Dio, aiutami, she silently asked God to help her. Please, don’t . . . She couldn’t finish the sentence in her head. She was too afraid it would then surely come true.
Maria climbed the staircase that led to the bedrooms. She reached her father’s bedroom first. Taking her left hand off the knife’s handle, she gripped the doorknob. Waiting a moment to brace herself for whatever would greet her on the other side of the door, she took a deep breath and swung it open. Nothing. The bed was still neatly made. The framed photos of her mother and the rest of her family still stood on Papà’s night table and dresser. This room had been left undisturbed.
Maria’s room was next to Papà’s. The door was wide-open. Already she knew something was wrong, since she always kept her bedroom door shut. When she reached the threshold, she almost cried out. The room had all but been destroyed. Feathers from her pillows, which had been torn open, still floated in the air. Her bed had been stripped, and the mattress looked as if someone had ripped it open with a knife. Even the wallpaper had been stripped, exposing the pink-painted walls, from her childhood, beneath. The drawers of her desk had been pulled out, and their contents had been dumped on the floor. Forgetting to keep her guard up, she rushed over to her dresser and pulled it a few feet away from the wall. She loosened two of the floorboards and was relieved when she saw her articles and recent issues of FAF’s newspapers still remained in their hiding place.
She sat for a few moments on the floor. Did they know about her? Is that why her room had been destroyed, but her father’s had been left alone? Still, wouldn’t they have destroyed his room as well to make sure they’d covered all their bases? But then she remembered Enza and Michele’s room. She stood up and made her way over. Though she still kept the knife raised, she was almost certain that whomever had been in her house was no longer there.
Her brother and sister-in-law’s room had also been destroyed. When she stepped into the room, her foot slid, causing Maria to lose her balance and drop the knife. She gripped the bed’s foot post. When she glanced down to see why the floor was slippery, she almost screamed. Blood streaked the floor. Maria’s eyes widened. She began searching the room—underneath the bed, in Enza’s wardrobe closet. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed when she didn’t discover any trace of her family. Picking the knife up from the floor, she then went into the bathroom, but like her father’s room, it hadn’t been disturbed.
Maria made her way back out to the corridor and then noticed droplets of blood leading from Enza and Michele’s bedroom to the staircase. How could she not have noticed them earlier? Then again, the home’s interior was quite dim since she hadn’t turned the lights on, and, with the clouds gathering outside, there was no sunlight pouring through the windows. She followed the trail as it led her to the front door. She then remembered that she’d found the front door unlocked when she came home. As Maria stepped outside, she saw there were splatters of blood there too. She pressed her hand to her forehead. Once again she questioned herself. How had she missed all these signs? Her thoughts had been too consumed with her own life. Whatever had happened to her family, it had to be because of her and her involvement with FAF. Franco had been right. Why hadn’t she listened to him and quit?
A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Someone in the Salamone home next door was standing behind the window. Though the curtains were drawn, she could still make out a silhouette behind them. Felice Salamone, a widower, lived there. He was in his sixties, and his wife had died of cancer a decade before. They’d had no children. Besides the usual pleasantries whenever she or her family saw him, he kept to himself. Papà said Signore Salamone had never been the same again after his wife died, but Maria remembered that when she was a little girl and Signora Salamone was still alive, he had seemed distant then as well. Signora Salamone on the other hand had always been warm and had even been friends with Maria’s mother.
Had Signore Salamone seen something? She glanced at the knife still in her hand. Part of her didn’t want to let it go, as she was still too afraid, but she couldn’t show up on Signore Salamone’s doorstep bearing a weapon. Her shirtdress had pockets just deep enough to hold the knife. The blade still protruded from the top of the pocket after she slid the knife inside. She placed her arm over the pocket, doing her best to try to keep it relaxed as she walked over to Signore Salamone’s house.
She knocked loudly three times, but he didn’t answer the door.
“Signore Salamone, it’s your neighbor Maria Rossi. Please. I know you’re inside. I saw you behind your window. I just want a quick word with you.”
She waited. But still nothing. Anger began seeping through her. How dare he ignore her? Now she was certain he’d seen something and didn’t want to be involved.
Glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one was near, she shouted, “Signore Salamone, I know you saw the Germans enter my house! It is only a matter of time before they come here and enter your house, too!”
Within a couple of seconds, the door flew open. “What are you doing? Get inside before someone hears you, you stupid girl!”
Maria stepped into the unlit foyer. She wanted to correct him and tell him that she was far from a girl, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.
Signore Salamone shut the door and locked it. Three bolts fastened the door. He waited for a few moments as he peered behind the curtain that covered the door’s window. This time he kept his body to the side so he wouldn’t be detected.
Maria crossed her arms, bracing herself, for she knew she was in for a battle to get Signore Salamone to talk.
He came to her and shook his hands in her face. “Are you trying to get me killed? Both of us killed for that matter? Has all sense gone out of you? I know you’re young, but you can’t be that devoid of your senses!”
“I’m sorry, Signore Salamone. I was desperate, and I knew you’d open the door once I shouted those things. Don’t worry. I made sure no one was present.”
