Morning Colors

by Sharon Timm

  The car stopped and Luca gave instructions to the driver while the other officer opened the door for Sam.

  "Grazie", Sam said. She had learned a few words during the course of her tour with Doug.

  "Prego Capo," the officer responded.

  "What did he say?" Sam asked Luca.

  "He said, 'You’re welcome, Chief.'" Luca smiled. "A Navy Chief is a Capo."

  "I guess I'm getting to be pretty famous."

  "You are a living legend Samantha Logan." Sam detected a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Luca walked up the stone steps to the massive front door. He opened the door and called inside. "Mamma, sono qui."

  He was quickly embraced by a small plump woman who rushed into the foyer from another room. The woman stepped back and stared at Sam. Then, she broke into a smile, winked and embraced Sam too. Luca protested but she smiled and pinched Sam's cheek and prattled in Italian to her son.

  "What is she saying, Luca?" Sam asked as the woman took her hand and led her inside.

  "Ah...." Luca stammered, "She is a little confused... She thinks I brought you.... Oh, never mind."

  Sam broke away from Signora Danieli. "Brought me....to meet her?" Sam was not amused. "Luca Danieli," she stormed. "You have a way of turning every little thing that happens into a nightmare. What did you tell your mother about me?"

  Luca turned away. "I told her I couldn't come home this weekend because of a case I was working on." Luca paused and glanced nervously at his mother. "She asked if there was a woman involved and I said that you were a witness. She asked if you were beautiful. I told her that you were very beautiful."

  Luca looked at his mother.

  Sam glared at Luca with fury in her eyes. She opened her mouth but Luca raised his hand.

  "I never thought you would be here. My mother is always bothering me about finding a wife, settling down. I didn't want to explain about you. But I will explain now. Relax Samantha. Just relax."

  Luca began to explain the situation. His mother looked back and forth between him and Sam. She nodded from time to time. Finally, she sighed sadly, and took Sam by the arm.

  "Poverina!" she said and patted Samantha's hand.

  Sam glanced back at Luca.

  "It means 'you poor thing'," he said glumly.

  His mother whirled and pointed a finger at her son, "E povero tu, imbecile," she said and led Sam away.

  Luca called out after them, "And poor me too. I am an imbecile."

  Signora Danieli took Sam upstairs to a nicely furnished guest bedroom. She opened a door on a large wooden cabinet and handed Sam an old worn night gown. She touched Sam’s face, straightened her hair and smiled. "Samantha Okay my house." She pointed to herself. She gave Sam a gentle hug and kissed her on the cheek.

  Sam undressed, pulled the nightgown over her head and crawled under a delicious down comforter, completely exhausted from the events that unfolded during the day. She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately, and awoke refreshed as the sun poured through her bedroom window.

  For a moment she struggled to remember where she was. She sat up in bed. "Sunday," she said. "Luca's house."

  Her clothes were gone, but in their place she found a warm flannel dress and some warm wool socks. She pulled her feet back sharply from the cold tile floor. The beautiful tile floors were always cold. She was never ready for it.

  She put the clothes on and opened the French glass doors onto a balcony. The gentle breeze was cold but the bright blue sky and sunshine promised a warmer day. The view from her room was breathtaking. In the distance the Adriatic gleamed hazy blue. The hills rose up and encircled the vineyard. She could see the long driveway bordered on both sides by row after row of grape vines, tangled on arbors in straight lines.

  She found the bathroom, took a hot shower and brushed her hair. When she came downstairs she was met by Luca's mother and a hot cup of coffee. She sat with the woman who kept looking into her eyes. "Grazie, Signora Danieli," she said.

  The woman smiled and squeezed her hand. "You speak good Italiano," she said haltingly.

  Sam regretted not buying a phrase book. Doug had picked up a phrase book at a souvenir shop in Venice. They used it often and had learned a few words.

  The woman pointed at Sam. "Tu Samantha." She pointed to herself. "Anna," she said.

