Reluctantly, Laura said, "I've always looked at marriage as a second chance at a family. I'm probably one of the few people who's looked forward to having in-laws!" She smiled at me. "I hope you can understand, Bert, that I didn't want to ruin that chance by telling the Bartolinis the truth about my family in America."

  "So, what are you going to tell them?" I looked directly at Laura who again could not meet my eye. "Okay, what have you already told them?"

  Laura said in a rush of words, "I told them my father passed away several years ago, that I have no brothers or sisters, and that only my mother would be attending the wedding."

  "Your mother? Did you tell your fiancé this story, too?"

  Laura nodded in answer to my question.

  Donatella put in her two cents worth. "What's the big deal? Bert plays your mother. Laura's happy. The Bartolinis are happy. Everyone's happy. I've ordered some local specialties for dessert."

  It was all settled in Donatella's mind, I observed: my new identity and dessert. "I'm to pretend to be your mother?" Now I understood why Laura had arranged for me to meet her friends before meeting her fiancé. Her friends were there to help convince me to play Laura's mother! That was what Aldo had been arguing about with Laura only moments before. That was what the references to mothers were about all morning long.

  "Oh, it'll be fun!" Michela encouraged me.

  "You even look a bit alike." Colin nodded seriously as he studied our faces.

  "What's a white lie when Laura's happiness is at stake?"

  Aldo's comment hit the hardest. Laura's happiness had always been important to me. That was why I had befriended the unhappy girl all those years ago. I said tentatively, "Maybe."

  "Everyone's happy!" Donatella could have been speaking of the desserts that had arrived at the table, but I suspected she was trying to seal the deal between Laura and me.

  "I said, 'maybe.' But before I agree to anything, I want to be sure you think this young man is right for Laura." No one spoke up for Tomaso Bartolini. I saw Laura look at her friends in increasing agitation.

  Eventually, Michela said, "He comes from a very old Tuscan family. They're very well off. It's a good match." She nudged Colin.

  Colin said, "They've all had excellent educations and all the advantages money could buy."

  Donatella said, "They're very active with charities and the big social clubs in Florence. I know the mother, Giovanna Bartolini, and I like her very much."

  Aldo spoke last and least to the point, "I think it's revealing that Bert has asked just the question a mother would ask. Is he good enough for my daughter? Very revealing." He nodded significantly, and then added, "The mother, Giovanna Bartolini, was married to a very domineering man. After he died a few years ago, it was clear she had kept her own character. She's very fond of Laura and has accepted her into the family with open arms."

  I was disappointed and worried that they had found words to praise Tomaso's mother but none to praise him. I looked at Laura and saw that this omission was causing her distress, too. Without hesitation, I said, "I'll do it."

  A sigh of relief circled the table, followed by comments about how they knew I would not let Laura down. I had agreed mainly to spare Laura any more pain, but I was not reassured about the young man Laura wanted to marry. Now that I had agreed to the request, I wanted to set some conditions. "But I'll use my own name."

  "Just say you switched back to your name after your husband died," Michela suggested.

  "Alright, but don't expect me to pretend to be a parent like mine were."

  "No," Laura assured me, "I want them to meet you as you are."

  "Good. The other condition is this, Laura. I want you to consider telling Tomaso the truth. If he loves you and is the man for you, he'll want you no matter what your family's like. I wouldn't want your married life to start out with such a big lie between you."

  There was general agreement among Laura's friends to the wisdom of my request.

  Laura said without conviction, "You're right. I'll tell Tomaso soon, before the wedding. I promise."

  *****

  I awoke with a jolt as our car came to a sudden stop.

  "I'm sorry, Bert! There's an accident." Laura pointed to two wrecked cars in the center of a small town. "This is Montemorello! My place is just outside town."

  The town of Montemorello sat on top of the mountain for which it was named. The central street was lined with businesses. Off either side of the main street, narrow lanes wound their way between stone houses seemingly piled on top of each other. "It's lovely."

