“It’s a fine house,” his mother said. “And it will be beautiful when it’s finished.” She had some furniture she thought would suit, and would send it to town the next time there was a greenhouse delivery. “Nothing elaborate,” she said. From her tone Anna got the idea that Celestina and Bambina had explained to their mother that Jack’s new wife had austere tastes.

She thought of linen curtains fluttering in the breeze and hoped her blush wasn’t too obvious.

“You will have to come to Greenwood before much longer,” Mrs. Mezzanotte said. “Or your new sisters-in-law will hunt you down.”

In her surprise, Anna let out an awkward laugh. “That sounds ominous.”

“Strong-minded women,” said Mr. Mezzanotte. “I married one, and so did all our sons. The noise sometimes.” He put down his fork and placed his hands over his ears to rock his head from side to side. “Incredible.” He winked at the little girls and said, “Come di cento scimmie.”

“Stop,” said Mrs. Mezzanotte. “They aren’t as bad as monkeys.”

“Yes they are,” said Jack. “But we love them anyway. All except Benedetta.”

“Jack!” his mother gasped.

“She’s so bossy,” Jack said. “Of course, so is Mariangela. I’m not sure which one would win a bossy cow contest.”

“First monkeys and now cows,” said Mrs. Mezzanotte. “Stop.” But she was smiling.

“Neither of them would win that contest,” said his father. “The prize would go to Susanna.”

Mrs. Mezzanotte’s mouth made a perfect O for three heartbeats, and then she shrugged, conceding the point. “Susanna,” she said. “No doubt about it.”

She turned to Anna. “We’ll scare you off.”

Aunt Quinlan laughed. “Not our Anna,” she said. “She’s made of sterner stuff than that. And she likes strong-minded women.”

“Because I was raised by them,” Anna agreed.

While Mrs. Mezzanotte talked at more length about her daughters-in-law—each of whom she clearly liked and loved—Anna was listening with half an ear to Lia as she told Jack a story, waving her fork in the air like a baton. Italian spilled out of her in a rush.

Rosa grabbed the fork out of Lia’s hand, her mouth pursed in disapproval. “Non parla inglese al tavolo, è maleducato.”

Lia blinked, her face solemn. “Com’ si dice maleducato in inglese?”

Aunt Quinlan said, “Rude. The word in English is ‘rude.’”

Lia grabbed her fork back from her sister with a wrenching motion and thumped it on the table, tears brimming and ready to fall.

“It’s not rude. Italian is not rude. Everybody should speak Italian! If I have to speak Italian and English, then everybody else should speak English and Italian!”

She put out her lower lip in a thunderous gesture of rebellion and cast an accusatory look around the table, daring someone to disagree.

Before Rosa could stop sputtering long enough to answer, Anna said, “You know, Lia, you’re right. Aunt Quinlan speaks Italian, and you speak Italian, and everybody here speaks Italian. Except me, and Margaret.”

“Margaret is learning Italian,” Rosa said, almost under her breath.

“Then I had better catch up,” Anna said.

That got her one of Margaret’s rare wide smiles.

“In the meantime, I don’t want you to have to keep a story to yourself if you only know it in Italian. So go right ahead.”

Aunt Quinlan reached over to put a hand on Lia’s head. “And listen now, my henny. The next time you have a point to make, you can do it without shouting and people will still listen to you.”

Lia wrinkled her nose as if she doubted this bit of wisdom, but she also nodded. Reluctant acceptance, Anna thought. She wondered how long it would last.

“So I’ll need an Italian tutor,” Anna said.

Both girls raised their hands, and so did Jack. She elbowed him, not too gently. “I was hoping you’d volunteer,” she said to the girls. “But I’m going to need more help still. I’ve got somebody in mind. I’ll bring him by for you to approve.”

Jack looked at her doubtfully, and Anna kept her smile to herself.

•   •   •

THAT NIGHT WHEN they went to bed, Anna told Jack the story of how her parents met.

