by A W Hartoin
The woman was with her. “Raymond!”
“Hold on!” yelled Bast.
The boat did a screaming turn to port and Stella hit the low side of the boat. She and Mrs. Sorkine grabbed at whatever they could to stay aboard, but Mr. Sorkine tumbled over the side. Stella scrambled for him, grabbing at his feet as they slipped over the side, but she couldn’t get a hold of him. Mrs. Sorkine screamed and dove for the side of the boat. Before Stella could stop her, she jumped in after her husband. Stella leapt for the back of the boat. She got her feet on the low seat and crouched to jump but was yanked backward, falling on her bottom.
“Are you insane?” yelled Nicky.
“They’re overboard!” She clambered to the back of the boat.
“The polizia will get them!”
Nicky and Stella looked at the Sorkines in the water. Peiper’s boat appeared at the entrance to the canal.
“Oh, my God,” whispered Stella.
Nicky fired and kept firing until his weapon ran dry. It made no difference. They watched as Peiper aimed his boat for the Sorkines. He could’ve missed them easily, but he chose to hit them dead on and never flinched.
Behind Peiper, the polizia boat roared into view, cutting off another boat on the turn, but bypassing the Sorkines’ area.
“They’re stopping,” said Stella.
Nicky pulled her down. “He isn’t.”
They went under a bridge and cut in and out around some small boats where those on board had enough sense to duck as they passed. Every window was open along the canal with people pointing. Peiper fired twice with his shots pinging off buildings harmlessly. Stella could see people screaming and ducking into houses and side streets, but it was soundless over the roar of the engine. With their voices muted, they seemed unreal and separate, not a part of Stella’s world on the canal where Mr. Sorkine’s blood stained her hands and the deck.
Bast dodged around a vaporetto stop and yelled at the panicked passengers in Italian.
“What did you say?” asked Nicky.
“Watch out for the mad German!”
“That’s an understatement.” Nicky pulled Stella against him as they crouched beside Bast. His face wasn’t blank as she would’ve expected. He was grim and haunted.
“Turning!” yelled Bast as he cut their speed and aimed for the small side canal they’d been down before. Stella swallowed hard, but Peiper slowed down, too. Her last sight of him was the boat hitting several pylons at a hotel’s dock. It might’ve been wishful thinking, but she thought she saw him slumped over the wheel. She’d never prayed for another’s death before. She didn’t think that was something a person would ever be driven to do, but she prayed that Peiper died and if he didn’t, she prayed that he would suffer and never know another moment of joy.
They sped down the canal instead of doing the neat turn of the taxi driver. Bast just pulled up to the dock and said, “Get out and run.”
Stella jumped out first with Nicky grabbing at her hand. “Where are we going?”
“The station.” She knew where she was and checked her watch. They could make it on the train. Bast and Nicky caught up with her and they ran past the park, dodging a couple of tourists that were clearly lost and made it to the side door.
“Stop,” said Bast and he banged the door shut as she tried to open it.
“What?” asked Stella.
“We need to straighten up. Fix your hats. Mrs. Lawrence, yours is barely hanging on by that enormous hatpin.”
Stella felt Great grandmother’s pin and was deeply grateful it was still there. She put her hat back on the top of her head and tilted it rakishly over one eye, straightened her coat, and was surprised to see her handbag dangling from her elbow. It was a stubborn thing and she suddenly felt very attached to it. “I’m not going to be presentable,” she said, getting out her handkerchief.
The men smoothed themselves out and Bast said, “I think you look rather smart, not at all like you’ve been running for your life.”
She held out her foot, still fat with bandages and sporting a bulky sock.
“Okay, maybe not.”
Nicky eyed her foot and said, “There’s nothing we can do about it. How are they? Can you walk?”
It seemed a silly thing to ask as she had just been running, but she appreciated the care with which he said it.
“I’m fine.” She looked at Mr. Bast and asked, “Are you coming with us?”
