| Romance Fiction posted September 18, 2025 | Chapters: |
...17 18 -19- 20... 
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Sharing of The Journal
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
By The Sea Chap 11
by Begin Again
The bells at Santa Lucia were still ringing when Anna and Rosa reached the gate. Anna's fingers had gone numb around Sister Beatrice's note. She breathed with the bell's last echo — four counts in, four out — then stepped into the cloister.
Sister Beatrice appeared from the chapel doorway, hands folded. "Buongiorno."
Anna and Rosa smiled and responded, "Buongiorno, Sister."
"Come," Beatrice said softly. "Let us light candles and offer a prayer."
They entered together. The chapel smelled faintly of flowers and sea air. Anna slid into the last pew and drew a cross on her forehead with her finger. She had no fancy prayer left, so she gave God a simple one — "Please."
Rosa struck a match and lit two candles. "For courage," she whispered. "For the living and for the lost."
Beatrice tilted her head toward the side aisle. "I have spoken with Sister Teresa. Now it is up to her. If she comes, it will be here."
They waited.
The small door near the sacristy opened a hand's width, closed, then opened again. A figure in white paused on the threshold as if checking her footing before the next step. Her eyes moved over the pews to the statue of the Virgin Mary and finally to Beatrice. A rosary wound through her fingers. Her thumb kept a quiet rhythm on the beads.
Beatrice went to meet her and spoke softly in her ear. The sister nodded. Together they came to the back pew.
"Anna, Rosa," Beatrice said, "this is Sister Teresa."
Teresa extended her hand to Anna. "I have prayed that this day would come," she said carefully, "and now, I am afraid of what I may learn."
Anna took her hand. "I've been afraid too," she said. "But I'm glad we're here."
Teresa glanced at the candles. "May we pray first?"
"Yes," Anna said.
They prayed in plain words for courage and truth. When the amen settled, Teresa looked toward the cloister. "Will you walk with me? The garden helps when my thoughts are crowded."
They crossed the garden and sat on the bench by the fountain. Orange trees made small patches of shade across the path. They sat quietly before Teresa broke the silence.
"I came to the Sisters as an infant," Teresa said. "They called me a foundling at first. Later, a gift. I learned the ledgers and the kitchen. I trimmed the hedges. The garden became my sanctuary. On feast days, I sang from the side aisle." She glanced at her hands. "I did what was asked of me, but I was always questioning who I was and where my life began before I came to Santa Lucia."
She drew a breath. "The Sisters told me I was born on July 2, 1944," she added quietly. "I was baptized later — after I was taken from my mother." Teresa paused as she struggled to digest the thought.
Anna listened and let the details stand.
"There is one other thing," Teresa said after a moment. "A memory. A man in uniform at the gate. He didn't come close. A sister kept him near the arch. He left small parcels sometimes — a ball of string, a blue marble, a tiny doll, and a carved bird. It fills my hand and comforts me." She shaped her palm. "One wing is nicked. It smells of cedar when it's warm. I still have it. I can bring it tomorrow."
"It matters that you kept it," Anna said.
Teresa nodded. "I don't know what it means. I only know I could never throw it away."
Anna reached into her bag and brought out a bundle wrapped in plain cloth. She didn't push it across the bench yet. "I brought something for you," she said. "I believe this journal belonged to my grandmother."
Teresa's eyes lifted to Anna's, then settled on the cloth bundle. Her fingers stilled on the rosary, but she didn't speak.
"I found it in a small bookshop off the market lane," Anna said. "The owner told me someone had left it there years ago, likely in boxes of old convent papers. The name was the same as the one I found on a letter after my grandmother, Elizabeth, died. Her best friend, Sophia, had asked that my grandmother take the baby and raise her as her own. It said that the truth must not be told. I believe my grandmother complied with her wishes." She steadied her voice. "I believe the child was my mother — Margaret."
Teresa absorbed everything without speaking. The sound of water flowing from the fountain filled the space between sentences. Finally, she murmured, "I don't understand what this has to do with me."
"I believe the journal belongs to Sophia Rossi, my grandmother. Anna paused, swallowing hard, and then said, "Your mother."
"My mother?" Teresa stammered, staring at the journal.
"I don't ask you to accept anything today," Anna said. "If you wish, I'll leave the journal with you now. Read in your own time. I'll come back tomorrow, after morning prayers."
Teresa's voice was low but even as she questioned, "Did you know my mother?"
"No," Anna said honestly. "But her words — her journal — have given her a place in my heart."
Anna placed the bundle into Teresa's hands, who accepted it as if it were something living. She held it against her chest, the rosary sliding beneath her fingers.
"Thank you," Teresa said.
"You're welcome," Anna answered. "I'll be here tomorrow. We can sit here again. If you want to talk, we will. If you don't, that's fine too."
"After morning prayers," Teresa said.
Anna stood. "I'll leave you to your day."
Teresa rose with her. "I am glad you came," she said. "Regardless of how this ends, I am grateful."
*****
Beatrice walked with them as far as the cloister arch, then paused. "Tomorrow," she said, with a small nod to Anna and Rosa.
Outside the gate, the street had found its morning rhythm. A cart creaked by with crates of vegetables. A woman shook a rug over a balcony rail. Pigeons started and settled again.
"Anna! Mama!" a voice called.
