I put my hand on Bianca’s shoulder and shake her.

She comes awake with a start. “What is it, Mamma?”

“Quiet. We mustn’t wake the sisters. I have an idea. Come with me.”

She sits up and pushes the bedcovers aside. “Where?”

“Outside.”

“Outside? Outside the convent?”

“Why not?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“If it were daytime, they’d stop us.”

“We can leave any time we want, Mamma. We’re not prisoners.”

“Yes, but we can leave only to go back home. I don’t want to go back home. I want to walk in the alleys.”

“Walk in the alleys? Mamma, what a delightful idea! I’ve always wanted to walk in the alleys!”

“We won’t be able to see the hustle and bustle of daytime, but we can at least see our city from somewhere other than a window or a gondola.”

“I’ll be dressed in a moment.”

“Do you need to dress?”

“Of course, Mamma.”

“I’m going in my shift.”

“Don’t be silly.” Bianca struggles into her clothes. I sense her dark form more than see it. My hand reaches for her instinctively.

“What? Are you afraid? Don’t be afraid, Mamma. This is a good idea. It’s our city, too. It’s our right. Put on your dress.”

“No.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No.”

“It’s cold out.”

“You can walk with your arm around me, Bianca. Your cloak can spread across us both.”

“You’re being irrational.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then behave. If someone stops us and you’re in your shift, word will spread. You’ve been inside the convent, you’ve listened to the sisters at mealtimes. They are as much a part of the rumors as anyone. Aunt Teresa won’t be able to protect us from gossip.”

“If someone stops us, we’ll be the target of gossip no matter what. Besides, this way we can say that I went out wandering in my shift and you came looking for me. Perhaps I was even walking in my sleep. People do that, you know, especially when they’ve run a high fever. You can say I was feverish before I went to bed. You woke and I was gone. It’s no fault of yours.”

“You sound like you’ve planned this.”

“No, ideas are forming only as I talk, but they make sense, Bianca. This way, your reputation will be protected.”

“I’m not sure I care about my reputation, Mamma.”

“Your papà does.”

“I’d feel like you were…less vulnerable if you had your dress on.”

“Think about your father.”

“I’m thinking about you, Mamma. The shutters are all closed. If we were to shout for help, no one would hear us.”

“We won’t shout for help because we won’t need it. We’re women, not men with a purse to steal. No one would gain anything from bothering us.”

“Men can molest, though, Mamma.”

“Do it my way, Bianca. Do it the way that will keep your reputation safe. For Papà’s sake.”

“In so many ways Papà is right. But in so many other ways, his mind is closed.”

“You love him, Bianca. You agreed to come here, to spend time with the sisters, to pass your day in prayer and contemplation, all for his sake. So, please, for his sake, let’s play this game.”

She’s silent. Then, “You have to put on shoes, though. Do that for me, Mamma. I need you to be safe.”

“All right. But if I do that for you, you have to hold my hand.”

“Why?”

“I want the comfort of your hand.”

“Agreed.” I hear her hands fall to her sides. “I suppose we needn’t comb our hair.” She gives a small laugh.

We go out, opening and closing doors as stealthily as thieves. The air is frigid. I shiver. Bianca was right; I’m grateful for these shoes. Poor, lost Bianca. Being right won’t save her. Being right never saves anyone.

The night is clear, at least. Moonbeams illuminate the alley. Bianca’s free hand touches the walls as we go. She peeks through iron gates. She whistles to a lone cat. I was right to ask her to hold my hand; being outside like this, just the two of us, sets me ajitter. I can hardly remember the girl who wandered Torcello on her own.

“Look, Mamma. Look at all the door knockers. When I traveled with Papà, when I was little, he’d lift me up so I could bang the door knocker wherever we stayed. He always said Venezia has the best door knockers of anywhere. But I never got to see them before now.” She shakes her head and her hair brushes my cheek.

We walk straight as far as we can. When we come to a bridge, I halt. “They say it’s easy to get lost. Let’s go back and walk the alley all the way to the other end.”

So we do. The other end comes out on the wide fondamenta that looks out over the deep basin of San Marco. Across the water is the island of San Giorgio Maggiore. I point. “A monastery in front of us, a convent behind us. As though the hands of the Lord gather us from both sides.”

“It’s more like they press upon us,” says Bianca. “There has to be room for movement, for change. You agree with me, Mamma. I know you do. You just don’t want to fight with Papà over one more thing.”

“One more thing?”

“I know when you fight. I don’t know what about. But I know every time. It shows.”

I huddle against Bianca inside the cloak. Some things show, but not everything, thank the Lord.

“You’re cold,” she says. “Do you want to go back?”

“No. I want to keep moving.”

So we walk in the other direction, cross a bridge, and take the first alley inland. My shoe slips in something squishy. The air is so cold, though, that smells are faint. I want to be looking around, like Bianca, and see everything; this is my chance, too. But I’m cold. And in the moment I feel ancient, like my blood hardly stirs.

“Your teeth are chattering. Let’s go back.” Bianca steers us.

We follow the alley back to the fondamenta along the wide-open water, cross the bridge, and arrive at the alley that leads to the convent. “Let’s sit on the fondamenta,” I say.

“Sit? You mean on the ground? It’s filthy. And cold.”

“You never used to be so fussy, Bianca. You were rough-and-tumble as a girl.”

“That’s because Papà used to take me places as if I were his son. But once you came to us, he stopped that. For seven years you’ve been my companion, not him. I’m not rough anymore.”

“You talk about not liking rules, Bianca. Break your own rule. Sit on the ground.”

“Why do you want to sit?”

“When I was a girl, I sat on a fondamenta all the time. I swung my legs and looked out over the lagoon.”

