by Cara Putman
“What happened to them?”
“They were scavenged.” His features tightened. “Soldiers took what pleased them.” He stood in thought, then made that laconic motion again, one that seemed to move his whole frame. “But these I protected.” He led her to a chair. “Why did you come?”
“I wanted to be part of this story, but I also have a personal mission.”
“Sounds important.”
“It is . . . to me.” She closed her mouth before she shared too much with the kind man. But her mother’s name?
“Have you been successful?”
“It is hard since I seek a man. It was crazy to hope I could find someone during war.”
“Who do you seek? Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t know his name. Only that he was a close friend of my mother’s. I had a clue with a sketchbook, but it’s disappeared. It was crazy to hope I could find someone based on sketches.”
The man studied her with compassion softening his expression. “Crazy keeps us alive in these times.”
“I suppose.” She smiled at him as he stifled a yawn. “I must let you go.”
“Now you are here, I will return to Florence to see what I can save there.”
“But the Germans remain.”
“As does my wife. If I am gone long, things will not go well for her.”
“Of course.” She frowned at the thought of the tension he must feel. “Lieutenant Lindstrom will protect these paintings.”
“This I know. He is honorable.”
“Yes.” The man turned to go, but she needed him to wait while she gathered her courage. To ask a question. “Wait.”
The man turned sharply at her words.
“One question? Please?”
“I must leave.”
“This will only take a moment.”
He nodded, then glanced at his watch.
Rachel inhaled, then squared her shoulders. “I don’t have the sketchbook, but maybe you can still help. Did you meet an American woman who studied art in Florence in 1920.”
“Many study art in Firenze.” The man paused as if torn between asking a question of his own and fleeing. “It is rich with heritage and beauty.”
“Of course.” She tugged together her collapsing courage. If he planned to leave, she must spit it out now. “This woman was sketched by a local artist.”
“Often students serve as models too.” The man blew out a puff of air, as if his pipe was filled with tobacco and lit. “A name?”
“Melanie Justice. You spoke of her as I arrived. Why?”
“I must leave.” He turned on his heel and left.
The walls of the large bedroom pressed against Scott. Quite a feat for a room that could house several refugee families. Tyler hadn’t reappeared since they’d arrived. Rachel might as well have evaporated in a mist. He hadn’t glimpsed her since he’d seen her through the window.
She could do as she wished, and if that included cheering a soldier, who was he to discourage it?
A small, petty man to feel the flood of jealousy that appeared when the soldier brushed her cheek. Skin so soft his fingers still sensed the smoothness.
Rolls of weariness crested in him. Being ever alert on the drive up had taken exhausting vigilance. Then the arrival contained a mix of excitement to see Renaldo, to know he was fine, that he’d survived the battles so far. That was tempered with the reality the man was tied to Rachel’s mother. He should retrieve the sketchbook and take it to Renaldo so his mentor could confirm whether he drew the sketches. Then Scott could figure out how to tell Rachel he had taken it.
“Can’t believe I found my way back. Never seen so many sets of stairs that go in different directions. None connected.” Tyler strutted into the room, smelling of garlic. “These refugees are quite accommodating. Grateful to have the Americans arrive.”
“I wouldn’t say the army’s arrived.”
“But we’re here.” Tyler slouched against the pillow on his bed. “Any luck finding your art thief?”
“None.” Scott sighed. “The person remains a ghost.”
“I’ve got a theory.”
“Yeah?” Might as well listen since he didn’t have a good one.
“What if it’s Rachel?”
Scott bolted upright. He didn’t like the direction Tyler’s thoughts turned his. “Are you crazy?”
“She has access traveling with you. And who would search her bags?”
“You have the same access.”
“Sure, but I’m with the jeep. She always carries a bag too. Do you think it’s just her camera?”
“Women carry bags.”
“In a war zone?”
“When did women start coming to wars? It’s all new.”
“I bet if you searched her bags, you’d find something.” Tyler shrugged.
Scott didn’t like it, but there was a thief. “If it’s not Rachel, who could it be?”
“You.”
Tyler’s short word brought Scott up short, hitting too close to the truth. “Me?”
“You’re the expert. You’re the one telling us where to go. Why not you?” There was a spark of something dangerous in the man’s eyes. Did he know?
“Who else?”
“Every soldier out there. Most don’t have a clue what they walk by every day.”
“And you do?”
“More than most.” Tyler shrugged. “It’s your problem. I’m off to find a sweet woman to watch the stars with.” He sauntered out of the room.
Scott stared at the door separating his room from Rachel’s. He could search her bags, but he didn’t want to. What would he do if he found something? And what if she walked in? He groaned as the thought wedged into his mind. He should search Tyler’s too, let them search his after he gave the sketchbook to Renaldo. Then they’d all be clear, and he could focus his energy on finding the thief.
One soldier probably took one, another stole a second. None understanding exactly what they liberated. Maybe the only way to clear the lingering doubt about Rachel was to search. Then he’d know one way or another.
