew up in a high arc over the rail and bounced across the floor.