Emerging from the home of a Spanish couple that Pascual knew from his business dealings in Madrid, more ex-pats who made their home in the City of Lights, he strolled idly along winding street between the markets and the waterfront. Not content to return to his own apartment off of Piazzo San Marco, he recalled that a courtesan named Carlotta lived in the neighborhood. While it had been quite a while since he’d visited, Duke Gallego did recall her having a couple of budding young ladies, though he’d never gotten too close to the hag herself nor sampled her wares. Hm, where was that brothel again, he mused, turning the corner to the main thoroughfare that connected shops to the waterfront?
Even though the streets were dark, the night late, the road bustled with Venetians. Pascual clicked along with his cane until he came to a wagon, which in and of itself was not odd. No, it was not blocking the street nor broken – not that he could see at least - but an odd sound floated out near one of the wheels, like a woman weeping.
The Spaniard peeked around the wagon and noticed that yes, there was a wheel which had splintered due to a rut near the side of the road. And a young woman wept in helplessness. Normally the wine merchant did not like to involve himself in the lives of the poor, nor did he take on charity cases, but it wasn’t as if the girl was wearing rags. And she was also quite pretty, though for all Pascual knew she was waiting for her Papa.
“Buonasera, Signora,” he said in his deep foreign baritone. “Is there anything I can help you with this evening?” His gaze wandered to the wagon, wondering what was inside. “Are you alone tonight?”
<a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>
#2
“Stupid…. stupid…. stupid…. wagon!”
The young woman was in tears as she frantically tried to repair the broken carriage which carried all her belongings. Now how was she supposed to get off the property before Carlotta’s son returned to claim his house? She kicked the broken wheel in anger, but of course it didn’t help the situation.
Of course the young men in the street just laughed and turned their heads away. Her cheeks flushed when she heard what they called her. Harlot. Her eyes filled with tears. She was not a harlot. She was - a courtesan! It was not the same - no matter what the men said. She would have taught them a lesson if she could, but who on earth would listen to her?
Oh Carlotta - if only you were still here…..
But Carlotta was not here… She was dead - murdered by one of her own customers - an old man that had forced himself on Michela and done unthinkable things to her. The girl was still shaking just by thinking of it, even if it now was two years ago. Broken. No longer suitable as any man’s wife. And she had been 16 years old. For two years now she had picked up the pieces of her life, using what the kind and caring Carlotta had taught her to make a living on her own. She had been safe in the house, thought she had a future here.
Then the letter came - the letter who demanded she got out of the house and off the property. He, who had not bothered to send ONE letter to his Mama for all the years he had been gone now found it suitable to come home to claim her house as his own.He did not care for the young woman who had spent her entire youth keeping the older woman with company and giving her all her daughterly love. In his eyes she was nothing but a harlot - and she had to go.
As she stood weeping by the wagon she heard footsteps behind her in the darkness. She heard the clicking of a cane - was it a blind man that came? But no, his footsteps sounded as if they knew where they were heading - which could not be said about the footsteps of the blind. Whoever was coming in this direction seemed to know this district well.
“Buonasera, Signora,” he said in his deep foreign baritone. “Is there anything I can help you with this evening?” His gaze wandered to the wagon, wondering what was inside. “Are you alone tonight?”
Michela looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, her deep brown eyes having the same helpless expression as a doe before a hunter. Her lower lip was quivering in an adorable pout and her face was wet from her tears.
“My wagon broke,” she whimpered helplessly, another sob escaping her lips. “And I don’t know where to go to fix it. I must leave the house tonight or they will throw me in prison…”
A new bout of tears overwhelmed her and her tiny shoulders shook in helpless, heartbreaking sobs.
<a href='index.php?showuser=33' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pascual Gallego de Valle</a>
The young woman was in tears as she frantically tried to repair the broken carriage which carried all her belongings. Now how was she supposed to get off the property before Carlotta’s son returned to claim his house? She kicked the broken wheel in anger, but of course it didn’t help the situation.