“That’s my job.”
Nicky crossed his arms. “What is your job exactly?”
“We can get into that later. Lord Bickford sent me,” said Mr. Bast.
“And we’re supposed to trust you?”
“Given what just happened, I think so.”
The men went back and forth, but Stella didn’t listen. Her mind was too full of bodies. Her ears ringing with gunshots. Blood on her hands that her handkerchief couldn’t begin to wipe away.
“Stella?” asked Nicky.
“Yes?”
“We’re going in. You’re going to stay between us. Maybe no one will notice your feet.”
He leaned over and looked in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
The answer was no, but she said yes. Sometimes that’s all you can say. It’s what they need to hear.
Bast opened the door and they walked in the station. It was as busy as before and there was a train on Track One. People were hurriedly getting aboard, but not that many.
“I have to buy tickets,” said Nicky.
“Already done,” said Bast.
“What car?”
Stella didn’t wait for the answer. She left them and walked down the length of the train.
“Wait,” said Nicky.
She didn’t wait. She dodged around passengers and a suspicious porter who certainly did notice her feet. He said something to her, but she ignored him. Next to one of the first-class cars stood Sofia.
Chapter Twenty-three
SOFIA HAD A porter and a pile of luggage on a cart beside her. Their luggage. The porter spoke to her anxiously and shrugged at a conductor on the train’s step as she cried into a handkerchief in a quiet, very demure way that most people didn’t notice.
Stella walked up and stood in front of the hotelier, unafraid and ready to hear what she had to say. She deserved it. “Sofia?”
“Mrs. … Mrs. Myna.” She looked up and wiped her face. “You came.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You know?”
Stella couldn’t speak. Yes, she knew, but she couldn’t say it.
“The German that wrecked the taxi, he came to my hotel. He…” Sofia buried her face in her handkerchief.
Nicky and Bast joined them, quietly greeting Sofia and glancing around for Peiper. Bast showed the porter their tickets and a hefty tip got him to quickly load the luggage without any questions.
Nicky gently pushed Stella toward the steps, but she refused to go.
“I have to hear this,” she said.
“We don’t have time.”
Sofia shuddered, lifting her tear-soaked face. “There isn’t very much to say.”
Bast took her arm and glancing around quickly. Then in an American accent that had a western twang, he said “Then it won’t take long and you can say it onboard.”
She took a look at this stranger and Stella held her breath but saw no sign of recognition. “Who are you?”
“William F. Cody, at your service. I’m a friend of the Mynas from back home.”
Stella and Nicky smiled and nodded so Sofia let Bast guide her on board. The train was a hive of activity, but mostly with people gathering their last bits and pieces to get off. Their compartment was the third one down and sadly well-worn with thread-bare cloth seats and tarnished fittings. Stella and Sofia sat by the window, perching on the edge of their seats with their knees touching while the porter reached overhead to put the luggage on the racks and Nicky closed the shade.
Stella swallowed and asked, “Why were Karolina and Rosa
arrested?”
Tears rolled down Sofia’s cheeks. “I don’t know. I don’t know. They didn’t do anything. Bartali, he always suspect them, but they did nothing.”
“Tell me what happened?”
Urged on by Nicky and Bast, Sofia told the story quickly and, indeed, there wasn’t much to say. Peiper showed up at the hotel with several carabinieri that morning after Stella and Nicky left. They accused Sofia of harboring fugitives, which she denied. They smacked her and Antonio around for a bit, but they refused to tell them anything. Then the German insisted on searching their room. Stella went cold, but she couldn’t think of anything that would be a problem. She had their old passports and they had nothing else from their old lives that could give them away. She’d even thrown out Nicky’s bandages. There wasn’t anything to find.
“They tear apart your room,” said Sofia. “The wardrobe, they pushed it over, and tore apart the bed. The German was so angry. He was screaming, asking me where you were. I said you went to shop. He didn’t believe me.”
