Chapter 2

TWO

SEPTEMBER 1943

Emilia listened to the familiar tap of her footsteps on the cobblestone street in the town square. The soft breeze fluttered against her legs, bare from her knees to the top of her ankle-high socks, and the air was fragrant with the scent of violet-colored bougainvillea and wisteria overflowing in planters and window boxes. It was a new day, and she couldn't help but feel relieved to be here in her beautiful Caccipulia, the town that was home, the place where she'd spent all fifteen years of her life. Being back somehow helped ease the pain of the last twenty-four hours. It had been awful to return home yesterday morning, eager to see her papa, only to learn that he'd drawn his last breath the night before. It had been awful, too, to realize it would be her job to break the news to her two older sisters, who would be following her back soon.

But at least she was here, she thought—and with Signora Jorelini next to her through it all. A family friend since before Emilia was born, Signora Jorelini had spotted her on the street yesterday and brought her inside to fill her in about her papa. Emilia was so grateful for the way the woman had hugged her close as she spoke, her arms thick and solid. And for the cozy bed Signora Jorelini made up for her, the warm food she'd cooked, and her gentle touch as she sat next to Emilia last night and combed the knots out of her long, sienna-colored hair. Grateful, too, for Signora Jorelini's decision to take her into town today to replace her worn shoes and outgrown jacket. It felt like an unspoken but rock-solid promise that Emilia would never be alone.

Of course, Emilia was in no mood for shopping. But she'd held her tongue when Signora Jorelini brought it up during breakfast today. Partly because she didn't want to be rude in the face of such generosity, and partly because she knew her shoes and coat wouldn't last another season. But mostly, it was because the shops were not far away from her own house, which she hadn't set foot in since she and her sisters left town five weeks ago. As they walked through the town square and toward the approaching shopping district, Emilia looked up at Signora Jorelini, whose plump cheeks and clear blue eyes had always radiated kindness. She hoped the woman would let her stop inside her house. She was anxious to see what state her father had left it in when he became too ill to do the normal chores. She would see what she needed to do to fix it up. So it would look clean and well-kept when her sisters returned. She might even start to pack up their belongings. So they could leave for America as soon as possible.

Because she was determined to do these small things for her sisters. Although she was the youngest, she wanted to spare them as much sadness as she could. She was glad that unlike her, they wouldn't have to see Papa laid to rest alongside Mama and the family's youngest daughter, who died in infancy. At the cemetery, Emilia had been troubled that so few people showed up to pay their respects. Papa had been familiar with death. The local tailor, he'd often sewed burial clothes or mended and pressed somber suits and dresses for family members to wear when someone in town had died. No funeral in town had ever taken place without dozens of people offering hugs and sharing memories with those grieving. And dozens of people would visit the mourners afterward, bringing platters of hot food or baskets of homemade bread and pastries. "Funerals bring out the good in people," her father would often say.

But it hadn't brought out the good for Papa.

Emilia knew it would be hard to tell her sisters—eighteen-year-old Annalisa and seventeen-year-old Giulia—that Papa had died. They would be as shocked as she'd been, especially since they were coming home with medicine for Papa, thinking he was still alive. But before long, Emilia told herself, things would get better. Annalisa would take charge, as she always did. She had decided months ago that the family should relocate to New York, as it was becoming harder and harder for Jews to live comfortably, to work and go to school and be part of the community. Discrimination, which Annalisa said had been evident elsewhere in Italy, was spreading, even to beautiful little towns like their own Caccipulia. Emilia was sure that Annalisa would want to continue with the plans to leave Italy, even without Papa. And while Emilia waited, she would be strong and brave, as her father would want.

Emilia looked back from Signora Jorelini toward the street corner ahead—and then she froze. Even though she knew it was near, it was still a shock to see it. But there it was, up ahead: Home. Her home. The only house she'd ever known, the simple white stone building with the green door. She yearned to run to it, to rush right into it, to see if she could absorb some of what made it so special, even with her papa gone.

But her legs wouldn't move. And she knew it was because she sensed that something was off. Yes, the house was right there. And yet it had changed. Her father's old metal business sign mounted above the door—SANCINO TAILOR in fancy lettering—was missing. Now a smaller, wooden sign hung there, which simply read TAILOR. And while she would have expected the house to be dark and closed up, she saw the downstairs windows open and the overhead lights of Papa's shop switched on.

