The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  Vi tensed at the mention of the shop, the sergeant’s warning from the night before ringing in her ears. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Hiya, Marcie, Vi!” Gertie ran up to them, her army cap nearly falling off in the process. She resettled it over her pinned-up hair. “I was looking all over for you two. Are you going swimming with us? Frances just told me about Count—”

  “So-and-so’s pool,” Vi and Marcie said together.

  Then Marcie continued, “I want to, but Vi doesn’t have a suit.”

  “Oh.” Gertie’s face fell. “Ann was the closest to your size, wasn’t she?”

  “And we all remember how well that worked,” Vi said dryly.

  “I suggested we go shopping this morning and find her a new one, since it sounds like we might be in Rome for a while.” Marcie sighed dramatically. “But, alas, Vi said no. Maybe if you worked on convincing her . . .”

  “Convince who to do what?” Frances asked, coming up to join them.

  Vi’s hopes for a relaxing morning slid away. “Nothing.”

  “Vi to buy a swimsuit,” Marcie said, contradicting her. “I thought I saw a store over on the west side of the Tiber. There’s a whole neighborhood of shops there.”

  “Oh, let’s go,” Gertie said, excitedly. “Then we can all swim together whenever we like. I don’t want you left out, Vi.”

  “There are no ready-made swimsuits in Rome, thanks to the war,” Vi said.

  Marcie waved her hand. “You don’t know that if you don’t look. And we could look for postcards, since we never got around to it yesterday.”

  “Ooh, yes, postcards!” Gertie clapped her hands. “That would be perfect. It’s my little sister’s birthday coming up.”

  “And I know just where to look,” Marcie went on. “There are the cutest little stores over by the Janiculum. It’s a bit of a walk, but I hear they aren’t picked over yet.”

  Alarm shot through Vi at the intrigued expressions on the other dancers’ faces. “We are not going all the way to the Janiculum.”

  “Don’t be so hasty, Virginia.” Frances gave her a speculative smile that made Vi’s skin crawl. “I think going on a nice walk sounds keen. Or did you have an appointment closer to the hotel to keep?”

  Vi looked Frances right in the eye, irritated but not surprised by the innuendo. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”

  “Then let’s go. And we can look for postcards and a swimsuit, too.” Gertie was practically dancing at this point.

  Marcie gave Vi a smug look. “Looks like you’re outvoted. And you know how Sue feels about us going anywhere without our travel buddies.”

  Not wanting to get anyone started on that subject, Vi sighed and gestured for Marce to take the lead. Gertie joined Marcie at the front of their little group, and soon the two were chatting up a storm. Frances silently dropped back beside Vi. Large, puffy clouds drifted over the sun, casting chilled shadows as they passed. Vi suspected the girl was waiting for her to broach the subject of last night. But Vi knew when to hold her cards close. Now was one of those times.

  Frances could think whatever she wanted, but she had no actual proof of any wrongdoing . . . unless Vi opened her mouth and gave it to her.

  Twenty minutes of self-imposed silence later, Vi crossed the same bridge she and Marcie had yesterday afternoon. Vi scanned the street cautiously, worried Luciana might be hanging around.

  Marcie, with Gertie in tow, made a beeline for the clock store, likely to show off some treasure she had found yesterday while Vi had been preoccupied with Enzo. A terrible emptiness opened in her soul as she remembered the feel of his little body in her arms, and she found her convictions weakening. Surely it wouldn’t be that awful if they all went inside for a quick look around, as long as there was no talk of notes and watches.

  The bells tinkled over the door as they filed into the store. Vi’s gaze immediately sought out the corner where Enzo had sat with his button box, but it was empty. Disappointment twisted in her chest.

  The curtain to the back room rustled, and Enzo’s mother appeared. When she saw the four USO dancers, she froze. Vi did likewise. The woman’s face, so pretty and smooth yesterday, was a mask of swelling and bruises beneath a layer of thick makeup. Vi’s disappointment shifted into horror. Violence against women wasn’t unknown to her—it was a regular scourge among strippers and prostitutes—but it never failed to shock her.