Of course the young men in the street just laughed and turned their heads away. Her cheeks flushed when she heard what they called her. Harlot. Her eyes filled with tears. She was not a harlot. She was - a courtesan! It was not the same - no matter what the men said. She would have taught them a lesson if she could, but who on earth would listen to her?
Oh Carlotta - if only you were still here…..
But Carlotta was not here… She was dead - murdered by one of her own customers - an old man that had forced himself on Michela and done unthinkable things to her. The girl was still shaking just by thinking of it, even if it now was two years ago. Broken. No longer suitable as any man’s wife. And she had been 16 years old. For two years now she had picked up the pieces of her life, using what the kind and caring Carlotta had taught her to make a living on her own. She had been safe in the house, thought she had a future here.
Then the letter came - the letter who demanded she got out of the house and off the property. He, who had not bothered to send ONE letter to his Mama for all the years he had been gone now found it suitable to come home to claim her house as his own.He did not care for the young woman who had spent her entire youth keeping the older woman with company and giving her all her daughterly love. In his eyes she was nothing but a harlot - and she had to go.
As she stood weeping by the wagon she heard footsteps behind her in the darkness. She heard the clicking of a cane - was it a blind man that came? But no, his footsteps sounded as if they knew where they were heading - which could not be said about the footsteps of the blind. Whoever was coming in this direction seemed to know this district well.
“Buonasera, Signora,” he said in his deep foreign baritone. “Is there anything I can help you with this evening?” His gaze wandered to the wagon, wondering what was inside. “Are you alone tonight?”
Michela looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, her deep brown eyes having the same helpless expression as a doe before a hunter. Her lower lip was quivering in an adorable pout and her face was wet from her tears.
“My wagon broke,” she whimpered helplessly, another sob escaping her lips. “And I don’t know where to go to fix it. I must leave the house tonight or they will throw me in prison…”
A new bout of tears overwhelmed her and her tiny shoulders shook in helpless, heartbreaking sobs.
<a href='index.php?showuser=33' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pascual Gallego de Valle</a>
word count: 547
#3
The young woman’s dainty, silk shoe was scuffed from presumably kicking the wagon, her face streaked with tears, her chest heaving with sobs. Pascual pulled out a linen handkerchief with a lone red wine stain on it, turned it over so the stain did not show and handed it to the woman. He’d blot her tears himself, but he disliked it when he was in the presence of a crying woman. It normally preceded flying glass, a slammed door, or a slap in the face from whatever emotional bundle of silk he’d upset at the time.
Still, Luisa would be so proud at Pascual’s charity right now. He was a picture of pious helpfulness to the lost and distraught maiden. Without asking her, he peered inside the wagon to figure out what was in there. In this congested neighborhood, nothing would remain if they left it overnight but perhaps there were items the woman may want to part with?
“It is not the time of night to be out for repairs.” Those men were likely drinking in an inn or at a waterfront brothel right now. “Come with me and bring only your most cherished possessions. I imagine your mirrors and tablecloths are not worth time in a Venetian cell. In the morning, I will see about this wagon and whatever is left of yours that is not stolen.”
Of course, the dear lady could refuse him, but did she have any other options? If she remained here on the street, someone else would come along and make her the same type of offer, yet likely not as good as Pascual’s would be or worse try to take advantage of her, or even hurt her. While streets close to the waterfront was crowded now, the wine merchant knew how quickly Venetians scattered like rats when their bellies were full and the blackest of the night began to slowly march towards dawn.
“I will put you up in my guest quarters while we sort you out, eh?”
<a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>
Still, Luisa would be so proud at Pascual’s charity right now. He was a picture of pious helpfulness to the lost and distraught maiden. Without asking her, he peered inside the wagon to figure out what was in there. In this congested neighborhood, nothing would remain if they left it overnight but perhaps there were items the woman may want to part with?
“It is not the time of night to be out for repairs.” Those men were likely drinking in an inn or at a waterfront brothel right now. “Come with me and bring only your most cherished possessions. I imagine your mirrors and tablecloths are not worth time in a Venetian cell. In the morning, I will see about this wagon and whatever is left of yours that is not stolen.”
