The Grace Painter (The Grace Series Book 1)

by Mark Romang

  Back at Campo de Fiori, they ate Panini for dinner at a small café and turned in early, falling asleep quickly despite the drunken revelers that crowded into the lively square each evening.

  Day three greeted them with a cold, steady drizzle. She and Claire dressed in sweaters and anorak pullovers and huddled under a large umbrella as they walked to the Doria Pamphilij Gallery located off Via del Corso. Annie soon discovered this breathtaking palazzo contained hundreds of paintings, many of them by leading Renaissance masters: Raphael, Caravaggio, and Claude Lorrain. The paintings were magnificent, but the crowds were large. They found it difficult to spot anyone resembling Rafter in the sea of faces.

  The crowds, narrow hallways, and close-quartered viewing rooms caused Claire to nearly succumb to a panic attack, and Annie had to quickly pull the hyperventilating woman outside for fresh air. Claire gamely recovered in a few minutes and they left the palazzo for the Pantheon, where there was elbow room and breathing space for everyone.

  More than anything else, the Pantheon symbolized Rome, and Annie enjoyed herself immensely in the 1900-year-old architectural wonder. She took countless pictures of the mind-boggling architecture and historical treasures with her digital camera.

  Inside the mathematically balanced dome was the tomb of Raphael and a shrine to past kings of Italy. She and Claire spent considerable time at Raphael’s tomb, and left with a heightened sense of admiration for the revered artist.

  That brought them to today.

  Upon awakening, she and Claire came to a consensus that they were tired of viewing artworks in crowded churches and galleries. Claire suggested they tour the Forum ruins and Annie seconded the motion. They purchased hot cornettos and cappuccinos at a pastry shop near their hotel, and then weaved their way through the colorful outdoor fruit and vegetable stalls in Campo de Fiori, where vendors barked themselves hoarse shouting out their wares.

  Once out of the bustling market area they caught a bus and headed for the Coliseum. The stadium sent chills up Annie’s spine as she and Claire walked into the ancient amphitheater. Ghosts haunted the place. No doubt about it.

  Standing on the wooden crosswalk that spanned the arena floor, Annie could almost hear the spectators cheering on their favorite gladiators. The gladiators were actually prisoners of the Roman government forced to fight gory matches of hand-to-hand combat. Win the battle, and enjoy a few more days of confinement until the next match.

  But what gave her strongest case of heebie-jeebies were the silent cries of the martyred Christians, killed for no other reason than their religious beliefs. She couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than being torn apart by hungry lions. Nero was truly a despicable emperor, a madman who poisoned his mother, wife, and countless others he perceived as threats to his heavy-handed rule.

  Their handsome waiter returned with their second course. He placed a generous plate of lamb skewers in front of Annie, and a plate of fettuccine with porcini mushrooms in front of Claire. “Grazie,” Annie said as she guiltily eyed her food. I’m going to have to run five miles a day instead of three when I get back stateside, she thought, wishing she would have opted for something lighter.

  “Grazie,” Claire echoed. After a few moments of eating, Claire spoke up. “You’ve been awfully quiet today, Annie. May I ask what’s on your mind?”

  Annie poked at a lamb skewer with her fork. “I’m beginning to think I’ll never find him, Claire.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Annie. We haven’t been at it for very long.”

  “I know, but trying to find a man who doesn’t want to be found in a city of three million people and tens of thousands of tourists is next to impossible.”

  Claire laughed. “You have a point, Annie,” she said before taking a small bite of pasta. “But we haven’t yet been to all the places displaying Renaissance paintings. There are still the Capitoline museums and the Villa Farnesina, just to name a couple.”

  “That’s just it, Claire,” Annie grumbled. “Rome is steeped in art. Every street seems to have a museum or gallery or a Baroque church filled with masterpieces. Then there are the gorgeous fountains and magnificent palazzos. For that matter every piazza is a sublime scene just begging to be painted. Rafter could be anywhere.”