  Worse, if someone had been willing to abuse the clerk this way, who could say what that person might have done to Enzo?

  The woman visibly paled despite her heavy makeup. She immediately made shooing motions with her hands. Vi didn’t understand the clerk’s rapid Italian, but her tone made it clear she wanted them gone. Marcie, her eyes wide, responded in the same language, but far more gently, as she gestured toward the woman’s face, clearly asking what had happened. But the clerk was having none of it. In a flurry of movement and words, she slowly backed them toward the door.

  Vi racked her brain for the Italian words she needed. She no longer cared if the sergeant disapproved of them being there. Not when it was clear something was very wrong.

  “Enzo,” she blurted, interrupting the woman’s tirade. “Dov’è Enzo?”

  Where is Enzo?

  The change was instantaneous. Whereas her skin had been pale before, a flush spread up the woman’s cheeks, and her face tightened. Her blue eyes turned glossy with tears as she turned on Vi. Without warning, she snatched up a small clock off the table and hurled it at Vi. With reflexes honed by years of dancing, Vi dodged the object.

  It crashed into the wall behind her, ending any further discussion.

  Subdued and silent, the girls hastily left the store. Gertie jumped as the door slammed shut behind them. The OPEN sign was flipped to CLOSED in the following instant.

  “Well . . .” Marcie looked shaken as the group reconvened on the sidewalk. Vi felt the same way. Something had clearly happened between yesterday afternoon and this morning, and the clerk obviously blamed them for it.

  “We can still look for postcards,” Gertie said uncertainly. “And there’s Vi’s swimsuit.”

  Frances narrowed her eyes at the storefront they had just left. “What was she saying about us in there?”

  “It wasn’t anything about you, in particular,” Vi said, newly sensitive to Frances’s irrational dislike of Italians. “Right, Marce?”

  Marcie blinked and then seemed to give herself a mental shake. “She thought we had ignored the closed sign and was upset that we had barged in. But it turned out she had forgotten to turn it.”

  “Seems to me she could’ve just politely asked us to leave,” Frances said, her suspicions still in full force.

  “You’re right,” Vi said soothingly. “But she didn’t, and we’re all okay, so let’s go find those postcards.”

  The group turned away from the river and wandered farther into the neighborhood. This time Frances and Gertie led the way, while Marcie and Vi hung back.

  “I heard you ask what happened,” Vi said softly while Gertie stopped in front of a fabric shop to ooh and ah over some lace in the window. “What did she say?”

  Marcie’s expression became troubled. “That we needed to leave before anyone saw us, and to never come back.”

  “That much was clear when she chucked the clock at my head. Did she say anything else?”

  “No.” Then Marcie grimaced. “Did you see her face? Someone really socked it to her last night.”

  “I noticed that, too.” Vi shuddered, the memory of the shock and pain following a blow from a man’s fist still fresh, even though it had been years ago.

  Once, not long after Jimmy was born, she had been hit like that by a coked-up john. It had taken almost ten days for the bruises to fade, and a lot, lot longer for the fear to. It was one of the reasons she had given up the trade, despite how lucrative it had been. A girl could take only so much abuse before it left a permanent scar.

  “Do you think we were the c
ause, somehow?” Marcie’s eyebrows gathered in a frown. “I mean, it would explain her anger, but I don’t see how we could’ve been. We weren’t the ones who wrote that note.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t us in particular but Americans in general. There are a lot of us in the city right now. Being an occupying army and all. Maybe us being seen in her shop is bad for business?”

  “Certainly bad for her face.” Marcie was quiet a moment. “I hope nothing like that happened to the little boy. Did you see her expression when his name was mentioned? Good use of Italian, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” But the compliment did little to ease the dread building beneath her skin. “And I did see it, which is why I almost missed the clock.”

  “Do you think we should report it to someone? I hate to think of her being roughed up on our account. Maybe if we told Lieutenant Holland?”

