The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  Marcie turned to Vi, her forehead puckered in a slight frown. “She says there’s no watch waiting for pickup and knows nothing about the note you got. So what do we do now?”

  “Ask her to check in back for something other than a watch? Maybe somebody else took the order and sent the note.”

  Marcie hesitated and then turned back to the woman. While Marcie interrogated the clerk in Italian, something Vi couldn’t help with, she drifted around the shop as if looking at the merchandise. What really interested her, though, was the little boy in the corner. Something about him, and the way he bit his lip as he concentrated, tugged at her heart.

  “Marcie,” Vi asked, interrupting the women, “how do I ask ‘what’s your name’ in Italian?”

  “Come ti chiami,” Marcie replied breezily, and then went back to the clocks.

  Vi crouched near the little boy, close enough to see what he was working on but not so close as to alarm him. “Come ti chiami?”

  Long-lashed hazel eyes lifted to meet hers. He hesitated, the solemnity in his little face heart wrenching. “Enzo.”

  His gaze dropped back to the box, and she watched him in silence as he selected a bone button set in a metal filigree—Vi couldn’t even imagine what kind of garment might have once borne something so elegant—and placed it into his design.

  Vi glanced down at it and then did a double take. Whereas she might have expected an abstract picture or perhaps something benign like a dog or a car, Enzo was creating what was clearly a tank. Worse, he was putting red and white buttons under its treads. Vi hoped it wasn’t meant to represent crushed people, but after the destruction she had witnessed in the countryside, she suspected otherwise.

  What did one say to a child creating such a monstrous image? Certainly not “wonderful” or “that’s so pretty.”

  Enzo pointed to the red-and-white button layer and said something in Italian. His childish voice held no emotional inflection, giving her no clue how to react. Still, she needed to acknowledge whatever he had said, so she nodded but kept her expression as solemn as his.

  What had this boy seen; what had he lived through? Overcome with sorrow, she wished she could take him in her arms and hold him, if only for a moment. Life could be so unfair sometimes.

  Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes, and she dashed them away. When she glanced up, Enzo was watching her.

  “Perché sei triste?” he asked in his clear soprano voice.

  Triste . . . That meant sad, so she guessed he was asking her why she was crying.

  She gave him a small, watery smile. “I doubt you will understand me,” she said softly so Marcie wouldn’t overhear, “but I have a small boy of my own. Un ragazzo,” she added, remembering the word in Italian. “And I miss him.”

  He watched her silently for a moment more, then put down the button in his hand and crawled over to hug her. Stunned, she froze, hardly able to breathe. The heavenly smell of warm little boy filled her senses. She closed her eyes under the rush of emotions. For one sweet instant she imagined it was Jimmy’s silky, soft cheek pressed against hers, his thin arms thrown around her neck. Jimmy. He was in her arms at last. Her love, her son.

  “Enzo, mimmo,” the clerk called, her tone managing to be both stern and tender.

  Enzo looked up, then posed a question that made the woman gasp. Startled by the woman’s reaction, Vi glanced up. The clerk had gone pale, and her hand had risen to her throat as if wishing she could somehow silence or call back what her son had said.

  “What did he say, Marcie?” Vi asked in a neutral voice, so as not to distress Enzo, who was still in her arms. If she had heard him correctly, he had plainly asked something about the Stati Uniti d’America. One didn’t have to know Italian to guess he was talking about the good ol’ USA.

  Marcie gave Vi an odd look. “He asked his mother if you were the one who was taking them to the US.”

  Thrown by the question but not wanting to alarm the boy, Vi looked down into his now-troubled face and smiled. “No, Enzo. Spiacente.”

  He nodded gravely, accepting her apology, and then scooted back to his button box.

  Vi’s thoughts raced as she stood. Something was off. Something about this whole situation, in fact. A mistake could’ve been made about the watch, or maybe the wrong address had been given in the note, and people were fleeing Europe all the time, with the war going on and all. Enzo might have confused her with a Red Cross worker, who were often in uniform. But none of that accounted for the woman’s extreme alarm at a seemingly innocent question.