  "That's our marshal, Franco Tadeucci." Laura pointed out a man in a dark uniform directing the cleanup efforts ahead. "I suppose in America he'd be called the sheriff."

  I judged the marshal to be in his early to mid-forties, but it was difficult to say. His body moved with agility, but his dark hair looked like it was turning gray. He was above average in height and had a muscular build. "He's very attractive."

  "I suppose so." Laura's eyes never left the man as she spoke. "He's excellent at his job!"

  "Your Marshal Tadeucci looks very serious."

  "He always looks serious. Well, not always." After a moment's hesitation, Laura explained. "I went by his office when I was considering buying this property. I asked him about the area, and if he could recommend a couple to hire as caretakers. I ended up talking with him for nearly three hours! He's a very intelligent and charming man. I wondered, at first, if there was some interest on his part, but after I moved here, it seemed like he was avoiding me." She laughed. "A bit too much ego on my part!"

  "Maybe he's married."

  "Widower, with a teenaged daughter. She seems very sweet."

  "He recommended the couple who live with you?"

  "Yes, Giusi and Cecilio Cecchi. I'm very lucky to have them helping me. Cecilio's worked with him to make my property very secure."

  "He's worked with the marshal?"

  "He recommended all sorts of things to Cecilio and I agreed to every one of them. I'm a woman living alone on a private estate, so it's only common sense. I want my guests to feel safe, too." Laura waved to Marshal Tadeucci as he signaled we could proceed past the wreckage. He waved and smiled as he recognized Laura. His gazed rested on me for a second.

  Laura drove five minutes from the center of the town then stopped her car in front of a high gate. She opened it with a remote control. "That's Cecilio and Giusi Cecchi's place on the left, just inside the gate." Laura pointed to a two-story building nearly hidden from view by creeping vines. "In the pictures I sent you, the property probably looked very flat, but the estate actually sits on four terraces."

  We drove past a large vegetable patch, and then we took a steep decline to reach the second terrace, which was covered in fruit and nut trees. Laura stopped the car on the third terrace in front of a garage. To our left was the main house nestled in a formal garden. As I got out of the car, I caught sight of the fourth terrace below the house, covered with silver-leafed trees and grape vines.

  "It's beautiful, Laura."

  "I want you to feel like you're on vacation." Laura paused to pick up the heavier of my suitcases. "So I've given you one of the guest cottages."

  I collected my other bag and followed Laura up through the fruit and nut orchard and then through an opening in a stone wall. We came out into an area where four good-sized cottages were grouped around a sparkling swimming pool.

  "This one's yours!" Laura opened the door to one of the cottages and set my suitcase inside the door. "I'll leave you to settle in on your own. When you're ready, Cecilio will give you a tour of the place. Just come down to the main house. We'll leave for dinner at the Bartolini's after that."

  *****

  After admiring the cozy cottage, unpacking, taking a nap, having some tea, a shower, and putting on some fresh clothes, I was ready for my evening out. I returned the way Laura had led me, back to the main house. I felt my excitement grow as I neared the attractive building. "Oh, I didn't see you!" I started as I noticed a man standing before me in the path. "Do you speak English?"

  He extended his hand in welcome, and his deep voice rumbled up from his barrel chest. "Cecilio Cecchi. Please, call me Cecilio."

  I thought Cecilio was one of the most powerfully built men I had ever seen. He was of medium height and at least sixty-five years old. A band of gray hair ran along the sides and back of his round head. His eyes were an alert, clear blue that stood out against his weathered skin. I shook his calloused hand. "I'm Bertha Fahey. Please, call me Bert."

  "I understand you're to be Laura's mother for those people." Cecilio pulled with a finger at the skin under his eye while looking meaningfully at me.

  I guessed that was the Italian equivalent of a wink. "That's right. You're the property manager, aren't you?" He nodded. "I have to compliment you on how wonderful everything looks."

  Cecilio looked around with pride. "It is a lovely place. I'll show you around as soon as Laura's ready." He led the way to the main house's front door, knocked, then opened it and allowed me to enter first.

