Burning Fields

by Alli Sinclair

  “I make you feel good?” His genuine surprise only endeared him to her even more.

  “Of course you do! You’re easy to be with. I like that you’re so different to other men I’ve courted…not that we’re courting…but…” God, she was making such a mess of this. “I mean…”

  Tomas reached out and ran his hand down the side of her face. His fingers left a trail of electricity and she tried to steady her breathing. He was so close yet so far away. She wanted to feel the sensation of his warm lips, his hands running through her hair, his hard body against hers, his breath on her skin…

  Tomas moved near, his eyes not leaving hers. She leant in, her face tantalizingly close to his. Every inch of her being wanted him.

  His warm lips met hers.

  The world slowed and every worry she’d ever had disappeared into the stormy sky above.

  Chapter 20

  1943—Palermo, Sicily

  Tomas sat on a rickety wooden chair next to his old school friend Donato Moretti. Tomas’s every nerve felt on edge as he glanced around the hall, assailed by memories of the last political meeting he’d attended with his nonno—the metallic scent of blood, deafening sound of guns firing, people screaming, and the air thick with panic and hatred. These feelings and images he’d quashed for so long now threatened to overwhelm Tomas, but he held steadfast. This was not the same place. Not the same meeting. Not the same people. Yet the threat of being attacked was here, regardless.

  “Are you all right?” Donato asked.

  “Fine. I’m fine, thank you.” Tomas had to close down these images before they overwhelmed him.

  A low murmur between attendees grew while they waited. A beefy gent climbed up the steps and walked on to the stage. A hush fell across the room. Everyone’s attention turned to the man in simple black trousers, light blue shirt. He shuffled papers, cleared his throat, then proceeded to methodically make eye contact with everyone in the room.

  Donato whispered, “That’s Vittorio Spina. He’s one of the most important men in our district. If it’s worth knowing, he knows it.”

  “He couldn’t possibly know everything.”

  “Oh, he does, believe me.”

  “Shhhhh.” A young woman turned around and scowled.

  Spina addressed the crowd for over twenty minutes, everyone remaining motionless. No one coughed. No one sneezed. No one appeared to breathe. Rather than the riffraff Abato had thrown together, this relatively large group of partisans in this small, poor neighborhood appeared better prepared.

  “To sum up”—Spina raised his index finger above his head for emphasis—“the landing of the Allied forces here in Sicily is a godsend, but they need help. And what they need most is people on the ground—ears, eyes, contacts—who can give the Allied troops the information they need to make it as far north as possible. Of course, it’s not all up to them.” He puffed out his chest. “This is our country, our people. No one cares about our countrymen more than us.”

  “This is all well and good, but there is a problem.” All eyes turned on Tomas and he wished he’d kept quiet. He wasn’t even supposed to be at this meeting, let alone draw attention to himself.

  Donato shot him a “for the love of God, keep your mouth shut” look, but it was too late. Tomas was already on his feet and any chance of anonymity had been shot to pieces.

  “Who are you?” Spina demanded.

  “I am Tomas Conti.”

  “I’ve not seen you here before.” Spina gripped the sides of the podium.

  “It is true, but I’ve been in the mountains with Bruno Abato—”

  He held up his hand. “That’s enough for me to know what kind of man you are.”

  “With all due respect, I don’t think you do.” A low murmur grew around him as people exchanged surreptitious looks.

  “I am well aware of the type of man Abato associates with and I do not think anything you have to say will be new or will help our cause. We may be dissidents, but there are rules. There is decency. There is respect for other partisans.”

  It felt like a brick wall had just shot up, but it was too late to back down now. Tomas glanced at Donato, who sat on the edge of his chair, looking ready to flee should things get too heated. Tomas felt bad for his friend and hoped his standing up and voicing his opinion did not reflect upon Donato’s relationship with these people.

  Drawing himself up to full height, Tomas said, “It’s true, Abato is a man of questionable behavior but he does get the job done. Anyone who has met him would not be surprised by my observation. What worries me, though, is that even though every partisan has the same goal, the groups are splintered. The networks are not as effective as they could be.” Tomas paused, realizing speaking out about Abato meant it would likely get back to him. The floodgates were now open and it was too late for Tomas to slam them shut.

  “What’s your point?” Spina asked.

  “My point is there needs to be some unity. There’s power in organization. Look at the way Mussolini’s men are working with the Germans. Yes, there are many groups of partisans willing to assist the Allied troops and free our country, but there’s no consistency between the groups.”

  “And what do you propose to do about it?” Spina’s grip on the podium relaxed slightly.

  Donato looked up at Tomas, his expression one of concern mixed with admiration.

  Tomas willed his brain to latch on to an immediate solution.

  He got nothing.

  “I will ask again: What are you going to do about it?” Spina locked eyes on Tomas. The gaze from audience members travelled from Tomas to Spina and back again, the tension in the hall palpable.

