“Someone should have told you that before you ditched me.” And with that, she walked past him and out the door. She slammed it behind her, and B.J. stood there for a long moment, wondering if he should go after her, and knowing that he could not. The orderlies had discreetly disappeared when they heard them coming, and a moment later B.J. quietly went back upstairs. He needed a moment to himself to think over what had happened, but he knew even then that he wasn't sorry. He didn't love her. Of that he was now certain. But he did love Serena, and now he would have to make all right with her. God knows what she had heard as Pattie shrieked at him on the balcony. As he remembered her words he suddenly realized that there was not a moment to lose in finding Serena, but as he left his office to find her, his secretary stopped him. There was an urgent phone call from headquarters in Milan. And it was two hours later before he could get away again.
He went quietly to their quarters, knocked on the door, and was answered instantly by Marcella.
“Serena?” She pulled the door open rapidly with tears on her face and a handkerchief in her hand, and she seemed even more overwrought when she saw B.J.
“Isn't she here?” He looked startled, as Marcella shook her head and began to cry again.
“No.” She assaulted him instantly with a flood of Italian, and gently he stopped her, holding the old shaking shoulders in both of his hands.
“Marcella, where is she?”
“Non so … I don't know.” And then suddenly it hit him, as the old woman cried harder and pointed to the empty room behind her. “She took her suitcase, Major. She is gone.”
10
The major had sat with Marcella for almost an hour, trying to piece together what had happened and figure out where she might have gone. There weren't many places he could think of. She certainly wouldn't go to her grandmother's house in Venice with strangers living there, and as far as Marcella knew, there was nowhere else. She had no friends or relatives to go to, and the only thing that B.J. could think of was that she had gone back to the States. But she couldn't have done that at a moment's notice. She'd have to get another visa and make arrangements. Maybe she was staying somewhere in Rome and she would attempt to get a visa back to America in the morning. He couldn't call the American Embassy until the morning to check on that. There was nothing he could do. He felt powerless, empty, and afraid.
Brad questioned Marcella until the old peasant woman was wrung dry. Serena had run into their quarters from the door that led into the garden, rushed into her room, and locked the door. Marcella knew that because she had tried to go in when she had heard her crying, but Serena wouldn't let her in.
Half an hour later Serena had emerged, red eyed, pale, and with her suitcase in her hand. She had told Marcella simply that she was leaving, and in answer to the old woman's tears and entreaties, she had said only that she had no choice. At first Marcella thought that she had been fired, at this the old woman cast a sidelong glance of apology at the major, explaining that she had thought that it was all because of him. But Serena had insisted that it wasn't, that it was a problem that had nothing to do with him, and that she had to leave Rome at once. Marcella wondered if she was in danger, because the girl had looked so distraught that it was hard to tell if she were only upset or also frightened, and with tears, and kisses, and a last hug, Serena fled. Marcella had been sobbing hopelessly in her room for almost two hours when she heard the major's knock on the door, and hoped that it was Serena, having changed her mind.
“And that is all I know, Major.…” Marcella dissolved in tears again and clung to the sympathetic young American. “Why did she go? Perché? Non capisco …noncapisco…. ”All he could do was comfort her. How could he explain any of it to Marcella? He couldn't. He would have to live with that hell himself.
“Marcella, listen to me.” The old woman only sobbed more loudly. “Shh … listen.… I promise you. I'll find her. Domani vado a trovarla.”
“Ma dove?” But where? It was a hopeless wail. All those years of not seeing Serena, and now she was back and Marcella had lost her again.
“Non so dove, Marcella. I don't know where. But I'll find her.” And then he squeezed the old shoulders and went quietly back to his own rooms. He sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours, thinking, turning things over in his mind, remembering snatches of conversation he had had with her. But no matter how deep he dug, how far into the memories, he came up blank. She had no one now except Marcella, and he realized once again how devastated she must have been to leave the old woman and the only home she had. A shaft of guilt shot through him again as he remembered the argument he had had with Pattie. He thought of what it must have sounded like at a distance, of what Serena must have thought, watching them, seeing them together, and then listening to the American woman's angry words.
After hours of painful, endless questions running around and around in his mind he gave up. There was nothing to do except wait—and wait. He went into his bedroom and stood for a long moment, staring at the bed. Tonight he had no desire to sleep beneath the blue satin of the canopy. The bed would seem painfully empty without the woman that he loved. And what if you don't find her? he asked himself. Then I'll keep looking. He'd find her if he had to comb all of Italy and Switzerland and France. He'd go back to the States. He'd do anything, and eventually he would find her, and he would tell her that he loved her and ask her to be his wife. He was entirely sure of his feelings as he lay there, and not a single thought of Pattie crossed his mind as he whiled away the hours, lying there, thinking of Serena, and wondering again and again where she could have gone.
