by Gail Mencini
Sophie silenced him by pressing her fingers to his lips. She stared at him. A thousand words that were the wrong thing to say jammed into her mind. The right things to say? They’d gone into hiding.
“Sophie. Please say that I’m welcome in Denver.”
“I’d love for you to be in Denver with me.” She sat up and turned to face him. “Niccolò. Where is the importer’s headquarters? Maybe you could live in that city.”
“Yes, that is also a logical choice. Sophie, their headquarters is in Chicago, too.”
This time, it isn’t me. It’s karma that can’t be changed.
Her one word, and the tone with which she said it, sent him out the door. “Go.”
82
After Niccolò left, Sophie showered and put her last dirty clothes in the suitcase. Their driver would pick them up this morning and transport them to the airport in Florence.
She walked out to the breakfast room, though it was too early for the buffet to be set out for guests. They had to face Vincenzo to check out. Will sat at one of the small tables with his hands folded on top.
“Hello, Will. Did you have trouble sleeping, too?” His color had almost returned to normal. “How are you?”
“Good morning. I’m up to flying today if that’s what you’re asking. My mind woke me up, not my health.”
“Are you worried about something?”
“No. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Francesca.”
Sophie nodded. She wondered whether his memories or regrets prevented his sleep. It would be at least an hour before they had a chance for coffee if they stayed there.
“I’d like to go out,” she said. “The bar by the Duomo may be open. Coffee would be nice. Would you like to come with me?”
He stood up, using his hands and arms against the table for leverage. His lips lifted in a thin smile. “It’s damn depressing sitting here without coffee or food. Let’s go.”
She convinced Will to sit in the piazza while she went in to purchase their items.
The aromas of espresso and fresh pastries greeted her. Sophie bought drinks for them both and a slice of cake for Will.
Joe drove up in his cart and parked beside Will. He climbed out, kissed Sophie’s cheeks, and clapped Will on the shoulder in greeting. “I’m glad I found you.”
A white-haired, curved-back woman stopped and turned to stare at them with dark, fiery eyes. Sophie thought she had seen her before in Montepulciano.
The woman turned to the side and, with a jerk of her head and a hacking sound, she spat on the cobblestone street.
Sophie’s eyes widened.
Will slammed his hands against the table. “Now look here—”
Joe grabbed Will’s forearm and stood between the woman and Will. “Let me sort this out.”
Joe spoke to the woman in Italian. He smiled at her and punctuated his words with both hands slicing the air.
The woman’s head bobbed in their direction, and she chopped her hand through the air. Her spittle sailed to the ground for a second time.
This time Sophie held Will down.
Joe’s tone and demeanor changed. His voice was firm and louder.
The woman answered him in a matching voice. She pointed at the Americans. Her words fired at Joe in a rapid stream.
Joe’s words matched hers, both in speed and volume.
Sophie understood only one word: “Vincenzo.”
Something the woman said made Joe nod his head, one bob of his head, and then another. His voice dropped in volume when he responded.
The tempo of the older woman’s words slowed.
Joe gestured at Sophie and Will, but Sophie couldn’t understand his words.
The woman nodded. She turned her head and stared at them.
Joe continued his long explanation.
Sophie thought one word Joe used several times sounded like mun-tahn-ya. Mountains?
The woman’s eyes locked on Will. The stern mask over her wrinkled face cracked. Her lips curled into a smile. Without saying more, she strolled down the street.
“Why was she so upset?” Will said.
“She saw you at Vincenzo’s home. She despises him. She hates him as only an Italian can hate. She told me Vincenzo’s father was a Nazi collaborator during the war, which is how the mansion came into their family.
“By association, anyone who helps Vincenzo make a living today is supporting the traitorous family.”
Will’s hands formed into fists. “I fought with the Allies to liberate this country.”
“I told her you are one of the brave Americans who broke the German line in the mountains.”
Sophie patted Will’s hand. “She smiled at you because you battled to end the Nazi occupation of Italy.”
“She better understand it, or I’ll go tell her myself.”
Joe sat down at their table. “She knows you were on their side. I told her if you had known Vincenzo’s family cooperated and aided the Nazis, you would have chosen another place to stay.”
“Damn right,” Will said.
“Italians hold on to a grudge forever.” Joe rubbed his chin. “She told me something interesting about Vincenzo’s father.
“His father went into the woods to locate partisans who hid there. He intended to turn them over to the Germans for profit. The father didn’t come home for several days. Vincenzo found his body—his father’s throat had been cut, ear to ear.”
Sophie’s heart raced. “Will, do you think...”
“Hell, yes. I bet it was my girl Francesca, or her brother, who slit the traitor’s neck. Vincenzo spewed nonsense to us about the butchers of Montepulciano who cut up both animals and people. Now we understand.”
“You’re right,” Sophie said, “and we know one more example of how Francesca and her brother were heroes.” She spoke in soft words. “Unfortunately, it won’t help us find her.”
83
“I wanted to find you before you left,” Joe said. “You’re a popular guy, Will. Luisa called the school this morning and asked if you were still in Montepulciano.”
“What does she want with me?”
“She said she and her father, Paolo, would like to see you again.”
