Part 9 of 10

The Proof by Cheryl Colwell

Siena, Italy

Only three days had passed, yet Gabe’smind reeled. His grandfather had filled him with many stories aboutthe family treasures housed in the 1,000-year-old structure.

Lingering after breakfast in therectangular, windowless dining room, Louis now pressed for thedetails about Gabe’s late father, his family, and his life. Gabefingered the crystal water glass that remained on the table.Translucent alabaster chandeliers provided soft illumination for ahard subject.

Gabe glanced up in surprise. Surely,his father had notified him of her death. But no, Gabe could see theanticipation in his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, Angelica has passedfrom us also.”

Louis sank back in the tall chair, hisstrong hands gripping the claws carved on the walnut arms. His faceheld such pain that Gabe trained his attention on the red and goldpattern of the carpet underfoot. He dreaded what would come next.

“How did she die?”

A simple question, but the answer heldso much torment. “It was an accident. She was lost in a mudslidewhile we were hiking in the mountains.”

“How old was my granddaughter?”

“Twelve.”

An anguished gasp escaped the old man.“So long ago, but no one told me. Am I that much of a monster thatmy own son would stab my heart this way? Gabriel, am I?” Hisbreathing accelerated and his hand pressed against his chest.

Gabe called for Rinaldo and rose to gethelp, but Louis motioned for him to sit. His grandfather waited foran answer. Meeting the old man’s anxious eyes, he said, “No, youare not a monster. This was a monstrous thing to be done to you.”Gabe’s own resentment seeped into his words. His father had beenheartless, except where Angelica had been concerned.

Rinaldo appeared from his quartersopposite the kitchen, took one look at his employer, and reached forhis medication from the sideboard.

When Louis had calmed down, he said, “Ineed to go to my room.” Rinaldo and Gabe helped the distressed manto his suite and helped him lie down on a black and tan upholsteredchaise next to his bed.

Gabe left and pulled the door closed,wishing he could lock out the fear that hid in the shadows of hismind. Craving the growing bond with his grandfather had made himvulnerable. He had been close to revealing his darkest secret. Butwith truth came consequences. Shaken, he escaped to the ballroomwhere all the preparations to honor him were taking place.

Empty crates that had contained hispaintings lay in neat stacks. As soon as he had accepted theinvitation, Conte Dolcini had notified Serena Romano, a popular artdealer, to make it happen. And it was happening.

Strain tugged at Serena’s face. Shecarried a metal clipboard and ordered her crew to transform theballroom of the Palazzo Dolcini into a grand salon to exhibit Gabe’swork. Thin and wiry, with her face pulled tight at the hand of asurgeon, she looked anything but serene. A string of emotionallycharged Italian streamed out of her mouth, causing alarm in the eyesof the young men who were not moving fast enough after lunch. Theyhad only four more days to finish the details.

When she explained the significance ofthe night to Gabe, her self-importance seemed to cause her head torise to new heights. “Members of the old guard are anxious to seethe Dolcini collections again. Their children have only heard talesabout the palazzo. They are thrilled to be included on theguest list to see you, the famous American painter.” She flashed awily smile. “Your Italian heritage only heightens the excitement.”

She was less forthcoming with otherinformation, but Gabe was able to pull a few facts together. Althoughhis grandfather carried on a vast array of business responsibilities,the Palazzo Dolcini had not opened its doors for an event in fourdecades, not since its mistress, Contessa Dolcini was murdered. Notsince Gabe’s father left for America.

He glanced around the fabulousballroom. His paintings rested on magnificent gilded easels placedwith artistic precision around the massive space. The second storyroom was ablaze with light as Serena checked for shadows and glarethat might hinder the viewing of his pieces.

“These are magnifico,” shecomplimented. Tilting her head to study him, she asked, “Are youaware of the rare gift you possess?”

He judged her comment as sincere ratherthan flattery. “It feels that way at times.”

She flashed a quick smile. “ConteDolcini will love these. He is so proud of you.”

He is for now. An ache in Gabe’schest limited his response to an appreciative nod with a murmured,“ Grazie.” He left the residence by the rear exit to escapethe commotion—and the unsolicited childhood memories.