It was only when a cock crowed in the distance at five thirty, that he suddenly shot up in bed with a look of amazement and stared out the window. “Oh, my God!” How could he have forgotten? It should have been the first place he thought of. With lightning speed he threw back the covers, ran into the bathroom, showered, shaved, and by ten minutes before six he was dressed. He left a note for his secretary and his assistants, explaining that he had been called away on a matter that was urgent, and for his secretary he left an additional note asking him to be kind enough to “cover his ass.” He left all the memos where they would see them, and then slipped on a heavy jacket and hurried downstairs. He had to speak to Marcella, and he was relieved to see a light under her door when he got downstairs. He knocked softly twice and a moment later the old woman opened the door to him, at first with a look of astonishment to see him there, and then one of confusion when she saw that he was in civilian garb and not the uniform she was used to seeing him in every day.
“Yes?” She still looked startled as she stepped back for him to enter, but he shook his head and smiled with a warm look in his deep gray eyes.
“Marcella, I think I may know where to find her. But I need your help. The farm in Umbria … can you tell me how to get there?” Marcella looked more startled still for a long moment and then she nodded, frowning, thoughtful. She looked into his eyes again, with a hopeful gleam in her own.
She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering, and then brought him a pencil and a piece of paper, and waved him to a chair. “You write it down like I tell you.” He was only too happy to obey her orders, and a few minutes later he was out the door with the paper in his hand. He waved to her one last time as he ran toward the little shed where he kept the jeep he used when he didn't have a driver, and she watched him as he drove away, with tears of hope in her old eyes.
The trip from Rome to Umbría was long and arduous, the roads were poor, deeply rutted, and crowded with military vehicles, foot traffic, and carts filled with chickens, or hay, or fruit. It was here that one remembered that there had been a war on not so very long ago. One still saw signs of the damage everywhere, and there were times when B.J. thought that neither he nor the jeep would survive. He had brought with him all of his military papers, and had the jeep collapsed beneath him, he would have commandeered anything he had to, to reach the farm.
As it was, it was after
dark when he got there, traveling down the uninhabited, rutted road in the direction that Marcella had described to him, but he began to wonder in a few moments if he had taken the wrong turn. Nothing looked familiar according to the directions, and he stopped the car in the darkness. It didn't help him that there was even no moon by which to travel, and there were dark clouds passing through the sky as he looked up and then at the horizon beyond. But as he did so, he suddenly saw a cluster of buildings in the distance, huddling together as though for warmth, and he realized with a long tired sigh that he had found the farm.
He turned the jeep back until he found a narrow, rutted lane, and followed it through overgrown bushes in the direction of the building he had seen on the horizon, and a few moments later, splashing through deep potholes, he reached what must have once been a large courtyard, or a kind of main square. There was a large house facing him, barns stretching out toward the right, and an orchard both to the left and behind him. Even in the darkness he could see that it was a large place, that it was deserted. The house looked weather-beaten and empty, the doors of the barns had fallen off their hinges, there was grass growing waist high between the cobblestones in the courtyard, and what farm equipment there had once been stood rusting and broken in the orchard, which obviously had not been tended for years. He stood there for a long moment, wondering where to go now. Back to Rome? Into a village? To a nearby farm? But there were none. There was nothing here, and no one, and surely not Serena. Even if she had come here to find refuge, she could not stay here. He stared sadly at the barns in the darkness, and then at the house, but as he did so, he thought he saw something scurry into the darkness of a corner. An animal? A cat? A dream? Or perhaps someone very frightened at his intrusion. Realizing how mad he was to have come on this solitary adventure, he kept his eyes in the direction of what he had seen, and walked slowly backward toward the jeep. When he reached it, he leaned inside, and took out his pistol, he cocked it and then began to walk forward, wielding an unlit flashlight in his other hand. He was almost certain now of where he had seen the movement, and he could see a form huddled in a corner, crouched behind a bush. For an instant he realized how insane it was that he should be pursuing this encounter, that he might perhaps die, for no reason at all, on a deserted farm in the Italian countryside in search of a woman, six months after the end of the war. After all he had survived in the years before that, it seemed ironic that he could die now, he thought as he inched his way forward along the building, his heart racing.
When he had come within a dozen feet of where he had seen the movement, he pressed himself into a narrow nook, took what refuge he could find, and instantly shot one arm forward with the flashlight held aloft. He switched it on, and set it down, poised at the same instant with his gun, and like his victim's, his eyes blinked for a moment in the sudden light, as he realized with terror that it was not a cat at all. It was someone hunched over and hiding, a dark cap pulled low over his brow, hands held aloft.
“Come out of there! I'm with the American army!” He felt a little foolish saying the words, but he hadn't been sure what else to say, and the form, a tall angular shape in the dark blue wool, moved forward and stood staring at him now, as he gave a whoop and then grinned. It was Serena. She stood wide eyed, her face white with terror and then with astonishment as he approached. “Come here, damn you! I told you to come out of there!” But B.J. didn't wait for her to move, he ran toward her, and before she could say a word, he had enfolded her in his arms. “Goddamn crazy girl, I could have shot you.”
The green eyes were wide and brilliant in the glare of the flashlight as she looked up at him, still dumbfounded by what had happened. “How did you find me?”
