no productive resolution. “Besides,” said Harrison, “I have you to thank for meeting Hannah.” “Me, Spia? Cosa intende, io?” It was common for Josetta to lapse to his native tongue, a language quite familiar to Harrison. “Hannah is a journalist for a Washington newspaper. Like most journalists, she is here to cover your health,” said Harrison. “You mean my death,” the holy one corrected.
Harrison gave his old friend a look of indifference and continued, “You are not going to die.” However, the words sounded hollow even to Harrison given the state of His Holiness’ health. This time Harrison spoke before Josetta formulated his thoughts, “Hannah has a great deal of respect for you. She considers you ‘progressive’ you know.” “Progressive?” queried Josetta. The holy man heard the descriptive adjective before, but dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Progressive?” said Josetta with some disdain. He protested, “I’m only the servant of the Lord and His word.” Harrison was acutely aware of Josetta’s longstanding humility in his papacy, but his impressive list of accomplishments as servant of his church and his dogmatic encyclicals belied his modesty.
In dismissing the cosmopolitan label, Josetta said with a noticeable twinkle in his eye, “Tell me about this Hannah, Spia. Cosa è piace? What is she like?” Harrison observed that his holy friend sparkled a bit over the idea that not only could he have a girl friend, but also that somebody might actually marry him. Perhaps even take care of him.
“As I said,” Harrison noted, “she’s a journalist for the Washington Sun out of Washington, D.C. She has the most beautiful eyes…” “It’s always the physical with you first,” interjected Josetta. ‘“The lust of the eye’ the Bible speaks” added the holy man. Harrison raised his eyebrows giving him that boyish charm and resumed, “Hannah has the most beautiful hazel eyes and the most angelic face…” “Oh, fratello!” mused the holy man placing his right hand to his right cheek. “Oh, brother yourself,” echoed Harrison while mimicking his friend’s hand movement. “I’ll spare you Hannah’s other incarnate qualifications,” said Harrison. Josetta only smiled as Harrison continued, “She’s a bright woman, very smart, but doesn’t flaunt it. Hannah is dedicated to journalism, ‘truth from the pen’ as she puts it. She has your sense of humor…” Josetta again smiled, but then coughed uncontrollably for a minute or so. “Can I get you anything, Josetta?” The holy man waved his hand ‘no’ and coughed once again. “Is it my description of Hannah or that she loves me that you can’t take?” smirked Harrison. He continued, “You need your rest. I have to get back to work while you lay here with all your servants waiting after you!” Josetta smiled once again although weakly this time. “Good evening, your excellency.” At that, Harrison bowed his head, as he was accustomed for Josetta’s blessing: “Maggio che Dio benedice Lei nel nome del Padre, e del Figlio e del Spirt Santo.” “Amen,” responded Harrison. With that, he placed his hand on Josetta’s, squeezed lightly. “Don’t worry,” Harrison said, “You are not going to leave this world of ours until after you meet Hannah.” The Pope managed a smile and a nod of his head as Harrison left the room.
Harrison stood in the corridor outside of Josetta’s room. He took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Harrison drew strength from his holy friend and it hurt deeply to watch him slip away. He vowed to keep his promise that Josetta would meet Hannah while he remained conscious and alert. With that certainty, Harrison worked his way out of the Vatican and the multitude of Swiss Papal Guards who protected the Holy See.
Hannah twisted and turned for almost an hour as her wedding dress was tailored to the curves and lines of her elongated, beautiful body. She bit slightly and pulled down her upper lip as she addressed her seamstress: “Rosella, are we about finished?” The seamstress nodded and smiled, “Uno minuto.” Hannah has waited through numerous “uno minutos.” ‘After all, my wedding day will only happen once’ she prayed as she crossed her wedding ring finger of her left hand. As she did so, Hannah admired the diamond engagement ring given to her by her betrothed Harrison. She extended her ring toward Rosella and asked for a second time that day, “Isn’t this the most beautiful engagement ring you ever saw?” Rosella eyed the ring for a second time and responded politely as she did before, “Si, bello.” Hannah turned her hand toward herself and cherished the ring that she believed would be on her finger forever.
Rosella was a family friend of Harrison’s and it was in her home in Carrara that Hannah’s wedding dress was being tailored. The home was nestled in the side of a small mountain. It was a two-story structure set in white stone and red brick. The home was set between two large verandas. The main front porch was screened and contained a variety of comfortable outdoor furniture utilized for chat, cards and other table games. The rear porch was rectangular and the wide base lent itself to an extended dinner table. The traditional Italian grapevine draped the perimeter of the porch causing the sun’s reflection to appear as moving dots on the table.
“Finito,” Rosella said finally. The seamstress stepped back to admire her work and again repeated, “Bello.” She helped Hannah out of her wedding dress and remarked that she would have the alterations completed in two weeks. Hannah thanked Rosella for her exquisite tailoring and apologized for her impatience during the fitting.
Hannah stepped out of Rosella’s home into the hot summer day. Like most homes in Carrara, air conditioning was rare. Yet, the humming of many fans kept the home sufficiently cool so that Hannah gasped slightly from the sudden intake of outdoor heat. She was off to the train station and headed for Rome to meet Harrison for dinner. It would take several hours on the Italian railway before arriving at Rome’s Saint Peter station.
The train ride to Rome was mundane leaving Hannah to her quiet thoughts and the anticipation of being with her beloved. She thought about their first meeting in Rome and how the Pontiff, Joseph Josetta, intersected their lives. Hannah was covering the failing health of the Pope as a journalist while Harrison was comforting his old friend Josetta. The man of God was their bond, the cornerstone of their first meeting.
Hannah smiled to herself as she recalled her first glimpse of her handsome Harrison. He was a lean, tall man, ‘four inches above six feet’ he always informed her. His hair was dark brown with some distinguished graying at the temples. Harrison was a muscular man, but not grotesquely so. He often trained to sustain the physical demands of his employment.
‘His employment,’ the words echoed in Hannah’s mind. She knew that Harrison conducted special assignments for the President of the United States. ‘Similar to the Secret Service’ he had said. It was not the danger inherent in Harrison’s assignments that permeated her thoughts at the moment, but the fact that the President of the United States was Elizabeth Ashton, the first woman President in the history of America— and her husband-to-be conducted ‘special’ assignments for madam President. Has jealousy reared its ugly head so early in their relationship? Hannah dismissed the thought with a confident, quiet laugh.
Hannah’s thoughts returned to the attractiveness of the man. She certainly was not the only woman who buckled under the spell of the suave Harrison Rossetti. Elizabeth Ashton was no slouch even for a bureaucrat. Harrison, the man, certainly did not escape the eye of madam President. ‘Hmm?’ Hannah thought rhetorically. She shook her head as if the act itself would magically jar the thought from her mind.
The lives of Hannah and Harrison intersected near St. Peter’s Basilica about four months ago. Hannah was on her way to Vatican City for a news briefing on the health of Pope Joseph Josetta. Harrison was leaving the Vatican after visiting his holy confidant. He was somewhat dejected and out of sorts as he leaned against the wall. Neither Harrison’s attractiveness