“You think they’re always going to show themselves?”
“Please, Signore Salamone, I need to know what you saw. My house is in a shambles, and there was blood in my brother and his wife’s room. I know they’ve taken them somewhere. Please. I won’t tell anyone what you tell me.”
Signore Salamone ran a hand over his bald head. His eyes met hers for a moment before he looked away. Sighing deeply, he nodded his head before saying, “I saw two German soldiers leading them away from the house.”
Though she wasn’t surprised and had come to this deduction on her own, hearing confirmation of it almost brought Maria to her knees.
“They knocked on the door. I’m surprised they still exhibited that small courtesy instead of storming in. Once they were inside, I could hear the sounds of glass shattering. I heard your father raise his voice at them and then . . .”
“And then what?” Maria stood a couple of inches away from Signore Salamone’s face, forcing him to look at her.
“Your father cried out in pain. Then, I heard Michele arguing with them. More sounds of glass and things being knocked over. It seemed to go on forever. I didn’t know what to do. Believe me, I wanted to help, but what could I, an old man, do? What could anyone do? We’re all powerless against them.”
“So you saw all of them being led from the house?” Maria secretly hoped that perhaps one of her family members had gotten away and was hiding somewhere until it was safe to return home—though she knew the likelihood of that was slim.
“Si. Your father was holding his forehead. Blood was running down his face and clothes. His white shirt was so covered in blood, I thought for a moment he’d been shot, but I didn’t hear any gunfire. They must’ve butted his head with one of their guns. One of Michele’s eyes was swollen. His nose was bleeding. And Enza . . .”
Maria grabbed Signore Salamone’s arm. “And Enza?”
“She didn’t look hurt, but her dress was torn open; her chemise was exposed.” Signore Salamone a
verted his gaze, looking off to the side.
Maria’s eyes widened. “You don’t think they . . .”
“I don’t know, Signorina Rossi. I never heard her scream or anything. They might’ve just ripped her dress to get your brother to calm down. He sounded as if he was giving them a fight. I’m surprised they didn’t just . . .” Again, his voice trailed off, but Maria didn’t need to ask what he was about to say.
“I have to go find them.”
“Don’t, signorina! It’s too dangerous. They might take you as well.”
“I have to do something! They’re my family.”
She brushed past Signore Salamone as she began to undo the bolts on his door. He came over and finished unlocking the door for her.
“Please, Signorina Rossi, be careful. I will keep you and your family in my prayers. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding, and they will be freed.”
Maria and Signore Salamone exchanged a knowing glance. As Maria left Signore Salamone’s house, she couldn’t help but ponder why people felt it was necessary to offer false words of hope in such situations where none seemed to truly exist.
CHAPTER 26
Anabella
Florence, 1970
The Arno River beneath Florence’s famed Ponte Vecchio swayed gently beneath the canoe Anabella and Dante were riding in. Anabella was leaning back against Dante’s chest. Though it was a beautiful autumn day, Anabella’s spirits remained low. Dante had been quiet for some time now. Anabella glanced up and saw he was sleeping. The oarsman masterfully steered the canoe and thankfully had not engaged them in conversation. She was even glad that Dante had fallen asleep so she could freely listen to her thoughts and let her mind wander to wherever it wanted. But ever since they’d left Pienza two months ago, she could not stop thinking about her mother.
What was supposed to be a short trip that would last a week, or two at most, was turning out to have no certain end since a gallery owner had offered Dante an exhibition. His paintings of Anabella were selling well, and word had soon spread throughout Florence of his talent, bringing more invitations to exhibit his work at several galleries around the city. Anabella was overjoyed for Dante even if part of her was anxious to return home to try to mend her relationship with Mamma. But she couldn’t ask Dante to leave now as he was making a name for himself and making so much money that would help them in their future together.
While she was having a wonderful time with Dante and was in awe of all that she was seeing and experiencing in Florence, which was more beautiful than she’d ever imagined, Mamma continued to haunt her thoughts. Anabella couldn’t help but note the strange irony that here she was the happiest she’d ever been, but she was also extremely sad. And, as such, she couldn’t help feeling that this trip was marred. No matter how much Dante tried to distract her and no matter how many new places they visited, Anabella could not forget the pain in her mother’s eyes when she’d broken the news to her that she would be leaving with Dante. Although Anabella called Chiara regularly to make sure Mamma was all right, she could not stop worrying about her. There were even moments she’d been tempted to cut her trip short and return home alone. Dante could meet up with her back in Pienza when his exhibits came to a close. But as soon as she imagined being at the rose farm and under her mother’s watchful eye, a sense of suffocation would begin to take hold, and she’d remember how lonely she had been growing up with just her mother, her dog, and the farm workers as her companions. Naturally, she knew the time would come when she would have to go back home and face her mother. If only she could let herself stop feeling guilty about Mamma for the duration of their trip. But she also felt guilty about Dante. For she could tell he sensed she wasn’t fully enjoying herself and that her mother still weighed heavily on her mind.