“Aha! So you lived on the lagoon side. I wager it was on an island where we first met. Tell me more. You never tell me anything about your childhood.”

“Sit with me.”

We sit on the edge of the fondamenta. But the water is so high we can’t hang our legs over. We have to fold them underneath ourselves.

“Have you ever heard of foot-fishing?”

Bianca shakes her head. “What is it?”

And so I describe that day with Giordano, long ago. How he stomped through the silt. How I gathered the crabs that appeared in his footprints and felt so proud of myself.

“Was Giordano your father?”

“I have no idea who my father was, but I pray to the good Lord it wasn’t Giordano. In some ways he was friendly to me, and that was almost the cruelest thing.”

“Cruel?”

“Did I say that? I didn’t mean to voice that thought. I get confused.”

“You told me you were a princess. Do you remember that?”

“I was a princess. I was, indeed. I lived on an island with my mother. Just the two of us. So that made her queen and me princess.”

“A pretend princess.”

“It was real to me. We’d cross the bridge in the morning and be surrounded by everyone else and suddenly we’d just be us again—Mamma and ugly me. But when we went home at night, I was a fair princess. The fairest of them all.”

“You could never have been ugly, Mamma. You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t understand beauty, Bianca. You’re the one who is truly beautiful. I love you so much. Do you know you’re the delight of your father’s eye?”

“He used to say that when I was little. Did he tell you?”

“No. Thank you for telling me now. I don’t know if I could have gone through with this otherwise.”

“Through with what?”

“Here.” I reach inside my shift and pull out the small pouch that hangs around my neck. My hands tremble as I try to open it.

“Let me help you.” Bianca works at the little strings that hold the pouch closed. “What is this?”

“Something for you. Shake it into your hand.”

Bianca shakes the pouch. A small tin mirror slides out into her palm. And a pill. “A tin mirror? Sometimes…I don’t know. What is this pill, Mamma?”

“Chew it.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain. Chew it.”

She puts the pill in her mouth and chews. “It’s bitter.”

“Chew and swallow.”

She swallows. “All right,” she says with a hint of a slur already. “Explain.”

“You’ll sleep now. You’ll sleep long enough to travel away.”

“Travel?” She leans against me heavily.

“Look in the mirror. Can you see anything?”

“It’s dark, Mamma. And who can see in tin?”

“The heavens conspired against us, Bianca. They made you steal my future, but then you stole my mamma. You stole everything.”

“What are you saying? Are you crying? Your voice…” She slumps and her head lies in my lap. Her hand that holds the mirror hangs over the edge of the fondamenta. “I don’t understand. Wha…” The mirror falls into the water.

I listen for the sound of the oar.

He’s coming.

I don’t hear it. I could still call for help.

He’s coming, he’s coming.

The voices are wrong. I could reverse everything before it happens.

Wait. Don’t you dare move. He’s coming.

And I hear it. Just in time.

See? Like Bianca said, she is the delight of Marin’s eye. The timing is perfect, everything as we said it would be.

I nod.

Pietro throws me a rope. He takes off his gloves and sets them on the gunwale and brings his hands to his face, breathing on them.

He reaches for Bianca.

“Move aside,” I say. “If you drag her, you might hurt her. I’ll roll her. You can’t lift her.”

With one roll, Bianca falls into the boat. It rocks so hard, water splashes her head to toe. I hand Pietro her cloak. He spreads it over her.

“Make sure you do it on the mainland. Promise me. I don’t want to take the chance of her body washing ashore somewhere. That would be too hard on Marin.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t forget what I asked for.”

“Innards,” he says.

I can’t see his face, but I hear his disgust. “Liver and lungs.”

“Yes.”

Remind him.

“Do as we agreed.”

Be fierce!

“Don’t even think of backing out of our deal. My word against yours; I’ll ruin you. And I’ll ruin Agnola. It doesn’t matter that I love her, I’ll still ruin her.”

“I know.”

“Go the fastest way.”

He rows off into the night.

Liver and lungs can fix anything.

I squat and wrap my arms around my knees. I’m so cold. So very cold. My tears stick like ice on my cheeks.

I listen hard.

Silence.

I’m alone. Me here. Totally alone.

Everything is wrong. I’ve made the worst mistake ever. Unforgivable. Mamma would be appalled. Marin…Good Lord! I curl into myself and moan. Lord, Lord, Lord.

But the dream voices told me I’d feel this way. Grief confuses people. I just have to wait it out. They’ll come back to me. They always do. They’ll rock me.

Finally, day dawns over the island of San Giorgio Maggiore. The marangona in the piazza bell tower tolls, telling the workers to get moving. It’s time. I can barely unfold, my joints have locked so hard into place. I manage to half jump, half fall into the water. Lord, it’s cold! It stabs me from every side. And the tide has been going out, of course—the fondamenta is higher now, out of reach. I need stairs, water stairs. But I don’t know where the closest ones are. All the ones I can think of are far away, on small canals.

It’s so cold. I’ve never been this cold in my life.

I scream. My voice is but a raucous croak.

I swim to the closest bridge. It takes so long. Why is the water so deep here? I swim into the little canal, and there’s a gondola tied up. Gondolas ride shallow in the water, but this one is empty, so it’s higher. I can’t reach the gunwale.

I’m so cold.

But it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m not afraid. Everything is quiet, peaceful, gray. The voices don’t even fight me. This is what’s right. Finally. From far away comes the sound of an organ. What a lovely way to die.

“Woman in the water!”

The gondola rocks hard beside me, and hands are pulling me up.

I mean to be giving thanks, but all that comes from my trembling lips is “Liver and lungs.”