“Yes, but what about the drowning slave? I haven’t heard that story.” I set Menotti down in his basket. If I didn’t intervene, this bickering would go on for hours.

“I think I’ll tell the story, if you don’t mind?” Rossetti said, wiping the orange juice from his hands. “José and I were walking along the riverfront, on our way to an important meeting with a pasta wholesaler,” he began, reminding me of my husband’s merchant past. “Well, we heard screams and loud splashing. Your husband ran to see what all the commotion was. Now, let me remind you how important this meeting was. We had our best clothes on as we were running toward the danger.”

“Hey, you don’t get to complain about the running. You followed me,” José interjected.

“As if you ever gave me a choice.” Rossetti continued his story. “It turned out there was a slave fighting for his life in the river. Without thinking, your husband dove in and rescued the man.” Rossetti shook his head. “You ruined a perfectly good suit and wound up going to the most important meeting of our import business looking like a drowned cat.”

“And if I had not intervened the man would have died.” José scooped up his papers. “You would think that with all the people standing around, laughing, someone would have done something.”

“Yes, well that someone is usually Giuseppe Garibaldi.” Rossetti’s smile betrayed his scolding tone. “I also seem to remember the slave owner arriving shortly thereafter to beat and scold you and his property.”

José harrumphed. “As if a human can be someone’s property.” He lifted his papers under one arm. “Come, Canabarro is expecting us.” José kissed my temple. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“And please, be sure to see me if you want more stories about your husband.” Rossetti gave me an exaggerated bow. “I have plenty.”

The men left, the sounds of their playful bickering filling the air as I started to prepare our dinner.

Our life in Rio Capivari wasn’t much, but as José said, “We have four walls and a roof, that’s all we need,” and truly it was. Just having stability again brought me peace. I sat with Menotti one night in our little hut while he gnawed on a wet rag. His little arms and legs punched the air with glee. A rustling by the doorway caught my attention. José stood there watching us.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You both looked like you were having so much fun.” He smiled as he came over to tickle Menotti. He acted happy, but there was a shadow that had passed over him. His smile wasn’t genuine.

“José, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He lifted our son up, then brought him close to nuzzle his chubby cheek.

“José, please.” I put a hand on his arm.