by Stacy Henrie
Clare squeezed the little girl’s hand, grateful to have her here and that Emmett had been able to save her. Regardless of the troubles in their relationship, Clare still felt proud of her husband and his heroic actions. Emmett, with help from God, had saved many lives today.
Please continue to preserve his life, she silently pled.
When they reached the field’s edge, Clare glanced in each direction. Some trees to her right looked to be orange or lemon trees. “This way,” she said to Antonina. They moved toward the grove. Among the grass, Clare spotted an orange. She bent and picked it up. It looked overripe, and yet it was still something to eat.
She and Antonina walked a little farther and found several more oranges in the grass. The trees themselves were bare of the fruit, which meant these had been left behind after the recent harvest. Removing her robe, Clare placed the oranges in the center of the garment and lifted the sides like a sack.
“Let’s see what else we can find.” Antonina may not have fully understood her, but the girl kept in step with Clare as she headed in the opposite direction of the fruit trees.
Before long, they came across what appeared to be a wild olive tree. Clare and Antonina picked up what olives looked edible and added them to the oranges. Excited about what they’d discovered so far, Clare kept walking. After a bit, though, she stopped. Apparently they’d found what they could. She started to turn back when Antonina bent down and lifted something off the ground. The little girl held it up for Clare to see. It was a nut.
“That’s perfect, Antonina. Are there anymore?”
The girl didn’t smile, but her troubled expression eased as she studied the ground. Soon she had a whole handful of nuts that she placed inside the robe.
“We probably ought to get back,” Clare announced.
The fare wasn’t much, but it was still something to assuage everyone’s hunger. She led the way toward the field, but a new idea made her pause. Little Leo could eat the orange pulp, but the olives and nuts would be too difficult for him to chew. They would need a knife or a rock to smash the food. A flat stone caught Clare’s eye. She gathered the robe in one hand and bent down to grab the rock. Antonina gazed at the object in obvious confusion.
“We can use it like a plate to mash the food on.” Clare set down her load and pretended to pound her fist against the rock.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she hurried past Clare. Reaching down, Antonina scooped up a rock about the size of Clare’s hand. “This . . . good?” she asked in an expectant tone.
“Bene.” Clare smiled.
The child said something in Italian as she motioned to the rock Clare held. After a moment, she realized Antonina was volunteering to carry both rocks while Clare carried the food. With a nod, she handed the other rock to the girl. Side by side, they returned to the field.
Lord Vickley’s head had been bandaged with the sash from Clare’s robe, and Helena’s baby was awake now. Everyone still looked bedraggled and weary, but they watched with intrigued expressions as Clare unfolded her robe.
“We found some oranges and olives, and Antonina found the nuts.”
At the murmurs of approval, and the grateful smiles aimed their way, Clare saw the little girl’s mouth lift slightly at the corners. Clare peeled one of the oranges and handed the first slice to Antonina. Rather than popping it into her mouth, though, the child looked over at the baby.
“Give him?” Antonina pointed at the boy.
The small yet unselfish offering elicited a lump in Clare’s throat. One she had to swallow past to answer. “Is that all right with you, Helena?”
“Of course,” her friend said. “You can give it to him, Antonina.”
The girl sat on her knees in front of the boy. After breaking off a part of the orange, Antonina held it out to him. The baby seized it at once and stuffed it into his mouth, then he gave the girl a toothy smile. Clare felt as if she were watching a miracle unfold when Antonina nearly smiled back.
Clare passed out the rest of the orange slices, making sure Antonina got one too. Only then did she eat her portion. The orange skin was dry, but the juice inside tasted marvelous in Clare’s dry mouth. She set about peeling the second orange as Miriam passed around the olives and nuts.
“I thought we could make a sort of mash for him.” Clare motioned to the rocks she and Antonina had found.
A tear broke free of Helena’s lashes and slid down her dusty cheek. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Clare and Antonina.” At hearing her name, the child glanced up from handing pieces of orange to the baby. “Grazie, Antonina,” Helena said.
“Prego,” the girl replied, looking pleased.
Clare piled the last two orange slices, a few olives, and the remaining nuts onto the flat rock. Using the other stone, she slowly ground the food into a pulp. When she finished, she handed her friend the makeshift plate. Helena scooped up the mash and put it in her son’s mouth. He wrinkled his nose at first, but he smacked his lips after swallowing as if he wanted more.
Too soon the meager foodstuff was all gone. Clare was thankful for something, however small, inside her stomach—but it wouldn’t be enough to stave everyone’s hunger for long. An uneasy silence descended over the group as the morning wore on. Some of them, including Antonina and the viscount, fell asleep. Clare couldn’t relax though, not when Emmett hadn’t yet returned. She noticed Rushford’s gaze was also fixed on the road more often than not.