“But what about Karolina and Rosa?” asked Nicky.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “The German was hitting me and Bartali came. He went in the room. I didn’t hear what he and the other carabinieri said. I was so scared of the German.”
“He’s a nightmare,” said Stella. “I don’t blame you.”
“You know this man?”
“Yes, but what happened then?”
From the way that Sofia told it, Bartali came out of their room angry and he fought with the other carabinieri about arresting important people. He said he wouldn’t side with the dirty Germans against Americans.
“He said that?” asked Bast, thoughtfully.
“Yes and the German tried to punch Bartali, but the other carabinieri stopped him. They told Bartali he had his prize and to go get it. Then he go to Karolina and Rosa’s room. That nice Dr. Spooner was there with Father Girotti. He arrested them all.” Sofia buried her face in her hands as the train whistle blew. “What was in your room? What was it?”
“I don’t know,” said Stella at a loss.
The porters had left and Nicky helped Sofia to her feet. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Who are you really?” she asked. “Bartali wanted to protect you, but he dragged Karolina out of her room by her hair. I don’t understand.”
They were silent for a moment. The horror of it felt fiery on Stella’s skin. They’d done that to Karolina somehow. But how?
“Didn’t anyone stop them?” asked Stella. “How could anyone stand by and let that happen?”
“The Americans, they come. Mr. Hutchins, he got Karolina away and Bartali put gun on him.”
Randolph and Dolores did their best to help Karolina and Rosa. Randolph said he would call the embassy, the New York Times, the Vatican. It made no difference. Bartali said he would arrest them for interfering. Then they dragged the old ladies out with Father Girotti and Dr. Spooner, who kept saying he was innocent. The German smacked him and said he could thank his stupid wife.
“What did she do?” asked Nicky.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say,” said Sofia. “Then the German said to pack up everything in the von Bodmann’s room. Mr. Hutchins said they were stealing and the German said it all belonged to the Reich and would fetch a pretty price.”
“They got everything?” asked Stella.
Sofia nodded sadly, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “Yes. They took the scroll. Karolina made a mistake. She was wrong, and then it was too late.”
“What scroll?” asked Bast.
The women ignored his question and Stella said, “What mistake? She didn’t cause this. Clearly, we did.”
“Rosa wanted to give the scroll to you to take away to America, but Karolina refused. She couldn’t part with it and now it is gone, like her and Rosa.”
The train whistle blew again and Bast led Sofia out, but Stella jumped up and stopped her. She opened her handbag and pulled out the passports, Abel’s photos, and her cosmetics, then pressed the bag into Sofia’s hands. “There was a man and woman with us. The man was shot and the German ran over them with a boat he stole. I don’t know if they are alive or dead. Please take this money and help them if you can and…” —Stella wiped away a tear— “bury Rosa. Dr. Salvatore can help you find out how to do it.”
Sofia pressed the handbag to her chest. “Then they were Jews.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know for sure. So many are running.”
Stella nodded and found she couldn’t speak. Bast helped Sofia out of the door and she heard him telling her that it was best for her to go out the side door of the station so no one would see her. Stella didn’t hear her reply, but she knew that Sofia wouldn’t slip away. She would go to find out if Rosa’s body was still in the station. Stella wanted to do that right now, but she couldn’t. She’d caused Rosa’s death somehow, but she couldn’t do anything to help without risking everything she had left.
She turned around and saw Nicky sitting in her spot by the window, staring straight ahead. “Are you upset that I gave Sofia the money?”
He didn’t look at her. “Is that who you think I am?”
“I’m sorry. I just…the way you’re sitting there. I don’t know anything.”
“The money is fine. It won’t be enough.”
“It was a lot.”
Nicky kept staring so hard at the other seat that Stella looked to make sure there wasn’t anything there. But it was just worn fabric and buttons.
“Nicky?”
