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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

I watched as the women gossiped and told stories of the fatherland. Moving from the table, I stood in the doorway between my husband’s world of soldiers and glory and the world of women. It was then that I realized that this was where I would make the most impact for my husband’s cause. Yes, I thrived at his side, but at the end of the day, these women held more sway over their husbands than José ever could. I listened as they talked. These were not passive women who were content to be led around the world by their husbands. They were active heroines of their own stories.

“I wrote to my sister yesterday,” one confessed to Luisa. “Her husband’s crops are failing, and they raised the taxes yet again.” She focused on the rolling pin, putting more pressure on the dough as she spoke. “I told her how different it was here. How we can live off the work that we do. God, I hope she listens.”

I went to the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. “She will.” Looking over the faces of the women, I could see that they each looked at me with a sense of awe. José had his soldiers, I had mine. “When you write home to your sisters, your mothers, don’t be afraid to tell them what you have here. Jealousy can be a powerful thing. Let them grow envious of your life in Montevideo. Perhaps they can join us or perhaps they can claim liberty for their families in Italy.”

The women smiled and began discussing their families and the ways they encouraged them to come here or to rebel against Austria and France. I squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “Let me know when your sister makes it to Uruguay.”

She smiled. “I will. Thank you.”

The next day, while José spent his morning teaching, I tended to our home. It was a relief to be able to put down roots in one location, at least for a little while. If only my mother could see me, happily cleaning a home. She wouldn’t believe I was her daughter.

I was quietly laughing to myself, imagining my mother taking in my humble little home, when I heard a knock at our door. Upon opening it, I found a plump middle-aged woman with a kind face and a large smile. She stood in front of me holding a small basket of sweet bread. Her slightly messy black hair was streaked with gray. “Hello, I’m your neighbor Feliciana.”