They turned. Luca stood a few steps down the lane, hair wind-tossed, a folded paper in one hand. He lifted it as if to explain himself, then smiled. "I had an errand," he said. "I thought if I finished quickly, maybe I'd see you and walk you home."
Rosa looked from Luca to Anna and back again. "How lucky," she said, a little too easily. "I have an errand, too. The fishmonger expects me." She patted Anna's arm. "Take your time."
Before Anna could protest, Rosa was already halfway down the block, calling over her shoulder, "I will see you both at the house."
Luca fell into step beside Anna. They began to walk, unhurried. For a few moments, they let the noise from the street fill the quiet between them.
"How did it go at Santa Lucia?" he asked gently.
"Better than I feared," Anna said. "Slower than I imagined. Which is good."
"She came and did she talk with you?"
"She did. We prayed first. We sat in the garden." Anna glanced at the church behind them. "I gave her the journal. I told her I believed it belonged to my grandmother — the woman I believe to be her mother."
"And she took it?" Luca asked.
"She did," Anna answered. "She will read on her own. We will meet tomorrow after morning prayers." A small smile found the edge of her mouth. "She's bringing something she kept from childhood. A carved bird."
He nodded, as if this, too, made sense. "You look lighter," he said.
"I feel that way," Anna admitted. "It isn't finished. But today was the right beginning."
They turned onto a narrow lane where laundry lines stitched the sky. The sea sounded close. The sun was getting hot.
"My mother will remind me to tell you to drink water," Luca said. "So, I am officially reminding you."
Anna laughed, surprised by it. "I will."
They walked a few more steps. Luca cleared his throat. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"
She glanced up. "Dinner?"
"There's a small trattoria by the piazza," he said. "They keep tables outside if the weather holds. Sometimes there's music. We could talk — or not talk. We could dance."
"Dance?" Anna repeated, smiling despite herself.
"Only if you want," he said quickly.
"I would like that," Anna said. "Dinner. And if there's music, we'll see."
"Eight?" he asked.
"Eight is good."
"I'll meet you at the gate," he said.
*****
At eight, Luca was there — collar open, a small carnation tucked in his pocket. They took the long way to the piazza, enjoying the soft breezes and starlit night.
Under strings of lights, the trattoria set narrow menus — all in Italian on the table. Anna tried to read, then laughed at herself. "What do you suggest?"
"Do you trust me to order?" Luca asked.
"I do."
He spoke to the waiter, and soon the table filled with casarecce with warm caponata to share, grilled swordfish with lemon, warm bread, a bottle of mineral water, and a chilled carafe of Grillo.
He poured. "To tonight — and to such beautiful company."
"Grazie," Anna said, cheeks warm. "To tonight."
They ate. Anna tasted the penne, the fried eggplant, and the vegetables, nodding her approval. "I've never had caponata with pasta. I like it."
"My aunt does this when cousins arrive unexpectedly," Luca said. "It stretches the meal, and nobody complains."
"Luca!" a voice called.
Isabella crossed the piazza on the arm of a man in a black jacket. Tonight, she wore a plum dress. "Rosa said you might be here," she said lightly. "Marco insisted we come when he heard there would be dancing." She barely glanced at him before leaning close to Luca. "I left a space on my dance card for you."
Luca didn't look away from Anna. "Another night," he said, polite but firm. "Tonight, I'm with Anna."
Isabella held her smile a beat, then turned to her companion. "Come, Marco. A bottle of Marsala is calling my name." They moved to a table near the edge of the dance floor. Isabella's forced laughter carried across the diner.
*****
After the plates were cleared, the waiter brought two tiny glasses of limoncello. He smiled as he placed them on the table. "Josef says they are on the house."
Luca and Anna expressed their appreciation and sipped the sweet, lemon-flavored liquor.
Music drifted up — a guitar, then a low, sultry voice joined. Luca stood and offered his hand. "May I?"
"Yes," Anna said.
On the stone dance floor, his hand rested at her back; hers found his shoulder. He kept the steps easy. She followed without having to think.
"You're good at this," he said quietly.
"I'm just following you," she said, coloring.
"I'll try to be worth following," he said with a small smile.
They didn't talk for a while. When the first song slid into another, they stayed. He drew her a little closer. She let her head tilt toward his shoulder. On the last note, they didn't drop their hands right away. He ran his thumb once along her knuckles. She smiled as she gazed into his eyes.
*****
They took the long way home. Over the rooftops, the moon hung bright, and stars glittered between the roofs. Their hands brushed, then linked.
At the gate, he lifted the latch. "I'll be downstairs early, helping Mama with breakfast. I won't come to Santa Lucia — tomorrow is for you and Sister Teresa. But when you're back, there'll be coffee and warm bread. If you want a walk after, I'll be here."
"I'd like that," Anna said.
He leaned in and kissed her — warm and gentle. When he drew back, he whispered, "So you don't forget me."
Anna's breath shook. "I couldn't."
*****
In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and let the quiet of the house settle. She pictured the bench by the fountain, the journal, and the bird carved from cedar.
Tomorrow, there would be the garden and whatever waited there.
Tonight — she touched two fingers to her lips. The square, the song, his hand at her back — all of it slipped by in a flash. The kiss was the part that stayed.
For the first time in days, the future didn't feel like a wall. Her eyes closed, and sleep came, filled with pleasant dreams.
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