  Oh, no, no, no. Vi was not going to let Marcie pursue that thought. She had already dropped the ball once today by not insisting Marcie stay out of the clock shop. The last thing she wanted was for Sergeant Danger to find out how cavalier she’d been with Enzo’s and his mother’s safety. Especially after the fiasco last night. She was in deep enough trouble with him.

  Vi shook her head. “I doubt the lieutenant could, or would, do anything. Couples get in fights all the time, even in the States, and the authorities typically refuse to get involved. No, I think the best thing we can do is take her advice and stay away from here on out.”

  “It’s not right,” Marcie said, an angry glint in her eyes.

  “I agree, but we have to trust she knows what’s best for her.”

  Marcie gave her a pained look but didn’t say anything more as Gertie dropped back to ask if they wanted to go inside the shop with her.

  Enzo’s absence and his mother’s bruised face were still troubling Vi that afternoon, even though the matinee show went off without a hitch. While the rest of the cast joked and laughed backstage, flying high on postperformance excitement, Vi kept an eye on the door leading to the auditorium. She half hoped, half feared that Sergeant Danger would make an appearance. If anyone could find out if Enzo and his mother were all right, it would be him. On the other hand, asking him to investigate would be tantamount to an admission that she had ignored his warning.

  As she wiped the stage makeup off her face, she tried to tell herself that her only responsibility was to keep Marcie safe, and no one else. The partisans could watch out for their own, assuming Enzo’s mother was one of them. Or perhaps Luciana would step in, assuming Vi was right about the note having been meant for the actress instead of Marcie. And if Luciana needed help, Vi was certain the sergeant would come to her aid, just as he had rescued Vi last night.

  And if Luciana wanted to show her appreciation to the sergeant the same way Vi had, with lingering kisses and offers of sex, and if the sergeant decided to accept Luciana’s offer, unlike Vi’s? Then that was their business, not hers. All that mattered was that Marcie was in the clear.

  Wasn’t it?

  Disgusted with the jealous drift of her thoughts, Vi tossed the cloth aside and stood. With any luck, Marcie would opt for a nap this afternoon instead of dragging Vi around for more shopping. The last twenty-four hours had left Vi exhausted and wrung out emotionally.

  Not that she worried it would affect her performance. Put her in front of an audience and that was all the fuel she needed. It was like a surge of electricity through her veins. To leap, to flex and spin with the music was a drug unto itself. Each move propelled the next. Like turning straw into gold, dance transformed physical exertion into pure release. Nowhere else did she find the same kind of freedom, the same kind of joy.

  It was after the show, when the applause was nothing but a memory and a steady tide of well-wishers demanded her attention—that’s when she was afraid her exhaustion would trip her up and she would say or do something wrong. Like last night, when she had chased after Sergeant Danger and unleashed a whole torrent of unintended consequences.

  It was with that thought in mind that Vi greeted the new crowd of soldiers that night. She did her utmost to focus on the man in front of her rather than let her thoughts stray to whether the sergeant had disappeared from Rome, or if Enzo was badly injured, or if she would see either of them again. These men were the reason she was over here. She would give them her best.

  She had almost made it through the entire line when a disturbance at the door quieted everyone’s chatter. An older, well-dressed man in tails was being detained by the MP at the door, and it was clear from the man’s cold demeanor that he was unused to being denied what he wanted. Sure enough, after another few seconds of being lectured, he raised his hand as if to silence the MP, said something, and then walked right past him.

  Vi was about to excuse herself from the private she was talking to when she saw Sue hurry over to intercept the man. The two fell into a deep conversation, and then Sue, instead of escorting the fellow out as Vi had expected, gestured toward Marcie, who was chatting with several soldiers of her own. Vi frowned in surprise.

  “What is it?” Vi’s soldier asked her, turning to look over his shoulder. “Some fellow being rude?”

  “No,” she said soothingly. “Nothing like that. But will you excuse me for a moment? And be sure to write down your mother’s address and leave it with one of the stagehands. I’ll be happy to write and ask her to send one of her world-famous pecan rolls to you.”

