Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

SEPTEMBER 1943

"And the grand staircase was…" Pietro said from behind his desk, his chin lowered as his small eyes peered at Giulia, over his glasses.

"To the left of the kitchen if you were facing the front hall," Giulia answered, her voice even and steady, as though she were reciting something innocuous, a grocery list or an inventory of freshly sewn clothing ready for pick-up at her father's store.

"And how many steps to the grand staircase?"

"I never counted."

"Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?"

"Maybe fifteen."

"And how wide is the staircase?"

"Pretty wide."

"The same as our stairs here? Twice as wide? Three times?"

"Maybe twice. Or two and a half."

It was five days after she'd arrived, and a routine had started to take shape. In the mornings she'd go outside to the backyard to sketch, adding details to the wedding gown as she remembered them, depicting it from the back and in profile, as well as from the front. Sketching the gown from memory transported her back to those long, dreamy days in the castle: sewing dresses to help her mentor, Savio, with his masterpiece; meeting her sisters for splendid meals in the formal dining room; and sneaking away to the main or rear boathouse to see Vincenzo.

Sometimes as she was sketching, she'd be interrupted by Luca, who brought her that strange, weak coffee and sat down beside her for a moment to look at her drawings. She liked being with him, but she was also relieved when he left to wrestle with Massimo and Matteo. He made her feel anxious, with his penetrating eyes and serious nature. While he was playful with the children, he wasn't playful with her, not as Vincenzo had always been. She wasn't used to seeing a young man who smiled only when he was entertaining children, but mostly seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

While she was outdoors, Cellina would call everyone in for breakfast, including Signor and Signora Brambilla and Signorina Ottavia. Cellina believed in big morning meals, so there were plenty of breads, pastries, cheese, fruit, meats, and egg dishes on the table. When everyone was finished, Signorina Ottavia would take the children upstairs to the large, sunny playroom on the third floor for their morning studies, Cellina and the Brambillas would clear the table and start in on the morning chores, Luca would find a quiet spot outside to read, and Giulia would go with Pietro to his study.

Having learned that Giulia was a skilled dressmaker, Pietro had informed the children that he'd hired her as a seamstress, to sew and repair clothing and bedding, so the family no longer had to order those items and withstand the high costs and delays involved in transporting them from vendors in Rome. They believed she went into his office every morning to choose fabrics, threads, buttons, and other supplies and prepare orders to be ferried on the regular supply boat to the mainland. But what she was actually doing was answering his endless list of questions about her uncle's island and castle.

He wrote down her answers about the stairway. "Okay, now let's talk about the tower," he said. "Did your uncle use the grand staircase to get there?"

"Yes."

"And how many flights up?"

"Up three flights."

"And then?"

"You walked down a long corridor and through a doorway, and then up another small set of stairs, until you came to the circular landing."

"And that led?"

She sighed. Pulling herself up from her chair, she limped to the window behind Pietro's desk. Her foot was showing signs of healing, and Pietro had wrapped it in a thinner, lighter bandage. It was hard for her to even remember the stinging, stabbing pain she'd felt that first morning on the island, or the sickening sensation of oozing blood when she put the merest bit of pressure on her toes. Her bad foot could bear her weight now without causing her any pain, and she no longer needed a cane to walk, although she moved much more slowly without it. Pietro had said he thought they could remove the bandage for good before long.

"And that led?" he repeated.

"To the doorways," she murmured as she looked outside, the shutters open to let in the daylight. Across the patio, Luca was sitting on the stone bench, reading his book. He loved fantasy novels, she'd found out. Stories of sorcerers and of spirits that lived in the clouds and the ocean. And he loved mythology and mathematics and the complexities of the natural world—the stars and planets and the tides. He liked to figure things out, to understand how things worked together and why things fell apart.

Even the wedding gown she was sketching filled him with questions: Why eight layers of tulle and not seven or nine? Why four folds by the hip and not three or five? Why opalescent beads and not opaque? What made the dress so harmonious to the eye? The symmetry of it, the shape, the drape, or something else? She loved his questions, even as she searched her mind for answers that would not come. She was someone driven by instincts, feelings, intuition. His need for concrete facts fascinated her, as her reliance on passion and raw emotion seemed to intrigue him.

"How does this all come so naturally to you?" he'd asked her yesterday morning. "Where are the rules? Did you memorize the rules?"

"There are no rules," she told him.