  “We should probably get back,” Vi said casually, as if nothing odd had occurred. “You’ve got a big night ahead of you, after all.”

  “True.” Marcie smiled at the still-pale woman. “Grazie, signora. Arrivederci.”

  The woman managed a smile of her own and wished them both good evening as she unsubtly shepherded them to the door. Bells tinkled inside the shop as the door was shut firmly behind them. A scraping sound of a sign being turned on the other side of the glass window told Vi the woman had now closed the shop as well.

  Marcie drew a deep breath. “Well, that was peculiar.”

  “No kidding.” Vi hooked her arm through Marcie’s. “But no time to worry about it now. We’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.”

  “Why did Enzo’s mother seem so upset by his question?” Marcie asked, resisting Vi’s efforts to propel her toward the bridge. “And what happened to the watch?”

  “Maybe wires got crossed and the note was supposed to go to a different actress, who already picked it up.”

  Marcie didn’t respond. Instead, she bit her bottom lip and looked back at the shop.

  Vi shook her head, knowing all too well the direction of her friend’s thoughts. “No, Marce. We are not going to investigate. Not only is it none of our concern but you are going to ruin your Broadway future if you don’t get back in time. Sue doesn’t strike me as the type to forgive late entrances.”

  “But aren’t you curious what’s going on?”

  “Nope.” Vi pulled harder on Marcie’s arm. Curious was the exact opposite of what she felt at the moment. If the deep itch at the base of her spine was right—and it usually was—she and Marce had stumbled into something potentially dangerous, which meant all she cared about now was getting Marce out of there.

  “I suppose you could be right,” Marcie said, finally letting herself be pulled forward. “If the army can misdeliver mail bags, I guess couriers could mix up notes.”

  “Just so,” Vi said, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. “Now let’s get you back—”

  A familiar face at the end of the block stopped her cold. In disbelief she watched Luciana’s eyes widen, and for the briefest of seconds their gazes locked.

  “What’s wrong?” Marcie asked.

  “I—” Vi stopped as Luciana darted into a store and disappeared from view. She blinked in surprise and shock. “I thought . . .”

  Then the implications of what she had seen snagged the rest of her words from her tongue. What would it do to Marcie if she told her that Luciana was back in town? An uninjured Luciana, at that, if the speed with which the actress had fled was any indicator, and within a few hours of Marcie’s big debut.

  It would knock her for a loop is what it would do.

  More alarm bells went off with the realization that Wyatt had been right; Luciana had likely faked her injury in Nettuno. Or at least exaggerated it. Nor had the actress wanted to be seen today. And what were the chances that Vi would see her, of all places, close to the clock shop?

  Did that mean Luciana had overridden Wyatt’s objections and that Sergeant Danger no longer needed a replacement? A cautious hope flickered in her chest. Perhaps everything would be all right, after all. The possibility left her almost giddy.

  “Well?” Marcie asked impatiently.

  Get it together, Vi. Marcie’s waiting for an answer.

  “I—I thought I had dropped my wallet at the shop, but�
�—she gave a little laugh and pulled her wallet from her skirt pocket—“here it is! So, we can keep going.”

  Marcie rolled her eyes. “Is that all? I was hoping for something more exciting. I mean your eyes were so wide, I thought you had seen a ghost.”

  Vi drew a breath and smiled. “Nope. No ghost.”

  Just a living, breathing person who was someplace she shouldn’t be. But that was Wyatt’s problem, not Vi’s.

  Chapter 25

  That night, as Ann uttered the final words of the performance, Vi barely heard the audience’s cheers. Despite her relief over Luciana’s reappearance this afternoon, she was still uneasy. She couldn’t get the scene from the clock shop out of her head. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that little Enzo and his mother might be involved in something dangerous. Nor could she shake the feeling that she and Marcie may have inadvertently made the danger worse by following up on the note.

