A Moonacre Fanfiction Roman Holiday
The next day was come. It was now Sunday, and the entire group was riding to the Sistine Chapel for a special church service. "How fortunate that we should come to Rome at exactly the time when they are having a service in the Sistine Chapel!" Loveday exclaimed, her voice punctuated by the rattling of the carriage. Such services were rare occurrences. "Yes; I do hope the preacher is sound. Theologically, that is," Sir Benjamin said worriedly. Maria nodded solemnly. "Yes. But if he does start to preach false doctrine, we can just look up at the ceiling and not listen to anything he's saying."
Robin frowned. "Why would we look at the ceiling?" Coeur De Noir chuckled at his son's ignorance. "Even I know that the Sistine Chapel is famous for its elaborate artwork, the ceiling especially." Maria's eyes sparkled. She loved art. "Even you, Robin De Noir, will simply have to appreciate it." Robin gave a brief smile. "We'll see. But I wonder…why would someone paint the ceiling? Wouldn't they want people to focus on the message?" Sir Benjamin turned to Coeur De Noir. "You have a perceptive son," he said with an approving nod. Coeur De Noir eyed his son. "He's adequate."
Maria wished Coeur De Noir would show his affection for his son more openly. She knew that he really did love Robin; he merely considered open affection to be contrary to the masculinity rulebook, or something along those lines. She wished it was not so.
The carriage slowed to a halt. They had reached the Sistine Chapel. The ladies were assisted out of the carriage by the gentleman. Miss Heliotrope took Digweed's arm, who swelled with pride like a delighted rooster. Loveday's delicate arm entwined around her dear Sir Benjamin's with an ardent gaze. Maria tentatively accepted the chivalrous arm Robin held out. Coeur De Noir brought up the rear.
They stepped into the chapel—and caught their breath in wonder! It was like stepping into an extravagant baroque painting, being encompassed by a whirlwind of color. "You weren't kidding," Robin said with a low whistle of astonishment, "This really is something." Maria nodded, speechless. Michelangelo was a true master.
But they could not stand looking upward forever, so Maria and Robin followed everyone else into a pew. There were already many pews filled, but somehow they managed to attain a good seat with a clear view of the pulpit. Maria hadn't known there to be pews in the Sistine Chapel; most likely they had only been moved here for the special service. Maria sat between Robin and Sir Benjamin. Soon the service began.
It was a very fine service, and the acoustics in the chapel were magnificent. The hymns echoed gloriously, and the pastor's deep, articulate voice carried quite well. Maria was pleased with the sermon; it did not contain a fragment of false doctrine, but a healthy balance of law and gospel. She cast a sidelong glance at Uncle Benjamin, and saw that he was nodding almost imperceptibly. Good. Uncle agreed with the preaching. She snuck a peek at Robin, and blushed to see that he was already looking at her. She fastened her eyes on the preacher again, praying her cheeks weren't too red.
After the service most of the congregation cleared out. They were anxious to take a nap or get a bite to eat. Maria was rather hungry, but her party was not yet ready to leave. Coeur De Noir, Sir Benjamin, and Loveday were all speaking with the pastor and his wife and having a very agreeable discussion. Miss Heliotrope was pointing out various painted scenes to Digweed, and Robin and Maria stood aloof, admiring the artwork as well.
Someone cleared their throat behind Maria. She and Robin turned to find a young man and a young lady about their own ages. "Good morning," the boy said, holding out a hand to Robin. "I'm Anton Russo. This is my sister, Francesca Russo." Robin shook Anton and Francesca's hand. "I'm Robin De Noir." Maria shook their hands as well. "I'm Maria Merryweather. It's a pleasure to meet you." Anton smiled politely. "The pleasure's all mine. I suppose you have only recently come to Rome?"
Maria looked up at Robin. "Yes; on Friday. Do you live here?" She felt safe in her assumption. Anton and Francesca both had olive complexions, dark eyes, and dark curls. If they weren't Italian, Maria didn't know what was. "We do." Anton affirmed. "Our papa is the pastor. Pastor Russo." Francesca pointed over to the pastor. "He had a good sermon," Maria said kindly. "Thank you," Anton replied graciously, "He will be glad to hear that you appreciated it. Have you been able to look at Michelangelo's artworks?" Maria's eyes instinctively turned up. "We were just admiring them." Anton smoothly took her hand. "Come; let me show you my favorite."
Robin's eyes narrowed as he watched the Italian boy lead Maria farther into the chapel. "So," Francesca began, eyes glittering with some sort of triumph, "Where do you come from?" Robin found it difficult to meet her gaze, for he longed to keep a protective eye on Maria. "Ah, Moonacre Valley," he replied. Francesca cocked her head. "I've never heard of it. Is it near here?" Robin shook his head. "No…not very." Francesca twirled a coffee-colored curl around her finger. "A shame, really. There are not many young gentlemen around here."
This was strange. "Not many young men in Rome? I've seen dozens." Robin answered stoutly. "But not gentlemen," Francesca repeated. "It is so hard to find a young man with good manners nowadays. They have become quite dreadful. You, I must say, do not seem as crude." Robin resisted the urge to grin. Maria was forever condemning Robin's own manners, and now some girl was praising them. And yet somehow…somehow he liked Maria's mirthful criticisms better than this flirtatious, flowery admiration.
Maria, meanwhile, was having an enjoyable time with Anton. He was both polite and friendly; a perfect gentleman. He was a virtual fountain of information regarding Michelangelo and his Sistine Chapel works. Maria was fascinated by his intellect and appreciation of the exquisite art; she had not considered that a boy could be so learned in the fine arts. Robin certainly was not.
Their animated discussion was cut short by Pastor Russo's resonant voice. "Anton, son," Anton stopped mid-sentence and turned. "Yes, Father?" Pastor Russo gave an affable smile to Maria, and said, "Sir Benjamin, Maria's uncle, has invited us to join him for lunch at the café. We are departing for the café now." Anton grinned broadly. "I am glad to hear it." He offered his arm to Maria. "Shall we?" she took it. "We will be able to continue our conversation at the café." He reassured her. She smiled. "I am glad."
As they neared the exit of the chapel, Maria noticed that Francesca had taken Robin's arm. She was happy to see that they were getting along well—but then she noticed Robin's eyes. He was most certainly not happy. She averted her gaze and wondered. Francesca had seemed a very nice girl. Her brother was indeed a fine individual. Why was Robin unhappy?
Robin fought to constrain himself. It was all right. That Anton fellow meant no harm, surely. But just in case…
As Maria passed by him, Robin muttered just low enough for Anton to hear, "Attento, ragazzo. Ti sto guardando." Anton frowned slightly, but said nothing. He wondered why the Robin boy was being so protective of his cousin.
A/N: Dear reader,
First off, I assure you that Robin and Maria are most certainly not cousins; Anton only thinks that. It is a logical conclusion, you must agree, since they have come on holiday together. Anton is a nice, sensible young man. He really doesn't mean any harm, and doesn't understand Robin's warning at all.
Now that all that is said, I'd like to commend any and all young people who have been confirmed today! I will have published this on Palm Sunday, and that is the traditional day for Lutherans to be confirmed. Congrats to you all! I suppose this chapter is rather fitting, considering it is relative to the church. Hm.
Anywho, (yes, I did say anywho) I suppose I shall conclude this rather trivial author's note, and bid thee a good day!
Faithfully,
Ponygirl7