“From who? Father Bernardi? He’s the one who said you must come to Mass. If it were for any other reason I would discourage you. But in asking you to do this, Father and I are the ones committing a sin, not you.”

She was trying to be brave, but so much had been taken from her already—her family, her home, even her true name. And now her faith was going to become another casualty. Never mind that she had never been very certain in her beliefs; they were precious to her, and she could not, would not, give them up for anything or anyone.

“Maybe I should stay behind,” she suggested. “You could say that I’m feeling unwell.”

“For every Sunday that you live here? That won’t work. You need to go to Mass, and you need to take Communion, because if you don’t people will notice, and they’ll gossip about it, and that will put your life at risk. If I’m to keep the promise I made to your father, you need to do this. Tell me you understand.”

“I do,” she admitted, for she, too, had made promises to her father. “I’m sorry for fussing.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I only wish I didn’t have to ask it of you.”

The bells in the campanile began to ring; it was time to leave.

“Are you dressed?” she asked.

“Yes. What do you think?”

He was wearing a dark suit and tie, and though the shoulders were a little tight on his jacket, and the collar of his shirt was beginning to fray, he still looked very handsome and respectable.

“You look very well.”

“As do you, Signora Gerardi. Now let’s introduce you to Mezzo Ciel.”

It was only a few hundred meters back up the road to the church, not long enough to run into more than a few of their neighbors, but as soon as they entered the piazza she felt the force of dozens of eyes upon her, all wondering and judging and possibly finding her wanting. This was more than usual curiosity, it seemed, for there was an avidity to those first assessing stares, and it only grew more noticeable when they entered the church.

The interior of Santa Lucia was far plainer than the Scola Spagnola her family had attended for generations, and there was no women’s gallery, only a central aisle with flanking pews where men and women and children all gathered together.