Bones Bound in Parchment

Sunset in Catania. Photo credit: gnuckx (Flickr)

Excerpt from Death in Bagheria

March 21, 1867

Genoveffa looked at her hands. “Just shook his head. Unsure, he said, but leaned toward ulcerous sores. He wanted to admit her to hospital, consult with colleagues. Father refused.”

“Why?” Serafina took a sip of her caffè.

“He cancelled their events for the season. Said he didn’t want to subject her to more suffering, the scrutiny of others, the press of gossip.”

“That makes no sense.”

The nun straightened in her chair. “Understand: my father is conscious of his position.”

Serafina said nothing.

“Before I could object, my mother’s symptoms subsided, only to return a few weeks later, more violent than before.”

“Specifics?” Serafina asked, pushing away her cup.

“Skin slackened, complexion sallowed. Lost her teeth, all her vigor.” Genoveffa’s finger rimmed her cup. “This pattern persisted—sick for ten, twelve days. Then, as if by a miracle, she’d recover and I’d return to my work here in Oltramari. But as the months went by, her condition worsened. With every wave of illness, my father sent for me and each time I entered her bedroom, I was surprised by my mother’s deterioration. I remember thinking, ‘My mother is dying before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do.’ In the end, she looked like bones bound in parchment. Such pity I had for her. And such fear, regret, anger. Shortly after the unrest in Oltramari, she died.”

The two women were silent.

“Official cause of death?” Serafina asked.

“Sarcoma.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

A thin shaft of light illuminated the scatter on Genoveffa’s desk. Ink-stained parchment, dirty spoons, paper and bits of string sticking out of drawers, crumpled envelopes, books strewn helter-skelter over broken candles, all of it basked in a momentary glow.

The sacristan squinted into the light. “I’m convinced now that she was murdered.”

“Poisoned?”

The nun nodded.

Serafina narrowed her brows. “But why? Baroness Caterina was respected by the community, loved for her works of charity, admired for her learning. Gracious. Approachable. Why would anyone want to kill her?”

“Mother and I had many conversations during her lucid moments. She hated the change in Father, his new business associates, his greed. He seemed to have forgotten his honor, the nobility of our lineage.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“What is it now?” Genoveffa asked.

Another postulant tiptoed to the desk, her face in shadow. She gathered up the cups and plates and withdrew, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“I want you to find her murderer.”