Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

SEPTEMBER 1943

The weather turned hot over the next few days, the clouds holding the thick humidity in place. There was no breeze, no hint of air moving, only an oppressive, steady pressure. Giulia had never felt such moisture-soaked heat before. She was constantly wiping her face with her wrist, taking a cold towel to her neck, hoping desperately for relief that never came. She longed to go to the cove and take the pattino for a ride, to feel the spray of the sea on her face, that refreshing sensation she knew so well from those secretive jaunts with Vincenzo behind the castle. Or even just to walk by the seashore and dip her good foot into the water. But the shore was entirely off limits. Pietro had told the family that at dinner two nights ago. He'd blurted something about the sea being too unsettled in this weather and the possibility of a sudden storm surge up to the tree line. The surges in this area came fast, he'd said, and the undertow was strong.

"Not that fast," Marilene had said. "You're making that up, Papa. You're saying things that?—"

"It's strong and fast," Pietro said sternly. "This is no time to argue. You all stay away. Every one of you. Understood? "

They'd all agreed. Even the little boys, who nodded solemnly, refraining from their usual giggles and outbursts. Giulia couldn't help but believe that Marilene was right, and that his description of the unsettled sea was an excuse. That the true reason Pietro was keeping them all close to the house was even more serious. Because the atmosphere inside the house felt tense and dangerous, too. Pietro still brought her into the study in the mornings to answer questions about the castle. Now they were up to the servants' quarters and the grounds, including the long, winding stone staircase that rose from the shore up the hill to the entranceway. But she could tell he was distracted, and he dismissed her each day after only an hour.

Whatever the new complication was that troubled Pietro so, Giulia knew it involved Luca. Suddenly he was no longer around in the early morning, bringing her barley coffee and teasing the children. He was often in the study with Pietro at various times throughout the afternoons, and while she couldn't make out what they were saying as she crossed the living room, she heard their voices, low and often heated. Then one night, long past midnight, she was awoken by voices outside her window. When she looked out, the moonlight revealed Luca and Pietro walking into the house with two other men, strangers, carrying large cartons. Giulia wondered if these were some of the "visitors" that Marilene had mentioned on her first evening in the house. But they didn't stay overnight or have breakfast with the family. Instead, they left, empty-handed, a few minutes after they'd arrived. They walked back toward the trees in the direction of the shore.

Luca came out of the house then, and stood on the edge of the porch, looking in the direction of the trees. The tail of his white shirt was untucked and hung down past his waist. He put his hands in his pockets and stayed still for a few moments. Then he stepped back and sat on one of the porch chairs, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. She could see his hair grazing his collar as he sat there, motionless.

Her head pressed against the window jamb, she watched him. He seemed to be wrestling with something he didn't know how to handle. She wondered if he'd ever felt this way before, if he'd sat like this before, or if this was the first time. And if it was the first time, she wondered if she was part of the cause. If whatever those two men had brought, whatever they'd said, whatever Luca and Pietro spoke about in the privacy of the study—she wondered if her presence was making things more complicated. Because Luca was making things more complicated for her. Her feelings about leaving the island and going to find her sisters in New York were muddled now. Ever since they'd spoken so honestly about their fathers, ever since she'd guided him in sewing that silly seam, she didn't see how she could ever bid him goodbye.

He lifted his head and looked up at the moon, the fingers of one hand pressed against his lips. She yearned to sneak downstairs and out onto the porch. To ask him what was wrong or maybe just to kneel beside him and hold his hand or touch his shoulder. She ached for him to grasp her hand in return, to reach out and press her to his chest. She even started to walk toward her bedroom door, and once she reached it, she grasped the knob. But then she loosened her fingers and returned to the window. She couldn't be with him. Not now, not on this warm night, not with him looking so worried and vulnerable. It would be too hard to reveal that she'd been watching him. It would suggest a level of closeness she wasn't prepared for.

And it was forbidden, that closeness. Illicit. Pietro had made it clear to them that morning when he saw them on the porch. There were rules in this household, she reminded herself. Rules about the children, rules about what could and couldn't be said, what could and couldn't be done. About who could be seen together, and when, and why. That was the structure that kept this house secure. At that moment, Luca rose and turned to go into the house, and Giulia stepped back from the window and pressed herself against the wall. She stayed that way, her breath quick, her heart racing, as she heard him climb the steps, then enter his bedroom at the other end of the hallway and shut the door.

She climbed back into her bed, thinking of her sisters, her past. For a moment, she wished she could go back to being the girl she used to be when she lived on Parissi Island. The feelings she was having for Luca—they were too grown-up, too foreign. So different from the feelings of friendship that she'd had for Vincenzo. Now she knew what love truly was. Still, the Giulia she'd be if she embraced those feelings, if she left her room right now and went to find him in his bedroom—that Giulia existed on the other side of an imaginary line that she wasn't ready to cross.

