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Labor of Love

By Marguerite Martin Gray

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Chapter One
F
lorence, Italy 1560
Ana heard footsteps advancing on the gravel path in the distance, an annoyance interrupting her early morning solitude. She refused to look up and trace the sound. Her straw hat hid her curiosity. She hoped the intruders would take a sharp turn descending toward the palace. Dressed in her plainest, oldest dress, one of her favorites with its deep pockets —at times full of seeds, stones, and little treasures—she thought herself invisible in green, earthy tones, separated from the glittery hues of her pseudo world.
Her fingers separated the dirt around the base of the flowering herbs. She breathed in the distinctive aromas of basil, thyme, and rosemary. This time of the morning belonged to Ana, the time before the household awoke and demanded her presence. Not that they truly needed her. The plants at her fingertips enjoyed her presence and in fact desired her company more than the family in Pitti Palace.
She willed the discontentment away, replacing it with a pleasant tune that hummed its way from her throat out into the open air. Alone for an hour. On her knees in the dirt, she gained strength to face the whirlwind brewing below. With sweet sounds in the spring air and her hands laboring in the soil, perhaps the ever-approaching voices would recede and find another route.
Without missing a note, Ana swiped at an escaped ringlet, just avoiding smearing her face with the rich dark earth. Her hair never stayed in place, but why should it as she bent over her work? Her cap could barely contain the curly mass when she was upright.
Weeding was not her favorite chore, yet it had to be done. At least here she felt important. She shook the dirt off a tenacious weed and watched it land on the boot tip of an intruder. As her pile of weeds grew, she had forgotten about the footsteps. How did he manage to invade her space so quietly? Upon further inspection, two pairs of boots stared her in the face. She was perturbed instead of fearful. After all, the gardens were surrounded by walls protecting them from the public or unwanted visitors.
“Our nightingale is hard at work. Good morning, Signorina Ana. Your singing is, as usual, prettier than the finches.” How could she remain upset and not smile? Not with her friend, not even for a second.
Ana dared not look away from her work. “Grazie, Maestro Arturo.” Although she welcomed Maestro Arturo at other times, the disturbance would steal her precious moments of freedom. Surely, for this once, he would walk on by, perhaps toward the palace since he had a guest with him. She blew at a stray hair and continued working without the singing.
The boots didn’t move except for the larger pair scrapping the gravel back and forth, jarring her attention back to the men. She was curious about the man making the grating noise close to her ears. Arturo didn’t have many visitors, only gardeners under his instruction.
“Excuse me, Ana. I’d like to introduce you to our new gardener.”
She pushed herself up from her knees, refusing Maestro Arturo’s help, wiped her hands on her apron, and faced the two men. She expected to gaze at two pairs of eyes on her level, but the stranger’s face towered over her. Very much an unusual situation, considering her above average height. Many times, she was the one who towered over male and female. Curiosity aside, she didn’t continue her perusal all the way up. She stopped at his broad shoulders and took a step backwards.
“Ana Geovani, I’d like you to meet Messer Marco Rossi, who will work with Giorgio Vasari on the gardens.”
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Signorina Geovani.” His voice was deep and warm.
With his arms crossed, he probably didn’t care who she was —a fellow servant under an old straw hat. Wasn’t that what she wanted? To blend in with the scenery?
She tilted her head upward to finally look at him. Her jaw dropped for half a second. She didn’t expect to find clear blue eyes in contrast to his dark hair and olive skin. She hadn’t imagined such a handsome man. He held out his hand for hers and bowed.
“I’m glad to meet you.” She found her voice, hardly a whisper, which was very unusual. She worked hard to portray confidence. It appeared she lacked that quality in his presence, although she had mastered it with the Medici family.
Pulling her hand back, she broke the stare. “So, you are here for the Medici challenge of renovating the gardens. Any special area? I have only this medicinal and herb plot.” She waved her hands over the space beside her, measuring ten by fifteen feet.
He crossed his arms and chuckled. “The orchards and grottos and anything else the master designers tell me to do.”
She flinched at the laugh. His smile didn’t quite erase his confident stance and role in the grand scheme. In comparison, her role in the gardens was as minute as in the palazzo, although Arturo had reminded her often that her medicinal plants had as much worth to the royal family as the vast orchards.
