Morning Colors

by Sharon Timm

  Sam just smiled and shook her head. Her memories were so at home in Luca's house. Anna was like someone she had known all her life. Sam felt at ease with Anna. It was as if she belonged on the beautiful vineyard in northern Italy.

  She helped the older woman bake sweet rolls. She was not sure exactly what was happening later that evening but she'd pieced together enough of Anna's broken English to understand that visitors were coming.

  She hoped this wasn't another one of Luca's irritating misunderstandings. She pictured herself being introduced as Luca's girlfriend, or worse....wife. That thought had come out of nowhere. Sam frowned to herself. Maybe she had been kidnapped.

  Maybe Luca had set this whole thing up. Maybe, after they'd eaten lunch the day before, he'd gone to the Hotel, conveniently run by his cousin, broken into her room, left the note and made up the whole thing about being followed to the landing. Maybe he'd simply duped her into coming home with him. Maybe she was being held against her will in this remote prison castle, and didn't even know it. She wondered if the ship had been notified after all. Did the XO know she was here?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of a rich tenor voice singing a hauntingly beautiful opera. She turned and looked at Anna. Anna led Sam out of the kitchen, through the formal dining room and onto a balcony overlooking the garden behind the house.

  Standing in the middle of the garden, a spade in hand and bare to the waist was, Luca. The power of his voice seemed to be tugging at her very soul. Although she didn't understand the words, the melancholy melody reached out to her. As the voice climbed to a delicious high note, Sam felt her chest tighten, as though her lungs were trapped in a vise. She gasped for air and felt a shiver shake down her body and settle in her toes.

  Luca finished the song. Anna clapped from the balcony and Sam felt herself applauding with her. Luca whirled and looked up at them. He was hesitant, surprised, as though he'd been caught in a private moment. He stared up at the balcony then, seizing the moment, raised himself to his full height, dropped the spade, stretched both hands to the sky and collapsed into a full theatrical bow. Sam marveled at his sculptured physique. His powerful shoulders arched as he gracefully straightened under the women's appreciative gaze. "Just practicing," Luca said, almost apologetically. He found his spade and returned to work in the garden.

  Practicing for what? Sam wondered as she tore her eyes from his muscular torso and returned to the kitchen with Anna. She felt flushed. The tingling in her toes was a vivid reminder of the effect of the sad song. An incredibly beautiful voice was just one more facet of this enigma of a man. Luca, she noted with caution, was beginning to fill entirely too much of her thoughts.

  "What is Luca practicing for?" she asked.

  Anna did not understand her question.

  Sam pretended to sing and shrugged her shoulders in a questioning manner.

  Anna pointed at the oven, then at the clock and said, "Seven." She pointed down the driveway and said, "Festa."

  Sam looked down the driveway where a man and a woman were walking toward the house. The man carried a guitar. Sam glanced at the clock and solved the riddle. It was six thirty. At seven there was going to be a party. She felt a rush of anticipation. Luca had been practicing. Luca was going to sing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Anna ambled over to the door and opened it for the approaching guests. The woman brought a steaming casserole of covered with melted cheese. Anna and Sam removed the pastries from the oven, replaced them with a casserole to keep warm.

  The guests chattered with Anna in staccato Italian. Sam understood almost none of it but she heard her name mentioned a few times and Luca's came up suspiciously often. She revisited her theory of being kidnapped and held in this beautiful castle by a handsome, opera singing, prince.

  The man with the guitar kept glancing over at Sam. His looks seemed curious and kind. She met his stare and he turned away, excused himself and went outside, presumably to find Luca.

  Sam migrated upstairs. She crossed the hallway to the room across from hers and looked out the window. Luca and the man were in the garden. Luca had his shirt in one hand. He was resting his arm on the handle of the spade, one booted foot was propped on the stop of its narrow blade. A gentle breeze licked at his unruly hair and the setting sun kissed his face and made him glow. He looked like a model, Sam noticed. What had Doug's messenger watch said? `Like a model out of one of them Italian fashion magazines,' she remembered with a nod.

