That Man in Siena

That Man in Siena

By Ann M. Streetman

Copyright 2013 Ann M. Streetman

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Author’s Note

About the Author

Other Books by the Author

Connect with the Author

Chapter 1

Laura Lynn Langston checked the train schedule and decided it was time to get her wheeled bag from the overhead rack and start toward the front of the car. She stood up and reached for the bag.

A smiling teenaged boy across the aisle asked, May I help you off please?

Laura smiled at his handsome young face and heavy Italian accent.

Yes, of course. That would be very kind of you.

He waited for her to step into the aisle before he slid the bag out of the rack and onto the floor. Her bag in hand, he followed Laura to the vestibule.

As they stood there in the noisy moving space, he asked, Will you be staying in town for the Palio?

Laura shook her head yes and tried to answer above the clatter of the train.

He smiled broadly. You will see me then. I am a flag thrower in my Contrade. My grandfather and I have been training for this all my life. Finally, it comes.

The train careened around the corner and slowly entered the station.

As soon as the car door opened, the young man stepped down with Laura’s bag. Then he held out his hand to help her down the steps.

Laura took his hand and stepped onto the platform. Thank you so very much. I will be watching for you at the race. What is your name? Laura took the bag.

I am Amintore Bollai. I will be representing the Tartuca Contrada. It means turtle. Look for the yellow and blue flags. I am part of the team.

He nodded politely and turned to go, but turned back and said, I hope you will visit my family’s bakery. It is the Balducci Bakery. You can watch for it. My great-grandmother started it many years ago. We are still using her secret recipe for panforte. It is the best in town.

He nodded politely again and hurried down the track, disappearing into the station.

Laura pulled her bag to the front of the station. Two cabs were waiting. She signaled to one, and the driver hopped out. He tipped his hat and stowed her bags in the trunk.

Laura looked down at the paper in her hand and said, Please take me to The Balducci Bed and Breakfast. She wondered if the young man who had helped her was from the same family. Not likely. Probably just a common Italian surname here.

The driver nodded and held the cab door open. He closed it and slid behind the wheel.

It was a very short trip from the station to the entrance of the walled city.

Laura smiled as they passed through the entrance, leaving behind rows of private vehicles parked closely together in a cramped space.

The cab sped down narrow streets, making sharp turns here and there and then another.

Laura thought the driver must surely be breaking the speed limit. He pulled to an abrupt stop in front of a narrow four-story building. He got out of the car and popped the trunk. Laura stepped out onto the brick street, fumbling with bills and wishing that she understood euros a little better. She handed him a bill and looked at his face to gauge whether she might have made an appropriate choice.

The driver smiled and placed her bags on the sidewalk. He tipped his hat and said, Grazie.

Laura stood for a minute, looking at the building. The sign in the first floor window said Balducci Bakery. In the second floor window, the sign said Balducci Bed and Breakfast. She strained to see the small print next to it. Take Stairs inside the Bakery.

Laura managed to get her wheeled bag and backpack up the short steps and into the bakery door. Inside, a middle-aged woman looked up from the counter. She said something in Italian.

Laura said, Hello. I am sorry that I don’t speak Italian.

In a heavy Italian accent the woman replied, It is OK. I speak some English. Do you want to check into the bed and breakfast just upstairs?

Laura nodded her head. Yes, I have a reservation.

The woman walked over to the stairs and yelled, Carmine.

A smiling young man came down the stairs and greeted Laura. Buon pomeriggio. He motioned for her to go up the stairs.

Laura turned to the woman and said, Thank you.

Laura climbed the stairs that ended in a small landing with an archway. Beyond the archway was a front desk and a lobby of sorts with two stuffed chairs. Through another archway was a small table with 4 chairs.

The man put Laura’s bags down in front of the desk and walked around to the other side. He picked up a loose-leaf notebook and flipped through a few pages. In very poor English he asked, Are you Laura Langston?

Laura could barely understand him, but nodded her head yes.

She said, Yes. I am Laura Langston and I am checking in for 4 nights.

He smiled and produced a document. Please sign here, he said.

He reached for a key fob hanging on a small board on the wall behind the desk. It had two keys.

He held up one key. This is for your room, he said.

He held up the other key. This is for getting in from the outside stairway when the bakery is closed. If you are ready, I will take you to your room now, he said.

He pointed toward the room with a table and 4 chairs and said, Breakfast. Then he handed her a sheet of paper with details about breakfast time and the procedure for coming in after 7 p.m. when the bakery was closed.

He led the way down a narrow hall and stopped in front of a door marked Jazz 1. While he fumbled with the key, she looked down the hall and saw a door marked Jazz 2.

The man placed her bags inside the small room. He pointed out the big chifforobe standing across from the double bed. For clothes, he said. No closet. He then pointed to the open bathroom door.

Is there anything else? he asked.

No. Thank you very much. She handed him a generous tip.

He closed the door behind him. She could hear him going down the stairway.

