Chapter 3
“If you see a stone wall covered in ivy and a red door, turn left into the alley and walk straight again. When you reach a well with a single palm tree, turn right onto the side path…”
As she walked slowly through the alley, Berenice glanced down at the letter in her hand several times. The plain and concise content, along with the rounded and calm handwriting, resembled its owner perfectly.
Clarice Mandolini. She was the first friend Berenice had ever made, and thus, a special and precious presence in her life.
Berenice and Clarice had met for the first time at a shabby, small convent, where they spent two years together. The two girls, both of the same age, shared a room and developed an unusually deep friendship, stronger than family, growing day by day.
During that time, Berenice believed that she had finally been granted a peaceful life. “God has shown me mercy. He has helped me escape the horrors of my past.”
She lived joyfully, thinking that way. The worn-out convent habit, the thin, tasteless porridge with almost no grains, and the freezing cold beds in the convent were all part of the happiness she had found.
But soon, her situation changed.
“Sister Berenice! Why didn’t you tell me you were the daughter of the Saporini family? You told me you fled here because you feared for your life!”
The convent’s abbess, with her face drained of color, trembled as she shouted at her. Berenice tried to explain, saying that she had not lied, that she had come here to escape her life-threatening situation…
But she could not say anything. Standing next to the abbess was her older brother, Michele, with a terrifying look on his face.
Thus, her two years of running away ended. Berenice was once again dragged back into hell. From the beginning, it had been clear that no salvation was ever meant for her.
Back at home, she spent another two years in confinement and repentance. Recently, however, the vigilance around her had loosened. As the pope’s death grew imminent, both her father and Michele had become preoccupied, and now they seemed to show little interest in her.
Finally, she reached the end of the road.
At the dead-end alley, beneath the long-reaching willow branches, she saw a small well and looked up at the towering, gray building like a massive fortress.
“My goodness, it’s huge.”
This was not the old convent on the mountain where Berenice had lived. It was a new building.
She had heard that the Del Brenta family had spent a large sum to rebuild a grain factory here. There were talks of constructing a textile workshop and entrusting the convent with its management.
Roberto Riadelli, the Archbishop of Bellezza, had readily accepted the Del Brenta family’s proposal. He then relocated the small, poor Santa Domineo convent from the outskirts of Bellezza to this new location.
“To do charity work, we need the most pure-hearted and virtuous priests,” the Archbishop had said.
According to Clarice’s letter, those words had deeply moved the nuns, and they had all agreed to leave the beloved building in the mountains and move to the heart of Bellezza.
Had true blessings been bestowed upon these virtuous people? The new convent building, funded by the Del Brenta family and supported by Archbishop Roberto Riadelli, was outwardly beautiful.
Berenice stared at the pristine marble building for a while before coming to her senses and knocking softly on a small side door near the well.
*Tap, tap, tap.*
To her relief, the door opened almost immediately, as if it had been waiting for her.
“Clarice!”
A nun, wearing a white headscarf, poked her head out, and Berenice immediately called her name. The nun looked at her in surprise.
“Berenice? Is it really you?”
“Yes, Clarice. It’s me. Berenice!”
Berenice, with a face that looked as if she were about to cry, pressed her hand to her chest. When Clarice’s light gray eyes finally filled with certainty after hesitation, Berenice could no longer hold back and burst into tears. Clarice embraced Berenice.
“My goodness, Berenice. I’ve missed you so much, so, so much…”
***
Matteo quickened his pace. Across the street, the Santa Domineo convent was beginning to come into view.
The white and blue marble, the geometric patterns, and the delicate and elaborate decorations filling the small windows all seemed to shine as if waiting for him, greeting him.
“I’m not taking anything from my brother, I’m reclaiming what’s mine.”
The idea to convert the abandoned warehouse into a convent and operate the workshop through an outsourcing arrangement was first conceived by none other than fifteen-year-old Matteo.
“Father, there’s an empty grain warehouse nearby. How about purchasing it and converting it into a convent? If we convert it, we could shorten the time compared to building from scratch.”
“Now is not the time to spend money elsewhere, Matteo. The Milanese are threatening to raise the prices of textiles, so we need to deal with that first.”
“That’s exactly it, Father. Del Brenta could set up a textile workshop and reduce the operational burden by outsourcing work to the convent. It might take a little while to establish, but once we reach an appropriate production level, Bellezza won’t have to worry about the capriciousness of Milan anymore.”
Matteo still remembered it clearly.
The moment his father’s eyes suddenly gleamed, and Ugo Solomon, who was writing the ledgers beside him, leaned in and listened intently.