  If only she could corner Luciana or even Sergeant Danger, she could alleviate her fears. But neither had stopped by the theater before the performance. Now she could only hope one of them would swing by after, like Sergeant Danger had in Nettuno.

  Sue cued the curtain and blackout. Vi reluctantly joined the cast as they reassembled in the dim backstage light for curtain call. From the corner of her eye, Vi saw Wyatt head toward the other side of the stage. What would he do if he knew Luciana was in Rome?

  Sue beckoned the actors closer in preparation for the final bows. “Lights up . . . Dancers go.”

  Frances, Gertie, and Vi ran out onto the stage, and a cheer went up. For a brief moment Vi shoved aside her worries and let them float away like the dust motes swirling in the spotlights. This was her favorite part of any performance. It always had been. The clapping and cheers, along with the occasional whoop, fueled her like nothing else. Almost more than food or sleep.

  Sharing an ecstatic look with Gertie, Vi backed up in step with the others. Then Marcie, Victor, and Charles ran out, and a fellow shouted from one of the boxes, “Lydia, marry me!”

  Marcie blushed as laughter rippled across the house, along with more shouts of “No, marry me!”

  Then Ann and Matt joined them. With great dignity, the entire cast acknowledged the thunderous applause from these rough men who had been to hell and back. Vi could hardly see for the tears in her eyes. Then she strode offstage with everyone else, her legs shaking with emotion.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so high,” Ann announced, her eyes sparkling as everyone shared hugs backstage. “I may just spend the rest of my life doing USO tours. Did you hear them swoon when Matt kissed me at the end?”

  “If you mean the shouts of ‘Pass it around, sugar,’ yes I did,” Victor said wryly as Ann threw her arms around him and squeezed.

  “You’re just jealous because they didn’t boo you this time,” she teased.

  “More important, they didn’t shoot me!” Victor said, before turning to Marcie. “And you, my dear, made a marvelous dastardly diva, the marriage proposal notwithstanding.”

  Marcie hugged the older actor with abandon. “Thank you! I didn’t even need your help to remember my lines.”

  “Of course not.” He pressed a fond kiss on the top of her head. “You’re getting better all the time.”

  “Here they come,” Matt called out excitedly. “Incoming!”

  Sure enough, soldiers were already streaming past the MPs. Pasting on a bright smile, Vi braced herself for another hour of performing, this time for much higher stakes.

  “Have to say the show gets better every time I see it.” Sergeant Danger’s low voice in her ear made her jump.

  “Hey, buddy,” the sandy-haired soldier that she had been about to greet protested angrily. “Wait your turn like the rest of us.”

  “It’s not like that,” Vi said to the soldier as she seized Sergeant Danger’s arm to keep him from leaving. She was afraid he might vanish again as quickly as he appeared. “The sergeant here has been helping me reach my family back home—it’s an emergency situation—so I asked him to interrupt me when he had some news.”

  She hated lying to the fellow, but she had given her word she would put Marcie’s interests first.

  “You heard the lady.” Sergeant Danger shot the soldier a hard look, an aura of command almost visibly radiating off him. “Move along.”

  The soldier held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I’ll go find another doll to talk to.”

  Sergeant Danger glanced down at her after the other man left. “So . . . what’s the family emergency?”

  Vi released him. “I needed to talk to you, but in private.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You made me pull rank for that? All you had to do was ask.”

  “Except that you have a way of appearing and disappearing on a girl,” she said, a little exasperated. “And this is important.”

  He crossed his arms and settled into a wide-legged stance. “All right. Shoot.”

  “Well . . .” Vi glanced around and then leaned toward him. “I saw Luciana today, in the crowd near the Tiber river.”

  “Really?” His expression didn’t even flicker. “And you’re telling me this why?”

  “Because you’re the only one who seems to know what’s really going on around here.”

  He huffed a soft laugh. “Glad one person thinks that.”

