Snapshot Fiction: Doubts

The pale wooden brush glided through Fina’s dark hair. Vinca stared at the strands of hair her thoughts too occupied to speak. She didn’t think she would rest well this first night in the palazzo, especially with the encounter with Domenico so fresh in her mind. She chided herself again for her fear of the man. He had never done her harm and had only been generous to Papa and the family. Why just today he had told Papa that not only would he hire him to paint his family’s chapel but new portraits of them all as well. Those two tasks would pay Papa more than two year’s worth of work back in Piombino!

Whenever she tried to shed her thoughts of Domenico, however, they inevitably drifted back to him. His dark eyes dominated her thoughts and she clearly heard the deep tones of his voice. She wondered if she would still find him so frightening if he did not have so much power over her family.

“You have your head in the clouds again, sister,” Fina said with exasperation, turning her head and tangling the brush in her long hair. “OW!”

Vinca shook her head. “You did that to yourself. Hold still now. And you natter so much how am I to be expected to hear it all?”

Fina straightened where she was seated on the edge of Vinca’s bed letting Vinca untangle the mess of brush and hair. “I was asking you a question and you said nothing. Have you heard anything?”

She heard deep tones echoing off stucco walls asking her if the palazzo met with her approval. “No. I am sorry sister. You are right. My head is so full with the bustle of today I paid no mind to what you were saying. Would you please repeat it for me?”

With a huff Fina slapped her hands into her lap. “I was saying I saw Domenico here today.”

The brush stuttered but Vinca recovered quickly. “I saw him too,” she said, her voice quiet and noncommittal.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen him so clearly before. He is rather handsome. Don’t you think so?”

When being honest with herself, Vinca did have to agree with her sister’s assessment. God had graced Domenico with a face and form young women, and some old, would fan themselves over. The brown curls surrounding his face were still thick and shone with touches of gold in the light. Though his expression remained ever somber, that intensity had an attractiveness of it’s own that was difficult to deny and though she would hardly admit it, sometimes she conjured his voice in her memory just to hear the rich tones once more.

She shrugged. She would never admit her thoughts to her excitable sister. “I suppose.”

Fina sighed with theatrical enthusiasm. “Your eyes have died if you do not see it. How could you look upon him and not long to have him cast his gaze in your direction?”

Dark eyes loomed up in front of Vinca. Memories of the times she had been caught in his gaze. She shivered, a cacophony of emotions welling up inside her in a confusing mix that she could not sort through. Over all of it, however, swirled her fear of his power.

“Perhaps it is because I was so loved by my Simon. And I loved him too dearly to cast it aside.”

A quiet huff from Fina startled Vinca and she frowned at her sister for a moment before finally speaking. “What did that mean?”

“Hm?” Fina shook her head suddenly and reached back, pulling her hair over her shoulder to begin braiding it loosely for bed. “I meant nothing.”

Years of sharing their deepest thoughts left Fina an open book to her sister. There was something she was not saying to Vinca and how she slid off the bed and moved away, not meeting Vinca’s eyes said a great deal about it. “I do not believe you.”

Fina shrugged, tugging the hair into place and taking her time tying off the braid with a piece of ribbon. “Truly. A tickle in my throat is all.” When she looked up Vinca caught her gaze and held it until she slouched like a small child caught playing in the mud and stared at the floor. “I just… It just sometimes seems when you speak of Simon that you are trying to convince yourself of your affection for him. And his for you. No doubt he was a wise choice and Papa did well for you but did you truly love him so deeply? And he, you? It did not seem so to me.”

“Do not be foolish!” Vinca slid off the bed and began prowling the room pulling her own hair over her shoulder to braid it harshly as her bare feet slapped on the tile floor. “Of course I loved him. I was very fortunate. He was kind to me. He spoke gently to me.”

“I have no doubt that he was kind but kindness does not mean love. Did he tell you he loved you? Did he show you in any way?”

Vinca frowned as she stared at her sister but Fina did not back down from her. “Of course he did. This is foolish. It doesn’t matter anyway. I loved him. I was crushed when he died.” She dropped her brush on the bedside table with a clatter and stood there staring at it for several moments. She dared not admit that he had never called her beloved until the day of his death. And in fact spoke to her little until he became ill. She did not think about that or question it.

“Of course. My apologies for questioning it. I’m sure you know how it was better than I ever could.” Vinca heard the heavy door between their rooms open and Fina spoke quietly one last time before departing the room. “Does it not seem to you, however, that you must constantly remind yourself of your sorrow over his death? Though perhaps I do not see that clearly either. Good night, sister. May God hold and keep you through the darkness.”

Vinca stood there long after Fina left, her feet growing cold on the tile floor. She stared at the brush on the table, not really seeing it. She choked on the realization that sometimes it did feel like she had to remind herself of her sorrow for her dead husband. She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, and climbed into her bed, her thoughts a mass of confusing emotions. She lay there in the silence and tried to conjure Simon’s face and realized that she found it difficult to recall. She tried to remember the sound of his voice and found it likewise just as faded.

Long into the night she lay there troubled by her inability to recall the man she loved yet when her thoughts drifted to the man she feared, his every feature came clearly and easily to her mind.