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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

José handed me Menotti as he happily followed Anzani. “Well, now that they are out of the way, let’s set about getting to know each other,” Luisa said. “You are going to love this city. It’s the only place in all of South America that feels like Italy. Frankly, it’s no Roma, but really, no place can ever have the feel of that city.”

Luisa scooped mate into a red gourd as she continued. “People from all over Europe have settled here. When I was walking through the market today, I heard four different languages. Four! Can you believe that? You’re just going to love it here. I can tell,” she said, sipping her tea with a wink.

I smiled as she passed me the gourd. Montevideo was already feeling like home.

*  *  *

Later that evening José and I made our way down to our new house, with bellies full of food and a basket of additional goods to get us through the night. The downstairs boasted a parlor and a kitchen with a large worn-out table, while the upstairs held two bedrooms, one of which had a bed. My spirits rose as I let my fingers graze along the wall. I prayed this would be the place where we finally settled.

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

March 1841

The Italian community thrived in Montevideo. José found employment as a mathematics teacher at a boys’ school and I found a new group of women to surround myself with. Every week we and the Anzanis took turns hosting supper at our homes. Our house became the unofficial meeting place for all of our expatriate comrades to gather and find camaraderie with their countrymen.

It was during these evenings that I learned to be an Italian. The women gathered together in the kitchen to cook, and using the local gossip they helped me improve my language skills. As my hands deftly rolled out the dough for spaghetti one evening, Luisa came up behind me, placing her chin on one of my shoulders and her hand on the other. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were born Italian.” She kissed my cheek. “You were meant to be one of us.” The other women laughed in agreement.

José held court in the parlor, discussing the formation of the first Italian newspaper, L’Italiano, in Montevideo. Uruguay valued its free press and the men wanted to capitalize on that by using the newspaper to share their liberal ideals. I chose to stay in the kitchen with the women. In the parlor the men talked, but it was in the kitchen that the important decisions were made.