"How can that be? The world turns on rules. Science is in your blood—your uncle, your older sister, too. Your family exists for rules."

"Not all of us," she'd said. "Not my father, and not me. We go by feelings, not rules. We sense what to do."

"But didn't your father teach you to sew?"

"I suppose I learned by watching him. But mostly he taught me to trust myself. My teacher was the world. The way the grass sparkles when the sun comes out at just the right moment following a rainstorm. The way the surface of the sea dances to the rhythm of a passing boat…"

"Giulia," Pietro scolded. "I must ask you to pay attention."

"I'm sorry," she said, turning from the window, her hand drifting down to her collarbone. "The tower? There were two doors. One that went into a storage room where my uncle kept his research supplies. He was working on a medical device that would grind together minerals and botanicals. He believed the blend would be curative. We hoped it would cure our father's illness. He had a bad heart. "

"And the other door?" Pietro said, evidently uninterested in the medical device or her father.

"That went to his bedroom. He worked there, too. My sister, Annalisa, worked with him there. She was helping him."

"He worked and slept there. So it was a large room?"

"I think so. I only saw it once." She remembered how Annalisa had brought her and Emilia there one morning because they yearned to see the inside of the tower. It was so unusual, with the curved walls and complete absence of corners and edges. So different from what she'd always thought a room had to be. Everything was different at the castle. So much to be amazed at.

"But it was larger than a normal bedroom, if it had a bed and a desk and workspace, yes?"

"I think so."

"Giulia, concentrate, please. This is important. Was it bigger than your bedroom here? How much larger would you say? Twice as big? Three times?"

"Three times. I'd say… three times."

She heard her voice break and cleared her throat. Didn't he understand how hard this was for her? This was the place where she and her sisters had spent five glorious weeks, ensconced in what felt like a fairy-tale castle. This was where she and her sisters had been part of an elegant, enthralling world, a world they'd never before imagined. And now she was helping with research to prepare the spies whose aim was to kill the invaders and destroy what had been left behind as the castle's guests fled. Beautiful mahogany beds and gold-trimmed tables and glowing chandeliers would be shattered. Sheet music and sculptures and unfinished manuscripts—not to mention the remnants of her uncle's painstaking research—would turn into rubble.

It wasn't that she didn't understand the importance of Pietro's work. The Nazis had to be defeated. It was simply that her heart was breaking for a world that was no more. For a future she'd embraced with her heart that was disappearing. Or had already disappeared.

"That's all for today, Giulia," Pietro said, clearly aware that he was losing her and wasting his time. "We'll continue tomorrow."

She nodded and left the study, feeling guilty. She didn't like to be the cause of Pietro's frustration, because she liked the Ciani family. Their island was pleasant, even similar to Parissi Island—a place of tranquil isolation, removed from the real world. Theirs was a simple life, and a very appealing one. Pietro and Cellina appeared to have a strong, loving marriage, something she'd never seen before since she'd grown up with only a father. Her papa had never stopped missing his wife. Even though he'd been a healthy man in his early forties when he was widowed, he never yearned for another woman's touch, at least as far as Giulia and her sisters could tell. He kept pictures of their mother all around their small house, and never stopped reminding his daughters of how important it was to think of her, to speak of her, to light candles and recite a prayer every year on the anniversary of her death and the death of their stillborn sister. Their life was infused with a constant sadness for what had been lost, what might have been.

In this house, by contrast, marriage was synonymous with happiness. Pietro and Cellina were fast friends, and their relationship had a playfulness that Giulia found beautiful. There were times when Giulia would see Pietro come into the kitchen and surprise Cellina with a kiss on her cheek or tickle her ear with a feather. One evening as the women were clearing the dinner dishes, a waltz came on from the record player in the living room. Pietro took the dirty plates from Cellina's hands, put them back on the table, and then led her to the living room to dance. The little boys erupted with laughter, but the couple didn't mind. They were skilled dancers. Giulia imagined that if life were different, if there'd been no war, Pietro and Cellina would have had a fine life, going to dances and parties. When Pietro took Cellina in his arms, they looked as young as teenagers. Cellina's complexion glowed and her eyes sparkled.