She looked around the tiny room. On the double bed was a white crocheted spread with a dark rose coverlet showing under it. Matching chintz rose and green floral pillow shams stood against an ornately carved dark wooden headboard. On the nightstand was a pottery-based lamp that exactly matched the dark rose bed coverlet. Across the room was a small chair with matching chintz cushions. Beside the chair was a small table with a marble top set into an oval-framed top. The dark wooden carved legs matched the headboard. On the table was another lamp like the one on the nightstand. There was a tiny rose pottery tray which held a wrapped confection of some sort. On the tray was a note in English, Welcome to our home. Please enjoy this bite-sized panforte from the family bakery downstairs.

Laura unwrapped the confection and put it into her mouth. It was wonderful. She remembered what the young man on the train had said about stopping by his family’s bakery. Well, I’ll be damned, she said. This is his great grandmother’s recipe. I have wandered into some interesting family history here.

Her cell phone rang, and she retrieved it from her handbag. Hello Heather.

The voice on the other end of the call said, Hi, Mom. How was your trip?

Laura replied, It was all very smooth. The flight. The train ride from Milan. And, I just checked into the bed and breakfast in Siena. It’s a tiny room over a family bakery. The room is beautifully furnished. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before.

Heather laughed into the phone. She said, You wanted to do something really different to celebrate your 60th birthday, and you’ve always wanted to go to Italy. I hope you enjoy the Palio.

Oh, I already know someone who will be in the parade before the race. He’s a handsome young man who helped me with my bags on the train. He told me how to spot him and invited me to stop by his family’s bakery. And, the craziest thing is that this little bed and breakfast is right over his family’s bakery.

Heather laughed again. Well, I did not plant that young man on the train, but I did know about the bakery and your beautiful room over it.

And, you wouldn’t even show me a brochure or a picture of it, Laura said.

Heather said, I wanted to surprise you. I’m glad you like the bed and breakfast. I hope the rest of Siena is as wonderful as that little place. I’ve got to go now, Mom. Love you. Bye.

Love you, too. And thank you for the wonderful trip. I know you and your brother financed it together, but you made all the arrangements. Thank you so much. Goodnight or good morning or whatever it is in New York City.

Laura ended the call and sat down on the chintz-covered chair. She smiled as she looked around the room.

After arranging her clothes in the chifforobe, Laura walked into the bathroom. There was a marble-bowl sink with a mirror in an oval frame above it. Next to the sink was a narrow white table with carved legs. The shower was squeezed in next to the toilet. She slid open the outer shower curtain which matched the chintz cushions on the bedroom chair. She said aloud, Someone with very good taste decorated Jazz 1. She wondered who it was.

Laura applied fresh makeup and brushed through her long curly auburn hair. Finding the image in the mirror acceptable, she said aloud, I hope the rest of me looks OK. This is the biggest mirror I have. I guess I’ll have to check myself out in store windows.

She stood at her window overlooking the rolling Tuscan hills. She sighed. How lucky she was to make this trip and stay in this beautiful little bed and breakfast.

She put her cross-body bag over her shoulders and locked the door. The lobby was empty, but she heard someone coming down the stairs from the floor above. She paused.

A man appeared on the landing.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at least a third of the way down, revealing his bare chest. She could not help but notice that he was handsome. Not a little handsome, very handsome.

Seeing her, he stopped, rolled down his sleeves, and buttoned up his shirt. He said, Please excuse me. I’ve been working in my studio. You must be our guest Mrs. Laura Langston. Welcome to our home. He held out his hand.

Laura looked into his lively brown eyes and put her hand in his. His grasp was strong and sure. It was not the calloused hand of a working man. He closed his hand around hers.

He said, I am Raffaele Balducci, owner of this little bed and breakfast. We are glad that you are here.

He spoke perfect English with a rhythmical Italian accent. His face was pleasantly wrinkled and tanned from many years under the Tuscan sun. His dark wavy hair had a sprinkling of gray.

Thank you. I am glad to be here. The room is so beautiful. The décor so well done, she said.

Raffaele smiled, Yes, my Anna, my wife did all of it.

Laura said, Please give her my compliments.

His smile disappeared. He said, My Anna has been gone almost 10 years now.

Laura said, I am so sorry. She was obviously a very talented person.

He nodded. She could do anything.

He paused and said, But I am detaining you. Perhaps you are on your way to the Piazza del Campo?

Laura said, I thought I would walk around and maybe get a bite to eat, but I’d rather go straight to bed.

She felt a little embarrassed when she heard her words. I mean I need to get my head into this time zone. I’m trying to stay up a while, so I can work on that.

He said, Oh yes. I do the same thing when I visit my son in New York City.

Laura echoed, You have a son in New York City.

Yes. I try to visit him every year or at least every other year, Raffaele said.

I have a daughter who lives in New York City, Laura said.

Raffaele’s warm smile returned. He said, Wonderful. How nice we have children in common. He laughed. I did not say that right. Sometimes my English is not perfect.

Laura said, I think your English is wonderful.

Raffaele said, Please excuse me. I forgot something. I must go back to my studio.

Are you a painter? Laura asked.

I am a potter, he said. At least, I try.

He turned and started up the stairway.

Laura watched him go.

She called out, Do you have a grandson who will be in the parade before the Palio?

He turned and came back down the stairs.

I do. How did you know? he asked.

