Prologue

PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 26, 1943

There were no stars.

Emilia pulled the wooden door shut behind her, gently, so she wouldn't wake Signora Jorelini. She stayed still for a moment, the door at her back. It was not a pretty night. Not like the gorgeous nights of last summer, often starry and utterly breathtaking, the sky a rich shade of bluish-black that all but defied description. Tonight the sky was gray and patchy with clouds. But Emilia knew it was better this way. For staying hidden. The cloud cover made the night darker. Still, she'd have liked to see stars.

Gathering the collar of her brown cloth coat closer to her neck, she began to walk, quickly but gingerly. It was best not to run, though the urge to do so was strong. Rapid footsteps would make noise. And even though it was nearly midnight, someone could be awake. Someone who'd look out their window and spot her. Nobody rested well these days, that was what Signora Jorelini had said. Everyone slept with one ear open for unexpected noises.

Like the sound of a motorcar in town late at night. That was the one people most worried about. It could lead to the sound of an engine turning off. Then the slamming of one or more car doors, the click of brisk, efficient footsteps on the cobblestones, and the hurl of German, the tone harsh and syllables clipped. Few drove in this neighborhood. Nobody Emilia knew even had a car. Everything was close enough to walk to: the school, the library, the shops. Meeting neighbors on the street was how people stayed in touch, how they found out who was sick and needed groceries delivered, whose daughter had just gotten engaged, who had a new baby and could use some outgrown toys or clothes.

But Nazis had their own way of doing things.

Emilia studied the road ahead. Thanks to the flickering streetlamps, the cobblestones were glistening, still wet from the earlier drizzle. She hoped the dampness wouldn't seep through the new lace-up shoes Signora Jorelini had bought her. She hadn't brought another pair. She hadn't known what to bring. Nightgown? Toothbrush? Extra barrettes? She'd pinned the sides of her hair back as best she could when she'd climbed out of bed a little while ago, since there'd been no one to help her pull it back more neatly. She'd dressed in the trousers and warm sweater she'd placed on the chair last night, trying to move silently in the darkness.

How long would she wear these clothes? When would she change next, and where? She'd slipped some garments—skirts, sweaters, underwear—into her small suitcase, which she now grasped by its worn handle as she walked, finding comfort in the rhythm of her footsteps.

The code color was green today, she reminded herself. That meant there would be guides in the woods beyond the town border. At least that's what she'd been told. She hoped it was true, because what else could she do but go there? She was only fifteen. She shouldn't be making choices like this. She shouldn't be out here in the middle of the night by herself. And yet she was alone. Her father gone. Her sisters gone. Her home gone. Her friend Corinna, Signora Jorelini's daughter, now gone too. How far was the edge of town? Maybe another twenty minutes? Maybe less if she quickened her pace? She'd never needed to keep track before.

She continued on, staying away from the streetlamps, grateful for the shadows that the buildings cast onto the sidewalk. To her right was the Simona house, where a Jewish family had stayed last week. There were three of them—a mother, father, and five-year-old son. The mother had such a pretty name, Emilia remembered. Ariella. Emilia had gone with Corinna one evening to bring food for them. Signora Simona had called Emilia and Corinna the supper club angels. Emilia was struck by how worn the family looked. How sunken their eyes, how drawn their faces. Even the little boy.

As Signora Simona hurried off to the kitchen with the basket, fragrant with the dishes packed inside, Ariella had come closer to the doorway to describe what was happening in the north.

"It's getting worse," she'd said. "They know where we are. Hiding won't be good enough."

Signora Simona had returned to the door to draw Ariella back. "It's dangerous," she'd told the young woman. "You might be seen."

Ariella had let herself be pulled away, but not before extending a warning to Emilia. "They'll be coming here soon. Do you have somewhere to go? You can come along with us…"

Emilia had been stunned. She had no idea how the woman knew she was one of them.

"Don't worry," Corinna had said. "I have a plan for Emilia."

Emilia had been so relieved. It was all she needed to hear, that Corinna had a plan. She'd never imagined what the plan was. Or that she would have to tell Corinna no.

Emilia wiped her nose with the back of her hand and continued forward in the darkness. How she would miss this town. So pretty, with its stone buildings and cobblestone roads, the purple wisteria and pink oleander blossoms that saturated window boxes and balconies from one end of town to the other each spring. The courtyards that overlooked the dazzling blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea below. It was the town where she'd been born, the youngest living daughter, the baby. Do you have somewhere to go? Ariella had asked. The people who lived here, the neighbors, the family friends in this town that was her home—now so many of them were different. As Signora Jorelini had told her many times, it was hard to know whom to trust.

Suddenly she heard a whooshing sound, growing larger and louder. It was them. They had entered the town, as Ariella had predicted. They knew she was here, a Jewish girl, the daughter of the town's Jewish tailor. They knew everything. She froze, her breath stalled in her chest and her heart pounding so hard that she could feel it in her temples. She had to move away from the street. But her legs wouldn't go. They felt weak, as though her bones had turned into the elastic strips her father would sew into the waistlines of dresses for women with babies growing inside. I have to move , she whispered to herself, her breathing stuttered. I have to .

Ahead was the carved arch above the stone stairway that led to the other side of town. Emilia forced in a deep breath and somehow found the strength to dart beneath it. Standing on the bottom step, she waited to hear the motorcar come closer, the men approach. What would they do to her? She closed her eyes, but couldn't stop the images from filling her head: women and men dragged from apartment buildings wearing only their nightclothes. People being thrown into cars or the backs of trucks. Being driven to…where? Nobody knew. Or they didn't want to say.

Emilia stayed hidden under the archway, crouching down, listening to the sound of her shallow breath, closing her eyes and lowering her chin, biting her bottom lip so she wouldn't scream. But then the sound subsided. It hadn't been a car at all. Just the wind kicking up from the sea.

Sinking onto the bottom step, Emilia waited for her breathing to normalize. She couldn't stay where she was. She had to keep walking, to make it to the woods before another whooshing sound approached, this time signaling a car for real. Forcing herself to stand, she climbed up the narrow stone stairway until she emerged again into the open air. Ahead of her was the line of shops she knew so well: the shoemaker, the dress shop, the dry goods store, the pasticceria , the butcher. Some had been closed for a while. There was so little to be had these days.

She kept walking, and that's when she saw it, on the corner just past the dress shop. It was her house, her family's house, with her father's tailor shop on the ground floor and the kitchen, sitting room, and bedrooms upstairs. Such a nice house, simple white stone with a green door and bushes that grew lush in the spring. It was the house and shop her father had been forced to sell. Now there was another family living there. The De Luca family. Running her father's shop. Cooking meals in her family's kitchen. Sleeping in her family's beds.

She sighed and looked up, and that's when she noticed a few dim stars. Three…no four. It made her think of the story her father used to tell her as he tucked her into bed, a tale he'd learned as a young Jewish boy. It was about a man forced to leave his home, who finds purpose in the multitude of stars above. It was a story of courage and faith. The man was compelled to go forward, and so he did.

Her father had told her that story often. He'd wanted her to remember it.

She took one last look at the house, her house. "I'll be back," she whispered. She would return to this house, this neighborhood, this town, to turn everything back to the way it used to be. One day.

Grasping her suitcase tighter, she proceeded down the street.

The woods were not far ahead.