And one night when Giulia went downstairs for a glass of water before bed, she noticed the door to Pietro's study open, and she caught sight of the two of them by the desk. Pietro was seated, reading the newspaper, and Cellina was standing behind him, rubbing his back and massaging his shoulders. Then he turned and drew her to his lap, and she slid her arms around his neck. Giulia had never seen a middle-aged couple behave so tenderly toward one another, and it captivated her. Luca had told her that Cellina had attended classes to be a doctor, too, but she'd given up her medical studies when the family left Rome. Pietro had promised her she would return to her studies after the war. The two of them seemed to want nothing but happiness for each other.

It was the kind of love she hoped to have for herself someday.

That evening, as usual, the family and staff gathered in the living room, as Signor Brambilla closed the window shutters so the lights of the house wouldn't attract attention. Pietro took a children's storybook from the bookcase and began reading, as the pajama-clad boys climbed into their mother's lap on the sofa. The story was about a boy who learns he's a prince, which makes him feel newly responsible for others. He then leaves his home and travels to a remote village to save all the people and animals from an approaching storm.

Pietro paused his reading to explain that the story was about accepting responsibility and sacrificing when necessary for the greater good. As he spoke, Marilene came to sit on the carpet so she could put her head on her father's knee. Even though the children were isolated, Giulia knew that their parents made them feel loved and secure, and that this would serve them forever.

And she saw anew what was missing in her life, what her wild behavior had been all about. She'd laughed with boys all the time, glad that she was the prettiest one in the family. She liked meeting new people, being the center of attention. She had enjoyed her silly flirtations with Vincenzo. But now, she wondered if a deeper longing had made her behave so frivolously. She wanted to belong to someone. She didn't want to be an outsider. She wanted a family of her own. To make up for the motherless childhood she'd had.

She looked at Luca, wondering if he also wanted what the Ciani family had. If he thought connection could be the answer to his grief over his father's murder. If the cure for losing love was finding it again.

Then he turned her way, and their eyes locked for a second. She saw in his gaze that he was feeling, thinking, what she was. Her heart sped up.

The moment was over too soon, as Pietro turned the page and continued with the book. She wondered if Pietro had noticed the two of them focused on one another, and if that was why his voice now sounded harsher. She looked down, embarrassed. She suspected that whatever she and Luca were feeling, Pietro would want it to stop. He would never want emotions to get in the way of his work. And she had to admit that she was intimidated by him, as he had all the power in the house. She was scared to cross him.

She folded her hands on her lap, trying to listen to the rest of the story. In the coming days, she knew, Pietro would ask her about the hidden staircase in the castle that she'd used to escape. He'd ask where it was located, how big the doorway was, how many steps, how long the distance from the stairway to the back door and from the back door to the boathouse where the pattino was stored. He'd ask her about the construction of the dock, its stability, and the perimeter of the railing—was it wood or iron? And as she murmured her answers, her heart would break a little more. And her memories would grow tainted by the realities of this awful world where they all had to live.

"What are you making me today?" Marilene said the next day after the family had eaten lunch and Giulia had gone back outside to the stone bench to work on her sewing. Pietro was adamant that his children believe Giulia was staying on as a household employee. He had instructed her to spend at least three hours each afternoon making garments for the children.

Giulia didn't mind. She enjoyed crafting clothes. She loved that she could choose from among the beautiful fabrics she'd seen in her closet, which Cellina had ordered with the intention of learning to sew and making outfits for the family herself. But she didn't have the patience for it and was happy to hand off the job. She never touched the sewing machine she'd ordered.

Giulia smiled as Marilene sat down on the grass in front of her. She liked the girl, who was assertive yet sweet, and so accepting of her unusual upbringing. The little boys were having their afternoon rest, so the garden was quiet.

"I'm thinking of making you a special dress," Giulia said, pointing to the red tulle fabric alongside her.

"Can you really do that? Did you sew special dresses when you lived in the castle?"

"I did," Giulia said. "Even a wedding gown once. I've been sketching it from memory. Want to see?" She pulled out her notebook from the basket and showed the drawing to Marilene.

Marilene ran her fingers over the page. "That's so beautiful. Whose was it?"

"Nobody's yet. But I gave it to my older sister, Annalisa, to take to New York. She's hoping to get married in it. Then maybe we'll pass it down, sister to sister."

"For you to wear when you get married?"

"I suppose. And our younger sister will wear it, too, someday." Giulia spoke firmly, refusing to let herself think that this might not happen.

"Oh, that's nice. You're lucky to have sisters." Marilene put the notebook back in the basket and picked up the red fabric. "But why would I need a dress? Where would I wear it?"

