Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

OCTOBER 2019

Friday

They continued driving higher, past houses that became increasingly far apart and set back from the road. Eventually they came to a two-story stone farmhouse set against a range of trees—sycamore, maple and tall pines, all still lush despite the inevitability of fall weather ahead. The facade of the house was a mosaic of warm brownish shades—sand, cappuccino, camel, chestnut. The roof was terracotta, adding to the sense of grounding and rootedness. Callie was enchanted by the structure. It looked like it dated back centuries, and she imagined how wonderful it would be to live in such a place. To feel the embrace of generations of history, generations of people. To embrace the responsibility of caring for a home where so much life had been lived before.

Oliver turned and drove down the winding driveway. They parked along the side of the house, which had tall windows on the upper floor and a series of wide windows on the ground floor, rimmed with open wooden shutters.

"Remote, I know. But it's cozy and really pretty. They're so happy here. Come on."

They got out of the car, and Oliver led her past a covered patio with a long wooden table and black metal chairs, which looked like the perfect spot for a family dinner on a warm summer evening. Past the patio, she could see a small olive grove and multiple vegetable gardens, although it looked like all the crops had been harvested. No surprise, it was already October. There was something sad about that, but also inspiring. A season well lived. The promise of another growing season next year.

Oliver knocked on the door and then opened it. Callie was surprised and charmed by the inside of the house, which had a light, airy quality to it. The floors were a gleaming honey-brown wood, and the white vaulted ceiling was high and vast. To her right was a cozy living room, with a large, arched window and skylight that let in the evening sun. There was a stone fireplace fronted by a long, tan sofa and a couple of deep tan armchairs, with a glazed wooden chest as the coffee table. There was a modern air to the furnishings, and a little whimsy, too—especially in the series of four square paintings of individual irises in bloom, set above the fireplace. Callie loved this blend of styles, this combination of the past with a nod to the present moment.

Just after they'd stepped inside, a boy who looked around seven came running down the stairs. "Uncle Oliver!" he called. "We're going to play soccer!"

A woman's voice sounded from deeper within the house. "Oh, no you're not!" she said. "It's dinnertime. Now go wash up and tell your brothers to as well." A moment later, the woman came out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She looked to be in her late thirties, and had an undeniable family resemblance to Oliver, with thick dark curls and a small, delicate nose and mouth, and long, beautiful eyelashes. She was wearing a denim dress and a full-length apron that cradled her pregnant belly. Behind her was a tall man with short-cropped graying hair and a neat, salt-and-pepper beard.

"Pam, this is my sister, Meg, and her husband, Gustavo," Oliver said as he helped Callie off with her jacket. Callie startled a little, still not used to being called by her sister's name. "And this is my friend Pam."

"Hello," Meg said, as she held out her hand. "Welcome."

Callie shook her hand. "Thank you for having me," she said.

"The pleasure is ours," Gustavo said, his English embellished with a slight but distinct Italian accent. "We are so glad to see someone who's staying with our Emilia. We can't wait to hear all you've learned."

Callie smiled, charmed at how he referred to her as "our" Emilia.

"Something smells awfully good," Oliver said as he kissed his sister's cheek. He took off his own jacket and draped them both over the banister.

"Wait until you taste it before you say any more," Meg said. "I'm experimenting with some new fall dishes. I hope you don't mind being a guinea pig, Pam."

"Not at all," she said.

"Well, I'm sorry to rush you two, but everything's ready," Meg said. "Come inside and have a seat at the table."

Callie followed the others into a large dining room, contemporary in feel, with a glass-topped table and slender, upholstered chairs. She and Oliver sat on one side of the table, as the three boys—the older one and twins who looked maybe five or six—clamored into the room and found their seats on the other side. In front of them all were steaming bowls of soup, the red broth filled with beans, vegetables, and chunks of toasted bread.

"This is ribollita ," Meg said. "It means ‘reboiled' because traditionally it's a soup that uses leftover bread and vegetables. It's a traditional soup for fall, rich and dense. We'll be eating this all winter to help stave off any colds."

Gustavo poured the adults some red wine from a crystal decanter. He sat back down and lifted his glass. " Salute! " he said. Oliver waited for Callie to lift her glass and then clinked his with hers.