He shook off the thoughts. Tonight he’d get paperwork caught up so DeWald knew where Scott was, what he’d found, and could select other MFAA men to join him. And Florence waited around the corner. The twenty or so kilometers had never seemed longer.
He closed his eyes and imagined the narrow, lined streets. The apartments that closed in from above as the roads neared the bridges that crisscrossed the Arno and connected the sides of Florence. His favorite was Ponte Vecchio with its multistoried shops that looked ready to spill from the bridge, which had been in use since medieval times. The bridges were another piece of the artistic glory of the city that shone like a jewel along the Arno.
He pulled out the typewriter DeWald had insisted he bring north from Rome to type reports. Scott groaned when he knocked over the stacked bags as he tugged. One spilled open. Great, now he’d have to clean that up too. Just what he wanted. Especially since it looked like it was Tyler’s. Scott set the typewriter on his bed, then moved to the mess. Standard government-issued clothing mixed with personal items. Better shove it in and get on with things. Let Tyler put it all back just so.
He thrust things in the bag, then his fist collided with a hard, sharp edge.
He froze. Each person was entitled to privacy even in the close quarters life in the army dictated. But if that was art . . . should he look?
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Now or never. In that moment of hesitation, the door opened.
Scott tugged the item out far enough to see it was a book. Why would Tyler carry a heavy book around if the man never read?
Tyler stepped into the room as Scott pushed another item in the bag. “All the ladies have gone to bed.” He looked at Scott and frowned. “Care to explain wha
t you’re doing?”
“Must not have zipped your bag.”
“Sure.” His eyes tapered at the edge reflecting skepticism.
Scott stood, pulling the bag up with him. “Here. You can put it back together.”
The man took the bag to his bed in the alcove. “You could have left it on the floor.”
“For you to trip on whenever you came back? Thought I’d help you out since it’s pretty dim around here. Next time I’ll remember to leave it as is.”
Tyler turned his back to Scott as he tried to tug the zipper up. Scott kept his gaze glued on the contents. How should he approach this with Tyler?
More footsteps came toward the room, this time the more-pointed tap of Rachel’s steps when she wasn’t in boots. “Hey, boys.”
“Rachel.” Scott’s word was short and abrupt, but between keeping an eye on Tyler and feeling guilty around her, he was done in.
“Everything all right?” She lingered in the doorway as if uncertain she should enter.
Scott sighed. With both of them here, he’d have to wait until morning to retrieve the sketchbook and show it to Renaldo. “Sure, we’re all right. Ready to turn in?”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth as she watched both of them. He wished he could know which one she thought crazier. The guy shoving clothes in a bag while glowering or the guy who bit her head off. At the moment neither of them sounded like a winner.
“It has been a long day.”
“Leave her alone, Lindstrom. She’s a big girl and doesn’t need you to tell her what to do unless you want to look at her bag too.” Tyler turned toward her. “Soldier boy here was digging through my bag when I came in. Might want to check yours. Makes me wonder what he’s hiding.”
Rachel stood taller and her eyes narrowed. “Tell me you weren’t in my room.”
“I wasn’t. I’d never go through your things without permission.” Well, except that one time, but he’d had a great reason. One he hoped she’d understand and forgive.
“Guess you get preferential treatment.”
“Look, Tyler, your bag fell over. Next time I’m not touching it.” Scott took a step toward Rachel. “I promise I didn’t dig through your bag.” Now he could never ask her to look through it without her knowing he’d lied.
“Do you need to?” Was that hurt lingering in her eyes even as she tipped her chin to meet his gaze?
“No.”
“That makes me feel better.”
“I’m sorry.” Scott backed up a step. “Who knows where we’ll be tomorrow, so let’s relax and get a good night’s rest. In the morning I’ll update headquarters and request permission to stay here until we can head to Florence.”
“I thought we had permission already.” Rachel played with a thread hanging from a jacket sleeve.
“I’ll need to update them on what we’ve found. There are more depositories in this area. I need to alert others and make sure that’s taken into account with the planning.”
Tyler grunted. “Always taking care of the art. Last I checked it was lifeless.”
“But it speaks beauty to the soul. Something we need.”
“You’re nuts, Lindstrom.” Tyler pushed past Rachel and then stomped out of the room.
She stumbled but caught herself. “What’s his problem?”
“That is one of life’s grand mysteries.” Scott stifled a smile at the realization he was finally alone with Rachel, even if she was annoyed with him. His smile faded as the guilt settled across his shoulders.
“Well, good night.” Rachel slipped past him and into her room. A moment later the door clicked and the bolt turned in the lock.
He was locked out of more than her room. How many more locks would she add when she realized what he had done?
Chapter 29
August 2
The soft colors of the Tuscan countryside bathed in summer light clashed with the whistling of artillery shells flying overhead. Rachel ducked her chin and tried to pretend the sound came from far over the hills that surrounded Montegufoni. But when the drone of planes added to the underlying crescendo of noise, she ran for the castle’s portico.