Then, through the window, she made out a figure inside the shop, sorting clothes on the long counter. It wasn't Natalia, the woman who sometimes helped out when Papa was very busy. No, it was a man, with short hair and a mustache. Emilia walked a few steps closer, hoping he'd begin to look familiar. But he was a stranger. She paused, watching as he seemed to call someone over, and a thin woman appeared, her blonde hair gathered in a ponytail that draped over her shoulder and reached below her elbow. They spoke to each other, and then the man squeezed her hand, and she nodded and left the room.

Emilia started to ask about the couple, but before she could get a question out, Signora Jorelini shook her head and quickened her pace, grasping Emilia's hand. Emilia let herself be pulled because she wasn't used to going against adults' wishes. Signora Jorelini clearly didn't want to stop and talk, much less let her get any closer to the house. Emilia felt a chill travel up her back. Who were those people who had tampered with her father's sign and were now inside the shop, acting as though it was theirs? Who were those people in her home?

Watching Signora Jorelini's impassive face, her eyes focused forward, Emilia wondered if she'd ever get a straight answer.

That evening, Signora Jorelini made a supper of fragrant vegetable soup, with a chunk of hearty bread on the side. Emilia didn't expect to be able to eat more than a spoonful or two. She was still puzzled by those two strangers in her house. But the soup was so tasty that she cleaned her bowl. There was something about Signora Jorelini's cooking that soothed a person's longings and eased their spirits, if only a little bit. She was a wonderful cook, and owned the best restaurant in town, which had been in her family for decades. Emilia always begged to go to Signora Jorelini's restaurant on her birthday and special occasions, and her sisters did, too. They all loved the pasta orecchiette with sausage and spices. Papa never refused—and always arranged beforehand for Signora Jorelini to bring a special dessert to their table. Emilia and her sisters would pretend to be surprised, although they knew he wouldn't celebrate their birthdays any other way.

After they'd finished the soup, Signora Jorelini led Emilia upstairs and into one of the three bedrooms on the second floor, the one that belonged to Signora Jorelini's adult daughter, Corinna. "You can continue to sleep here for now," she said. "You'll be comfortable. You like being in Corinna's room, don't you?"

Emilia nodded, trying to be agreeable, as her papa had always instructed her to be with adults. She wished she could ask questions about her house and her father's shop and those strange people inside. But Signora Jorelini had looked tense and distracted during dinner, and Emilia couldn't risk angering her. If Signora Jorelini got mad and told her to leave, where would she go?

And if she had to be here, she was glad to be staying in Corinna's bedroom. A few years older than Annalisa, Corinna had always been like a fourth sister. She was smart and fun and beautiful—not in a glamorous, movie star way, like Giulia, but in a simple, natural way, with her fair skin and pale eyes and fine, blonde hair. She wanted to be a teacher, so last spring she had moved to Rome to live with friends and pursue her studies. Although she hated to see Corinna go, Emilia knew she would make the most wonderful teacher. There'd often been times when Annalisa was at the library studying and Giulia was helping out at Papa's tailor shop, so Emilia would go to the Jorelini house and ask Corinna for help with her homework. Corinna had a knack for making even the most boring exercises and assignments enjoyable. Often she'd invent stories about magicians and wizards who had their own secret language and cast spells on evil people who lurked in the forest. Each time Emilia solved a math problem or spelled all the assigned words in her schoolbook correctly, Corinna would invent a new story, right there on the spot.

"Emilia, dear," Signora Jorelini was saying, and Emilia turned her attention away from those long-ago days. "I know your father would want you to be strong and try to settle in here. You'll find nightclothes in the dresser along with clothing that Corinna left behind, which you can make do with for now. And there are towels in the hallway closet. Feel free to use anything. This is your home now."

"Thank you, Signora Jorelini. And thank you for the new shoes. I love them," she said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Because Signora Jorelini was being so generous, and Emilia was truly grateful. But she had so many questions. Why did she need Corinna's clothes? It was true that she didn't have much in the small suitcase she'd brought back with her when she left her sisters—but why couldn't she go back to her house and get her own things? She could tell that Signora Jorelini was anxious to leave the room, and she could wait for most of her questions to be answered, but she needed at this moment to ask about her family.

"Wait…Signora Jorelini…have you heard anything from my sisters?" she asked.

The woman hesitated, then shook her head, her hand on the doorknob. "I'm sure…that if they possibly can get here, they will."

Emilia studied Signora Jorelini's face. It was such a strange and disconcerting answer. A simple no would have been better. "But I don't understand," Emilia said. "What would stop them from coming?"

