When she was very young, Luna would sit by herself watching the children in neighbouring houses playing freely. It took her much longer than most to learn to walk and she would always hobble on the painful stub of puckered muscle that replaced her right foot. She didn’t give up through the pain and humiliation of stumbling and falling and eventually she mastered a lopsided, awkward gait using a stick for balance. She excitedly joined the other children playing in the street, but soon discovered that her abilities were limited and someone only had to bump her to make her fall, which happened often and rarely by accident. Her tears would darken the dirt as she lay with a cheek pressed to the gravel but then she’d pull herself up and loudly condemn their retreating backs. At night in her bed, she’d pray for strength and balance, even though she knew there was only so much God could do.

She returned to the open path where Friar Bartolomeo would see her and waited on the stepping stones. Her stump ached and the supportive padding inside her boot was damp. Her very first pair of boots had been a present from her father, fashioned to add length to her right leg and provide balance. They were made of thick leather, the right boot broader than the left with a firm paddle that extended up the back of her calf. The sole was raised with extra strips of thicker leather. It had hurt when she pushed her stump into the unyielding material but she’d clenched her teeth—a Fusili never complained—and soon discovered that putting the boots on quickly was the best approach. Papa had patiently taught her how to lace them up using the eyelets and how to stuff lengths of linen into the heel and toe end of the bigger right boot to support her stump. She knew tugging on the paddle didn’t offer any relief but it had become a habit, and she pulled on it now.

On her twelfth birthday her papa had given her a sturdy walking stick with a rounded top encased in beaten gold and embedded with a lustrous pearl. She’d viewed the stick dismissively, seeing a cripple’s crutch. Then he told her the stone was linked to the heavens and attracted the spirits of purity and good health. When she inspected it more closely she saw the Moon reflected in the pearl. He showed her where he’d had rings of tiny words engraved into the gold casing:

O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.