  Sam tried to remember what Vittorio had said when they were introduced. "Pichera?" she said.

  "Piacere." Anna corrected.

  Sam repeated the word, "Piacere," she pointed to herself and said "Samantha bella strega malefica." Just the way Luca had said it the day before at lunch. She had no idea what it meant, but Luca had said that it was nothing bad. She'd repeated the words over and over to herself. Determined to find out what the mysterious words meant.

  Sam was shocked when Anna stood up and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Sam continued, trying to explain. "Luca said," she pointed to herself, "`Samantha bella strega malefica'"

  The woman walked to the door of the kitchen. "Luca!" she called in her very motherly voice. She stood, blocking the lower half of the doorway, hands on her hips. Sam recognized that stance from her own childhood. She cringed. She had gotten Luca into to trouble. Then again, she thought, what did he call me? Finding out was going to be fun.

  Luca entered the room. His mother was glaring at him. She launched a tirade of rapid, Italian and Sam studied the array of emotions which crossed Luca's face. She stared at his handsome features through narrowed eyes. Her mouth was drawn into a tight line. She couldn't help smiling as his expression settled into a decidedly contrite one, like that of a cute little boy who is in big trouble.

  Luca sat at the table across from Sam, looking sheepishly down at the table. His mother stood behind him. "Samantha," he began without looking up. "bella strega malefica means beautiful wicked witch."

  Sam's jaw dropped. She stared at Luca. She pursed her lips and tried to look stern. She fought against her emotions but her laughter bubbled to the surface. She laughed. Luca laughed and Anna joined in the laughter.

  "You idiot!" she laughed, "You told me it was nothing bad."

  Anna picked up on the words she could understand. "Idiota." she nodded and smacked Luca playfully on the head. "Luca, much bad."

  Luca sat there staring sheepishly at the table. He was completely at the mercy of his mother and the beautiful wicked witch. She savored the moment.

  This man who was always in control, the arrogant, pushy man, was submissive and apologetic before her. Samantha got up from the table and placed her coffee cup in the sink. She bent over and kissed Anna on the cheek.

  "Grazie Anna," she said. She wasn't exactly sure why.

  She couldn't resist a playful smack of her own on Luca's head. Her hand lingered there tangled in his rich brown hair. She mussed it, still laughing and walked out of the kitchen.

  Mother and son chattered back and forth in an increasingly loud argument. Sam didn't understand the words but, in the tone, she sensed some poetic justice. He had used her to get his mother off his back, but Anna was on her side and retribution was sweet.

  Samantha opened the front door and stepped out onto the granite stairway that led to the driveway below. She could hear their voices fade as she walked away.

  Suddenly, she had an overwhelming urge to learn this lyrical, melodious language that these wonderful, generous people used to express themselves. It was as if the words were sung, not spoken. The melodious structure rendered English flat by comparison. It was a powerful language, loud and full bodied. Gestures held meanings of their own. Whole thoughts were conveyed with simple expressions on a face or theatrical movements of their hyperactive hands.

  She had only ever heard the caricatured Italian accents of television shows back in the states. She had never heard the language spoken in its native land. It fit in here, it blended with the picturesque hills and valleys. It was part of the magic of the canals and gondolas of Venic
e. It went with the pizza and the ice cream. The word, "cappuccino" was delicious in itself. The melodious language wrapped itself around her heart and touched her soul in a way that felt like...home.

  "Samantha Logan, bella strega Malefica," she said to no one.

  She thought about the Navy for the first time since waking. She had long fought the feeling that there had to be more to life. Her days had become a dull routine. She had slaved endlessly to achieve the rank of Chief Petty Officer. She had looked forward to each challenge and had enjoyed the adrenaline rush of each new adventure. She had taken the risks. She had volunteered for the tough jobs. She'd even wintered over through the long, long night on the ice of Antarctica.