"Things are very confusing right now," Signora Jorelini said, looking down and patting her thick gray bun. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Emilia looked down, her arms by her sides. She wanted to press for more of an explanation. But Signora Jorelini clearly didn't want to discuss the matter any further, and Emilia knew her father would be appalled if she was rude. But maybe asking a different question would be okay. "Wait, Signora Jorelini?"

The woman turned back toward Emilia, her hand still on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"Can you tell me…I mean, why can't I go to my own house to get my own things…my nightdress and things?"

"Because you live here now," Signora Jorelini answered, her tone firm. "I took your father in to help him when he was sick, and I'm…well, you'd rather be here than in your empty house, wouldn't you?"

Emilia supposed she would. But the more she thought about it, the more it didn't make sense that her papa had been staying with Signora Jorelini before he died, that he'd taken his last breath here in the Jorelini home instead of his own. He'd never wanted to leave home, never wanted to sleep anywhere else than in the bed he'd shared with Emilia's mother. She supposed that when he got so gravely sick, he needed care, and perhaps Signora Jorelini had insisted that he take up here.

"Yes, of course," Emilia said. "But…my house isn't empty." She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to continue despite Signora Jorelini's eagerness to leave. "That man and woman I saw…why is someone else in our house, my father's shop, our?—"

"Emilia, dear," Signora Jorelini said after letting out a sigh of impatience. "There's a lot that happened while you and your sisters were away this summer…a lot that we will discuss. But not tonight. We'll talk tomorrow about everything?—"

"Signora Jorelini, one last thing?" Emilia pleaded, not wanting the woman to go until she received at least one complete answer. "If I write letters to my sisters, do you think they'll reach them on the island where we waited for the medicine? In case they're still there? In case they haven't left yet?"

"That's a fine idea," Signora Jorelini said. "Why don't you write them? I'll do my best to get your letters out to them, your sisters."

"Thank you, Signora Jorelini," Emilia said. The woman was gone and the door was closed even before Emilia had finished her sentence.

In the silence, Emilia turned herself around, taking in Corinna's bedroom. She'd been here many times before, but never all alone. The furnishings were exactly as she remembered—the twin bed against the wall, the bedcovering decorated with sunflower blossoms; the dark wooden student desk with a roll top; the pale-blue throw rug on the wooden floor; the wide wooden dresser by the window and the scallop-framed mirror hanging on the wall behind it. There was a bulletin board above the desk, now empty. Emilia remembered that it used to hold photographs of American movie stars torn out of magazines. Corinna had given all of them to Giulia, who loved looking at movie stars, just before she'd moved to Rome to study.

Yes, the room looked familiar, and it smelled familiar, too—the sweet scent of lavender perfume. Corinna had used it so often and so liberally, it had probably seeped into the furniture and bed linens. But there was also a fresh and disturbing sense of tension in the air. In this room, and in the whole house, actually. Emilia wondered if it was just her own sadness that was blanketing everything.

Or maybe it was Signora Jorelini's behavior, she thought as she walked to Corinna's bed and sat on the edge. She would have expected Signora Jorelini to stay with her longer. To envelop her again with her strong arms, as she'd done at the cemetery. Emilia would have liked that so much, to be hugged and held once more by someone loving and motherly. Maybe she would finally cry, good and hard, and then the awful heaviness she felt would ease. But somehow it seemed that perhaps hugs were no longer casually doled out. Something had changed in the five weeks that she and her sisters had been gone. There was no comfort in this town anymore. Signora Jorelini was trying, but Emilia could tell it was an effort. She'd handled the arrangements for Papa not with love but with efficiency.

Emilia wished so hard that she could go home. She yearned to see the beautiful fabrics Papa had worked with, the soft cottons and wools, the vibrantly colored threads, the old sewing machine he'd named Rosa. She wanted to smell his smell, earthy and warm and slightly tangy from perspiration. She wanted to make tea for him, or pour herself a glass of milk in her own kitchen. But Signora Jorelini had made it clear that Emilia was to stay here. And there was something in Signora Jorelini's manner that still made Emilia uneasy. Something in the way she'd kept her hand on the doorknob as Emilia asked her questions. The way she'd pressed her lips together, bracing herself for what Emilia would say next.

She seemed exhausted. Weary. But more than that, Emilia could sense…fear.