  Spina inhaled deeply and angled a finger at Tomas. “You and me—we need to talk.”

  * * * *

  Tomas sat in the courtyard of the family home, peeling an orange and breaking off sections and chewing them slowly. In this quiet space he found it easy to understand how his family could ignore the world outside these walls. In here, he could pretend the Allied and Axis Powers didn’t exist. That Italians didn’t fight against each other. And that his country wasn’t in turmoil and being ripped apart by an array of political allegiances.

  However, the moment he walked out the front door, reality hit—hard. Children still roamed the streets in rags, begging for food. Buildings remained in ruins with young families and the elderly doing what they could to find shelter amongst the debris. Neighbors turned on each other. Friends didn’t trust one another. Mussolini continued to divide the people and even though Tomas wanted to grasp on to hope, it continued to be as elusive as the peace he craved.

  The arrival of the Allies in Sicily was the only topic of conversation in Palermo, but everyone was wary about how they approached it. No one knew if the Allies could gain a strong foothold, and it was a matter of wait and see. In the meantime, partisan groups were preparing to offer their help with whatever the British and Americans needed.

  Tomas looked at the blue sky, unable to fathom how quickly things changed these days. He finished the orange and strolled back into the kitchen. Rachel was hunched over the sink, her hands immersed in water as she washed the dishes and hummed a tune he didn’t recognize.

  “I can do those,” he said quietly, trying not to spook her.

  Her body jerked. “I’m fine. Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do around here.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and left a trail of soapsuds above her brow.

  Tomas smiled and moved toward her. He reached out and she took a step back.

  “Tomas…”

  “I’m just getting rid of the suds so it doesn’t run into your eyes.” His fingers brushed her forehead. Beneath his touch, her body trembled. “Rachel—”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say.” He moved away, conscio
us of not making her feel like a caged bird.

  “You’re a man, of course I know what you’re going to say.” She angrily grabbed a towel, dried her hands and threw it on the kitchen table. “You’re all the same. You just want one thing.”

  This is what she really thought? What kind of traumas had she endured to believe that all men were animals?

  “Rachel, I don’t want anything from you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She dropped her head forward and covered her face with her hands. Removing them again, she looked up, her eyes full of sadness. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me and you’ve never made an overture.”

  “Of course not.”

  Rachel sank onto the kitchen chair and Tomas sat down opposite her. She fell silent, the large bags under her eyes making her look years older than she was.

  “You’re safe with me, Rachel.”

  “I know.” She ran her hand along the polished table, her fingers tracing the intricate and random patterns of the grain. “It’s just…” she started, then drew her lips together in a tight line.

  “It’s just?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

  “Everything matters. You matter. Please, talk to me.”

  Her fingers stopped tracing the lines. Tomas waited for her to continue, willing his patience to kick in—it paid off when she gave a slight nod of the head, as if giving herself permission to speak. “It’s not easy, you know? As a kid, I lacked confidence. I always felt I was in the shadows. I was never noticed. I didn’t exist.”

  “I knew you were there.”

  “But I was the annoying kid sister,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You did your job well.” Tomas tried to lighten the mood, but the stern look he received told him he’d been way off the mark. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry. None of this is your fault. It’s just life. Some people are in the limelight and others…aren’t.”

  “Well, I, for one, think you have a lot to offer.” From what he understood, Rachel’s intelligence-gathering expeditions had been incredibly successful. “You know how to relate to people and they trust you. That’s why they tell you things—important things that help our cause.”

  Her pale complexion took on a pink tinge. She looked away.

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s a great thing you’re doing. Your ability to get information is inspirational.”

  Rachel frowned. “That’s because I’m a chameleon and I gain their trust by being the person they expect or want me to be. It’s all a game, really. In reality, I’m no one of consequence.”

  “If you could see what I see—”

  “Please, don’t Tomas.” She held up her hand.

  “Why not? If you don’t believe in yourself then you need to know others do.” Tomas leant back against the chair and folded his arms. “If you have no confidence in your abilities why on earth would you go out in the field undertaking some of the most dangerous work possible? And doing it alone?”

  Rachel stared at her clasped hands in her lap. “If I died then no one would miss me.”

  Incredulity swept through him. “I don’t understand this at all.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” She turned her face away once more.

  “Why do you place so little value on yourself?”

  Rachel shrugged.

  Tomas leant forwards. “Come to the meeting with me tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they need someone with your insight. I was only out in the field for a short time. I don’t have the experience or knowledge like you have.”

  “I haven’t been out there for nearly three weeks. Everything would have changed since the Allies arrived.”

  “But you were there for months on end before that. Perhaps giving some history might help them figure out how to move forward. No one who is based in Palermo has any decent idea as to what’s going on outside the city. They have no clue what it’s really like on the ground.”