They started on the soup, and Callie found she was entranced with this family. They all seemed at home, the boys eating politely and chattering about school and sports. Callie noticed how Gustavo would look lovingly at Meg when she talked more about where she'd found the ribollita recipe and the way she'd varied the ingredients to make it a little more flavorful. Callie could see why Oliver wanted to be here with his sister and her family as he healed from his break-up. There was so much to enjoy in this gathering of people who loved one another. She supposed it had been that way between Pam and Joe, too. But she feared she'd been too self-involved, too defensive about her lifestyle, to notice.

When they'd finished their soup, Meg and the children cleared the bowls. Callie rose to help, but Meg insisted that she and Oliver stay put at the table. A moment later she came back out with a large, shallow serving bowl, the food inside steaming.

"This is pici al ragu di cinghiale ," she said. " Pici is like a thick spaghetti, and cinghiale is wild boar. It's all simmered with onions, carrots, tomatoes, and celery. Another hearty meal for the upcoming winter."

"You don't have to like it," Oliver said to Callie. "That's the rule here. I'm sure there's plain pasta in the refrigerator that we can warm up."

"Yes, please don't be shy," Meg said. "I can be too adventurous for some with the dishes and the recipes I choose. You wouldn't be the first guest to opt for something else."

But there was no need to do that. Callie found the meat tasty, the consistency soft and chewy, and the spices a perfect blend of sweet and tangy. Still, she was touched by Meg's kindness and loved hearing how she'd changed up the seasonings to make the dish more her own. She wondered how she'd have liked Emilia's oxtail stew, if she'd had the chance to taste it.

"So how long are you here, Pam?" Meg asked as they all continued to eat.

"Just until Sunday," Callie said.

"She has a daughter to get back to," Oliver said. "She's about one, right?"

"A little older," Callie said. "Almost…well, a little older." She felt bad that she didn't immediately recall her niece's exact age. "Her birthday was in August," she added.

"Oh, a little girl!" Meg said. "What's her name?"

"Chloe," Callie answered.

"How pretty," Meg said. "We're undecided here. Leaning toward Alexandra or Alicia, but it's a work in progress."

"So what brings you to Caccipulia?" Gustavo asked.

"Pam is investigating a family mystery," Oliver said. "It involves Emilia."

"Please tell us," Meg said. "There's so much history in this town. How are you connected to it?"

Callie looked down. She wanted very much to share her life with this family. She was drawn to Meg, who was so friendly and nurturing. She was drawn to Gustavo, who was so warm and friendly, and to the sweet boys. And, of course, she liked Oliver very much. But it was hard to be open, given the lies she'd told. And she also felt guilty. This was a happy family, this was what family was supposed to be. Why had she turned her back on her own family, her own sister? Why had she stayed away, when she was enjoying this family dinner so much?

She pushed those thoughts out of her head so she could answer Meg's question. "Like I told Oliver, I found some things in my home when I was cleaning. There was something that looked like a menu, and there was a picture that looked to be from a newspaper, with Emilia and her sisters. It was the same picture that Emilia has on the reception desk of the hotel. And there was also the name of this town and the address of Emilia's hotel."

"Do you know who put those items in the box? Your grandmother, maybe?"

"Um…maybe," Callie said, not wanting to reveal the true story.

"Were your grandparents from Italy?" Meg asked.

"Yes, both of them. They left here in the 1940s. My grandfather was Jewish and living in Rome when the Nazis invaded. But neither one of them ever wanted to talk about Italy."

"Your grandfather was lucky," Gustavo said. "The Italians were allied with Germany at first, but in 1943 Italy surrendered to the Allies in Sicily. And as soon as the armistice was signed Germany declared war on Italy. That's when the Nazis occupied Rome and began rounding up Jews to take to Auschwitz or other camps. By October they were working their way south, while the Allies were pushing northward. For a while, the front was just a bit south of here."

"Oh, this town suffered terribly during the war," Meg said. "The Nazis invaded our pretty Caccipulia on October 27th. There were a number of Jews being hidden here at that time. Including Emilia."

