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Chapter 5

FIVE

MAY 2019

Tuesday

Tori sat up straighter and turned on the sofa so her whole body was facing Marilene. She'd never seen her so agitated. What could be so upsetting about a wedding dress in a museum display? Marilene hadn't even changed yet out of her clothes into pajamas. It was so strange, seeing her grandmother here in the living room at this hour. And what she'd said—"We have to talk"—in that serious tone. Tori couldn't remember the last time she'd sounded like that.

"What is it?" she said. "You're scaring me. Why are you staring at that picture?"

"Nothing's wrong—I mean, no emergency or anything. It's… my goodness, I never expected this…"

Tori breathed in as she sat back on the sofa. "Is it… about Italy?" she asked softly. She wondered if the museum's website was the trouble. When Marilene was willing to talk about her childhood, she spoke only of pleasant things: candies and sweets, birthday cakes, and wonderful visitors coming and go ing, often young men she'd develop huge crushes on. Tall grass swaying in the breeze behind her house and the cool feel of the aqua Mediterranean water on her toes when she went to the shore with her brothers to welcome newcomers, the three of them pretending they were in charge. Evidently her father had been a doctor from a wealthy family and had inherited a small island in the Mediterranean. The rise of fascism had infuriated him, and he'd retreated to the island to wait for the homeland he loved to come to its senses and reject Mussolini as prime minister. That was where Mar and her family—her parents and two younger brothers—had spent the war years.

When Tori was young and studied world history in school, she'd asked about how it was to live in Italy under fascism. Marilene had said she didn't really know; living on a tiny private island, she'd grown up removed from the major events of her childhood and teenage years: the reign of Mussolini, Italy's alliance with Germany, and the surrender to the Allies followed by the Nazi occupation of Rome.

She and her family had it easy in the beginning, she'd said, other than the occasional delay in getting food or supplies from the mainland. They had an inventive cook and household staff who knew how to make do with less and keep the household cheery. Visitors came, and many stayed for a while or returned often, having no safe home. Tori imagined these so-called visitors had been displaced because of the war. Possibly they were Jews trying to flee Italy, or anti-Fascists like Marilene's father. If Marilene had known anything more, she wouldn't say; she'd only talk about how fun it was to welcome guests.

But Tori knew that things had gotten worse after the Nazis invaded Italy. Marilene had occasionally mentioned a time when she and her brothers were forbidden to play by the shore. Apparently her parents were concerned about the Nazis setting foot on their little island and destroying the life they had made for themselves. Tori wondered, too, if maybe they feared being punished for harboring Jews or engaging in some other anti-Nazi activities. And then, of course, Marilene had come to the United States all alone, a young, single mom with a five-year-old daughter, Tori's mother. Tori had never met Marilene's brothers. She didn't even know if they were alive now, or what had happened to the island where they'd all lived.

She thought now that the picture of the wedding dress in Kelly's email had triggered bad memories, and wished she'd separated the postcard from the other mail so Marilene wouldn't have seen it. Her grandmother had started changing in the last year, slightly but noticeably. She had a bad hip and an unsteady gait, and worsening eyesight. She appeared to be entering the twilight of her life, and Tori was determined to make it as stress-free as possible.

Marilene rubbed an eye underneath her glasses, and Tori wondered if she was crying or had been crying earlier in the evening. She knew the best thing to do was to give Marilene time. She wondered if she should encourage her to put the computer aside until the morning, when hopefully her mind would have cleared and things wouldn't look so dire. After all, it was after ten, and they both needed to get to sleep. But Marilene seemed wide awake and probably had no desire to turn in anytime soon.

"I'm sorry you had to see the postcard, if that's what led to all this," Tori said. "I knew something was wrong at the shop, and then you left so quickly the moment Molly came back from the workroom with the ribbon…"

"No, it's good that I saw it," Marilene said. She looked small and weary. "It's for the best. The picture. Even though…" She went quiet again.

"Even though what?" Tori insisted. This mood was so unlike Marilene. As old as she was, she was practical, a doer and a go-getter. She wasn't the type to wallow .

"Mar, please tell me what's upset you," Tori said. "Maybe I can help."

Marilene sighed. She clicked on a button on the screen that brought her to an English-language version of the museum's website. Then she navigated again to the wedding dress. The page had a text box beneath the image. Tori glanced at her grandmother, and when Mar nodded and murmured, "Go on," she read the English words aloud:

A talented artist and dressmaker, Giulia Sancino apprenticed with Savio Peralta, an Argentine painter, at Parissi Castle. She designed and sewed many beautiful garments while living there, including this spectacular wedding gown.

Tori looked up. "So?"

"Keep reading," Marilene said, and Tori continued.

For years, Giulia Sancino was thought to have been killed in the Nazi invasion of Parissi Island. But historians now agree that she survived the invasion and waited out the war on a nearby island. After the war, she made her living as a seamstress in Rome until her death in the mid-1990s.

Tori turned to Marilene. "What about her?"

Marilene pointed to the screen. "What it says there—the island where she waited out the war?" She clenched her fists and rested them on her knees. "That was my family's island. She showed up on our shore in a little raft-like boat, all alone. She'd escaped when the Nazis stormed Parissi Island."

"You mean the person who made this famous dress… was someone you knew?"

"My father didn't say it, not to my brothers and me, but I knew he was worried when she arrived," Marilene said. "She'd come from Parissi Island, and he didn't know if the Nazis would follow her and destroy our home, too. But she was so weak and badly hurt. We had to take care of her."

She pressed her lips together, clearly distressed by the memory. "She had this deep gash on her foot," she continued. "I remember it even now, so much blood seeping out of her shoe. My father said it was very serious. He told my mother he thought she might die. But he treated it and dressed it, and it healed. And that's when we learned what a talented seamstress she was. She made our clothes. And she showed me a sketch of this very wedding gown."