She didn't know what time it was, but she was tired and ready to close her eyes and drift away from this place, this moment. Leaving the bedroom, she went to the hallway and pulled a fresh towel from the closet. Downstairs, she could hear Signora Jorelini in the kitchen. She wondered why she hadn't needed to be at her restaurant today. Had she finally hired more employees to help out with the cooking and serving, as Corinna had always wanted her mother to do?

She changed into the simple white nightdress she found in Corinna's top drawer and went to hang up the dress she'd been wearing, one of the few she'd had in her suitcase. When she opened the closet door, her gaze landed on three large boxes on the floor, with her last name, Sancino, penned in black ink on the lid of the uppermost one.

She dropped the dress and opened the top box, pulling the tape up with her fingernail. Inside, wrapped in newspaper, was the framed photo of her mother that her father had always kept by his bed. Beside it was her father's wristwatch, the one he used to put on without fail every day, with its worn black leather band and large, rectangular face. Deeper in the box, she found her father's clunky shoes, the left with an extra thick sole, as he'd been born with one leg shorter than the other. She'd always been embarrassed by those shoes, wishing he'd wear normal ones like everyone else's father. But now she felt ashamed for wishing her father pain. She'd like nothing more than to see him in those shoes right now, fetching a customer's order from the back room, maybe a pair of hemmed trousers or a vest that had needed the seam opened up.

Turning away from the shoes, she moved the box to the side and pulled up the tape on the one beneath it. This one was full of her things and her sisters' things: her math notebook and Annalisa's science notebook, Giulia's clippings of movie stars—Jean something and Greta something—and a little ceramic box with Giulia's charm bracelet. Some sweaters, skirts, pants, and underwear from their dresser drawers, a hairbrush and a handful of barrettes, Giulia's favorite red lipstick. It was as though someone had hurriedly tried to gather random things from the bedroom she and her sisters had shared. Slipping as much of their lives as could fit into one box.

Who had done this? Papa? Had Papa decided he wanted to remove all signs of his daughters from the house? Had he given up on them, even though Annalisa had sent a note saying they'd be back with medicine? Did he hate them? Would he have turned his back if he'd been conscious when she'd arrived? No, she couldn't believe that. He loved her. She was his little girl, the daughter who looked most like Mama. He loved all three of them. So what had happened during these last five weeks?

She needed to find Signora Jorelini right now. She had to hear the words. She had to know her father still loved her, up until he no longer could love anyone. She pushed aside the second box and started for the door. But she paused before taking the doorknob. Signora Jorelini had said they would talk in the morning. She'd said that Emilia should try to sleep. Emilia never contradicted adults. Her father had taught her to respect grown-ups.

She turned and went to the desk by the window. Signora Jorelini had said it would be okay to write to her sisters. Hopefully tomorrow the letter would be posted to Parissi Castle. The important thing was to make contact with her sisters. If they knew what had happened and how she felt, they'd come back for her right away. She was sure of it. Yes, the three of them fought. Giulia was sometimes jealous of Annalisa for being so smart. And Emilia hated that the older two sometimes excluded her from their secrets and plans. But they still loved each other. The two of them loved her. And if they knew how much she needed them, they wouldn't ignore her.

She sat at the desk, where she found some paper and a pen, and started a letter.

Dear Annalisa and Giulia,

Papa was buried yesterday. Hardly anyone was there for him. There are strangers living in our house. We have to get them out. Signora Jorelini doesn't want to talk about it.

Please come back soon. I don't know what to do.

Your sister,

Emilia

Folding the letter, she put it in an envelope she found inside a drawer and placed it on the desk. As she did, she glanced out the window and saw a figure hurrying down the street. Emilia knew it was the woman who was living in her house, the woman she'd seen as she and Signora Jorelini were walking toward the shops. She had the same very long blonde ponytail streaming down the back of her coat, the same thin frame and long legs. She was carrying a large woven basket with a lid, the handle draped over her arm. And she was clearly in a rush.

Emilia watched her by the light of the streetlamps until she disappeared around a corner. She wished she could run downstairs and scream at the woman to get out of her house. And what was the woman carrying in that basket? Clothing she'd repaired, using Papa's threads and needles and sewing machine? No matter if she used Papa's supplies, she'd never be able to sew as well as Papa could. Nobody could.

Emilia rose and switched off the lamp on the bedside table. She sat on the bed and slipped her legs beneath Corinna's pretty yellow bedcovering. She slid herself down and lowered her head to the pillow.

We're going to get our house back , she promised herself. I'm not going to give up until I do .