  He always looked like he was posing for an unseen camera, yet natural and so cool. She remembered his theatrical bow. Caught off guard for the briefest instant, he had turned even that to his advantage. He was a consummate actor. The world was his stage. Each move of his supporting cast served to juxtapose his presence, the spotlight always returned to him.

  The thought of being merely an extra in Luca's cast rubbed Samantha the wrong way. She had long fought the stigma of being a minor member of the team, standing in the shadow of greater men. Her enlistment in the Navy was far from a pioneer journey. By the time she had arrived, women were filling many of the military jobs, once available only to men, and had gained acceptance from the vast majority of their peers and superiors. Yet, she had always sensed that there was a higher standard for herself and the other females.

  Women were quickly accepted if they were good at their jobs, but mediocrity was not even remotely acceptable. Any woman who was less than outstanding, dredged up the old sexist stereotypes that had plagued the services early on. Many of the old timers looked for a girl who couldn't cut it to use as an example of what didn't work. Women in uniform felt pressure, not to just be there, but to be the best. Although many women resented this expectation, Sam had thrived on it. She had met and surpassed each challenge. As a Chief Petty Officer she was not a, "Lady-Chief" she was just plain "Chief." She was respected. It was respect that she had earned and maybe that is what confused her so much around Luca.

  Standing next to the towering figure of Luca Danieli she always had the unsettling feeling that her identity was fading in the shadow of his. She didn't play a very good second fiddle, certainly not to an arrogant opera singer who was so adept at stealing center stage.

  Luca and the man turned toward the house. He glanced up the window where Sam spied on the garden below. She retreated behind the curtain, not sure if he had seen her. She hoped he hadn't. Knowing Luca, he probably had. She wondered if he could read her mind.

  The guests were gathering as Sam went downstairs. She heard the shower running as she walked past the bathroom door. A sensual thought of water running down Luca's gorgeous body flashed through her mind. She shook her head as if to purge the idea, and went to find Anna.

  The guest's English varied from person to person. Everyone, including Anna, spoke at least a few words. Some spoke very well. Sam learned that all of the schools in Europe teach the rudiments of other languages, beginning at in the first years of primary school. Some people, like Luca studied English for many years and spoke it well.

  Each of the guests took turns with Samantha. Teaching her words and phrases in their native tongue.

  Anna told them about the beautiful wicked witch. Sam blushed as they all laughed. The woman next to her hugged her tightly. She loved these wide-open, honest, loving people. Each one cherished friendship and eagerly opened their hearts to her. She laughed with them as though she had known them for years.

  She looked up to find Luca standing in the doorway watching her coolly. It was a strange look; curious, and yet it seemed to Sam, strangely hostile.

  He was such an anomaly. Why did this man contrast so sharply with his wonderful family and friends? She wondered briefly if she had, in fact, been captured. Beauty and the Beast? She looked around at the group of people. She was enjoying the captivity so far.

  The man with the guitar began to sing a song. The voice was gruff and plain but his fingers danced magically on the strings and the mellow tone riveted the attention of each person
. Conversation died as each pair of eyes locked on the musician.

  Sam had always enjoyed music. One of the few excesses in her Navy life were the high-end stereo system bolted into secure racks in her sickbay and a collection of over four hundred compact discs. She was impressed that in the age of high tech digital music, the true, clear sound of a single guitar could move her so. She remembered her reaction to Luca's voice. Must be the air around here, she thought.

  The man with the guitar strummed a lively tune and they all began to sing and clap their hands. The song had a melody Sam had heard before and she hummed along, not knowing or understanding the words. Among the other voices she heard Luca. He was singing softly from the doorway but the rich timbre of his voice stood out from the rest. She looked up at him. He was smiling, clapping his hands and enjoying being home with his mother and his friends.