##

While the inner soul of the palazzoflaunted the masters’ paintings, the gardens outside boasted theirown treasures. Trees and vines shaded and caressed the mastersculptors’ marble and bronze figures. Today, however, Gabe’s mindwas too preoccupied to let the garden’s glory entice him. Today, helonged for sanctuary. He needed to center—to remind himself of allhe had accomplished through diligence and hard work. Why could onememory strip him bare so easily?

As he meandered along a wide path thatcircled the large lawn, the beauty of the symmetry was nearly lost onhim. Overhead, the tips of the ancient olive trees intermingled,providing a welcome respite from the unusual September heat. Statuesof Roman women holding fruit or vegetables seemed to pause along thepath. He had already bypassed most of them when the extended hand ofa magnificent bronze reached out to him.

A bearded Greek warrior stood elevatedon a round pedestal. The sculptor had wrought the realisticmusculature of the chest and body in great detail. Gabe studied therounded skull, certain it was once crowned with a helmet. He had seentwo such statues on the cover of an art magazine in Louis’ library.Divers had discovered them off the coast of Riace, a village near thetoe of Italy’s boot-shaped landmass.

“The Riace Warriors,” he said aloudand shook his head in amazement. What were the chances hisgrandfather had purchased a third warrior, clandestinely rescued fromthe shallow water?

“Hey, man.”

Gabe’s head swung around to meet thewide grin of a red-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. “Do Iknow you?”

“You forgot your cousin, did you?”

Gabe’s jaw dropped. “Ralph Witte?”He scanned the bizarre, silver-studded black jeans that clung to theman’s long, skinny legs. “I haven’t seen you since I was tenand you spent the summer with us.” Raised without a father, ordiscipline, Ralph had proved to be a challenge for Gabe’s parents.A one-sided smile dimpled Gabe’s cheek. He had enjoyed thedistraction and his father’s frustration with someone other thanhimself. Where Gabe refused to take part in adventures, Ralph createdone spectacular event after another. He even stole their neighbor’scar and took out the trashcans instead of making the turn. A shadowcrossed over Gabe’s memory. His father had been less than gentle onRalph’s backside.

“Yeah, that was a good year, as Iremember it.” Ralph’s dull green eyes darkened below the stiffspikes of natural red hair. “So, you still a good little chump?”

Gabe colored. Ralph had thrown thatinsult at him all that summer. But he was thirty-four now. All grownup. Ignoring the dig, he asked, “Do you still live in London?”

Ralph straightened. “Yeah mate, stillin London. I’m a rock star now, you know.”

Gabe looked at the wild hair andclothes and grinned. “You look like a rock star.” A hard-liferock star. “What instrument do you play?”

“A mean guitar, but not the lead. Notlike you, turnin’ out to be a great painter an’ all.” Hiswhitened teeth, too perfect to be real, sparkled from a narrow jaw.But Gabe could hardly call it a smile.

“What brings you to Italy?” Gabeasked.

“Got a gig. Then I finds out my cuzis here to get all glorified. The ol’ man finally gets to hold uphis legitimate grandson for the world t’ see. It’s allhe’s ever wanted.”

Gabe recoiled. “I’ve just met him—Ihad no idea.”

“That’s the sorry part, ain’t it?My mom and your dad, ignoring the ol’ guy, but me growing upwithout nothin’. She wouldn’t let me near him. And he wouldn’thave nothin’ to do with us, just because she self-medicated.Don’t quite seem right, does it?”

“I’m sorry to hear that. My fathercut us off from all of this.”

 Ralph eyed him. “Not yourfault.” He shook Gabe’s hand. “I’m glad for you, with allthis fuss and all. You turned out good, in spite of Angelica’saccident.”

Gabe’s smile faded.

“You ain’t past that?” Ralphsmirked at the revelation. “Does Louis know yet?”Working to hidethe sting, Gabe changed the subject. “Are you staying here whileyou’re in town?”

“Right. My mum died and the ol’ manlet me stay here for awhile. Then kicked me out over a littlemisunderstandin’.”

Gabe was silent. What could he say?

Ralph cocked his chin up. “Hey, justwanted to stop by before the big event. I ain’t invited, but I’llsee you around.” He started to leave but turned back. “He hasn’tbeen feedin’ you any of that Templar lunacy has he?”

Puzzled, Gabe responded, “Haven’theard a thing.”

With that, Ralph nodded, slippedthrough the iron gate, and vanished from sight.