Based on Matteo’s proposal, the construction of the convent was immediately initiated. Archbishop Roberto Riadelli, who oversaw the convent, attached the noble cause of charity to the project and invited the Santa Domineo nuns to take in abandoned children.
Matteo waited with hope. He was confident that one day he would be the one to carry on this work. The boy left for university, spent a few more years there, and returned.
In the meantime, Matteo’s textile workshop had become an excellent training ground for self-sufficiency, and the noblewomen of Bellezza had organized fundraisers to support the girls at the facility.
However, when Matteo returned to the Del Brenta palace after completing his long academic journey, the workshop was already under Enzo’s control.
“Why? Because he’s the eldest son?”
Matteo was confident that he could earn recognition through his abilities. Everything was ready. No matter what position he took, he could do it better than anyone else.
Matteo decided he would no longer wait. He could no longer tolerate Enzo, who didn’t understand the true value of the workshop, destroying it with his reckless behavior—drinking and fooling around with women.
If the opportunity didn’t come, he would create one himself. After all, destiny was something to be shaped with his own hands.
Clarice Mandolini, Sister.
Matteo quietly repeated the name, the one that would become his weapon, and folded the note. Before long, the main gate of the Santa Domineo convent was right in front of him.
***
“Wow.”
Berenice was overwhelmed by the sight of the vast workshop. The soft light streaming through the high windows mixed with the rising smoke from the simmering cauldrons, creating a sense of sanctity in the air.
The wide shelves, filling an entire wall, were stacked with trays full of mulberry leaves and silkworms, while girls dressed in work clothes moved quickly back and forth as steam billowed from the boiling cauldrons.
“This way, Berenice,” Clarice said, guiding her by the hand. The girls, who had briefly paused at the appearance of an outsider, quietly returned to their tasks when Clarice gently shook her head.
However, curious eyes followed Berenice wherever she went, not leaving her side.
“I didn’t know there were so many children,” Berenice whispered as a few girls passed by, pushing carts filled with cloth.
Clarice smiled faintly. “Actually, the garden is already overcrowded. The bedrooms are always cramped, and the meals are scarce. But…”
Her voice lowered slightly. “When I think of all the terrible things a girl abandoned on the streets might face, I can’t just close the door on her because the garden is full. We have no choice but to take in as many as we can, even if it means giving a little more to each. So, sometimes we clash with the children. They’re sometimes upset about having to share what they’ve just gained.”
“So, do those girls stay here?” Berenice asked.
“They’re being prepared for independence. We don’t have much money, but we try to save a little at a time so they can build up enough to support themselves. Some girls want to work as maids in noble families, so we teach them skills and send them out.”
“I see,” Berenice nodded, but then suddenly turned around when she heard a loud bang. It was the sound of a loom, slowly moving and making the same noise Berenice had heard earlier in the corridor.
“Do you see? The thin threads come together to form silk,” Clarice explained.
Berenice quietly approached and watched the girls’ work. The brightly colored spools of thread hanging from the wooden machine started clacking as the cloth began to weave. The thin threads, seemingly on the verge of breaking, twisted and intertwined, gradually forming a tight, beautiful fabric.
It looked beautiful, almost sacred. Everyone was working tirelessly, whether it was the people, the machines, or even the silkworms eating the mulberry leaves—they were all diligently fulfilling their roles…
Berenice felt both awe and a sense of shame. Everyone is working so hard, but why am I here doing nothing?
“I envy you, Clarice,” Berenice blurted out without thinking. Realizing how inappropriate her comment might sound, she quickly tried to backtrack.
“What I mean is, I respect you. I wanted to live a life devoted to something like this, but it hasn’t gone the way I wanted… I mean…”
“It’s okay, Berenice. I understand what you mean,” Clarice said, her hand calming Berenice.
“I’m sorry, Clarice. I didn’t think it through.”
“It’s okay, Berenice. I know you’re sincere.”
Clarice’s eyes met hers, unwavering.
“Just because you’re wearing fine clothes doesn’t mean our friendship has to change. And I know better than anyone that you didn’t want to return home. Right?”
The warmth of Clarice’s hand reassured Berenice. Lowering her head, Berenice murmured, “Thank you, Clarice.”
This was the one thing Berenice had been worried about—the fear that her friendship with Clarice might break, that she might lose her only friend. But after confirming that Clarice’s feelings had not changed, Berenice finally felt at ease.
Overcome with emotion, she tightly grasped Clarice’s hand. Unknowingly, she failed to notice the sadness and fear that lingered in Clarice’s eyes, as she held her hand in return.