  The guitar passed from hand to hand around the room. Each person who could, made an effort to play. One was almost as good as the man who brought the guitar, another barely played three chords. Sam understood that it didn't matter. This was entertainment, the way these people had entertained themselves for centuries. Each person's song was appreciated. There were no standards to meet. No shyness. Sam felt, again, like she had known these people all her life.

  They spoke in a language she did not understand, yet she felt what they felt. They spoke to her innermost longing. She felt an odd feeling, almost nostalgia for a time and place she had never known. A quiet song came to an end.

  Anna spoke softly, "Luca," she said, "Canta,'Rondine al Nido'.

  Luca nodded strode to the center of the room and began to sing softly in a rich low voice. The music wrapped itself around Sam. She felt like she could breathe it in. The gentle strains of the first stanza built into a crescendo of power then receded again. She closed her eyes as his voice filled the room, her mind and her whole existence. She tensed as the music rose and fell again and then built to the high, vibrating finale that once again clamped on to her body, took her breath away and left her trembling like a leaf in the wind.

  Long after he had finished there was silence in the room. Sam's eyes fluttered open. She heard herself clapping and watched as the others joined in. Luca smiled and nodded his head. Not the theatrical bow he had displayed while she watched from the balcony, but a simple, self-effacing nod. Humility. Humility from such an arrogant man. She breathed deeply and looked around. "That was beautiful," she said. "What is the song about?"

  Luca waved dismissively, "It's just a song about a bird."

  One of the men who spoke English very well translated the lyrics to the song for Samantha. Lyrics about a swallow that returns every year and the sorrow of a lover whose love does not return.

  The man shook his head and waved a disdainful hand toward Luca, "Not just a song about a bird?" Luca, “It is a song about love.”

  The people in the room laughed and Anna, who had understood very little asked the man to explain. While he explained, Luca walked over to Sam.

  "There is a second verse," he said. "I could sing it for you.'"

  "Sing it again, Luca," Sam said hoarsely. Sing it for me, she thought to herself. With the meaning of the words locked in her mind, the encore was even more beautiful than the first time. The crashing finale wrenched tears from her eyes. They streamed down her face but she didn't care. She clapped for Luca, who bowed for her. The others may have clapped too, she wasn't sure. For an instant her eyes were locked on his. She and Luca were the only two people in the room.

  When guests departed, Sam wished her hosts a good night and climbed the stairs to her room. She undressed, slipped into a borrowed bathrobe, showered and crawled into bed. The melody of the song about the swallows kept running through her head. She lay in the bed, staring out the window at the stars in the clear sky.

  On the ship, she'd often gone to the bridge late at night and stared at the stars from the bridge wing. Night at sea was so dark and peaceful. When the moon was bright, the light danced across the waves. On nights with no moon the sea and the sky merged into an almost unreal void. Only the stars shone through the tranquil, inky blackness.

  She often hid herself in this cloak of darkness, held tightly to the railing and stared down into the depths to face her demons.

  Staring now into the night she felt no fear of her past. She was wrapped in safety under a warm, down comforter. Her memories were the happy ones of her childhood. Before the Navy. Before her husband. Before fate and the Navy took her husband away. She had been so young. She had been so afraid.

  Now, older, and practically fearless on the surface, Sam had to make a choice; to stay in the Navy with what was safe and comfortable, or to walk away proudly from a top notch career, and do something else. Her decision to leave would not be because she had to, not to fulfill a promise, but just because she wanted to.

  Getting out of the Navy didn't frighten her. She had saved a considerable amount of money on her meteoric rise to the rank of chief. She'd deprived herself of the things that most people spent money on. She had no family, no bills, no restrictions. She had excellent training, more experience than most, and a proven record of success. What she lacked was a dream.

  She needed a goal, something to reach for. "If you could be out of the Navy tomorrow," she asked herself, "what would you do?"