  The ground floor was tiled in glazed terra cotta tiles. A staircase ran up the right side of the hall. A door to the left of the stairs led to rooms in the back of the house, I guessed. To my left was a family room. To my right was a study, the walls were lined with well-stocked bookshelves. A comfortable looking armchair sat catty-corner to an antique desk in the front corner.

  Laura sat behind the desk and spoke in Italian to someone on the telephone. When she saw Cecilio and I, she held her hand over the receiver and said, "It's Tomaso. Why don't you start without me?" She smiled at me encouragingly then returned to her conversation.

  I followed the suddenly taciturn Cecilio back outside. I wondered if this was one more person who had nothing good to say about the young man Laura was to marry. Cecilio gave me a tour of the property, starting with the grove of olive trees, each twisted trunk seemingly alive with individuality. The silvery leaves rustled above us in the evening breeze.

  "We harvest the olives and I press them myself with our own oil press using the original grindstone," Cecilio explained. We passed the vineyard and paused to admire the view of the valley below, then went through a rose garden at the side of the main house, and on to the orchard. Unprompted, Cecilio explained, "I started life as the son of a farmer who was also a carpenter. I had to take a job with the government to earn enough to feed my family, but now, I've come back to the beginning. I'm a farmer and a carpenter, and I'm enjoying it, very much."

  "Where did you learn to speak English so well?"

  "From Americans during the war. My father was a partigiano, a partisan, fighting the Fascists. Many Americans stayed with us. When I was older, I worked for the English who used to live around here." He chuckled. "They called me 'the American' because of my accent." Cecilio led me to the top terrace and explained as we walked, "Laura's made a nice home for herself. We're glad she's decided to stay."

  "I didn't know there was any question of that," I said.

  "She was worried about her health and if the place could be self-supporting. She's just told me she's negotiated a contract with an agency to rent the cottages. We're fully booked for a year with University professors!" Cecilio muttered, "Franco will be happy about that."

  "Franco Tadeucci, the marshal?"

  "Do you know him?" Cecilio eyed me with surprise.

  "We saw him in the center of town. Laura said he's helped make this place safe."

  "He's taken an interest in Laura's well-being. I'll go see him Tuesday. There are things to tell him, about the guests and other things." Cecilio looked at me very seriously and said, "You don't have to worry, Bert. Laura's safe here and when she has to go out in the evening, to interview some stranger in town, I always drive her. I'm her bodyguard, too."

  I could imagine the powerful Cecilio striking fear into the heart of many an interview subject. "It looks like Laura has made a good life here. I appreciate everything you and the marshal do for her."

  "It's our pleasure." Cecilio added, "Franco would have my head if I didn't take good care of Laura!"

  "To be honest with you, Cecilio, I worry most about Laura being alone. She'll be happier after Tomaso moves in, don't you think?"

  "Happier? I don't know," Cecilio shrugged. "The engagement came as a surprise and then the wedding was announced soon after." Cecilio led me to an old building next to the path. "This is the oil shed where I press our olive oil." He looked lovingly at the crumbling walls. "I'll show you tomorrow, when everyone's here for the party."

  "There's a party, here, tomorrow?"

  "A welcome party for you, with Laura's friends and the Bartolinis." I thought I heard displeasure in Cecilio's voice as he said the family name. He hurried past the shed and into a large vegetable patch beyond, and then called out, "Giusi!"

  Giusi Cecchi was a heavyset woman of about sixty with a cherubic face. She stopped weeding and removed her garden gloves and an apron that protected her housedress from dirt. Then she smoothed down her wispy gray hair, pushing the stray strands into a bun at the base of her neck.

  Giusi smiled a wide, happy smile as she approached me. "Hello! You must be Laura's pretend mother." She giggled like a little girl at the joke. "Welcome to Italy and to Montemorello!" Giusi spoke quickly and correctly in English, but with a heavy accent. "Come this way. I want to show you my pride and joy: a very old wood oven for baking bread. I use it every week to make breads we sell to restaurants and caterers. My bread is a specialty!" She hurried me to the far corner of the field where she showed off her wood oven with childlike pride, patting it's rounded top to show it's solidity, then insisting I peer into the cave-like interior.

