As she entered, she involuntarily cringed when she saw Signor Carlucci sitting at the table with no sign of Signora Carlucci.
“Buon giorno, Signor Carlucci,” she said.
“Buon giorno, Catarina,” he replied with a formal air. “Signora Carlucci is away for the day. Her sister has fallen ill and she is tending her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Signor. Did she leave instructions for me?”
“I see laundry,” he said and waved his hand at a heap of clothes and sheets stuffed into a wicker basket.
“Grazie, Signor.” She picked it up and hauled it out to the courtyard. She poured water into the trough the family used for laundry and began to rub the clothes with soap. She hummed a tune while she scrubbed, content to be outside in the fresh air and away from Signor Carlucci, even if it was her least favorite task.
She rinsed one of the signora’s nightgowns, picked up two clothes pins, and placed them in her mouth to hold them while she lifted it to the line. She turned to hang it and was suddenly grabbed from behind. She gasped clenching on the clothespins that were still between her lips.
Two firm hands were around her. One painfully squeezed her breast, the other hand roughly turned her face so she could see her assailant.
She tried to shriek when she met Signor Carlucci’s eyes, but was stopped by the wooden clothespins stuck to her lips. She was able to spit them out but no sooner had they hit the ground than his mouth was covering hers. His breath was stale with coffee and his tongue thrust between her lips.
She gagged and jabbed her elbow into his ribs. He grabbed her wrist and twisted.
“Don’t try to fight me, Catarina,” he huffed with the exertion of trying to control her. “You might as well cooperate,” he hissed. “And if you do, I’ll see that the signora rewards you. But if you fight me, you’ll lose anyway, and I’ll tell my wife that you’re una putana who flaunted yourself in front of me and you’ll be out on your ear.”
“No one will believe you!” she hissed back as she desperately tried to break free from his grasp. “Why would they?” She wriggled her wrist free of his grip and managed to slap his face and then lunged for the door.
He grabbed the back of her dress and she toppled down, smashing her kneecap against the smooth stones. Pain shot up her leg.
She gasped as he grabbed a handful of her hair and wrapped it around his fist, holding her in place.
The pain in her knee was searing and her head was being held back by his fist in her hair. She managed to arch her back enough so she could turn to the side to see his face, and what she saw etched on his features turned her insides cold. It was a smirk. As if he had already won. That look startled her out of her terror and turned her emotions to rage.
“I will not be your whore!” she yelled into his face.
Although he was still behind her, she twisted further to the side and crushed her elbow into his face. She could feel the cartilage in his nose give way and blood spurted onto her dress.
He involuntarily let go of her hair, and in the moment it took for him to grab his nose, she was up and running from the laundry lines outside, and back through the house to escape. She threw the twisted sheet she had been pinning up when he grabbed her as well as a basket with wet clothes into his path as she went by, and then ran to the front door and desperately fumbled with the lock. She could hear his footsteps rushing toward her but didn’t dare lose time by looking over her shoulder. She threw open the door and slammed it as she passed to slow him down. She could hear Signor Carlucci yelling after her but all she focused on was the sound of pounding. She didn’t know whether it was her heart or the sound of her shoes on the cobblestones.
She ran. Her one desire was to get home where she would be safe. She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and she had to wipe her streaming nose. Her side felt as if a searing hot knife was piercing her skin and her lungs were heaving. She looked over her shoulder and saw that she wasn’t being followed so she slowed and came to a stop, panting.
She ducked into a side alley and crouched for a moment to catch her breath, but kept hidden in case he came after her. She put a shaking hand on her chest to calm herself. Her breath and the pounding of her heart slowed, but as soon as she was able to catch her breath, she was out of the alley and running again. As she entered the main piazza she saw her mother in the distance walking among others across the square. It was like seeing an island of safety: the most welcome sight of all.
“Mama!” she screamed and her mother turned towards her, a look of shock on her face. She could hear the panic in her own voice but couldn’t calm down. She ran to her mother and threw herself into her arms. And as soon as she was there, she began to sob.
“Catarina!” her mama shrieked. “What happened?”
She took in her daughter’s appearance and immediately knew. Her disheveled hair was a tangle and her dress was ripped, askew, and splattered in blood.
“Oh, mio Dio! Catarina.” She took Catarina’s face in her hands and looked in her eyes. “Did he…?” But she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question and immediately steered Catarina away from curious eyes. She couldn’t stand to think of anyone violating her daughter. Her most precious girl. But she also had to protect her from town gossip—which could be almost as damaging as a physical assault.
“No…I got away from him. He grabbed me but I fought him, Mama. I think I broke his nose,” she said, thinking of the crunch under her elbow and the splatter of blood.
“Let’s get you home.” Celestina wrapped her arms protectively around her daughter and walked with her, carefully blocking her from the view of people passing by.
When they reached their house, they went straight up to Catarina’s room. Celestina sat her on the bed and went to get a basin of water. She came back with a cloth and warm water and with gentle hands wiped her daughter’s tear-streaked face and scraped knees. She helped her out of her torn and blood-splattered dress and soaked it in the basin to loosen the blood. While Catarina sat in her slip, her mother gently combed out her hair and they began to talk.
“What will I do, Mama?”
“I’m not sure yet, but we’re going to have to tell your babbo. That’s clear to me now.”
“He said he’d tell everyone I’m a putana. That I threw myself at him—and he, a married man. He’ll shame us.”
“We won’t let that happen. We’re a respected family, too.” Her mother’s words were firm, but Catarina saw that she looked away to brush aside a tear of her own.
“You know what I’m thinking, Catarina?” she said after a few moments of silence.
“No.”
“I’m thinking that if we talked to Father Pinzano about this, just maybe he would say it’s the sign we needed to finally make our decision about whether you should go. Maybe this is the Virgin hitting us over the head to say you shouldn’t stay here. That you should go to San Francisco, where this won’t happen to you.”
“What? Let Signor Carlucci, that porco, ruin my home for me?”
“It’s not just about this. Senior Carlucci’s threats don’t frighten me. We can take care of him, cara. I don’t want you to go, it’s true, but what I know deep in my heart is that you should go. It would be better for you there. I want what is best for you. You’re the sunshine in my day. You’re precious. And that’s why I have to let you go.”
“Mama…,” Catarina started to speak, but paused to wipe another tear. “I wanted to convince myself that I should stay, because I don’t want