"I don't know," Giulia said. "But this fabric is too pretty to do anything else with. Don't you ever have parties or special days here? Like birthdays… when's your birthday?"

"Not until the end of April," Marilene said. "When's yours?"

Giulia paused, thinking about the big birthday celebration her uncle had been planning for her next week. She'd teased Vincenzo, that he wouldn't be allowed to come to the party since he was an employee and not a castle guest. But she'd promised him that she'd sneak a big piece of Signora Russo's special birthday cake down to him at the boathouse after the party was over and everyone was asleep.

"Later this month," she said. "The thirtieth."

"That's less than two weeks!" Marilene said. "For real? How old will you be?"

"Eighteen."

"Wow, eighteen! Oh, Giulia, we must throw you a beautiful birthday party here, with music and presents and your favorite food for dinner that Mama and Signora Brambilla will make and then a delicious birthday cake. And I will wear this dress you make, and you must make a special dress for yourself, too. Do you think you can do it? Make two special dresses by then?"

Giulia laughed, charmed by Marilene's good nature. Her ability to be joyful in this situation, with no friends, no school, no going to the movies or attending parties except for this simple one she was planning, touched Giulia deeply. "I think I can do that," she said. "If you help me. I can teach you stitches and maybe we can also use the machine your mother keeps in the attic. What do you say?"

"Oooh, yes! A party with party dresses! Oh, Giulia, I'm so lucky you're here! I'm so glad Papa gave you a job that you love, so you can stay here forever with us!"

Just then a shadow appeared on the grass. Giulia looked up and saw Luca standing behind her. Marilene noticed him, too, and she jumped to her feet.

"Luca!" she exclaimed. "You're not going to believe it! Giulia's birthday is coming up! She's going to be eighteen!"

"Is that right?" Luca said. "My goodness, such an old lady!"

Giulia felt her cheeks grow hot. She remembered how the two of them had locked eyes last night, and wondered if he remembered it, too.

"Eighteen's not old!" Marilene said. "But it is an important age! We're going to throw her a wonderful birthday party. And Giulia's going to make party dresses for her and me!"

She looked toward the kitchen. "I should tell Mama all about this. Because we have to think of a present, and there's not much time. And Signora Brambilla needs to start planning. Luca, do you know where my mother is?"

"Upstairs with your brothers, I believe."

"I have to go talk to her," she said. "I'll be back soon. Giulia, don't start making those dresses without me!"

"Don't worry, I won't," Giulia called as Marilene bounded inside. She gathered up the fabrics so she could go inside. She felt jumpy around Luca after last night. She was sure that Pietro would disapprove of their growing closer. Besides, even though Luca seemed kind and friendly, there was often a touch of condescension in the way he'd talk to her. Such as the way he'd teased her about her age. Such an old lady .

"Wait, don't go," he said. "Please. Sit with me. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She hesitated, not knowing what he could want to talk about. But no matter what it was, she couldn't deny the fact that she felt drawn to him. And she had no reason to leave, especially since she'd promised Marilene she'd stay put. She rested her fabric basket on the ground, and they both sat on the bench.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

He breathed in. "Pietro tells me you get upset when you tell him about the castle. He says you become distracted. And sometimes you look like you're close to crying."

She turned away, embarrassed that the two men would be discussing her. And she felt defensive, too. How could Luca not understand how hard it was for her to describe the castle to Pietro?

"Does that surprise you?" she asked, a touch of hostility in her tone. "I don't see why. It's my uncle's home and I'm being asked to help destroy it. It means something to me, that castle. Being there—it was… it was the most wonderful five weeks of my life."

"The most wonderful? And why was that?"

"Because…" She paused, hoping to find the right words. "Because my uncle, my mother's brother, created it. He loved us, my sisters and me, simply because we were her daughters. And he felt close to us and protective of us for that reason alone. And my sisters and I… we were so proud of reuniting our family. Our father with our uncle. Because… well, I don't know if you know our story…."

"Of course, I do," he said. "The Parissis are famous. Everyone knew about them. And not for the nicest reasons. Patricio's father, Francisco—he was a fierce anti-Semite. And a loyal Fascist. Did you know that?"

