“You were remarkable!” Paolo gushed. “We got more recruits after this meeting than we have gotten in months!”

“That is wonderful news.” I turned to Mrs. Mancini. “When is my luncheon?”

“Thursday next. I wanted to give the seamstress time to finish at least one of the dresses for you.”

“Excellent thinking, Mrs. Mancini,” Paolo interjected. “We have another rally in just two weeks. Make sure the seamstress has another dress ready by then.” He looked back at me. “And make sure she has plenty of red.”

Elisa Profumo, besides being the wife of the mayor of Genoa, boasted a noble heritage. Her mother was the niece of a pope. Her father, the third son of the duke of Genoa, made his fortune exporting silk to London. At every opportunity, she bragged that her family’s line could be traced all the way back to 1098, when one of her ancestors brought the ashes of John the Baptist, the city’s patron saint, back from the Crusades.

On the given Thursday I arrived promptly for the luncheon. The tight blond ringlets on either side of Elisa’s head bobbed as she escorted me around her large, elegant parlor, introducing me to everyone. Her burgundy chiffon dress made soft swooshing sounds as she floated among every prominent lady in Genoa. Elisa sat me at the head of her expansive dining table. She took a seat to my right, while Claudia sat at my left, Sofia next to her. As Elisa began to address all the ladies at the ornate table, footmen set down plates of thinly sliced meats and cheese on delicate china.

“As you all know, the reason I invited you here was so that we could learn from Mrs. Garibaldi’s experience. She has stood side by side with her husband on and off the battlefield. Mrs. Garibaldi, why don’t you tell some of these ladies about what you did while Mr. Garibaldi was away?”

“Well, he wasn’t always away. I was often with him. Our custom in Brazil, and even to an extent in Uruguay, was for the wives to travel with their husbands, doing the cooking and other wifely chores that one would do at home.”

One of the older ladies down the table gasped. “How barbaric!”

“Well, I would not call it barbaric, it’s just the way things were.” I smiled as the women nodded reassuringly. “In my youth, before our children, I even fought alongside him, though I can’t say many other wives did that.”

“Wasn’t it dangerous?” another woman questioned. She fanned her blushing face as she looked around the table.

“Madam, I believe that is the point of war,” Elisa responded dryly after sipping her wine. She motioned for me to continue.

“I did not value my life as much as I do now. Then, it was just José and me. If I died in battle what would it matter?” I leaned to the side as a servant picked up my antipasto and set down a small plate of penne with marinara sauce. “Who would care that I was gone? But now there are three little souls that need me. The support I lent to José and our soldiers was given out of necessity. We needed someone to collect and tend to the injured, someone to volunteer at the hospitals.”