Clare kept herself alert by praying for Emmett and thinking about his request for her to return to England. Hopefully he wouldn’t expect her to give him an answer too soon. They still needed to see if the villa in Taormina was standing, and then there was the matter of what to do with Antonina. If the child truly had no one else, then Clare wanted to care for her. Antonina was already attached to Emmett, and Clare herself couldn’t help feeling a strong kinship with the girl too.
As time passed, Clare grew more and more thirsty now that her need for some food had been somewhat satisfied. Emmett might have found some way to bring them water. But how long would be it before he returned? Was there a water source beyond the orange grove? Finally she couldn’t stand waiting any longer. Even if she didn’t find some water, Clare needed a task to keep her mind from imagining all sorts of horrors that might befall her husband in the earthquake-ravaged city.
Clare put her robe back on, then stood and stepped softly toward Rushford. “I’m going to see if I can find a stream or a well. If Antonina wakes, tell her I’m coming back.” At his nod, she moved away from the group. When she reached the orange grove, she kept going.
Her feet felt less sore now. They were either going numb or just getting used to no shoes—much like she had in the summers when she’d been a child.
How ironic, Clare thought, shaking her head in mild amusement. She was an heiress and the wife of a future marquess, and yet right now she was making do on next to nothing as her family had so often done during her early childhood. The realization sent renewed purpose pulsing through her, in spite of the resurrection of her queasiness and hunger. Ever present was her thirst too. What she wouldn’t give for a bucket full of water.
She didn’t think she’d walked far when Clare spied what looked to be a building up ahead. As she came closer, she saw that the house and barn had been demolished by the quake. Only one stone wall remained upright. But there was a well on the far side of the yard. Maybe the owners would be willing to let her take some water back to the field.
“Ciao?” Clare called as she approached the ruined cottage. “Is anyone here?”
There was no answer. She started in the direction of the barn when her foot stepped on something soft. Looking down, she saw it was a wrinkled hand attached to a fleshy arm that stuck out of the rubble. Clare screamed in horror and leapt back, her heart racing. A noise from within the wreckage reached her ears.
“Is someone there?” she cried out. “Can anyone hear me?”
An eerie silence greeted her questions. Wa
s someone still alive within the cottage, or was the sound she’d heard only the debris settling? Clare waited a few seconds, then called out again. When there was still no answer, she gave the hand a wide berth and headed toward the well. Since the owners had been killed, they wouldn’t care if she drew some water.
A bucket dangled from a rope at the top of the well. Clare twisted the handle to lower the pail. After several cranks, she heard a faint splash as the bucket hit the water. Hopefully the liquid was still drinkable. She turned the crank again to bring the bucket back up, already anticipating the water sliding down her parched throat.
Another rustle came from somewhere behind her, this one noticeably closer. Clare ignored it though. The bucket was nearly to the top of the well, which meant a nice, long drink was just a few more hand cranks away. Besides, she’d already decided the noise had to be the shifting of the house. If there was anyone else here, surely they’d have responded when she called out.
The full bucket finally reached the top of the well. Clare’s dry mouth began to water in anticipation of something to drink. She reached out to unlatch the bucket from the rope when she thought she heard footfalls. A shiver of uneasiness ran up her arms, but she focused instead on wrestling the heavy bucket free of the line.
As she set the pail on the well’s ledge, she happened to glance down. A dust-covered shoe appeared in her peripheral view. Had there been a shoe in that spot earlier? She didn’t think so. But before she could reason out the object’s strange appearance, a sharp pain vibrated through her head. Clare let out a moan, then darkness snuffed out everything.
*
With his arms laden with blankets and the loaf of bread he’d concealed inside, Emmett trudged up the road. It didn’t feel as if it had only been a few hours since he’d last walked here. The escape from the hotel felt as if it had happened weeks ago. His arrival in Sicily yesterday felt like another lifetime now. At present, his life, his focus, centered completely on the survival of the group waiting for him in the field.
He rubbed his dirty sleeve over his damp forehead. The temperature wasn’t exactly warm, but navigating his way through the still-dangerous city had produced beads of sweat along Emmett’s hairline and neck. Risking life and limb among the demolished streets and buildings wasn’t the only danger anymore. Now there were thieves roaming Messina, searching among the rubble for anything of value.
After revisiting the rubble that had once been Antonina’s home, Emmett had eventually made his way to the harbor. The devastation there was equally as shocking. Broken ships floated in the water, a testament to the tidal wave that had been triggered by the earthquake. Despite the destruction, though, there were still several steamers anchored nearby, whose sailors were doing their best to rescue trapped citizens.
One of them had given Emmett a portion of the bread the man had found in a half-destroyed bakery. The sailor had warned him to keep it hidden though. There was no telling what someone in desperation might do to satisfy the rising need for food and water among the city’s newly homeless.