  Claire set down her fork. She wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “You’re going to hate me for using this tired old cliché, Annie. But it is so true. Rome wasn’t built in a day. And you certainly can’t see it in a day, a week, or even in a month. This is my fifth trip to Rome, and I haven’t yet seen it all. I’m willing to stay longer, Annie, if you want to keep at it. But sightseeing in Rome can get very expensive.”

  Annie sighed. “I think I can afford it, Claire. I probably have as much money as you.”

  “You might want to give some thought about going to the Carabinieri.”

  “What are the Carabinieri?”

  “The police. They would know if Rafter is here in the city. Everyone has to inform the police of their presence within eight days of entering Italy.”

  “We didn’t.”

  “The concierge at the Smeraldo did it for us,” Claire explained.

  “I don’t want the police to harass him.”

  Claire reached across the table and gently took Annie’s hand. Her eyes softened. “Honey, are you certain he’s here? Maybe he really did die out in that swamp.”

  Annie stared intently into her traveling companion’s brown eyes. “Yes, Claire. Jon is here. I just don’t know where.”

  “But how can you be so sure?”

  Annie let her eyes drift toward the broken monuments in the Forum. Some of them stood, but more leaned. All were like gravestones in a way, and marked the Roman Empire’s sudden collapse from prominence. “When you work law enforcement, Claire, you tend to develop a sixth sense for things like this. It’s hard to explain how it works. You just know without seeing.”

  “Like faith in a way,” Claire said.

  “Exactly. Just like faith.”

  “Speaking of faith, Easter is fast approaching. Rome will overflow next week with Italians wanting to spend the holiday in Rome. Sightseeing will become very challenging. We may want to take a road trip to Florence to escape the crowds. Who knows, we may even run into your Renaissance man there. Florence is a mecca for artists. The city is even called the birthplace of the Renaissance,” Claire said.

  “I hadn’t considered Florence. A road trip sounds fun, Claire.” Annie pushed her plate to the side and rubbed her swollen stomach. “If I eat another bite I might explode. I was full after the first course.”

  Claire giggled. “Me, too. Why don’t we go tour some ruins and walk off our meal?”

  “You’re reading my mind again, Claire.” Annie flagged down their waiter and asked for the check. She and Claire had been taking turns buying their meals. It was Annie’s turn to pay this one. After the waiter returned with their bill, she placed two, 50-euro notes next to the check. They stood up and put on their jackets, then waddled from their table like a pair of emperor penguins.

  Outside the restaurant, a gleaming sun warmed their bones as they made their way to the Forum visitor center. They purchased their tickets at the visitor center, then entered the ruins and walked lazily along the Via Sacra, a mostly unpaved and rutted dirt track that looped through the Forum. Panhandling pigeons shadowed their every move. Every step they took scattered dozens of the plump gray birds.

  The first monument they came to was the Arch of Constantine. Many Roman archaeologists believe that the Arch of Constantine is the most beautiful arch in the Forum. Erected in 315 AD, Annie marveled at the arch from behind a protective fence. She studied the inscriptions on the monument and wished she could translate their meanings. Her attention was suddenly broken by a band of shabbily-dressed children. The children raced each other around the arch, somehow avoiding the gawking adults.

  The dark-haired children rushed up and chattered to them in Italian. Claire clapped her hands sharply, shooing the child
ren away. Child pickpockets were prevalent in Rome, as were bag snatchers riding on mopeds. Annie kept a hand tightly secured to her Fendi handbag, a purse she recently bought at the famous boutique located near the Spanish Steps.

  Leaving behind the children, they continued their southern approach to the Palatine Hill and soon passed under the Arch of Titus. Annie read from a placard that the arch was erected in 81 AD to celebrate Jerusalem’s capture. They spent a few minutes admiring the arch, and then made an abbreviated stop at the adjacent Santa Francesca Romana church, a tenth-century Baroque church.