  When she made Chief the thrill was gone. She had paid an old debt, and from that moment on, it seemed, she'd stopped looking forward to each new day. Maybe it was time to move on.

  Now a whole new world was opening to her. Possibilities were endless. At this moment the world was beautiful. The rich brown soil of the vineyard was richer than all the riches in the world. The eye-filling sky was sapphire blue and in the distance the Adriatic sparkled; diamonds in the golden sunlight. She breathed the fragrant, sweet country air and ambled between rows of grape vines. She touched the tender light green leaves with her fingers, caressing their velvet softness.

  She was surrounded by the light colors of spring. Only the cool mountain air which slipped down from the high dolomites still carried a hint of winter. She bent and studied a handful of the rich soil. She let it crumble between her fingers, feeling the comfort of the earth, cool on her hand.

  She was transported back in time. Another handful of dirt crumbled between her fingers. The hollow sound of soil striking a coffin reverberated in her mind. She closed her eyes and looked with her memory's eye at the two shiny gold anchors that were pressed into her hand by large, clumsy fingers. She stared at the anchors. Her hands were still covered with specks of dirt from the grave.

  Luca emerged from the vines. "Mamma said that your clothes are ready if you want to change out of that old dress." She stood and brushed the dirt off her hand. She looked at Luca. He was wearing faded old jeans that hugged his muscular thighs. His work boots were old and scuffed and his pullover long sleeved shirt was open at the neck. He'd pushed the sleeves up onto his forearms just as he had done with the sweater he wore the day before. His hair was a lighter shade of brown in the sunlight.

  She was drawn to him. She walked over to him and stared into his dark brown eyes. "So I'm a beautiful wicked witch." she said to him evenly.

  "You are beautiful."

  "And you, Luca," Sam said softly, "are impossible to be around." She reached out and ran a finger across the back of his hand and up his forearm. She rested it on his shoulder and heard him catch his breath as she felt the rippling muscles beneath his shirt.

  "I didn't mean to get you in trouble with your mother," she said, gazing up at him. "You told me what you said was nothing bad." Her fingers straightened the collar of his shirt, then, slipped gently down the open neck and rested against his chest.

  He pulled her roughly to him with his iron grip and crushed her against his chest. His lips gently brushed her eyebrows as a groan escaped from his throat. She felt her arms circle his lean waist as she melted into his embrace. They stood there a moment. Both speechless. Neither sure of the other. The thick fabric of the old dress could not hide her excitement at his touch. She pressed herself against this man who made her feel so many extremes of emotion.

  Maybe Doug was right.

  The thought doused the fury of her emotions like a bucket of ice water, bringing her back to her senses. Why am I here with this man? she wondered. Why am I wrapped in his arms? She pushed him away violently, muttered something unintelligible, wheeled around on her heels and left him standing in the middle of the vineyard.

  She marched quickly up the gravel driveway and into the house. Her fingers were wrapped into tight little fists and she was trembling with rage. She raced up the stairs, two at a time, and locked herself in the room. Her clothes were neatly folded on her bed. She slipped out of the old dress and studied her naked form in the mirror. She thought of Luca and the feelings he'd aroused in her. It had been a long time since she had let herself be driven by her physical needs.

  Perhaps her drive to succeed was an attempt to shut out her physical side. Her career had become so one-sided. She had not been prepared for Italy. She had so starved the rest of herself that Italy took hold of her like strong wine. Since she had first set foot in this magical country, the Navy had faded to the background. She didn't even wonder how her sick bay was faring in her absence. Although the XO had told her to take some time off, she never thought she would have taken it to this extreme.

  She tried to block out the events of the last few days and concentrate on the ship. She tried to imagine what the doctor was doing at that moment. She was disappointed to realize she didn't care. She vaguely remembered her life in the Navy but it seemed unimportant, unreal.

  Sure, she acknowledged to herself, there has been a lot of excitement, but the excitement didn't account for her state of mind. She was completely relaxed. Her mind was clear. She lucidly remembered her life before the Navy.

