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Giana felt tears welling in her eyes. “Go, daughter. For me. Please...I’ll want someone left to carry on my legacy when I’m gone. You’re the only one who knows my techniques. You go and you bake the best bread Lady Francesca has ever had. Eh?” Papa’s voice was gentle and loving. Giana wanted nothing more than to break down the door and hug him, but she knew if she did that he would never forgive her.

“Okay, Papa, I’ll go…” Giana reluctantly agreed and headed back downstairs.

Marina must have noticed the concern in her friend’s face, because her forehead wrinkled and she asked in a hushed whisper, “Giana, is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. It’s just...Papa wanted to stay behind to take care of the shop.” Giana couldn’t bear to tell Marina the truth. “But I can still go.”

“Okay. What about your things?”

“I was hoping I could borrow some clothes from you. We’re about the same size and I don’t have anything nice enough to wear at a Lady’s residence.” Giana’s clothes were all in the room with her sick Papa, so she couldn’t go back to get them.

“Of course you can,” Marina nodded solemnly. “Let’s go before we miss the carriage.”

Giana and Marina arrived at the carriage just in time, and headed off with Lady Francesca to her villa in the country. Giana was praised for making the French style bread and pastries the Lady had come to expect in the morning. As thanks, she was treated to fine wines and all the strawberry jam she could eat. At night, when Francesca and her sisters played instruments and told stories by the firelight, they would often ask Marina and Giana to join in. The time at the Lady’s estate felt like a bubble where the troubles of the outside world could never touch them. There were even moments where Giana did not think about what happened to her father.

ANTISEMITISM
FLAGELLANTS
MIGRATION
WOMEN’S RIGHTS
PEASANTS AND WORKERS