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Back The Woman in Red Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Epigraph
  4. Prologue
  5. Part One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Part Two
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Part Three
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. Twenty-Nine
  37. Thirty
  38. Thirty-One
  39. Thirty-Two
  40. Thirty-Three
  41. Thirty-Four
  42. Thirty-Five
  43. Thirty-Six
  44. Thirty-Seven
  45. Thirty-Eight
  46. Thirty-Nine
  47. Forty
  48. Forty-One
  49. Forty-Two
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Forty-Nine
  58. Fifty
  59. Fifty-One
  60. Fifty-Two
  61. Fifty-Three
  62. Epilogue
  63. Author’s Note
  64. Acknowledgments
  65. Discover More
  66. Reading Group Guide
  67. Discussion Questions
  68. ESSAY FROMDIANA GIOVINAZZO
  69. Antoinette’s Sister
  70. Chapter One
  71. Chapter Two
  72. About the Author
  73. Praise forThe Woman in Red

“General, would you like to stay for supper? Sit and warm yourself for a while.”

“No, I should go.” Canabarro started to leave but paused. “Oh, I have something.” He reached into his satchel. “We found this next to his body. I thought your husband would want it.” He set a book on the table. Flipping it open, I could see the thin scratch of Rossetti’s handwriting. It was his journal.

“Thank you,” I said. “José will appreciate this.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Canabarro said, placing his hat back on his head before venturing out into the rain.

Rossetti deserved better than this. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we were able to find common ground in our love for José. He and José shared a dream. Now my husband would have to forge a unified Italy without him.

As the days dragged on, I watched José. Every smile that he showed to our soldiers was a farce to try to keep up morale. His opinions, which were usually strong, were verbalized with a shrug and “Whatever you think is best.” He slunk about the camp with Rossetti’s book in hand.

I discovered that the one way I could bring him back to life was to make him interact with Menotti. Our son excelled where others failed. At even the slightest giggle or coo from Menotti, José would light up. It’s how I knew the fire in him wasn’t gone. If our son could coax it out of him, there was hope. In my attempt to get my husband back I talked him into doing the washing with me.

“But washing is women’s work.” José whined as I gathered my supplies.

I looked up at him with a start. “I suggest you rephrase that, dear husband. Now where did I put that lye?” I turned around in a circle, checking to see where I might have set it down. “Aha!” I found it sitting on top of a cabinet. “If anyone asks, you can just tell them that your wife was forcing you to spend time with your son. Which is what you will be doing,” I said, dropping the lye into the basket.

José sighed, knowing he had lost the argument, and picked up Menotti from his cradle, a drawer I’d lined with old clothing and blankets. “It’s best you learn now, little one, that when you have a wife, she’s the boss.” Menotti gave him a toothless grin as he shoved a drool-covered fist into his mouth. “Ah, bambino, we men have to stick together, don’t we?” He kissed the baby’s bald head as we set out for the river.