  Rachel looked at him and, for a fleeting moment, he felt a flicker of…something. He tried not to dwell on the word “attraction” but it was the first—and only—word that came to mind.

  There was no way he could entertain such a thought. Ever.

  Chapter 21

  Rosie stood under the banyan tree on the side of the road, reveling in a moment of peace. She never tired of witnessing the rolling storm clouds gathering, promising relief from the stifling heat. There was something special about rain-soaked soil, the tantalizingly aroma of fresh water nourishing the parched land. As she studied the moving cloud formations, Rosie’s heart filled with love for this country.

  Heavy footfalls caught her attention and a second later Tomas appeared.

  “I am sorry I am late.” Tomas’s deep voice sent shivers up her spine. The twenty-four hours since they’d seen each other had felt like a week. He gently ran his hand down the side of her face then lightly touched her lips. She closed her eyes, wishing this would never end.

  “Now, Rosalie Stanton,” he said, jolting her out of her dream state, “do you feel like a walk and talk?”

  “Sure.”

  They started down the road and, although she’d initially been shy seeing Tomas this evening, Rosie found herself relaxing in his presence, soaking in every aspect of this glorious man.

  “Rosalie, where are your thoughts?”

  Oh!

  “Actually”—she scrambled for a topic—“my dad is making progress. I’ve been working on a design for cutlery for him and it’s taken a bit of trial and error, but we’ve finally got there.

  “This is very good news. It is hard to lose one’s independence.”

  “I don’t know if it’s ever possible to fully adapt once there’s a loss of independence. Although, maybe it’s a matter of finding the silver lining.”

  “There isn’t always one,” said Tomas.

  “Surely there’s a thread, no matter how thin?”

  Tomas clasped his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed. “There are too many instances of gray clouds and no silver linings.”

  She looked at the thunderclouds above. “You truly believe that?”

  “Yes.” Tomas concentrated on his boots making indentations on the gravel.

  “I’m sorry you see it that way,” she said.

  Tomas stopped and faced her, “I do not say this to make you change your mind. It is just that”—he looked away—“we have different experiences in life.”

  “I know.” She reached for his hand and was relieved when his fingers wrapped around hers.

  “Rosalie, I like how you try to find the positive, even in situations that are very difficult.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just who I am.”

  “Do not ever change this.”

  “And you shouldn’t change you.” Ah, to hell with it. Life was too short to mess around with matters of the heart. “I like you, Tomas. I like you a lot. I like how you make me laugh. I like the way your smile goes all the way to your eyes. I like that you care about your family. I like that scar under your eye. I like—”

  Tomas touched his scar. “You like this?”

  “Of course I do! It’s part of you and as much as I would like to know how it happened, I won’t ask. I’ll let you decide when to tell me—if you choose to. I like that you’re not perfect. None of us are. I just like you—very much—imperfections and all.”

  Tomas’s wide eyes stared into hers. Panic set in as a pool of sweat developed in her lower back and her chest constricted. What the hell had she just done?

  “I…I like you, too.” He gently squeezed her hands. “I like you more than a lot.”

  His words held her in a warm embrace and she committed this moment to memory.

  Tomas stepped toward her.

 
Rosie sucked in her breath.

  Wrapping an arm around her lower back, he pulled her close, her body going willingly. When their lips met, the world spun slowly. Rosie tilted her head back, basking in his warmth, his strong body against hers.

  Never in her life had she contemplated giving herself completely.

  Never in her life had she felt more alive.

  Time slowed, passion grew.

  She could stay like this forever.

  Tomas pulled out of their embrace, his dark eyes searching hers.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “This is not good.”

  “It’s very good, Tomas.” She reached up and ran her hand through his thick, dark waves.

  “Yes, this is very good but…my nonna is right. You should not get involved with me.”

  “It’s too late for that.” She stepped forward but he moved to the side, the distance feeling a lot further than the inches separating them. She kept her voice low, trying not to be alarmed. “What could be so terrible that would warrant you and your grandmother telling me to stay away from you?”

  “I can’t protect you.”

  “I don’t need protecting!” Her voice travelled down the valley.

  The sigh that came from Tomas was long and sad. “I’m sorry. Of course, you can look after yourself. That’s why…”

  “Why?”

  “Why nothing. My story is too long.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “No, it is better if you do not know.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Her tone held an edge. She wasn’t proud of it but the stakes had changed.

  Tomas looked away, his face creased, as if he were dealing with a battle raging deep within. She waited—impatiently—and made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t leave here without an explanation.

  Eventually, he said, “If we are to talk then we will do so in a nicer place. Come.” He held out his hand and she took it willingly.

  They cut across the base of Il Sunnu and down a narrow path that led to the river that flowed past the Conti and Stanton properties. They climbed a steep embankment and travelled up another path that snaked through a cluster of eucalypts and, a moment later, Rosie found herself standing high on a hill, overlooking the valley she’d grown up in.