He looked down at her and kissed her gently on both eyes, and then her lips. “I don't know. It came to me this morning, and Marcella gave me directions.” He frowned at her then. “You shouldn't have done it, Serena. You had us all worried sick.”
She shook her head slowly then and pulled away from him. “I had to. I couldn't be there any longer.”
“You could have waited to talk it over.” He held her hand although she stood a few feet from him now, her foot pushing a small stone on the ground.
“There is nothing to talk over. Is there?” She looked into his eyes, with all the hurt that had driven her from Rome. “I heard what she said, about me, about your family. She's right. I'm only your Italian whore … a maid.…” She didn't even flinch as she said it, and he pressed her hand.
“She's a bitch, Serena. I know that now. I didn't see things as clearly before. And what she said is not true. She was jealous, that was all.”
“Did you tell her about us?”
“I didn't have to.” He smiled gently at her, and they stood for a long time in the silence and the darkness. There was something eerie about being at the deserted farm alone. “This place must have been quite something before.”
“It was.” She smiled at him. “I loved it. It was a perfect place to be a child. There were cows and pigs and horses, lots of friendly workers in the fields, fruit in the orchards, a place to swim nearby. My best childhood memories are of here.”
“I know. I remember.” They exchanged a speaking look and Serena sighed. She still couldn't believe that he had found her. Things like that didn't happen in real life. They only happened in books and movies, but there they were, a million miles from civilization, together, and alone.
“Won't she be very angry that you left Rome?” Serena looked at him curiously and he shook his head slowly.
“No angrier than she was when I broke our engagement.”
Serena looked shocked. “Why did you do that, Brad?” In fact, she looked almost angry. “Because of me?”
“Because of me. When I saw her, I knew what I felt about her.” He shook his head again. “Nothing. Or damn close to it. I felt fear. She's a very scary young woman, manipulative and scheming. She wanted me for something. I'm not sure what, but when I listened to her, I knew it. She wanted me to be a puppet, I think, to go into politics like her father and mine, to make her something, and to play her game. There is something incredibly empty about her, Serena. And when I saw her, I had all the answers that I'd been struggling for, for months. They were all there all along, I just didn't know it. And then she saw me look at you, and she knew it too. That was when you heard her.” Serena watched him as he talked and then nodded.
“She was very angry, Brad. I was frightened for you.” She looked very young as she stood in front of him in the courtyard. “I was afraid.…” She closed her eyes briefly. “I had to run …I thought that if I disappeared it would make things simpler for you. …” Her voice trailed off and he reached out his arms again.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?” She smiled in the darkness and nodded.
“I think that was what you meant when you came here.” She looked at him pensively then and tilted her head to one side. “It is over with her, then?”
He nodded, and then smiled. “And now it can begin in earnest with us.”
“It already has begun.” She reached out her arms for him, and he stroked her hair with a gentle hand.
“I want to marry you, Serena. You know that, don't you?” But quietly she shook her head.
“No.” It was a simple word, and he looked down at her with a smile.
“Does that mean that you don't know it?”
“No.” She looked up at him again. “It means that I love you with all my heart and I will not marry you. Never.” She sounded resolute and he looked at her in dismay.
“Why in hell not?”
“Because it would be wrong. I have nothing to give you, except my heart. And you need a woman like her, of your world, of your own kind, your class, of your country, someone who knows your ways, someone who can help you if you ever do decide to go into politics one day. I will only hurt you, if that's what you want later on. The Italian war bride…the maid.…” Pattie's words still rang in her ears. “The Italian whor
e … others will call me mat too.”
“The hell they will. Serena, aren't you forgetting who you are?”
“Not at all. You're remembering what I was. I am not that anymore. You heard what Pattie said.”
“Stop that!” He took her by both shoulders and shook her gently. “You're my principessa.”
“No.” Her eyes never wavered from his. “I'm your upstairs maid.”
He pulled her into his arms then, wondering how he could convince her, what he could say. “I love you, Serena. I respect everything that you are. I'm proud of you, dammit. Won't you let me make my own decisions about what's right for me?”
“No.” She smiled up at him with a look of sorrow mingled with love.
“You don't know what you're doing. So I won't let you do it.”
“Do you think we could argue about it later?” He looked down at her with a grin, sure that eventually he would convince her, but he had suddenly realized that he had been driving for hours and he was exhausted. “Is there anywhere for us to stay? Or have you decided not to sleep with me anymore either?”
“The answer is no to both questions.” She grinned at him sheeplishly. “There's nowhere for miles. I was going to sleep in Üre barn.”
“Did you have anything to eat today?” He looked at her worriedly and she shook her head.
“Not really. I brought some cheese and some salami, but I finished it this morning. I was going to walk into town tomorrow and go to the market. But I was awfully hungry tonight.”
“Come on.” He put an arm around her shoulders and walked her slowly back to the car. He pulled open the door, helped her up into the seat, and pulled out the knapsack in which he had put half a dozen sandwiches as a last-minute thought before he left. There were also apples and a piece of cake, and a bar of chocolate.
“What? No silk stockings?” She grinned at him over the sandwich she was devouring.
“You only get those if you marry me.”
Remembrance Page 11