"As you've probably heard by now, Emilia was Jewish on her father's side," Gustavo said. "Her mother was part of the rich Parissi family, which owned an island and a castle in the Mediterranean, but they disowned her for marrying a Jewish man."

"Emilia survived because her sisters sent her home," Oliver told her. "They stayed on at Parissi Island to get medicine for their father."

"Yes, apparently," Gustavo said. "Although she was in danger here, too. She ran off before the Nazis arrived. It was a good thing, because the Nazis killed or arrested all the Jews hiding here in Caccipulia, and all the people helping them."

"So why is she still so angry with her sisters?" Callie asked.

"I think she feels guilty that she survived and they didn't," Oliver said. "And also angry that they didn't come home with her. She thinks they'd still be alive if they left when she did. Even though they had a good reason for staying."

"So, Pam—your grandmother knew Emilia?" Meg asked.

"I'm pretty sure of it," Callie said. "Pretty sure that she lived here in Caccipulia when she was young. Emilia has a picture of herself with my grandmother at the hotel. At least, I'm all but certain it's my grandmother. They look like close friends. They're hugging each other in the picture."

"Did your grandmother ever say anything about Emilia?" Gustavo said.

"A little. I remember hearing her mention Emilia's name sometimes. She was very troubled by something that happened when she was here. She would say she made a big mistake, and she regretted it very much. That's why I came here when I found those things. I wanted to see if Emilia could tell me the story of my grandparents—if they actually lived here and what mistake my grandmother made.

"It's something I promised I'd do for my…for Chloe," she added. "I think it made it hard on my sister and me, not ever knowing my grandmother's past. I think…well, I think my sister in particular…my sister, Callie…might have had an easier time growing up if we had known more."

Callie looked down. She didn't know why she'd said what she just said. But as she was talking, she'd started to think about that thing Emilia had said to her in the kitchen yesterday. About how people who don't know where home is spend their whole lives searching for it. Was Emilia suggesting that's what Callie had been doing? Had she spent her whole life searching for home? She supposed now that maybe home was more than an address. Maybe it was a state of mind, too. Maybe she'd never stayed anywhere for long because she never knew what it meant to feel like you were home.

"I asked Pam not to confront Emilia," Oliver said. "But to wait until Emilia trusted her and wanted to talk to her."

"Yes, we all leave Emilia alone," Gustavo said with a smile.

"And I understand that now," Callie said. "I spent some time with her yesterday morning. She seems kind of tortured by her memories."

"She's holding a lot of hurt, and it comes out as bitterness," Meg said. "She never wanted to believe that her sisters died. Some say she recreated the town so they'd come back and find her. And they'd feel at home once they returned, and have delicious food to eat. Others say she's waiting to learn the truth about her sisters. Something that will bring her peace."

Callie nodded. She couldn't help but think about her own grandmother's cooking, too. Had she, too, been trying to recreate her home, the home she'd left, through food?

The boys were getting restless, and Meg asked them to clear their dishes and go play for a little bit before dessert. Meg got up to finish clearing, and Callie rose to help her, while Oliver and Gustavo went to make a fire in the fireplace in the living room.

In the kitchen, Callie brought plates to the sink and loaded the dishwasher as Meg started the coffee and reached into a cabinet for plates, cups and saucers. On the table was a golden-brown cake dusted with powdered sugar.

"That looks amazing," Callie said.

" Torta Caprese with white chocolate and lemon," she said. "We get lemons from Naples that are just delicious."

"The food here is so good. Every meal I've had."

"It's one of the reasons why we love it here," Meg said. "Everything is made with such care. This is a value I've learned so much here. I'll be sorry when we go back."

"You're leaving?"

Meg nodded. "At some point, yes. Once Gustavo's done with his book, he will be up for a very important academic seat at Stanford University. It's too good an opportunity to pass up."

"It'll be hard to leave, I'm sure," Callie said. "Especially for your boys, I would think. This is their home."

"I suppose. But I think home is where you make it, don't you? Place is less important than the feeling you get when you walk in the door. I like to think that by having spent some happy years here, my boys will always know that you don't expect home. It's not that simple. You make a home."