  A kiss from Anna brought back images of her own childhood. Things she hadn't thought of for years came back to her now. She slumped onto the bed as sobs racked her body. A whole person was emerging from the shell of a woman who had achieved so much in a textbook military career.

  She turned to face the ghosts of her past, willed herself to remember in spite of the pain. And for the first time, she found no pain in remembering. Her memories had fallen into their respective places and what was left was not terror or regret, but balance and peace.

  As Sam dried the tears from her eyes, she saw the newly found peace settle in them. She stared at herself in the mirror. Despite the tear streaks on her reddened cheeks, she nodded in approval at the reflection. "I'm a damn good looking woman," she said out loud, and reached for her clothes.

  When Sam emerged from the room, she skipped downstairs to find Anna busy in the kitchen cutting onions for a salad. Sam touched her arm, took the knife from her hand and began to help. The women worked side by side in the kitchen. Sam felt a wave of homesickness rush over her.

  She marveled that she was missing something that didn't exist. She had finished High School a year early and joined the Navy at seventeen. There was no animosity between herself and her parents, and they had willingly signed the enlistment papers. She had just been impatient and restless. She wanted to see the world.

  Her parents still lived in the same town and the same house. She noted curiously that it was not that house or that town that she was longing for. She felt an overwhelming urge to hug the small woman who stood next to her. She embraced the woman and kissed her cheek.

  Anna touched her short blond hair and smiled.

  Sam couldn't find the words to explain what she felt. She would have been unable to do so in English, and Italian was certainly beyond her ability. Somehow, it didn't matter. Some feelings transcended the barriers of language. With Anna, she knew words were not necessary. She sensed that the older woman understood.

  Anna put the salad bowl on the table and pointed out the window at Luca. He was walking through the vineyard, hands in his pockets, eyes lowered to the ground, apparently in deep thought. "Luca good boy," she said. "Samantha, Luca Mangiare."

  Sam recognized the word for eating. She caught herself staring at the statuesque form roaming the vineyard below. She pointed to herself, "I will get him."

  She let herself out and walked to meet him. The sun had fulfilled its morning promise and warmed into wonderful spring day. Birds raced around, chirping and squawking, and the air was clean and fresh.

  She walked to Luca quietly and startled him with her voice. "It's time to eat, Luca," she said.

  Luca followed her inside. They didn't talk about what had happened earlier. They just sat across from ea
ch other at the table and let Anna guide the conversation.

  Sam spent the afternoon with Anna. Although they didn't share but a few words of common language, they managed to understand each other quite well. Anna was very easy to get along with. It was hard to believe that she was the mother of such impossible man.

  Sam wondered what had possessed her to walk up to him, run her fingers over his body and get tangled up in his embrace. She was confused by his Jekyll and Hyde personality. He clearly possessed an extraordinary capacity to be a gentleman, yet he could be more demanding, obstinate and pigheaded, than any man she'd ever known.

  The beautiful, wicked witch part was still humorous, but from the way he said it, she knew it was what he actually thought of her. To him she was just a beautiful woman. One he would like to conquer. The witch part just made the conquering a little more challenging.

  There were times when she wondered what he thought. In more rational times, she didn't care what the man thought at all. He had never spoken of any women in his life. He had mentioned that he wasn't married and that his mother was always pestering him to find a wife, but that was it. Women, and there had to be women, were his little secret.

  Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Maybe he was just a playboy, a handsome womanizer who hadn't settled down because he'd probably never been turned down. Why settle with one woman when so many, surely, wanted to be with him?

  Sam felt a hand on her shoulder. She was standing at the kitchen sink, staring into the distance. Lost in her own thoughts.

  "Cosa pensi, Samantha," Luca's mother tapped Sam's forehead lightly with her finger.

  Sam understood her instantly. As a child she was always lost in her daydreams. Her mother would look deep into her eyes, tap on her forehead and ask, "What are you thinking about in there, Sam."