After the conflict with Scott and Tyler the previous night, Rachel had thought she’d start the day with a quiet morning walk. She’d rather soak in the unique beauty than stumble around the castle, bumping into refugees she couldn’t help. The need was so great and overwhelming, tears kept forming in her eyes. She longed for the resources to put shoes on the children’s feet and food in their hopeless mothers’ hands. Instead she’d slipped to a side of the villa without attracting the attention of either the children with eyes that begged for relief or the soldiers amused that an American woman walked among them.
Something skittered across her path and around her ankles, tripping her up. Rachel fell to her knees, feeling the burn of bruised and abraded skin. The whine of the shells came closer, confirming the Germans had decided to target the castle or at least the nearby artillery. She needed to get up, to move, before the next shell landed beside her, but her limbs had turned lethargic and unresponsive.
Velvety fur brushed her leg, and she looked down to find a black-and-white kitten twining around her feet. “Hello.” She picked up the ball of fur. “Where did you come from?”
Rachel needed shelter, but she could imagine the reaction if she brought the kitten with her.
In a time when those in the communal kitchen had inadequate food to provide more than a vegetable-based soup with hearty bread for those seeking shelter, she should leave the little guy on the ground and walk away. But she couldn’t. She tucked the kitten under her chin and stroked its soft fur, taking comfort from its quiet rumbles that contrasted with the whines flying across the sky.
The kitten wiggled against her hold, and she eased down to release him. He scampered away as another shell whizzed nearby. He pounced under a lilac bush, batting at a branch. Maybe he had the right idea for shelter. The grounds were filled with people hunting for safety, the screams of scared children, the silent stares of others weary of the barrage. Tucked in one of the castle’s corners, the lilac bush might provide limited shelter if a shell landed nearby.
Rachel knelt for a closer look and caught her breath when her gaze collided with dark eyes. “Hello there.”
The urchin stared at her without a word.
“Are you all right?”
The child studied her but stuck two fingers in her mouth as if to plug any words. The child appeared fine, no more shaken by the chaos than the kitten. The kitten ran right into the girl’s knee and bounced back on his hindquarters, then shook his head. A soft smile blooming across her face, the child reached down and picked up the kitten.
“Well, enjoy the kitten.” Rachel sucked in a steadying breath and whispered a prayer.
God would protect the ancient castle, right? If not for the sake of tradition and the hundreds who sought shelter there, then for the priceless art stored inside. Her heart cried at the thought of Primavera and all the others hidden inside. The Botticelli stacked next to an Allori. Famed pieces created at the direction of the Medici family over the centuries and now historic pieces of Florentine and Italian art and culture.
If Scott and the superintendant were right, the masters found safety ensconced in the castle. Yet another group of guests that graced the great home through its several hundred-year history.
The rumbles moved beyond the hills she could see.
Too many families sought refuge within the walls of Montegufoni. If anything happened here, the refugees would be set adrift once again to dodge the combating armies. She shuddered at what that would mean for the old men, women, and children. A baby’s wail carried on the breeze, a welcome change, but other than that the people remained quiet.
She’d started her walk in front of Primavera. The art met a need deep in her soul.
To take an idea and spin it on its axis.
To take a thought and give it dimensions unseen.
To take a musical note and give it visual wings.
The sound of a plane jerked her from her thoughts. This one sounded close, the risk near. She glanced around, frantic. The castle lay too far away to reach the safety of its thick walls. Yet if she stood here, in the open, the machine gun alone could strafe and kill. Shelter, she needed shelter.
Her gaze landed on a small building. Its walls couldn’t stop much, but some shelter was better than none, and at least it could hide her from view and provide more protection than the lilac. She rushed toward it, then slowed as she heard a panicked whimper.
She turned back and crawled under the lilac. “Come with me.” She tugged on the girl’s wrist and gestured. “Hurry. We have to hurry.”
The sound of the plane drew closer as she freed the girl’s braid from where it had tangled in the bush’s branches. She dragged the girl behind her, rushing toward the safety of the shelter. She bounced into the door. Tried the doorknob. It refused to move. She twisted it again and again.
“Please?” God, I need help. If not for my sake, for this little one. I can’t watch another child die.
There had to be a key somewhere close so it was easy to access the inside. She ran her fingers along the top of the door frame. She grasped metal. The key.
The lock gave as she thrust the key in and twisted. “Come on, sweetie.”
The girl didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stood stiff and frail. Rachel tugged her in and closed the door. “We’ll hide here. Shh, we’ll be okay.”
The girl stared past her, a vacant look in her eyes. Rachel’s heart cinched at what the child could have endured that created emptiness where she’d seen such vibrancy minutes earlier. Rachel gathered the child in her arms. The dank space seemed empty of all but cobwebs and debris. A depression sank in the middle of the floor. Had it been a well at one time? She couldn’t see much in the dark corners. Rachel edged toward the wall and sank next to it clutching the child, hoping that would be enough to keep her safe.