  “Oh, I do,” Vi said, pouncing on that tiny crack in his tough-guy facade. “I also think you’re smart, loyal, and one of the truly good guys. Which is why I’m coming to you with this information, and no one else. And believe me, that’s a compliment, because I don’t trust easily. I’ve been burned in the past. Badly.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Something that made her think he might have been burned, too.

  On impulse, she reached out and caught one of his hands. If Marcie’s well-being meant throwing herself at this man, she would. Virginia’s future be damned. Except she had underestimated the impact of having his rough, calloused fingers beneath hers as she brought them to her chest. His skin was surprisingly warm, almost hot. Her pulse fluttered unevenly. No longer sure what she was doing, she pressed his hand against her heart, seeking comfort from his innate strength as much as she wished to give it.

  She hadn’t realized until this moment how true her words had been. She did trust him. And admire him.

  And want him.

  “Virginia,” he said in a low voice. Surprised by his use of her first name, she glanced up. And immediately fell into the mesmerizing beauty of his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  The question jolted her out of her fog.

  Jumping back, she released his hand. “Sorry. I guess I was still in character from tonight. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Worried wasn’t part of the equation, exactly,” he said slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “More like, are you aware of our audience?”

  Her pulse leaped again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Falling back on her hard-earned acting skills, she immediately smoothed her expression and adopted a more relaxed posture. “Thank you for that,” she murmured with a slight smile. “You have a way of making a girl forget herself.”

  He hesitated and then said in a low voice, “I’d say the problem is mutual, Miss Heart.”

  The heat that flickered in his eyes nearly knocked her knees out from under her. Then his expression cooled. “For the record, Miss Rossi is still in Nettuno, recovering from a sprained ankle and wrist. When she’s cleared to rejoin your unit, I’m sure Lieutenant Holland will let you know.”

  He turned and began striding away without so much as a backward glance.

  “Wait!” she called after him.

  If he’d heard her, he gave no sign. Vi ground her teeth in frustration. Drat the man! She had no more answers now than she had started with. Worse, he had neatly turned all her attempts at bamboozling him back on herself. And he had done it so easily. It pained her to even think about it.

  Yet he wasn’t immune to her. Th
at much was clear. If she could just get him alone and not lose her head this time . . .

  The idea, once sprung, refused to die.

  She glanced around for Marcie. Spotting her, Vi hurried over, smiling apologetically at the soldiers who tried to catch her attention. It nagged at her conscience to push them away, but the other actors and actresses were still there to take up the slack. Solving the mystery around Luciana to protect Marcie took precedence at this point.

  “Marcie,” Vi hissed, taking her friend’s arm. “I need your help.”

  “Just a moment, Lou,” Marcie said with a bright smile for the soldier in front of her as she resisted Vi’s tug. “I want to hear more about that puppy you found as soon as I can get rid of my friend here.”

  “What do you want?” Marcie asked irritably when Vi got her alone. “And before you bust my chops, I wasn’t flirting with him.”

  “Sure. Look, are you fine going back to the hotel without me? I’ve got a killer migraine and want to go lie down.”

  Marcie’s eyes widened with concern. “Oh, you poor thing! Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No need,” Vi said quickly. “I’ll be fine. Besides, there are still a lot of men waiting to congratulate you.”

  Marcie bit her lip, her gaze flying back to the line of eager soldiers. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.” Vi forced herself to smile despite her impatience. Sergeant Danger, having finished his conversation with Sue and Mr. Stuart, was heading for the exit leading to the auditorium. “I’ll see you back at the room.”

  Praying that Marcie wouldn’t follow her, Vi dived into the crowd again. She struggled to keep the sergeant in sight, jumping up on her toes every few strides. Then he disappeared through the door, and Vi abandoned caution. She bolted after him, barely having the presence of mind to snatch a coat off a chair on her way out—a necessity given she was still in her sparkly, rather revealing dance outfit.