“Good.” José smiled. “Good.”

Fifty-Two

July 1849

In the months that we occupied Rome, José was in his prime. He gave orders as we all settled into our new roles. I was getting closer to my time and didn’t argue when José asked me to rest. Unlike with my other pregnancies, I felt an unending exhaustion. If it weren’t for the blasted maid waking me up at regular intervals to try to feed me, I would’ve slept for days. My sleep was troubled, littered with horrible dreams that kept getting worse.

I opened my eyes one unusually sunny afternoon to find someone standing there in the middle of the rays. As my eyes began to focus, I saw my father standing before me. “Olá, filha.”

“Papai?” He faded away as a cloud passed by. I suddenly felt cold and uneasy. I had to escape this room and get out for just a little while. It was a beautiful day, so I decided to take a walk around the garden. I made one turn before I found myself yawning uncontrollably. As I stepped into the doorway, I felt the room tilt. I grasped at the wall for support. When was the last time I ate? I couldn’t remember. Was it before my last nap? Or was it this morning? My head felt cloudy. I tried to focus on the wall opposite me, but it moved like ocean waves. I took in deep breaths, steadying myself. Once my vision cleared, I decided to make my way to José’s room. Perhaps we could enjoy a small meal together.

When I slipped inside, he looked up from his papers, a smile spreading across his face, making everything brighter. “Tesoro mio, you are my good luck charm.” I laughed as he pulled me to him, nuzzling my neck.

“Husband, have you been drinking?”

“I needn’t drink wine when I have you.” He led me to the sofa. “How is my child today?” He chuckled as he leaned down and kissed my stomach.

“Tired. We both have been.”

He looked up at me, concern plain on his face. “Is that normal?”

“Yes.” I shrugged, trying to cover my lie. “Every pregnancy is different.”

I stood firm under his scrutinizing stare. “You will tell me if something is wrong, won’t you?” he asked.

“Of course,” I lied. My husband had enough problems. We had taken Rome, but at a price, losing nearly half our men. Our new objective was to find a way to keep the city.

José continued to watch me for a moment but didn’t challenge me. “It feels like a boy,” I whispered, trying to change the subject.

“Really? How do you know?”

I kissed his nose. “A mother knows these things.”

Just then Paolo burst into the room. “The French have returned! We have to evacuate. Now!”

José stood at attention. “If the French have returned, then we will defeat them like we did last time.”

“Not this time, Peppino,” Paolo replied. “They have sent twenty thousand troops, and they will retake Rome.”