Maestro Arturo touched Ana’s shoulder, adding a little laugh of his own. Leaning in closer, he whispered, “Don’t take his response personally, Ana. We all know what he means. Duke Cosimo is forever changing his mind. The gardens he began in 1549 are still emerging today. This young man has some new ideas.”
Ana, as much as anyone, knew the constant changes to be true. Recently, the family had moved from Palazzo Vecchio across the Arno River to Palazzo Pitti. Trunks and chests of costumes, books, and trinkets had been carted for days.
Turning to the new gardener, she shrugged off her insecurity of not measuring up in the Medici household. “I hope you have success in your endeavors.” If he didn’t already realize it, he would soon. Duke Cosimo demanded success in all his endeavors, including these gardens.
“Grazie, signorina. I plan to make the most of my time here.” Why did it appear his eyes searched for something in hers? She posed no threat to him. And she certainly knew he couldn’t think she had the means to make his way easier. Why did it sound like he wasn’t staying very long in this position?
Maestro Arturo managed to pull her gaze away from Messer Rossi. “We must finish the tour before Signore Vasari makes his appearance.”
Marco Rossi tipped his head. “Good day.”
Hiding once again under the wide band of her hat, she considered his striking good looks. No gardener around here had merited a second glance. Had she ever seen eyes like that? And his height? Her five-foot-nine stature didn’t begin to measure up to his.
Enough. He hasn’t given me any reason to care about how I look to him.
On her knees again, she finished the plot; the weeds wouldn’t see another day in her patch. The sun depicted the eight o’clock hour, leaving enough time to wash before Lucrezia called for her.
After discarding the pile of weeds, Ana washed her hands in a barrel. Duchess Eleonora would reprimand Ana if her fingernails refused to release the dirt from her toil. What if the duchess didn’t allow Ana her free time in the gardens?
Right now, Ana rushed toward the palace where the engagement ball for Lucrezia, the duchess’ youngest daughter, dominated everyone’s thoughts and actions. At seventeen, Ana was thankful she had avoided an engagement so far.
Ana cringed at the prospect of a loveless union. If Ana hadn’t been in the role of companion to her very distant younger cousin, she would probably be married by now. Would Lucrezia’s husband act better than her sister Isabella’s? Such cruelty.
She didn’t envy the Medici sisters, and the role they had to play in the Cosimo’s court. There were times in the past when she was growing up away from her own sister that she had longed to be a sister, to be a legitimate member of a loving family. She had that once, a long time in the past, before her mother had died. Love was different from appreciation. At least she had an element of being appreciated in her day-to-day life from the duchess’ daughters.
Ana descended the long promenade of steps into the kitchen courtyard where she discarded her apron and replaced her soiled shoes with soft clean ones. She knew her appearance would not pass inspection, but every attempt helped.

MARCO CONCENTRATED on Maestro Arturo’s instructions. His work here could take a year or more if he didn’t find a short-cut to obtain means for buying his own land. However long, it would be worth it. What he didn’t need was a distraction. It would take all his wits to impress Maestro Arturo to give him freedom in the orchards and even more talent to join Vasari in his vision. His interests intercepted in these gardens—artist and gardener. Could he do both?
His attention split between Maestro Arturo’s tour and Ana Geovani. Marco certainly didn’t expect to see her on his first day, especially digging in the dirt. Smiling at the memory of her dustsmudged face, he laughed and shook his head. Not what he had envisioned. But those big innocent brown eyes he’d remember for a lifetime. And the gold specks. Her eyes had not changed from the five-year-old girl of his memories. Her eyes hadn’t changed, but the rest? Nothing else reminded him of his neighbor’s daughter. It seemed she didn’t remember him which made his job easier.
“Why are you laughing, Marco? I’m trying to tell you about the olive grove.” His new mentor, possibly friend, observed too much. Marco would have to be careful.
“Yes, I’m listening.” Marco viewed the olive trees. “Remarkable.” He shaded his eyes from the morning sun. For miles beyond the olive grove, the hills and valleys of green reached until they faded into the horizon. He hoped one day a portion of those fields would belong to him, a place where he could design his own orchards. With a jerk of his head, he stopped himself from envisioning children, a wife, and dogs running through the trees. He knew not to tempt fate by expecting the whole package. God had left him to seek his own future away from his family. He’d secure his plans with whatever means available.