"Well, we knew he hated Jews. Which was why he disowned my mother when she decided to marry my father. But my uncle, Patricio—he was shattered when his father did that. He was a good man, but a very sad and lonely one, when we arrived at the castle. A recluse, everyone said. He never came down from the tower. But meeting us, his sister's daughters—it transformed him. He became a new man, a loving man, and we were the ones who changed him. Just by showing up. There was a concert one night, his first appearance at an event in the castle ever. He cried when he came into the concert hall. We'd made him so happy. We cried, too.

"And then… it ended," she said. "And it's so sad, to know what Pietro aims to do. I understand why he's doing it. But still…"

"It has to be that way," Luca told her. "As Pietro said last night when he read the children's story, sacrifices are necessary."

She bristled at his tone, which sounded patronizing. She wasn't trying to be immature or selfish. She wanted to be understood. "I'm willing to sacrifice. I just never knew that one day, I'd be giving information that would be used… to kill people. Even evil people. I'm sorry if this sounds childish to you, but I wish so much that I had left Italy… before. That was our original plan, my sisters and me—to get my father medicine and then to leave for America. We knew that things were getting more dangerous for Jews. More and more of my father's customers no longer wanted to do business with him. We thought we had time, though. We didn't realize things would happen so quickly."

He looked at the sky, then turned back to her. When he spoke, his tone was kinder. She was glad she had expressed herself in a way that moved him. She sensed a small but important change in him.

"Tell me more about your parents," he said. "Your father… how did he come to marry the daughter of a man li ke Francisco?"

"He was their tailor," she said. "That's how they met. But how they fell in love… that's a different story."

"What kind of story?"

She sighed, not knowing if she was strong enough to share this special story without falling completely apart. "You have to understand that my father loved being Jewish," she said. "Not only the religious part but the traditions, the stories, the embracing of life. ‘Choose life'—that's what Judaism demands, he would tell us. ‘Choose life.' That's what got him through the loss of my mother, through all the days and years he was so sick as his heart failed. He kept alive because that was what he had to do. He would tell us to do that, too. Even now. Forever. Choose life."

She looked down at her hands. Sitting here, she could hear her father's gentle voice.

"Tell me more about your father," he said.

"About being Jewish?" She smiled. "There was one story that he said my mother loved so much. I don't remember how it went. I just remember the end. It had to do with the love that can happen between two people from different backgrounds. Like my parents. Like how someone can change their whole life when they find someone to love. The bit I remember, it's like a poem but it's more of a promise: ‘Wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.' It's about how love transcends everything. How it unites even what seems destined to stay apart."

"That's beautiful," Luca said.

Giulia nodded. "My father would go to her house, the family's huge house in Rome, to measure her father for clothes. And that's when he would see her, my mother. And tell her his stories. One night when his work was done, he was leaving to travel back to his home. And he didn't want to say goodbye to her, because he didn't know when he'd see her again. He didn't think he stood a chance with her, a Jewish tailor.

"But that night she followed him out, and in the moonlight she whispered, ‘Wherever you go, I will go.' She remembered that line from the story. And he told us that from that night on, he knew he would never stop loving her. And he never did. Even in death, she was his love."

She looked at Luca, drawing strength from her family's story. "And if there's one thing I want in this world, it's what my parents had when they met and started their family," she said. "And what Pietro and Cellina and their children have. And that's why I can't stay here indefinitely, as everyone else seems to want to do.

"I'll give Pietro all the information about the castle that he wants to carry out the attack," she said. "I've made my peace with that, as hard as it is for me to do. But then I have to go find my family. My future is with them."

Luca dropped his head and shook it, looking down at his clasped hands.

"What?" she asked. "What's wrong with what I said?"

"You have an opportunity here to be of even more help. After you finish with the castle, there'll be more to do. How can you talk of leaving? How can you avoid doing your part?"

Giulia tried to answer, but she didn't know what to say. She felt her mouth move, but no words came out. She had a right to refuse becoming further involved in these matters, didn't she? Who was he to judge her, who was he to scold her when she'd opened up so much to him…

There was a shout from an upstairs window. "Giulia!" Marilene called from the window. "Come in! Mama wants you to look at the sewing machine and see if you can work it."

Suddenly she regretted how much she'd revealed. To this stranger. But then she wondered if it was she who needed to try to understand.

Because as she started to leave, he took her wrist. "What your parents had, that's what mine had," he said. "And what you want when you think back on them… I want it as well. But Giulia, we're not put on this earth to think about our last triumphs. Our pretty past. We're put here to think about what we can do next. What we must do next."

She shook her hand free of his and ran inside.