"That's a beautiful thought," Callie said. She stood still for a moment, absorbing those words. She'd never thought of home that way. She'd never thought about home the way Emilia had yesterday in the kitchen. How did Emilia and Meg know so much about home? How had she never before figured it out?

Callie took the dishes out to the living room, where a fire was roaring. Meg brought out the cake and set it on the coffee table. A moment later, Gustavo and Oliver came into the living room from down the hall. Gustavo was wearing wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a large book.

"What's up?" Meg asked.

"We were just doing a little investigative work," Gustavo said. "Pam, did anyone ever tell you about the Caccipulia Supper Club?"

"Isn't that what we were talking about yesterday?" Callie asked Oliver. "The plaque at Memorial Square?"

Oliver nodded. "I was mentioning how the town helped feed and hide Jewish families trying to escape."

"Evidently the woman Emilia lived with was a talented cook who owned a restaurant before the war," Gustavo said. "That was Signora Jorelini, who is on the memorial plaque. When the Nazis came and food was so scarce, she started the supper club."

He sat down beside her and showed her a page from the book. "A local historian published this not too long ago," he said. "Pam, you mentioned a card that you found earlier, with a menu on it. Is this what your menu card looks like?"

Callie felt her jaw drop and her back stiffen as she looked at the photo in the book. "Yes, that's just like the card I have. Club della cena —that's what it says! It's back in the hotel."

"That's quite a gift your grandmother left you," Gustavo said. "There weren't many of them. See here what it says?" He read the paragraph out loud, translating from Italian:

The supper club was a way the Caccipulia community came together—by helping families feed the Jewish people hiding in their homes. The menu cards were part of what was distributed to the families. While the number varied, there were likely five or six families hiding Jews when the Nazis arrived in town on October 27th.

"And if your grandmother had one of those cards, then she must have known Emilia pretty well," Meg said.

Gustavo looked at Callie. "Could your grandmother have been one of the Jews hiding out? Is that how she would have gotten the supper club menu?"

"No," Callie said. "My grandmother wasn't Jewish. My grandfather was, but not my grandmother."

"Well, that doesn't help us much," Gustavo said. "But…wait," he said, pointing to the page. Here's more."

The club was run by Philippa Jorelini, her daughter, Corinna, and their young neighbor, Emilia Sancino, who lived with them in the closing months of 1943. It's believed that the club helped feed somewhere between four and six dozen Jewish people as they fled from the Nazis. Subsequently, Sancino was forced into hiding in the Jorelini house, due to her Jewish parentage. Among the Jews surviving thanks to the supper club was Tomas Sachsel, a Jewish scholar from Rome who was rumored to have worked with the Resistance. It is believed that Corinna Jorelini and Sachsel perished when they tried to flee to Switzerland together…

Callie put her hand to her mouth.

"What is it?" Oliver asked.

She shook her head. "I can't believe this," she said. "You know, when I saw the memorial, I wondered if that was my grandmother. But now I think it must be. My grandfather was called Tom but his full name was Tomas. Tom Sackes. We always knew they changed their last name slightly when they left Italy."

"Then Corinna Jorelini must be your grandmother," Meg said.

"But they didn't go to Switzerland," Callie said. "They didn't die escaping. They went to the United States instead."

There was silence in the room, as everyone took in Callie's words.

"Then the book is wrong," Oliver finally said. "And the memorial plaque in the square, too."

Gustavo nodded. "A lot of Jews from this area did try to escape to Switzerland. And many of them made it. But it's entirely possible that your grandparents changed course while they were on the run. Maybe they encountered a problem at the border. Maybe it was safer to go south instead of north. Otherwise you'd be Swiss instead of American."

"So the girl in the picture at the hotel really is my grandmother," Callie said. She felt as though it would take a few times repeating it for her to believe it without any doubt. "My grandmother really did know Emilia."

Gustavo closed the book and went to sit next to Callie. "It's so much bigger than that," he said. "Pam, Emilia's father was Jewish. And Emilia was all alone, the daughter of a Jew at a very dangerous time. And your grandmother and great-grandmother took her in and fed her and hid her.

"Your grandmother and great-grandmother didn't just know Emilia," he said. "They are the ones who saved her."