“Why?”
“Guess you’ll have to ask them yourself. They’re at the school now. I brought the cart to drive you there.”
“This better be quick,” Will said. “I’m leaving as soon as our driver gets here.”
“Hop in, Sophie, we’ve got space for you, too,” Joe said.
The narrow bench seat couldn’t hold three. Sophie climbed into the small truck bed. “Let’s go.”
Margherita, Luisa, Paolo, and another woman were in the courtyard. The third woman, who looked older than Luisa and younger than Paolo, wore large sunglasses and a dress that highlighted her bust, cleavage, and hour-glass shape.
The woman’s dark glasses and form-fitting garment reminded Sophie of Sophia Loren.
Paolo introduced them to his wife, Maura. The husband and wife shook hands with Sophie and Will.
Luisa hugged the two Americans.
Maura asked Will to repeat his story for her.
When he was finished, Maura asked, “Why did you take so long to search for this woman?” This question was one that Luisa and Paolo hadn’t asked.
Sorrow accentuated the creases in Will’s face and the pain in his eyes. “I had to wait until Marie, my wife in the States, died. I didn’t want to disrespect her. Marie got Alzheimer’s, and her health started to slip. I took care of her until the end, about a month ago.” He wet his lips. “I thought about coming to find Francesca every day since I got her letter.”
Will’s chin trembled. He drew in a deep, slow breath. “I’ve had two big regrets in my life. Believe me, they’ve haunted me.
“You learn what it is to be a member of a team when you’re in the military. The success of the team is most important. You never want to let your brothers down. Most of
all, you sure as hell never want to be a coward.”
A wet film covered Will’s eyes. Agony wracked his face. “Like me.” He grimaced. “A coward.”
Sophie leaned forward, eager to defend Will from his own accusations. Paolo caught her eye and held up one palm.
“What did you do?” Maura asked in a quiet, even voice.
“It’s what I didn’t do. Twice I made a choice and took the coward’s way out.” Will’s head bowed. He set his jaw and breathed in and out in short bursts.
“I didn’t go find someone to care for Stubbs. I left him by a tree and hoped to hell someone would find him.”
“He didn’t die.” Joe looked at Maura. “Stubbs was my great-uncle, Peter. He was an RAF pilot shot down over Tuscany. Will carried him for miles to get him close to Villa La Foce, a place to hide, and receive food and medical help.”
Joe turned back to Will. “You left him, Will, but you picked a spot not far from the estate—a place a friendly person might find him. You saved Stubbs’s life. You are a hero.”
“I should have taken Stubbs all the way to the buildings. Put my body in front of his in case the enemy was there.”
“OK, Yank. Why didn’t you do that and go for the warm food and shelter?”
Will swallowed. His voice broadcast the torment behind his decision. “My job was to rejoin my unit, and if possible, return to the battlefield.”
“Right-o. Your job was to not let your Army brothers down. You did the right thing, Will. Don’t regret it.”
Will didn’t look convinced. He turned his gaze back to Maura. “The biggest regret I have—one that I’ll carry to my grave—is that I was too much of a coward to come back for Francesca after the war.”
Will’s breaths turned shallow. His eyes went to another place, another time. “I nearly died here. More than once. That scared me more than anything about the war. I wasn’t afraid of being killed. I knew I might be sent to the good Lord when I enlisted.
“After I was wounded, my head went kind of crazy. It sounds foolish, but I couldn’t... couldn’t bear the thought of dying and being put six foot under in a foreign land.”
He blinked. The clarity returned to his eyes. “I’m a simple country boy. I wanted the dirt of Colorado on top of me, the red, white, and blue flying over my grave, and the good people of the state I grew up in around me.
“I didn’t know then that some soldiers are brought home for burial. I thought if you died in Italy, you got buried here.
“Once Francesca got me healthy enough to walk, all I could think of was to rejoin my troop. I promised myself that if I survived the war, I’d never do anything to risk dying on foreign soil again.”
His eyes stayed on Maura’s face. “I was scared to go back to Italy right after the war. I was a coward that way. I met and married Marie shortly after I got home. A lot of G.I.s got married right after the war. I got Francesca’s letter months later.”
His lips formed a determined line. “I tried to convince myself that the war had turned me into someone else and that I lied to Francesca about how I felt, but that didn’t happen. We loved each other and we both would have felt the same way without the war, I know it.”
The truth gave Will strength.
He straightened his back, once again a proud soldier. “After I got her letter, I wrote to Francesca. I asked for her address and a place to wire money. Her letters only had a postmark from Montepulciano, no return address. I wrote every week to the church in Montepulciano and asked them to forward it to Francesca.
“I did that for two years.
“I don’t know whatever happened to my letters. Francesca never answered them, and they never came back.” Will curled forward and buried his face in his hands. The weight of his loss and his guilt crushed him.
Maura stood and walked into the school.
Sophie squeezed Will’s hand. You’re not an evil person. Not a coward. And you’re not alone.
The sound of footsteps nearby made Sophie and Will turn.
Maura stood in the entry, this time without her glasses. Her eyes resembled those of the tiny, white-haired woman beside her.