Laura laughed. A very nice young man helped me with my bags on the train. He said he would be in the parade and that his grandfather had been training him for it all his life.

Ah, you met Amintore. I am glad to hear that he was helpful. He is my daughter’s older son. He is 16, and he is growing up to be a fine young man.

Laura said, I have a 15-year-old grandson Peter.

Raffaele looked at Laura and said, I have an idea. You are going out to get something to eat. Perhaps I could accompany you, unless you’d rather be alone.

Surprised and pleased by his invitation, Laura said, I’d like that very much.

Raffaele said, Good. Please wait here. I’ll just go back to my studio and be right back.

Laura watched him go up the stairs. She could hear his footsteps going all the way up to the fourth floor. What an interesting man.

Chapter 2

Laura sat on the staircase, waiting for Raffaele to return from his studio. When she heard him coming back, she got up and stood waiting for him.

He took her elbow and guided her down the inside staircase and into the bakery. He opened the door for her, and they walked out into the very warm late afternoon sun.

As they walked onto the piazza, Raffaele said, There are many dinners in the Contrade areas tonight, but they are very crowded and noisy. I think we will do better to have a quiet dinner at one of my favorite restaurants up there. He pointed to the area.

They climbed up to the restaurant and took their seats.

The waiter handed them menus.

Raffaele said, I eat here often. May I order for you?

Laura said, What woman doesn’t like to be surprised? Yes, please order whatever you think I would like.

Raffaele said, Good. I will order one of my favorites. Perhaps it will become a favorite for you, too.

He signaled the waiter and placed the order in Italian.

Now, Mrs. Laura Langston, please tell me what brings you to our city?

Laura laughed. Adventure, pure adventure, she said.

Raffaele leaned slightly forward and asked in a playful tone, What kind of adventure?

Laura said, Traveling to Italy to celebrate my birthday.

Alone? he asked. A beautiful woman should not be alone on her birthday.

But, I am not alone. I am with you. Today is my birthday. I turned 60, and I am already having an adventure. I’m having dinner with a talented artisan in one of the most beautiful cities in Italy, she said.

Buon compleanno! Happy Birthday, Mrs. Langston, he said.

She held his eyes for a moment. Thank you. Please call me Laura, she said.

And, you can call me Raffaele. It is wonderful to have a new American friend.

He held up his glass of red wine and said, To my friend Laura, who came a long way to celebrate her birthday with a new friend. Salute.

Laura raised her glass and said, Salute, my friend.

They drank their wine in silence for a moment.

Raffaele asked, Is the Palio the reason you thought our city would be a fine adventure for your birthday?

That’s part of it. I am the granddaughter of a quarter horse breeder in Oklahoma. I spent a lot of time on my granddad’s ranch when I was growing up, even before my family moved to Oklahoma. I loved being with the horses. I understand that the Palio is a heck of a horse race with beautiful horses and talented jockeys, she said.

It’s not like any racing you’ve seen in the United States. Our jockeys ride bareback, and it’s what you Americans might call a ‘free for all,’ he offered.

My granddad taught me to ride mostly with a saddle, but he also taught me to ride bareback, she said.

Very impressive, he said. What else did you do when you were growing up?

I did a little barrel racing and calf roping in rodeos when I was in high school, she said. The truth is, I was always a tom boy.

I don’t understand tom boy. What does it mean? he asked.

Laura said, In my case, I loved to climb trees and run around with my boy cousins instead of doing girl things. Sometimes we played jokes on our girl cousins when I was at my granddad’s farm.

Raffaele smiled. You don’t look like a boy. I’m not sure about this American tom boy thing, he teased.

He poured more wine for her.

Thanks, she said. It’s very good wine.

Raffaele said, I noticed from your reservation that you live in Oklahoma City now."

Yes, I do, she replied.

He said, I have wondered about Oklahoma City and the terrible bombing that killed so many innocent people there. Were you living there then?

Laura set her glass on the table. She said softly, Yes. She was silent for a moment. I am a nurse. I was off duty when it happened, but when I heard about it, I got to the hospital as fast as I could. I worked on many of the survivors. It was heart-wrenching. I have seen a lot of sad things in my nursing career, but this was my hardest experience.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Raffaele reached for her hand. I am so sorry, Laura. It was a cruel tragedy. My wife Anna and I followed the news here in Siena. It was a sad, sad day.

Laura continued, My daughter Heather was only12, and my son Nathan was 17. They were both very shaken up about it. Heather’s best friend had a sibling killed in the blast. Nathan was very angry. He was quiet and brooding for months. We thought about putting him into therapy, but never did. She took a breath. And my late husband David lost two friends. They went to high school and college together.

Laura put her head on the table and cried softly.

Remaining silent, Raffaele reached his hand out and stroked her head, until she raised it.

Laura looked at Raffaele. There were tears in his eyes, too.

She whispered, You are a good new friend. Thank you.

She blew her nose and went back to her dinner. They gradually drifted back into casual conversation.

Laura asked, Have you always liked to make pottery?

Raffaele nodded yes. "I started making pottery when I was a little boy. I had a little corner in the barn where I worked whenever I could. My grandfather lived with us then. It was