Lying on her back, too distressed to sleep, she told herself she'd talk to Pietro first thing tomorrow morning and insist that she had to leave. Surely by now, she'd be safe. Surely no Nazi soldiers would recognize her and stop her. They had more important issues on their minds. Her foot was nearly healed and she could walk without a limp. This was not a good place for her. She had to get out so she could go back to being the Giulia she knew.

She woke with a start in the morning, to the sound of someone banging on her door. Blinking awake, she sat up, realizing from the position of the sun that she'd slept way later than usual.

"Giulia?" It was Marilene who was knocking, probably to bring her to breakfast.

"Come in, Marilene," she called as she climbed out of bed. "I'm sorry I slept so late. I'll be ready to come downstairs right away, okay? "

The door opened, and Marilene came in, her face wet with tears and the tip of her nose red.

"What is it?" Giulia said as she rushed to the girl. "Why are you crying?"

"It's not fair!" Marilene wailed.

"What's not fair?"

"Luca's leaving! He won't even be here for your birthday party!"

Giulia held Marilene by the shoulders. "How do you know? Where's he going?"

"Papa said there's some problem at the winery that he has to check on. He's in his room packing right now!"

A few minutes later, after sending Marilene downstairs and putting on some clothes, Giulia rushed across the hallway to Luca's room. She knew she should have expected this. Something serious had been brewing all week. She wasn't a child like Marilene and the boys, who could be told some story about a vineyard and immediately believe it. She should have known better than to try to imagine that this life, this island, this time, was not going to change. Pietro and Marilene, too, had made it clear that Luca came and went from the island. Luca had told her early on that he was part of the Resistance and had a responsibility to the cause—a responsibility that transcended everything and everyone else.

Still, she felt as surprised and sad as Marilene was. Maybe more so. She realized now that she'd come to rely on their life together, here in this remote place, having wonderful meals and long talks in the garden. What was happening on Parissi Island, what was happening in the world—it had all started to feel more theoretical than real. It was so easy for people to recast events when they wanted to, she thought. To embrace the status quo, and even if it was not ideal, to decide it would last another day.

Yes, her feelings for Luca scared her. But she didn't want him to leave. And she didn't want to stay here without him. She didn't want to be left behind.

When she reached Luca's room, she saw that what Marilene said was true. Luca was packing clothes into a thick black valise on his bed. It looked innocent enough, as though he were going away for a weekend trip. But she knew this was far from a lighthearted excursion.

"So it's happening," she said. "You're leaving."

"As we knew I would," he told her. "This comes as no surprise."

"But I didn't realize…"

"But you had to have realized. With all the talks between Pietro and me. And the men who came last night—didn't you hear them? Surely you didn't see our life here as simply as the children do. We never hid the truth from you."

She looked at him as he closed the valise and pressed the clasps shut. His pale face and tense expression belied his matter-of-fact tone. He was concerned. And afraid.

"Of course, I knew something was going on," she said. "But I hoped it would be delayed long enough for the Americans and the British…" She paused, hearing how childish she sounded. As though if she wished hard enough, the war would end.

"When do you leave?" she asked.

"Tonight."

She paused, not sure if she wanted to ask the next question on her mind. But she had to know. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Our group is planning a series of strikes on sites where the Nazi officers are," he said. "Two buildings in Rome and two in towns in the North, in addition to the strike on Parissi Island. I'm leaving for Rome tonight to help coordinate the logistics. We need to figure out how to transport bullets and explosives to the operatives carrying out the attacks. "

"Will you… be in danger?" she asked.

"I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."

"When will you come back?"

"Two weeks. Maybe sooner. But then I'll have to leave again."

"To do what?"

He shrugged.

She nodded and sat down on the bed. "I thought I wasn't happy here. I thought I wanted to leave. But now… I wish things could stay as they've been. I can't… it feels as though every time I start to feel secure somewhere… it all falls apart. Is that how it always is?"

"For now it's like that. For everyone. But hopefully it won't always be."

He moved the valise to the floor and then sat down beside her. "The one thing I regret is how much time we spent together. It was a mistake. People cannot allow themselves to connect in times like this."

She looked down. He was right. She should have been smarter. She knew what the world was like. She'd seen it first-hand, as she ran down the hidden stairs at the castle and escaped on the little boat. But why had he been so charming, so attentive? Why had he given himself that freedom?

If Annalisa were here, she'd scold her. She'd say that Giulia had once again been foolish, and her behavior irresponsible. And yet this wasn't some random infatuation. The kinds of infatuations she'd had back home… she didn't think she'd ever be capable of that type of feeling again. It was as though this week, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she'd become an adult. And that was the most concrete thing a person could do. Thinking she could avoid the realities of the world—it was as foolish as thinking she could go back to being a little child again, when Mama wa s still alive.