  I found Giusi's enthusiasm for primitive baked goods contagious. "Will I get to taste some of the bread?"

  "Of course! I'm baking tomorrow for the party!" She turned quickly and pointed to the field she had been tending. "This is the orto."

  "Vegetable patch." Cecilio provided the translation.

  "Orto is easier!" Giusi shook her head in frustration with the English language. "When Laura came here, she was always tired, but I fed her lots of fresh vegetables, like zucchine, that's her favorite. And fruit and nuts and bread."

  "And olive oil," added Cecilio.

  "She's better now, so much stronger! We take good care of your little girl. Don't worry!" Giusi changed the subject with the same abundant energy with which she seemed to do everything. "Do you like your new home? Cecilio made the cupboards. He'll make some more so you can have a dressing room, just like Laura."

  "I'm only visiting," I insisted with surprise. "After the wedding, I have to go back to the States."

  "No," Giusi said with finality. "Don't you like it here? Is it better in America? I don't think so!" Giusi did not wait for answers to her questions. "We'll make your cottage cozy in winter, if that's what you're worried about." Suddenly she said, "You look tired!" I felt tired. "Come with me!"

  I hurried to keep up with Giusi as the woman disappeared around a tall hedge. Beyond the hedge was a tiled veranda that extended out from the front and side of the Cecchi's home. The doors and windows were all open, letting in the cool evening air. Cecilio disappeared into the kitchen while Giusi had me join her at the veranda table.

  "I made clothes for English women who lived here. I still make clothes. See!" Giusi pointed to a sewing machine in a prominent position in what looked like their living room. "I sew while Cecilio watches football!" Giusi's laughter showed how she enjoyed the two hobbies in the same room. "I'll make some dresses for you for the wedding and for parties." With a speed that set my head spinning, Giusi changed the subject once again. "Laura says you were a librarian. That's wonderful!"

  "I enjoyed my work, especially introducing children to books and ideas." At the mention of children, I thought I noticed a reaction. It was just a feeling, but I listened to my feelings when they were as strong as this one. I decided not to mention children again. I indicated the piano against the living room wall and asked, "Do you play the piano, Giusi?" At the mention of the piano, Giusi looked stricken. "I've said something to upset you. I'm so sorry."

  "You said nothing wrong." Giusi patted my hand. "I taught piano for many years to students, including my daughter, Paola. Now, she's stopped playing the piano and is at University."

  "Even if she doesn't play anymore, I'm sure Paola gained a lot from the years she did study. You should teach again. I think teaching is the most rewarding profession."

  "Maybe." Giusi looked pensively at the piano.

  Cecilio returned with an espresso for each of us. I drank the bitter coffee through a sweet, creamy foam. Suddenly Giusi jumped up and hurried into the living room. She returned with a beautifully decorated box. "I forgot!" She opened the box and took out an almond encrusted cake in the shape of a dove. "The columba, the dove. In Italy we eat this cake at Easter." She cut off two generous slices, one for me and one for her husband.

  "Here you are! I missed the whole tour!" Laura came through the gap in the hedge and joined us at the table. She thanked the Cecchi's for their hospitality but declined the offer of coffee and cake. Then after a few minutes, she apologized for our running off, explaining that we did not want to be late.

  "You're going to meet the fidanzato!" Giusi shared a look of concern with her husband.

  "That's Italian for fiancé," Laura explained as she led the way back through the hedge and along the path to the main house.

  "I think I said something wrong back there, Laura."

  "It couldn't have been too serious. You're still alive! What did you say?"

  "I mentioned children and asked if Giusi played the piano. She told me about Paola stopping her piano studies. She was very upset about it."

  "Their daughter was going to study at a prestigious music conservatory, but had to give it up because of an injury to her hand. You couldn't have known, so don't worry. The piano will be gone by next week. It was on loan from a charity." She turned to face me and said with pride, "Michela's charity, actually!"