Gabe stared after him. Strange guy.A moment later, Rinaldo emerged from around a precisely carved hedge.“Sir, would you give your grandfather a moment of your time?” Hestepped back inside through the solarium door.

Why did it always come back toAngelica? Gabe was not interested in continuing the conversation. Hestrolled the perimeter walk, stretching out the time and keeping alookout for more Greek bronzes. None showed themselves.

Arriving at a stone railing, he peeredover and was astonished. Below lay a large seating area arranged likea small Roman amphitheater. A strong breeze blew up from thehalf-circle stage below and teased his black curls away from hiseyes. He followed its direction and glanced back at the palazzowhere his grandfather waited.

What would his life have been likewithout that fateful day?

The wind shifted. It was impossible totell from which direction it came or to where it journeyed. Could itbe that simple to change the direction of his life?

It was time. He trudged up the broadsteps to the side entrance. Inside, the house was quiet. Rinaldo ledhim to the open door of a small chapel and left. Standing at theentrance, Gabe realized it had been ages since he had entered achapel. The peculiar atmosphere here was different from anything hehad experienced before.

The aesthetics of the narrow room wereimpressive. Its vaulted ceiling highlighted a magnificent glasscenterpiece set high on one of its stone walls. Sun filtered throughthe five-foot rose window that displayed stained glass of everycolor. The soft light danced its rainbow illumination over seven rowsof benches in the otherwise dusky room.

Gabe stood still. A gentle presence anddistant singing filled him, causing a slow swell in his heart. Helistened harder, but the song was not audible.

A movement in the front of the chapelstartled him. Louis changed his weight on the altar where he knelt,head in hands. Gabe eased forward and heard his grandfather praying.

“Lord, my only son renounced me andis dead. And now, Angelica. Only You know the depth of my agony.”Louis wiped the tears that dripped into his beard. “I cannot undomy willful actions, but please, deliver me from these spitefulaccusations fettered to my soul.” He pulled out a handkerchief andblew his nose, then rose from where he knelt on the padded altar andsat on the first bench.

Gabe grimaced at the grief his father’sactions had caused this gentle man. He stepped forward and laid ahand on Louis’ shoulder.

Startled, Louis turned. His facesolemn, he patted the bench. “Come sit. Tell me about Angelica."His eyes probed for truth.

Gabe rubbed his forehead. The peacevanished. He hid a nervous swallow and sat on the other end of thesmooth wooden bench, hesitating before beginning the story. “Wewere hiking in the Sierras, close to King’s Canyon in California.The terrain was rough and wild, but Angelica was a gazelle, skippingfrom rock to rock, until a storm moved in without warning. Our fatherrushed us down the mountain in the torrent that followed.” Helooked down, unable to meet his grandfather’s eyes and cleared histhroat.

“I was able to wade across a placewhere the waterfall pooled, but when I looked back toward Angelica, amudslide hit the place where she clung to the mountain.” He sighed.“We never found her.”

Gabe tried to shield himself from theloss and pain the memory caused—the part where she had alwaysdefended him from his father’s brutal ranting. And from hisschoolmate’s taunts of pretty girl because of his beautifulfeatures. He had returned her loyalty with treachery.

Shutting his eyes against the image,Gabe straightened. “He never spoke more than a dozen civil words tome after that.”

“Your father was always full ofblame,” Louis moaned, apparently lost in his recollections. “Ican see this was hard for you, but thank you for telling me. I needto rest now.”

Back in his room, Gabe fell into theblue overstuffed chair. He snatched his wallet from the end table andfished through the dark pockets until his fingers touched the slickedge of the small photo. It had been a long time since he broughtAngelica’s sixth-grade picture into the light.

As he studied her confidant face, a newsensation grew inside his gut. Anger seized him, pushing out theguilt. If she hadn’t been showing off—if she’d stayed withthem… Her decisions ruined his life.

Condemnation rushed back. Nice try.Would he now blame her? He shrugged. No. There had beenenough blame. He refused to step into his father’s shoes.

Staring at nothing, he fought againstthe certainty that if the courageous Conte Louis Dolcini—masterhorseman and proud patron of his family—knew the rest of the story,he would cancel the art exhibit and send him packing. Gabe would haveno way of paying his bills. His mother would be left homeless. Hisstomach knotted against the threat that hovered just out of hiscontrol.