“Considering this was all bramble and brush a few years ago, a lot has been done.”
Marco nodded, bringing his gaze back to his immediate vicinity. “It still needs work. I’ve seen orchards three times this size. The trees must be trimmed in a certain way for the best produce. And besides that, they can look better as an aesthetic addition.” Would Maestro Arturo let him make some changes?
Marco leaned on the rock wall. Then he spread his hands over the expanse of uneven stones. Even the wall had an artistic pattern. Each stone arranged by alternate colors and sizes. He stepped back and admired the work.
Maestro Arturo glanced sideways at Marco. “So, you have an eye for design and beauty. Personally, I have no flair for that. A wall is a wall. You’ll fit in just fine with artists in and out of here at all times. We all answer to them.”
“I understand what you’re saying. We answer to the masters, so maybe I should keep my mouth closed about my opinions?”
“At least until Signore Vasari asks for them,” Arturo warned.
Marco chuckled. Would he always answer to a higher master? No, not always. He’d find a way to gain his sovereignty over his own life. He turned around and surveyed the vast gardens leading to the Palazzo Pitti in the distance. His vision scanned over the herb gardens he had walked by scarcely five minutes before. Where was she? Ana no longer bent over her project. He searched the boulevard. Perhaps she had moved along the path out of view.
“Come on. Lots to see before we can break for our meal.” Maestro Arturo paced ten steps in front of him. The man glanced over the area, following Marco’s gaze. “I don’t think you’ll find her here.”
“Who?” Did his determined perusal give his thoughts away so easily? Was he searching for her?
No. I am not. I found her. A report will free her from his concern.
“It seems you have eyes for the pretty young Signorina Ana. Do you realize her connection to the Medici family? She has an interesting position between two worlds. Much is expected of her in the palace. She’s become like a daughter to me though she walks among the Medici. Be careful.”
“Yes, I see. I didn’t mean any harm or disrespect.” Marco tried to redeem his indiscreet wandering.
Have no fear, Maestro Arturo. I know who she is.
Along the boundary of the gardens on the northern side of a large square, Marco walked with Arturo to the Grand Grotto. He couldn’t stop from touching a red stone column. The cool smooth surface begged to be admired. Nodding his head almost in reverence, Marco said, “This is true art.”
Following Maestro Arturo inside, he stepped between the two columns into the first room. He imagined it as a natural cave sheltering shepherds and animals. The fresco paintings on the walls pictured animals and men moving about the area. Sculptures of stalactites hung from the inside and outside as decorations for the cave-like room. The soothing sound of water trickling from spouts into a pond added authenticity to the grotto.
Maestro Arturo leaned against a column and peered at him. “Vasari says it’s close to being finished, though I doubt that. He’s a perfectionist. I’m sure he’ll use you here and in the Grotto of Madam over to the left.”
Hopefully, Signore Vasari would grant him ample time in the orchard and gardens, at least enough time to learn more of the craft of managing successful groves of fruits and nuts. Designing a grotto was not on the top of his list. How long would it take to gain enough experience before he could move on?
Orchards, grottos, and Ana. I can’t forget her father’s request. Or can I? Do I owe him anything even though he is a neighbor? Shouldn’t a father be concerned about his daughter’s health and happiness instead of money and position?
Leaving the grotto behind, they completed a circle back to the top of the hill. Maestro Arturo pointed to the left. “And here we are at the gardeners’ quarters, tucked away from the main thoroughfare.” The attached abodes formed two lines with a well in the middle.
“You’ll take the rooms on the end. Enough space for one person. The larger ones are for families. My wife and I are at the opposite end closest to the avenue.”
Marco had once slept in a small berth on a ship, so a small space away from numerous roommates appealed to him. Anyway, the whole plan had a temporary element hanging over it. Get experience, make contacts, and try to secure land. Where he slept was secondary.
His hands yearned to examine the vineyards and orchards in order to calculate and formulate plans to help the duke and to secure his future. He ran his hand through his hair wondering if just because he wanted something meant it was possible.

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