Free Dark Shimmer by Donna Jo Napoli Page A

smile, as if I know something others don’t. She says they’ll be judging me. “You’ll do well.” She stands and puts her hands around my upper arms. “And if you don’t know what to say, just stay silent.”
    I’m less nervous than she is, I can see that. “Whatever happens today can’t be harder than what I’m used to. If they make me feel left out, I’ll just think about my mamma. She used to say I was…things that gave me confidence.”
    “Surely you can find confidence in other sources, too.”
    “You’re right. I can think about the fact that I am the master of mirrors, the best there is. In fact, I’m going to make you a mirror.”
    “Mirrors.” Agnola’s brow furrows. “Bianca said that you told her you make mirrors.”
    “I do. And—”
    Agnola puts a finger on my lips. “Don’t. Don’t tell me anything more about what you used to do with mirrors. And don’t speak of making mirrors to anyone else, either. Noblewomen don’t do that kind of work, though we help in so many ways at home. Don’t mention it, ever. Or you’ll ruin everything for us right at the start.”
    “But how do I explain my pink fingers?”
    “You don’t.” Agnola goes back to the drawer and comes out with two pairs of gloves. I’ve never seen white gloves before. “We’ll keep them on all day,” she says, “even inside. Maybe we’ll start a new fashion.” She smiles conspiratorially. “With you, who knows what can happen?”
    I have been slowly dressing all this while. I hope I look the way Agnola wants me to.
    We go out and stand in the grand hall, the
pian nobile
—the noble floor, where everything important happens and Marin and Agnola receive guests. Marin’s room is across the hall from Agnola’s. I’ve never even peeked in. Agnola and I walk the hall from rear to front. On the left, we pass Bianca’s room; on the right, the sewing room. The facade of the palace is on the Canal Grande. It has five large windows on this floor and on the floor above. The windows are doors that open at the middle and lead to the balcony. The three middle ones offer light into this wonderful hall, while one end window lights Marin’s map room, which is becoming a library, and the other end window lights the music room where Agnola sings and Bianca has just started taking harp lessons. The servants live on the floor above, and there are rooms for additional children and bachelor uncles, if this house should ever hold any of those. The canal cuts through the narrow entrance underneath the
pian nobile,
where we entered the evening I arrived. There’s a stone foundation on both sides and at the rear. The rear holds the kitchen, and beyond it a gate that leads to the courtyard. The sides of the docking area are lined with storage rooms.
    On Torcello we had the run of ruins that were just as grand as this palace once upon a time, some grander. The furnishings in this home are stupendous, but life here is impoverished, really. To eat a fig, Lucia La Rotonda has to run and buy them at a market. You can’t just search the tree for the one that’s bursting with such sweetness the ants are mad for it, and jam it all juicy into your mouth. Girls and women of the merchant and noble classes stay at home or visit other girls and women in their homes, always attended by servants. They never run or explore or swim or drop into the grasses exhausted and eat a fig.
    So they can’t scare me, these ladies of Venezia, no matter how much Agnola warns me.
    In the music room, Bianca stands at the window munching a sweet biscuit. She sees me and smiles. I rush to her and we hug.
    “You should share my bed,” says Bianca. “Aunt Agnola doesn’t need you like I do.” She says this every morning.
    Agnola enters behind me and runs a caressing hand around Bianca’s ear. “You know your father says no.”
    “But I don’t know why. He won’t answer me.”
    Agnola shrugs. “Maybe you’re old enough to figure it out for yourself.”
    I