Tori shook her head, astonished. She'd never known anyone whose life had been memorialized in a museum. "I can't believe you knew this woman," she said.

"I didn't just know her—I adored her," Marilene responded. "I was twelve, and she was about to turn eighteen, and she was like the most wonderful older sister to me. And she was so beautiful. She had this beautiful hair, honey gold, with the prettiest waves. And big eyes, and such a warm smile. And she made me the nicest dresses I'd ever had. She said her older sister was bringing the wedding gown—this very wedding dress—to America. She had two sisters—one older, one younger—and she hoped they'd all get married in it one day, one by one. They all planned to meet up in New York.

"Oh, that was just a lovely time," she added, taking off her glasses. Her eyes turned watery. "With my family and Giulia, and my teacher and this sweet couple that helped take care of the house—my goodness, I don't even remember their names anymore. And there was this young man, the son of a friend of my father's. Luca, his name was. I had such a crush on him! He was so handsome and so much fun, always teasing my brothers and horsing around with them in the yard…"

Tori held her grandmother's hand, moved by the depth of Marilene's memories. She'd always wondered how Marilene had dealt with growing up on a remote island. She wouldn't have gone to school; she wouldn't have had any friends. She must have been so lonely. No wonder she adored Giulia and the others, the staff and this young man, Luca. No wonder reading about her now would affect her so greatly. "How long did you know her?" she asked.

"She stayed with us for about a year," Marilene answered. "And then she left. She'd told me that if she ever left, she'd always come back, and I had no reason to doubt her. She never would have lied to me. At least that's what I thought."

"So… she didn't return?" Tori asked.

Marilene shook her head. "We thought she must have died. The war was still going on, and Rome was so dangerous. Why else would she leave and never come back?"

"Oh, Mar," Tori said, feeling sympathy for her grandmother. It had to have come as a shock, to learn that this person, who'd been like a sister to her, had actually been alive for decades.

"She's been right there in Rome," Marilene said. "She could be there still?—"

"No, she died in the nineties." Tori pointed to the screen. "It says so here?—"

"But that's not correct—look!" Marilene reached out to scroll down the page to the section where people could post comments. There was just one comment posted, the author listed as "Anonymous." Tori leaned in to read it:

Your information is wrong. Giulia didn't die in the 1990s. I met her not too long ago, when she designed my granddaughter's wedding gown. I wonder if she knows about this exhibit. I wish someone could find her and bring her to see it.

"So… so she may still be alive?" Tori said. "Is that what you're thinking?"

"Yes, that's what it means," Marilene said, clasping her hands together, interlacing and then releasing her fingers over and over. "What do I do? What do I do?"

Tori wanted to offer an idea that would calm Marilene down. "Are you saying you want to find her? We… we could reach out to the museum," she suggested. "Maybe they could help us locate this woman who wrote the comment, who saw her recently…"

Marilene didn't respond, and Tori didn't know what else to add. Yes, it had to be shocking to learn that this woman could be alive. But Marilene was nearly panicked, and Tori didn't understand that reaction. She could only think that life had been so awful and incomprehensible during the war. The idea of living in an occupied country where Jews were being ripped from their homes and sent to concentration camps and where killing and brutality and evil were all around—it made sense that Marilene had never wanted to talk about it. Now she had uncovered this news, and it seemed that all of the emotions—the fear, the sadness, the sense of danger—she'd tamped down for decades were coming to the fore. Tori thought the best thing she could do was simply be here and try to comfort her.

"Mar, I'm sorry that this is so upsetting to you," she said. "Can I get you something? More tea, maybe?"

Marilene shook her head. She breathed in deeply and leaned on the arm of the sofa to pull herself up. Favoring her bad hip, she limped to the window and looked outside through the floor-length sheer curtain panels. The moon was just about full, and the street glowed an eerie yellow.

Looking a little more composed, she turned to Tori. "I didn't even ask you how your dinner was," she said.

Tori shrugged. "It was fine. We don't need to talk about it now."

"Just fine?"

Tori looked down at her hands.

"He asked you to marry him, didn't he?"

Tori nodded.

"And you turned him down?"

She nodded again.

"I knew he was going to ask you," Marilene said. "It was written all over his face these last few weeks." She paused, then walked back toward the sofa. "He's a good man, sweetheart. You won't find another like him. And he loves you so much."

"I know," Tori said, her voice quivering. "I love him, too. But I can't bring a man into this family now. What if it doesn't work out? I can't put Molly through that… I can't risk changing her life and then maybe having it all upended?—"

"But why would it be upended? Honey, he loves Molly. She could use a father, you know. She's going to be a teenager soon, and it would be good for her to have a mother and a dad."

Tori blinked, feeling a need to protect herself. "Mar, of all people, why would you say that? You never married. You raised Mom alone."

"And I struggled, and your poor mom did, too?—"

"You can't blame what happened on your being a single mother. Having a man in the house doesn't automatically make things perfect. Do you really think that if you'd married some guy when Mom was eleven, that she wouldn't have grown up to?—"

Marilene limped back to the window, and Tori felt horrible for having raised her voice. This was the last thing Marilene needed right now. "I'm sorry," she said.

Her grandmother seemed not to have heard the apology. She stayed where she was, facing the night sky.

"There's something else you need to know," she finally said. "Giulia was married when she arrived on the island. And she was pregnant. She had her baby, and then she left."

Tori looked at the back of Marilene's head, puzzled. "What does that mean? She left her baby with your family?" Marilene nodded. "So what happened to it?" she asked.

Marilene turned back around. "It was a little girl," she said. "And she grew up to have a daughter named Tori. Giulia, the woman who sewed the wedding dress? She's your real grandmother."

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