  The fellow smiled. “Thanks, miss. You gals really are the best for coming over here.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” she told him honestly. Emotion filled her throat as she shook his rough, calloused hand. “God bless you and keep you safe.”

  After excusing herself from the next fellow in line, she made her way around the small groups of soldiers and actors on her way to Sue. Civilians weren’t usually allowed backstage until all the GIs had had their turn first. That Sue had directed him over to Marcie had set off alarm bells in Vi.

  “Sue.” Vi took the stage manager’s arm and drew her to the side. “Who is that man? I swear I’ve seen him before.”

  She hadn’t, of course, but it made her question sound less suspicious.

  “Maybe you have.” Sue’s attention strayed back to the soldiers waiting to talk to the directorial staff. “His name is Sr. Conti, and he said he owns several businesses in Rome, one being a jewelry store. He said Marcie had brought in a watch to be repaired, and as he was going to be here tonight, watching the show with friends, he decided to deliver it in person.”

  Vi barely hid her shock behind a bright smile. “That’s right! I remember the clerk saying it would be ready today.”

  Sue waved the information away impatiently. “While it was kind of him to bring it tonight, tell Marcie to apologize later to the MPs, will you? Their noses are a bit out of joint over him barreling in here, even if he is a friend of the prime minister’s.”

  “Will do,” Vi said with a mock salute, earning a small smile from the stage manager.

  Vi waited until Sue returned to her conversational group before practically sprinting toward Marcie. There was no watch. There had never been a watch. Whatever reason Sr. Conti had for hunting Marcie down, it couldn’t be good.

  To her dismay, the man noticed her almost immediately. His dark eyebrows rose toward his slicked-back, snow-white hair as she immediately slowed her approach to something she hoped would seem more casual, unplanned. Marcie eyed her curiously, picking up on Vi’s disquiet but apparently not the source. Vi guessed that meant he hadn’t mentioned the watch yet, though why not, she couldn’t begin to fathom. If anything, it only made her more nervous.

  “Hiya, Vi,” Marcie said, her smile open and easy. “You should come meet Sr. Conti. He’s a big fan of our production.”

  “How do you do?” Vi asked politely, even though she would much rather kick him out of the theater.

  “I am much better, Signorina, having made your acquaintance.” He bowed slightly and sm
iled. Vi knew better than to be charmed, though. Despite Sr. Conti being a handsome man, with his intelligent, dark eyes and a fashionably thin, well-groomed mustache, she had met his type before. A little too suave, too debonair to be trusted.

  “I invited Signorina May to come to my apartment later, to have some wine with me. Maybe you will come, also? To celebrate your beautiful dancing.”

  The heat in his gaze as it ran over her dance costume made it clear he thought more than just her performance was beautiful. Oh yes, Vi had indeed met men like him before.

  Smiling with just the right amount of regret, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we simply can’t tonight.”

  “Vi,” Marcie protested.

  “With two shows tomorrow,” Vi went on, “we girls need to get our beauty sleep. Right, Marcie?” She shot her friend a stern look.

  Marcie sighed. “Maybe another time, Sr. Conti.”

  “Ahimè,” he said, pressing his hand to his heart as if wounded. “My night will be less pleasant now, but I will survive.” Then with a laugh, he recovered and gestured toward Gertie. “And yet another talented dancer! Introduce me, per favore?”

  He asked the question of Marcie, but Vi took it upon herself to answer. “I can do it.”

  She smiled sweetly even as she thought of different ways to rouse the MPs into action. Even if he was the self-avowed friend of the Italian prime minister, he didn’t need to be backstage looking for female companionship. He was a wolf in gentleman’s clothing and a clear threat to innocents like Gertie and Marcie. That he might also be attached to a dangerous mission only added to the problem.

  “Grazie, Signorina . . . ?” Sr. Conti prompted as she led him over toward Gertie, who was, thankfully, near an MP.

  “Heart,” Vi answered, trying to catch the MP’s eye.

  “Signorina Heart,” he said, leaning close, his voice soft, “may I call on you later? I would like to know more about America, and about you. Would you like to have dinner?”