  The lovely church boasted a Renaissance facade and an eye-catching Romanesque bell tower. Claire told her that many locals recited their marriage vows at the ancient church. After walking inside the church, Annie could see why. The intimate sanctuary took her breath away. Her head spun around in gaping amazement at the exquisite architecture.

  Shortly after leaving the church, Annie heard Claire clear her throat. “Mind if I ask you a personal question, Annie?” Claire asked, as they strolled upon the square stones making up the Via Sacra.

  “If it’s about my love life, I regret to inform you I don’t have one.”

  Claire shook her head and put a motherly arm around Annie’s shoulders. “It’s not your love life I’m interested in, Annie. It’s your spiritual life I’m curious about. Malachi told me you’re thinking about becoming a Christian.”

  “I’m not thinking about it anymore. I’ve become one,” Annie confessed with a smile.

  “You have? That’s wonderful!” Claire gushed. “So tell me all about it. When did you become a believer?”

  “On the plane ride over. I’m sure I recited the shortest prayer on record. I just admitted that I’m a sinner and asked God to forgive me.”

  “But why have you waited to tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t feel any different afterwards. I wasn’t sure if I did it right. I didn’t feel compelled to speak in tongues, and I didn’t feel the least bit euphoric. Aren’t you supposed to be giddy with excitement after becoming a believer?”

  “Not necessarily. Everyone’s experience is different. Some people are just more emotional than others.”

  “But how do I know for sure I’m saved?”

  “If you meant what you said in your prayer, than everything about you should begin to reflect God’s love. Your attitude, actions, and speech should all glorify God. You’re a new creation, Annie. Your old life has passed away.”

  As they walked, Annie looked off into the distance. She saw people walking and talking. They looked like ordinary people. People not unlike her, and she wondered what their life stories were like. “But how do I change, Claire? My habits are so deeply ingrained.”

  “As your relationship with God matures through consistent prayer and Bible study, you’ll become more and more like Jesus. Eventually, you’ll give off the fragrance of Christ.”

  Annie sighed. “I’m not very good at relationships, Claire. In fact, my track record is abysmal.”

  Claire gently squeezed Annie’s shoulder. “It takes a concerted effort to make any relationship work. Your walk with God is no different. It’s a lifelong process that won’t be perfected until you reach Heaven. And I must warn you, Annie, just because you’re a believer now doesn’t mean your life will become easier. In fact, it might become much harder.”

  Annie wiped at her eyes. “When we get back to Louisiana I need to find a good church to attend.”

  “That’s the next step, Annie. And it’s a crucial step. We all need other believers to support us and help us grow our faith,” Claire said, her voice becoming labored. Their ascent up the Capitoline Hill grew steeper. Their legs would burn even more when they reached the La Cardonata--a monumental ramp designed by Michelangelo.

  Their conversation about faith turned silent as they came to the Curia Julia, a senate house built in 44 BC. The tall, odd-looking building appeared much the same way it did two-thousand years ago. Annie learned that the senate house could hold up to two hundred senators, and as she admired the marble-mosaic floor, she wondered if the ancient Roman legislators were as contentious as the bickering lot serving on Capitol Hill in America. She then remembered how Julius Caesar died and knew the answer.

  They left the Curia Julia, and Annie used the conversational lull to reflect on her recent spiritual conversion, an act that took place 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean. It still blew her mind how God willingly sacrificed Jesus to ransom her soul. Not so long ago she thought God was always angry and judgmental. Now she knew better. God adores people of every size, color, intelligence, and temperament.

  From time to time when she’d come into contact with other Christians she’d often heard them mention grace. She was beginning to understand what the word meant now. Because of Jesus’ love-gift at Golgotha, God painted over her sins and shortcomings, all her hang-ups and selfishness with His abundant grace. Whenever God looked at her now, He saw a masterpiece. Annie liked that image--God as a master artist. A grace painter.

  She had an unshakable feeling that a grand adventure awaited her. She just hoped Rafter would be a co-traveler on her journey. But if he wasn’t, so be it. At least she could rest easy knowing she’d done everything in her power to find him.