He didn’t blink and she wondered if this was the stare Uncle Josiah described seeing during the war. The men coming out of the trenches would stare blankly at nothing but then jump at every little sound. Uncle Josiah found them unnerving and was very glad he wasn’t in the infantry.
The train jerked and Stella stumbled sideways into the seat as it pulled away from the station, but Nicky didn’t notice. Bast knocked on their compartment door and came in, closing it firmly behind him. “I told Sofia to get out of the station and stay away from Bartali, but I doubt she’ll listen. Apparently, Rosa von Bodmann was dear to her.”
Stella glanced up and let the tears roll down her cheeks. “I think she was dear to everyone who met her.”
“I didn’t have the pleasure,” said Bast.
“It’s your loss.”
“I believe you, Mrs. Lawrence.”
Now Stella and Nicky’s knees were touching. He looked at her, but he wasn’t seeing her. She had a feeling he wasn’t seeing anything. She much preferred Sofia’s raw grief.
“Take off your coat,” said Bast. “I want to see to your shoulder.”
It took a second but Nicky turned. “What happened to your shoulder?”
“The boy shot at me,” said Stella.
Nicky shifted to her side and helped her off with her coat and jacket. The blood had dried and fixed the sleeve of her blouse to her arm. As Nicky looked at her arm, his mask of indifference cracked and she could see the agony underneath.
“It’s fine really,” said Stella. “I don’t think it even hit the muscle.”
“I will kill him,” said Nicky, low and throaty.
“You won’t. He’s a child.”
Bast sat down across from them. “Who was he?”
They shrugged in unison.
“You must have some idea.”
“Peiper called him Gerhard,” said Stella. “But I never saw him before Venice.”
Nicky leaned toward Bast and asked, “How about you tell us who you are?”
“Besides your savior?”
Nicky’s mouth twitched down into a grimace. “Besides that.”
Bast flicked a glance at Stella.
“Albert’s father sent him for us.” She didn’t know how to say that Bast was mainly sent for her. That wouldn’t sit well with Nicky. It sure didn’t sit well with her.
Nicky crossed his arms and sat back. “
That doesn’t tell me who you are.”
Bast smiled. “I know.”
“You work for the ambassador?”
“I work for His Majesty.”
“You’re military?”
Bast lifted a shoulder in a laconic shrug and then went out the door to speak to the conductor. He asked for some hot tea to be brought to them as the lady was ill. That grated on Stella. She wasn’t ill. She was fine.
“I can go to the dining car to have tea.”
“First of all, the tea is for your shoulder and second, you have no shoes,” said Bast.
She looked down at the priest’s dirty, wet socks. “We can fix that. Sofia packed our things.”
The men looked up at the luggage and Stella realized it wasn’t only theirs. There were other battered bags in addition to their expensive new ones. “Are those yours? How did you know we were leaving?”
“I’m a gifted listener. Once I heard Sofia would be packing for you, I asked her to send my things to the station to be put on the same train. I’m lucky she forgot about them in her distress so I didn’t have to tell her who I am.”
“She wasn’t suspicious about you leaving so suddenly?” asked Stella as Nicky stood up and got the top most suitcase that looked a likely candidate for shoes.
He smiled. “People usually accept what you tell them.”
“Not everyone.”
They gave each other the same knowing glance that Stella observed between Nicky and Abel. She was now on the inside, but it wasn’t as nice as she thought it would be
“No, not everyone,” said Bast.
Nicky put the suitcase on the seat. “I don’t think this one has shoes. It’s too heavy.”
“May as well check,” said Stella.
The conductor knocked and Bast called out in his twang, “Hold on a minute.” Then he draped his coat over Stella’s feet and hers over her chest, concealing the blood.
“Good thinking,” said Nicky.
“That’s what I get paid for,” said Bast. “Come in.”
The conductor slid open the compartment door and Nicky took a loaded tray from him.
“Signora is unwell?” asked the conductor. “I bring the tea and my mother’s cure for the stomach.”