"Can't I go with you?" she said. "Can I help? I don't think I can stay here anymore."

"You know that you can't," he said, getting up from the bed. "And it's not just about your name or the fact that you're a Parissi. You're not a fighter, Giulia. You're not made to be one. You've had so much trouble even giving Pietro information about the castle. You don't have it in you to do what I'm doing. You'd be a liability to me."

"No, that's not true. I could be… I…" She trailed off. Because he was right.

"Sit tight, okay? Give Pietro the information he needs. Help with the kids. Marilene adores you. Be there for her."

She nodded and stood, looking down at her hands clasped in front of her waist. She didn't want to distract him or upset him more than he already was. He had so much on his mind. She clasped her hands tighter, so she wouldn't reach out to him, the way she wanted to. She yearned to feel his strong chest against her body, to soak up his warmth, to have him reassure her that they'd see each other again. And that they had a future together. That one day they could share a life where there was no war, no brutality, no constant threat. She was so scared she'd never see him again.

Suddenly she felt a strong touch on her arms, and she lifted her eyes to see Luca there in front of her, his hands holding her, the sensation tender and luxurious on her skin. Without thinking but simply following her instincts, she lifted her chin and moved her face upward toward his. A moment later his lips were on hers, firm and smooth, his mouth warm and giving. As frightened and distressed as she was, she felt her body relax and release, as if this moment was enough, because it was everything. She placed her hands on his chest and then ran one upward so it was resting on the top of his shoulder, loving the feel of his strong frame beneath her fingers. She pressed herself closer to him, letting her mouth meld further with his, so they were moving and responding as if with one mind, one heart?—

"Luca?" came a female voice from the staircase, accompanied by the sound of firm footsteps. Giulia broke away from the embrace and walked to the window.

"Luca, I wanted to— Oh, Giulia. I didn't know you were here." It was Cellina. Giulia nodded, still facing the window. "I thought you were still…" she continued. "I mean, why would you?—"

"What is it you need, Cellina?" Luca asked.

"Nothing. I only wanted to make sure you have everything. Enough clothes? The food we wrapped for you?"

"I'm set, Cellina, thank you," Luca said.

"Then why don't you both come down for breakfast? The food is hot. Giulia, okay?"

Giulia took a breath, then turned back toward the other two. "Yes, I'm coming."

"Good. Remember, please, we need to put on a good face for the children," Cellina said. "Luca, they think you have some issue to take care of at the vineyard."

Luca nodded and headed for the door. Giulia started to follow him, but Cellina took her elbow, her eyes a mixture of sympathy and steely resolve. Then she let Giulia go.

That night, after the children were in bed, Giulia snuck out of the house and hid behind the trees to watch Luca leave. She knew Pietro and Cellina wouldn't want her to be there. They wouldn't want her to take up any more of Luca's attention than she already had. Soon a small boat pulled up to the shore, and Luca climbed on board. She watched Pietro hand him his valise. She watched him shake hands with Pietro. Then he sat and the boat quietly took off, their way lit by the moon and the stars.

Slowly, she dragged herself into the house and up the stairs. When she entered her bedroom, she saw a note on the pillow. She hadn't noticed it before and had no idea when it had been placed there. She unfolded it. The handwriting was Luca's:

Wherever you go, I will go.

Wherever you stay, I will stay.

She lowered herself onto the bed, relishing those words.

If only she could be sure they would come true.

With Luca gone, it seemed as if all the light in the house, all the sunshine streaming in through the windows, had dimmed. The adults tried to stay involved in their work and their chores, keeping the routines going for the sake of the children, but the usual upbeat feel of the household was gone. Giulia wondered if the house had always seemed like this when Luca had left. Or were things worse now? Was it because what he was doing was far more dangerous than what had come before? Or was everyone aware of what she and Luca had become to one another? It seemed that perhaps her presence had changed the household. That the closeness between her and Luca had reminded all the adults of what they left behind when they came here to stay.

Her birthday arrived, but it was nowhere near the celebration Marilene had envisioned. She and Marilene had both lost interest in completing the red party dresses, so the garments lay upstairs in Giulia's room, unfinished. Signora Brambilla made a lovely birthday cake, and they all sang to her and congratulated her, but there was something flat and sad about the evening. Even the boys pushed away their slices of cake and whined about their schoolwork and chores until Cellina sent them to bed. For presents, Marilene gave her a new sewing kit with spools of thread in many colors, a gift that she'd chosen from a catalog and had delivered with the food and other supplies last week. Cellina and Pietro gave her a sweet silver bracelet they'd also had delivered, and Signor and Signora Brambilla, along with Signorina Ottavia, gave her a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers they'd picked in the woods behind the house. Giulia was touched by the gifts and all the effort that had gone into the party. But like the others, she wasn't going to smile until Luca came home safe.