  She supposed it could still happen. But at some point she needed to face reality and move on. Time would be her greatest ally in forgetting Jon Rafter. She just needed to ignore her capricious emotions and Rafter would become just another faded memory. She had done it with other men, and was sure she could do it again.

  “There’s something just ahead I’d like you to see, Annie,” Claire said, breaking the silence. “Most visitors to Rome pay it no mind, but with your FBI background I think you might find it fascinating.”

  Annie looked at her traveling companion. “Okay, you have my curiosity piqued. What is it?”

  “The Mamertine Prison. It’s a tiny two-room dungeon. Very dark and gloomy. But it holds considerable historical significance. Once you see it, you’ll never forget it.”

  Annie looked ahead past the Rostra. She didn’t see anything that resembled a jail or a prison. She could only see a pinkish-orange church and the Palazzo Senatorio, and beyond that a complex of civic buildings that made up the Campidolgio. “Where is it?”

  Claire pointed a finger at the church. “That church is the San Giuseppe dei Falegnami Church. The Mamertine Prison is underneath it.”

  “Why is it underneath the church?”

  “The Mamertine Prison is considered sacred to Christendom because it is believed the Apostle Peter and Apostle Paul were both detained there before Nero had them executed.”

  “Sounds fascinating. I’m game to take a look at it,” Annie said. She looked at her watch. “And the day is still young.”

  “You’re such a sport, Annie,” Claire beamed. “I’m going to miss you when our trip is over.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll come visit you every few weeks.”

  Like a marionette having its strings suddenly yanked by a puppeteer, Annie jerked to a rapid halt. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Am I really seeing this? She wondered. She vigorously rubbed her eyes, and then focused them on the artist hunched over an easel a few yards from the entrance to the church. The artist looked very familiar.

  “What’s wrong, Annie?”

  “It’s him,” Annie hissed. “That painter is Jon Rafter.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. He’s lost weight, and his hair is longer, but I still recognize him.”

  “I can’t believe we found him,” Claire whispered.

  “What do I say to him, Claire?”

  Claire laughed. “Well, honey, surely you’ve rehearsed this moment over in your head.”

  Annie shook her head. “Like a fool, I procrastinated. I guess I was just going to wing it if I found him.”

  “Just tell him the truth, Annie. You can never go wrong telling the truth.”

  Chapter 54

&nbs
p; Annie walked furtively toward Rafter. Her nervousness increased with each halting step. By the time I reach him I’ll be a bumbling idiot, she thought. Sometime during her approach her brain digressed into a pile of mush. She honestly didn’t know if anything intelligible could come from of her mouth. Her tongue felt swollen.

  She’d suffered from these same troublesome symptoms before as a gawky freshman in high school. Between classes one day she walked up to the senior captain of the football team and asked him to take her to the homecoming dance. That proposition hadn’t gone well at all. Annie hoped this one would go much smoother.

  She moved to within ten yards of Rafter. He displayed no signs of detecting her timid approach. His painting totally engrossed him. He didn’t even notice the pigeons fighting over a cornetto hanging out his rucksack.

  She couldn’t get over how much weight he’d lost. He looked emaciated, like he hadn’t eaten in days. Rafter’s outward appearance had undergone other changes as well. Whisker stubble darkened his angular face, and his wavy salt-and-pepper hair had grown shaggy, curling over his ears and collar.

  She still found his features striking, but now he had an unkempt look about him. His jeans were frayed, his shoes scuffed and ratty, and his paint-speckled, fleece pullover appeared threadbare. Rafter looked like a poor man struggling to make ends meet, and she wondered if he had a job and a place to sleep at night. She tried not to think of him living in the catacombs under the city.

  Annie hated seeing him so beaten down. Just a few months ago she’d needed a Good Samaritan to rescue her, and Rafter had been that person. Now he was the one who desperately needed assistance.