“My mother went to New Orleans to study medicine with Uncle Ben’s brothers, because they ran a clinic there and took on students. This was long before Dr. Blackwell—the one who founded Woman’s Medical School?—long before she fought the battle to be the first woman admitted to medical school. Women who wanted to study medicine had to apprentice.”

“Have you told me about your uncle Ben?”

Anna pointed to a particular portrait. “Ben Savard. He met Aunt Hannah when she was in New Orleans during the war of 1812, and they settled in Paradise. Ben’s half brother Paul was the head of the clinic, and my mother studied under him. Aunt Hannah thought he would be the best teacher for her because he wouldn’t put up with her nonsense, but he also wouldn’t take offense when she turned out to be smarter than everybody else.”

“Was she?”

“Smarter than most, I think. So Ben’s brother Paul had a son who went to France to study medicine; that was Henry Savard, my father. My mother was two years into her studies in New Orleans when Henry came back from Paris, qualified in medicine and surgery too. He wasn’t happy to find that my mother had taken his place and had won everybody over. My mother took exception to him, too. At first.”

“And they fell in love and got married,” Jack prompted.

“It was a stormy romance, or so the story goes. But yes, they fell in love and got married. By that time my aunt Hannah said there were more people in Paradise than she could doctor, and so my parents decided that they’d move north and practice medicine with her. Which is what they did.”

The tree frogs were making music outside the window. For a long time they lay listening and then Anna roused. She said, “What about your parents?”

He stifled a yawn. “That’s a story they tell every year on their anniversary. I think you should wait to hear it from them.”

“Is that an Italian custom?”

“A family custom, I’d say. You might want to think about the story you’ll tell, when the time comes.”

And then he fell asleep, as if he hadn’t just handed her an assignment to worry over for the next eleven months.

28

NEW YORK POST

Wednesday, May 30, 1883

ARCHER CAMPBELL RETURNS WITHOUT HIS SONS

TESTIMONY GOES ON TWO HOURS

Mr. Archer Campbell, whose wife died under mysterious circumstances last week, has returned home after a fruitless search for his four missing sons, ages two months to five years. He last saw the boys the day before their mother’s death, when she took them away from home and out of the city to a destination and fate as yet undetermined.

The complete and unexplained disappearance of four young boys has occasioned considerable speculation from all quarters. The suggestion that Mrs. Campbell might have harmed her sons was addressed in Tuesday’s testimony taken during the inquiry into her death.

Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven, the last physician to treat Mrs. Campbell, contends that her patient did not suffer from puerperal insanity. The medical men on the jury were not all in accordance with this view. In an interview, Dr. Stanton expressed his doubts to the Post.

“Well-brought-up women who become good wives do not break with the habits of a lifetime for no reason. Mrs. Campbell had an excellent husband and a fine home. She was a caring and attentive mother. It is possible that her physicians did not look closely enough to see the evidence of puerperal insanity before it was too late, or that she was unduly influenced in a way not yet discovered.”

•   •   •

NEW YORK TRIBUNE

Wednesday, May 30, 1883

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Sirs: The coroner’s inquest currently under way in the matter of Mrs. Janine Campbell’s death reveals the true nature of those who campaign for “women’s rights,” and it can be summarized in a few words: they think they know better. In this inquest female doctors have given testimony. They speak in rough terms about unladylike, lewd topics, naysaying their betters simply because they are female and they know better. Nature has decreed a certain division of labor, but they know better. The founders of this great nation set out rights and responsibilities for its citizens, but, the women tell us, they know better. The truth is that gentle, worthy ladies brought up in Christian households have their rights already. Good women have the right to influence the race in the nursery, in the family, in the school, and thus through all the race of life. They have the right to be respected by all the respectable. They have the right to be tenderly loved by all whose love is worth enjoying. They have the right to be protected and provided for by men. Healthy, God-fearing women take pleasure and joy from the rights accorded them by the Almighty. If you doubt the dangers of women’s rights, you have only to observe the way female doctors behave when they are called to give testimony. It is a scandal and a tragedy, for them and for the nation.