Then finally, eight days after Luca had left, Pietro called everyone into the living room at night. "I have good news," he said. "I just got word on the radio. Luca returns tonight!"

"Oh, thank the Lord," Signora Brambilla said, and the boys jumped up and down. Cellina had tears in her eyes, and Pietro hugged her. Marilene ran upstairs to make him a "welcome home" card. Giulia sat down on the sofa and breathed deeply, for what seemed like the first time in eight days. She had been so worried. She had missed him so much.

She started upstairs to help Marilene when Pietro touched her arm.

"Giulia," he said softly. "Come. There's something more I need you to know."

She followed him into his study and when he gestured toward an armchair, she sat down. He sat behind his desk. His expression was stern, and she wondered if she'd done something wrong. She didn't think so. She had been giving him all the information he'd asked for about the castle. She'd been even more forthcoming ever since Luca had left. She'd wanted to be helpful because she knew how much danger Luca was putting himself in. She'd even stopped talking about going to the mainland. She hadn't wanted to cause any more trouble for this family.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Suddenly Cellina came in and sat in the other armchair. Now she knew the news was bad. Cellina had never come into one of their meetings before.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice desperate. "Is it about Luca? Is he okay? Is he hurt?"

Pietro shook his head. "It's not about Luca," he said. He sighed and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. "Giulia, you are going to have to be very strong and very brave. War is horrific, and nobody remains unscathed."

Cellina reached out and took her hand. And that's when she knew.

"It's my family, isn't it?" she said.

Pietro folded his hands on his desk. "When we got word about Luca returning, we also got word about your younger sister," he said. "Your hometown, Caccipulia, was invaded last week. Many Jews were killed. And the people who were suspected of helping them were killed, too."

"Emilia?" she whispered.

"And your friend, Vincenzo."

"But… but no," she said, her voice gasping. "That can't be. My uncle was going to save them. He said he could get them out of Italy…"

"Giulia," Cellina said. "It's what we suspected. Nobody got off Parissi Island when the Nazis came ashore. Except for you."

"So my uncle? And Annalisa?"

Pietro looked at her. "We're going to avenge this. We're going to do harm to them for what they did. The munitions are here, and we'll get them to our operatives. We'll figure out how to smuggle them off the island. We will get back at them for everything?—"

But she couldn't bear to hear more. She left the study and ran upstairs. In her room, she closed her bedroom door, then sank onto her mattress. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't have lost her whole family. How could they have slaughtered her beautiful little sister? And her wise older sister? Now the war had hit home. Now it was her family, the people she loved.

Suddenly she understood Luca's anger about his father. She was angry, too. She sat up and clutched her stomach, picturing how it had happened. Had they lined them up or shot them randomly? In the head, in the heart? Had her sisters begged for their lives? Had they cried? Had Emilia called out "Giulia!" the way she used to when she got her comb stuck in her tangled hair or stepped on a pin while running barefoot through the store because she hated wasting time putting on shoes? Had Annalisa been calm as she died? Had they thought of her?

And what of their uncle, poor Patricio, who had cried when he'd finally met them, his sister's daughters? He'd barely had time to be with family again. Now he was dead. And what of Vincenzo? He'd saved her life by showing her the back dock and teaching her to sail the pattino , only to be killed while saving her younger sister.

Yes, she was angry. How ridiculous she had been, hesitating to help Pietro draw that map. Who had she been protecting?

No more, she thought. No more. Now she had a purpose, as Luca did. She would give Pietro even more details about Parissi Castle, anything she could think of. She would label every square inch for him, so the Resistance fighters would know all there was. And… and the munitions, the bullets and explosives Pietro was looking to smuggle?

She looked around until her gaze landed on the pieces of the red dresses still to be finished, which were on the shelf across the room. She went there and touched a sleeve. She was a good seamstress and she understood how fabrics behaved. Fabrics told a story, that's what she'd said to Luca. Now these fabrics would tell a story, too. A story of one brave daughter of a Jewish tailor, a brave daughter who would finally be of service, of help…

At that moment, the door to her bedroom opened. By the light of the moon coming in from her window, she saw it was Luca. His hair was tousled and his face was wet from the mist.

"Giulia," he said, and she knew he'd heard the news.

She dropped the red sleeve and ran into his arms. And she grasped him as he kissed the top of her head and murmured her name over and over. She didn't know who she was, and she didn't want to know. She only wanted to leave the world behind and lose herself in all the sensations she was feeling. This was where redemption was; this was where peace and possibility resided. It was as though only now, only with him, could she believe there was something meaningful about life. Because Luca understood her. They were both people who had lost so much so young. They were longing for home, which had disappeared for each of them far too early.

But they could find home in each other, she thought as they moved away from the bedroom door. They could find home in each other's embrace. And maybe then they could find a way out of this nightmare.

Maybe they could find a way forward.