Will stood.
The beautiful elderly woman spoke first. “You left me flowers.”
84
Will moved to her. He reached out one hand, and then let it drop to his side. His voice quivered when he spoke. “Francesca.”
She nodded.
Will moistened his lips with his tongue. He spoke to the woman from his past with a tender voice. “I always loved you. Always. I know you must hate me. I was married when I got your letter.”
Francesca stood silent.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t come back after the war. I wrote to you. Every week for two years. Did you receive any of my letters?”
“Yes,” Francesca said. “I never opened them.”
Will shook his head. “Why? Why, after you wrote to me, did you leave them unopened?”
“I had moved away. A friend sent them to me.”
“Why didn’t you read them?”
“I was angry and afraid.” Francesca glanced at Maura. “Then I met a good man. A man who wanted to marry me even though I was a single mother to your child.”
Maura lifted one hand to cover her mouth.
Francesca nodded at Maura. “Yes. This man is your father.”
Francesca faced Will. “Once I was married, I couldn’t open them. What would have come of it if I had? What if you had written to say you would bring me to America, or come to Italy? I was a married woman who made promises to someone else. I did what I needed to do, what was best for Maura.”
Will nodded. “I understand. I did the right thing for Marie, but it cost me a lifetime of being with the woman I love. It cost me knowing my family.” Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Ma?” Maura touched Francesca’s forearm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Cosmo, the good man that he was, took care of you like you were his. Nothing else was important.”
“Has your life been good, Francesca?” Will said.
“Yes, and you?”
He thought about her question. “All right, I guess. I never forgave myself for leaving you.”
Francesca took a step nearer to Will. She reached one hand toward his.
Will clasped her hand.
“I read your letters last night. It took me most of the night.”
“You read them?”
“Twice.”
“Why now?”
“I needed to know if I should come to see you.”
Will reached for her other hand. “Thank you.”
Francesca breathed in a deep breath. “I forgive you.”
Will’s knees buckled, and Joe and Sophie rushed to him. They eased Will onto a chair. Will bowed his head. His hands rested on his legs.
Francesca came and squatted in front of Will. Her hands covered his. “Will you forgive me for not opening your letters?”
“Would it have made any difference?”
Francesca pressed her lips together. “Yes, if I had read them before I was married.”
Will stood and held Francesca’s hands. Will stood two inches taller than his wartime lover. “It’s not your fault, Francesca. It’s mine. I should have come immediately.”
Francesca shook her head. “I could have left for America.” She clutched his hands. “Please. Will you forgive me?”
Will’s hands caressed her time-wrinkled face. “My sweet Francesca.” He kissed each of her cheeks in turn. “Of course I forgive you.”
Luisa skipped over to her grandmother and Will. “This makes you my nonno.” She hugged Will.
Maura moved in after her daughter stepped back. “You were a courageous soldier.” She brushed her lips against Will’s cheek. “I wish I had known you sooner.”
“Me, too,” Will said in a quiet voice.
Wracking coughs doubled Will over. He lifted his elbow and coughed into it. Blood and cloudy mucus splattered over his
arm.
“Will!” Sophie dashed to him.
Niccolò entered the courtyard. A few rapid steps took him to Will’s side.
Luisa darted to the kitchen and carried out damp kitchen rags. She wiped off Will’s mouth, and then blotted the stains on his sleeve. Fear streaked her eyes. “You can’t get sick, Nonno. I’ve only now found you.”
Francesca kissed Will’s forehead. “You are ill, amore mio. You should rest. We can visit you later.”
Will responded with another wracking fit of coughing.
Maura appeared with a glass of water.
Will swallowed three gulps. He looked at Sophie. “What time is it?”
“Nearly time to leave, Will. Less than an hour.”
Francesca’s head jerked up. “What? Surely you can stay longer?”
Will coughed again. Now nonproductive, the dry rasping made Will shudder.
Niccolò knelt beside Will, with one arm over Will’s shoulders.
Will motioned for Francesca to come closer. “I’m sorry, my sweet love. I must go home to die.”
“We’ll bring a doctor to make you better. Don’t leave. I don’t want to lose you again.”
Will stroked Francesca’s hair. “Thank you for coming to see me, and for forgiving me. I grew up with Colorado dirt under my toes, and that is how I’m gonna go out of this world.” He looked at the people circled around him. “I’d like you all to leave now. I want to say a proper goodbye to my girl.”
Tears, hugs, and kisses followed. Everyone left Will and Francesca alone.
Maura, Luisa, and Paolo sat in the dining room. Sophie and Niccolò went into the kitchen. Joe and Margherita walked out to the street.
Sophie opened her mouth to speak. Niccolò silenced her with a demanding kiss.
This doesn’t change anything.
85
Three weeks later, Sophie stood under an overcast Colorado sky beside Will’s “Over the Hill Gang” ski buddies. Will’s flag-draped coffin was suspended over the double-deep plot that already held Marie.
The lilting, lonely sound of bagpipes accompanied the nine soldiers in full dress blue uniforms who marched in crisp formation to the burial site. Seven of the soldiers carried guns. The commander stood behind them and called out their instructions.