  The answer popped into her head so quickly it made her laugh out loud. "Learn Italian!" she said to the darkness. If there was a deeper meaning or an underlying dream she didn't explore it then. She was content to lay in bed reciting the words she had learned in the beautiful language she was beginning to love.

  The morning arrived with birds singing and voices and movement from the rooms below. Sam dressed quickly and skipped downstairs. "Buongiorno Anna," she said. "Buongiorno Maresciallo Malefico Luca Danieli."

  Anna laughed softly at her reference to the "wicked Luca Danieli. Luca looked up from his cup of coffee with no particular emotion and mumbled "Good morning, Strega Samantha."

  She glared at him, which was the reaction he was looking for. He broke into a wide, friendly smile. "Today I will take you for the full tour of the Danieli Winery." he said. "You met many of the workers last night. Today, I will show you what they do."

  "Today is Monday," Samantha noted. "Shouldn't you be working today?"

  Luca nodded. "I am."

  Sam looked puzzled. "From here?" she asked.

  "Precisely here," he answered, "I have been assigned by Maresciallo Danieli to protect you."

  "You're going to protect me?" she teased. "Who protects me from you?"

  Luca began to speak, changed his mind and looked away.

  Anna looked curiously at Luca and back to Sam. She wondered if the woman understood.

  "Let me know when you're ready." Luca tried to change the subject.

  "Are you anxious to go to work?" It was an unfair dig. Sam enjoyed getting to him and pressed her advantage. "So, tell me, Luca, how do you get an assignment like that? Benefits of rank?"

  "Rank has its privileges, and," he added, "its unpleasant responsibilities." He smiled sweetly as he carried his coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it.

  The veiled retort stung. Sam was unsettled by the feeling. She should have let it go. She'd slipped in a good shot, but she should have backed away before the consummate actor had time to gather his wits and strike back. She glared at his back as he stood at the sink.

  "I should stay in the Navy and make Senior Chief and Master Chief just so I can outrank you."

  Luca turned from the sink and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Stay?" he asked. "Were you planning to get out?"

  Sam looked at Luca for a long moment, debating what she should say. She decided to play it safe. "I signed for four years initially. I re-enlisted for six more, which ran out a couple of months ago when the ship came over here. I extended for six months so the ship would have a Doc for the cruise." She paused and looked out the window.

  A pair of swallows chased each other, chatter
ing across the vineyard below, rondine, she remembered the name from the song.

  She leveled her gaze at Luca. "I'll probably stay in for at least twenty years," she finished. She hoped she sounded more convinced than she felt.

  "What about you, Luca? What are you doing?" she asked the question before she thought it through. Like every question she had asked this man it was wide open to interpretation. She tried to look serious to disguise the question as professional courtesy.

  "Venice is my last tour of duty," he revealed. "I could stay and make the equivalent of your `Master Chief' just to make sure you don't ever out-rank me," he teased. "But, seriously, I will stay in Venice for as long as I can, then I will take early retirement and come home to run the vineyard. It has been hard on Mamma since my father passed away a few years ago.

  "When it's time to move on I will take off the uniform with pride and not look back. I have done well, but I have done everything I wanted to do. I am satisfied with my achievements. I would be quite happy to come home."

  His words jolted her like an electric shock. She studied his dark eyes. There wasn't a hint of doubt in them. That was it! she thought.

  He had effortlessly summed up what she had been struggling with for the past few months. She was not obligated to stay. She too, had done well. There was no conflict of loyalties in walking away from a good career. She had served with distinction and she too could take off her uniform with pride and move on.

  "I'd like to learn Italian," Sam blurted out. She felt like kicking herself. Why did this man make her open up like a book and spill all her inner thoughts to him?

  Luca smiled and looked at his mother. "Vuole imparare l'Italiano, Mamma."

  Anna said something in reply.

  Sam deduced that Luca had translated what she had said, but she wasn't sure what her reply had been. "What did she say?"

  "She said you already speak Italian. You said good morning and called me wicked."