But it wasn’t just Mamma that occupied her thoughts. There were times all of the sights, sounds, and the throngs of people in Florence overwhelmed Anabella, giving her a slight constriction in her chest, making it hard for her to take a deep breath. Part of her was mad about feeling this way. She was finally out in the world and learning so much, but she was afraid. It was crazy to feel this way. She knew this. But she couldn’t explain why fear filled her at times. And then there were the days Dante had left her alone in the apartment they had rented. Since his paintings were rapidly selling, he had had to paint additional works, so they needed a more permanent residence than the hotel they’d been staying at when they first arrived in the city. He’d encouraged Anabella to go out and take strolls instead of just waiting for him to return. The first day he left her alone, she went out onto the balcony of their hotel room. But the anxiety began creeping in, and she felt paralyzed every time she thought about leaving the room. The second time he left her, she forced herself to go out, but she only made it to the corner of their street before turning around.
It was all right. She could still enjoy being in Florence from her apartment terrace and not feel as if she was cooped up indoors for the hours it took Dante to return. When Dante had come back from his outings and asked her how she had enjoyed her day and where she had gone, she’d been tempted to lie and tell him she’d had a good time. But she had never been dishonest with him and couldn’t bear to be so now. So she’d had to tell him about her anxiety.
“I’ve pushed you too far, too soon. I’m sorry, Anabella. We can return home.”
“No, no. I am enjoying myself, but I’d rather not go anywhere alone—at least for now. I just need to get my feet wet and slowly get used to such a large city.”
Dante had nodded his head. “I thought you would’ve been fine since you do go to Siena regularly to sell your flowers. But Florence is bigger. I should’ve thought of that.”
Anabella had walked toward Dante and had placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You have been nothing but wonderful to me. I am the one who is the problem. If only Mamma hadn’t sheltered me so much all of my life, things would be different now. It will just take time.”
Dante had taken her hand and had brought it to his lips, kissing it before holding it to his heart. “Of course, it will take time. Don’t worry. Before you know it, you will be walking through these streets as if you’ve always lived here, and you won’t want me escorting you.”
Anabella had laughed. “Are you saying I’ll get tired of you? If so, you should know that will never happen.”
Dante’s eyes had filled with tears. He’d hugged her fiercely to him. “And I will never tire of you, my dear Anabella.”
Anabella wiped the tear that had slid down her face as she remembered that afternoon. She was so lucky to have found Dante. What was the matter with her? Here she was in one of the most gorgeous and romantic cities in the world, and she was brooding. She was no longer a child and needed to move forward and finally live her life. And if that meant leaving Mamma and her childhood home behind, then so be it. Besides, her mother had treated her horribly. Though Anabella forgave her, for she knew Mamma had lashed out at her because she’d been hurt, she also couldn’t help feeling a little angry. Hadn’t Mamma thought about how much she was hurting Anabella, turning her only child away and refusing to even give her a proper farewell? Wasn’t she, as a mother, supposed to be completely selfless and only have her daughter’s best interests at heart? Then again, Anabella supposed her mother could be having the very same thoughts about her, wondering how her daughter could have betrayed her and hurt her, especially since Mamma was all alone with no one to look after her. Sighing deeply, Anabella sat up, causing Dante to stir in his sleep.
The oarsman called out over his shoulder. “We are almost at the dock, signore.”
Dante opened his eyes, squinting as the high afternoon sun flashed in his face. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. “Did I sleep for most of the boat ride, Anabella?”
She smiled. “I’m afraid so.”
“Ah! I’m sorry, my love. We’ll take another tomorrow, and I promise I’ll stay awake.”
“It’s all right
. It was lovely just relaxing and resting.”
“Are you saying it was lovely not hearing my chatter?”
“Of course not. But you need your rest as well. Between showing me the sights of Florence and working, it’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”
“I should’ve just kept this trip about us instead of also juggling work.”
“You need the money, Dante. Please, don’t feel like you have to entertain me every second of the day.”
Dante looked pensive for a moment, before nodding. “The money I am earning here will help us so that, after we get married, we can live somewhere spacious and more comfortable than my little loft apartment. I am doing this as much for you as for me, Anabella. Once we are settled financially, we can then take a true vacation during which I do nothing but spend all of my time paying attention to you and treating you like a queen.”
“You are too sweet. But I do not need to be treated like a queen to be happy. All I need is your love.” She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips.
Sometimes Anabella was still surprised by how comfortable she now felt with Dante, especially with expressing her love for him. She no longer waited for him to initiate a kiss or an embrace. And she’d quickly gotten over the fact that they were not only sharing a home but also a bed, even though they were not married yet. But they had not made love. Dante had not even attempted to do so, which, on one hand, relieved Anabella, since she was terrified of what it would be like. But, on the other hand, she couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure, wondering if he was not very attracted to her. He’d told her he wanted to wait until they were married. And Anabella had told him she wanted to as well. Lately, she’d begun wondering what the big deal was, since they were already living like husband and wife. Maybe she would broach the subject with Dante tonight. Her heart began to race. No. It was too soon. She still was not ready.
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