Of course, the dear lady could refuse him, but did she have any other options? If she remained here on the street, someone else would come along and make her the same type of offer, yet likely not as good as Pascual’s would be or worse try to take advantage of her, or even hurt her. While streets close to the waterfront was crowded now, the wine merchant knew how quickly Venetians scattered like rats when their bellies were full and the blackest of the night began to slowly march towards dawn.
“I will put you up in my guest quarters while we sort you out, eh?”
<a href='index.php?showuser=84' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Michela Cellini</a>
word count: 371
#4
Ow…..
Michela stopped kicking the wagon when she felt the pain in her foot. She saw a scuff on her dainty silk shoe - the vision somewhat blurred from her tears. The kind stranger pulled out a linen handkerchief and offered it to her, and she thanked him and used it to dab her face.
“Thank you, Signor,” she said softly. “You are very kind. I do not normally cry like this, but I have had the worst day of my life…. When the wagon broke down on top of it all it was just too much and I couldn’t take it anymore…”
Noticing how he peeked inside the wagon she smiled towards him, her smile slowly lighting up her face like a ray of sun breaking through the cloudy sky. The smile eventually reached her deep brown doe eyes, causing them to twinkle like stars.
“I do not have much in this world, Signor,” she said kindly. “Everything I own fit into a sack, which can easily be transported away tonight. My clothes, some accessories for a lady, a couple of my favorite books and my box of jewels. I do not think it is very heavy…. As for mirrors and tablecloths, I had to leave them in the house as they belong to the new owner of the house….. The same goes for the furniture….”
The sadness of the world was in her eyes when she said this. The young man claiming to be the son of Carlotta and who never had set foot in the house for the years she had been there now had the right to own all the fine furniture and decorations Michela and Carlotta had taken such care to maintain.
When he told her to bring her most cherished possessions she pulled the sack out of the now ruined wagon and lifted it across her back. She was not as tall as him, but she was surprisingly strong for a woman. Perhaps it had to do with the healthy food she preferred and that she often took long walks to keep in shape. She knew she had nowhere else to go, and this gentleman was the only one who had offered to help.
“You are very kind, Signor….” she said softly. “Doing so much for a stranger. One day, when I get back on my feet, you must allow me to repay your kindness….”
@[Pascual Vallego de Valle]
Michela stopped kicking the wagon when she felt the pain in her foot. She saw a scuff on her dainty silk shoe - the vision somewhat blurred from her tears. The kind stranger pulled out a linen handkerchief and offered it to her, and she thanked him and used it to dab her face.
“Thank you, Signor,” she said softly. “You are very kind. I do not normally cry like this, but I have had the worst day of my life…. When the wagon broke down on top of it all it was just too much and I couldn’t take it anymore…”
Noticing how he peeked inside the wagon she smiled towards him, her smile slowly lighting up her face like a ray of sun breaking through the cloudy sky. The smile eventually reached her deep brown doe eyes, causing them to twinkle like stars.
“I do not have much in this world, Signor,” she said kindly. “Everything I own fit into a sack, which can easily be transported away tonight. My clothes, some accessories for a lady, a couple of my favorite books and my box of jewels. I do not think it is very heavy…. As for mirrors and tablecloths, I had to leave them in the house as they belong to the new owner of the house….. The same goes for the furniture….”
The sadness of the world was in her eyes when she said this. The young man claiming to be the son of Carlotta and who never had set foot in the house for the years she had been there now had the right to own all the fine furniture and decorations Michela and Carlotta had taken such care to maintain.
When he told her to bring her most cherished possessions she pulled the sack out of the now ruined wagon and lifted it across her back. She was not as tall as him, but she was surprisingly strong for a woman. Perhaps it had to do with the healthy food she preferred and that she often took long walks to keep in shape. She knew she had nowhere else to go, and this gentleman was the only one who had offered to help.
“You are very kind, Signor….” she said softly. “Doing so much for a stranger. One day, when I get back on my feet, you must allow me to repay your kindness….”
@[Pascual Vallego de Valle]
word count: 405
