Daughter of Venice by Donna Jo Napoli Read Free Book Online Page B

for Antonio’s family to grow. No one can know ahead of time how many rooms. And it is custom to have only one maiden aunt at home. If two are kept, then they’ll argue.” Mother’s words lack emotion. They come in regular beats, like the movement of the brush.
    I don’t even want to take care of Antonio’s children—but I want even less to go to a convent. “The boys all get to live here forever if they want—and they take up rooms, too.”
    “Men can vote. It’s important that the family voters stay close and all vote the same way.” Mother shrugs. “Women can’t vote. It isn’t practical to keep daughters at home.”
    Practical. I remember Francesco saying that to be Venetian is to be practical. I want to scream. “Is it practical to lock girls away in convents?”
    “I don’t know any girls who were locked away, Donata, and neither do you.” Mother reaches with the brush for my hair.
    I step away and shake my hair as though it’s a mane.
    Mother goes back to brushing Laura’s hair. “Girls go into the convents voluntarily, for the good of the family.”
    “Voluntarily?” I stare. “Who would volunteer for such a life?”
    “The convent has its advantages.”
    “What advantages?” I demand.
    “Women are protected there.”
    “Protected? Mother, they’re trapped. They have no freedom.”
    “That’s not true, Donata. They can continue their music studies. They can have parties with lovely foods and any guests they like. And those who are so inclined can talk to diplomats and influence the direction of government.”
    The last thing I want to do is continue my music lessons. And what’s the point of parties, if all I wear is long, black, shapeless gowns?
    No one speaks.
    “If I hadn’t married,” says Mother, at last, “I’d have entered a convent happily.”
    “So you could influence the direction of government?” asks Laura.
    Mother laughs. “A girl of my background couldn’t do that. But nuns can work. Many of them weave. That’s what I would have chosen.”
    I know it’s true the moment she says it. Just yesterday morning her voice filled with joy when she talked of weaving. “That’s why you don’t feel sorry for us now. But look at us, Mother. We’re not lucky like you were. We have no trade to pursue. We’ve never had a chance to know a trade. Noble girls have no chances.”
    Mother’s eyes cloud with pain and for an instant I’m sure she does understand, after all. But she blinks, and her eyes change again. “This from the one who always laments when asked to work? My dear Donata, you can’t have it both ways. Lucky, indeed. Your childhood has been full of pleasures. Your adulthood will be, as well, if you allow it.”
    How does she do this? How does she manage to make me feel ungrateful whenever I complain? I want to argue more.
    But Laura steps forward, cutting me off purposely, I know. “How often can nuns visit home?” Her very question smacks of resignation. I want to shake her.
    “Suora Luciana came home for every important family event.”
    Suora Luciana was another of Father’s sisters. She drowned in a boating accident when I was small. I don’t remember her. “That’s not enough,” I say. “This is our home. Not some dreadful convent.”
    “There’s nothing dreadful about them. Oh, my daughters, the families of Venice recognize the sacrifice, and they are tolerant of behavior in the convents. They shut one eye.”
    “As well they should, Mother.” My voice is firm, but already the practical side of me, the Venetian in my veins, wonders exactly what behavior is tolerated. I cannot ask, though. I will do nothing to suggest the convent is an option to consider.
    “Don’t play the rebel now, Donata. It will serve you well to accept your future. What can you do about it anyway? This is the way things are.”
    Laura sniffles. “Girls in convents do not fall in love.”
    “Many girls outside of convents don’t fall in love, my daughter.”
    I