Such total and horrific loss.
Emmett shook his head, weariness adding weight to each step as he forged ahead. The ghastly things he’d seen threatened to overwhelm him, even as he gritted his teeth against the memories. They wouldn’t stop tormenting him until he forced his focus to remain on the next stretch of road and what those in his care would need as the chill of evening drew ever nearer.
He finally reached the field. Rushford met him at the edge, his makeshift sling still in place. “I managed to pull some blankets from the rubble at the viscount’s villa,” Emmett explained, shifting the pile he carried. “There’s also some bread.”
“Blankets and bread will be welcomed.” His valet walked beside him. “Lady Linwood and Antonina found us something to eat too, but that was a while ago.”
Clare had procured food? Before Emmett could ask how or where, he saw Antonina jump up and run toward him. Immediately his heart twisted at what he knew was coming. He silently passed his bundle to Rushford, then crouched down so he was eye level with the little girl.
“Where is Angelo?” she asked as she stopped in front of Emmett. “Is he all right? Is he hurt?”
Emmett placed his hand on her shoulder. The words he needed to say felt like they were choking him. “I went back, but Angelo . . .” The image of the boy’s broken body among the ruins loomed large in his mind’s eye as if he were seeing it all over again. He struggled to drag a full breath into his tight lungs, his pulse thudding. Deep regret at not being able to save the boy seared Emmett’s thoughts. He sagged to the side beneath the heavy burden, barely catching himself with his free hand.
He had to fight back, had to push this intense pain away. If not, he’d never be able to help any of them, especially Antonina.
“I’m sorry.” Emmett moistened his cracked lips. “Angelo didn’t survive the collapse of the building. I don’t believe he suffered though.”
Antonina’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “He is dead then?”
Emmett nodded slowly. “I am so—”
His words, ones that felt wholly inadequate, were cut off as the child threw her arms around his neck. She didn’t sob or wail, but he could tell from the trembling of her shoulders that she was crying. After a long minute, he eased her to arm’s length. “Do you have any other family or relatives?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Only Papa, Mama, and Angelo.”
“Then would you like to stay with me and Clare?” He hadn’t yet talked to his wife about such an arrangement, but he hoped she would be in agreement. The girl had nothing left here—no family, no home. But he and Clare could provide those things for her.
Antonina appeared to consider his question. “Where do you stay?”
“In Taormina for now,” he said, “but our home is actually in England.”
“England?” the girl repeated. “That is far away from Sicily.”
Emmett rose to his feet. “It is very far away.”
“And I get to stay with you in those places?”
“Only if you want to.”
Antonina looked past him, back toward Messina. “I think I want to,” she said when she peered up at him again.
“Sì?” Happiness at her answer reinvigorated his flagging energy. He’d hoped she would choose to go with them, but he’d wanted it to be her decision.
She offered a solemn nod. “Sì.”
Emmett put his arm around Antonina and smiled. He couldn’t wait to tell Clare the news. A quick perusal of the rest of the group revealed his wife wasn’t among them. A wave of uneasiness threatened to swallow the happy moment. “Where is Clare?”
“She isn’t back yet, my lord,” Rushford answered.
“Back?” Emmett echoed.
A concerned-looking Miriam joined them. “She went to see if she could find water, but that was some time ago.”
His apprehension grew. He didn’t like the idea of Clare wandering around the countryside alone. “Do you know which way she went?”
The maid pointed northwest. “Past those trees there.”
“I’ll see if I can find her.” A tug on his hand brought his attention back to Antonina. He could move quicker without her in tow. But he also recognized that he was the closest thing to a father and protector that she had left, and he’d already been gone most of the day. “Do you want to come, Antonina?” he asked in Italian.
She dipped her chin up and down, her mouth set in a tight line of resolve. Clearly she was not going to abide being left behind this time. If he weren’t so concerned about Clare, Emmett would have found the wherewithal to chuckle at the little girl’s determination. That sort of pluck would surely prove useful to her in the days ahead.
“All right,” he conceded. “Rushford? Inside those blankets is a loaf of bread. We can divide it up before Antonina and I go look for Clare.”
His valet knelt on the ground and removed the loaf from the blankets. Emmett broke off a p
iece for Antonina, then, saving a piece for Clare, he passed out the rest of it. The bread was stale, but it still tasted delicious to Emmett. He wished he had a little water to wash it down, though even the small bit of nourishment bolstered his strength.
When the paltry meal was eaten, he and Antonina headed in the direction Miriam had indicated. Neither of them spoke; they simply walked. But her small hand tucked inside his was as comforting to him as he hoped it was to her. After a while, Emmett thought he saw the walls of a building up ahead. Had Clare found assistance there? He picked up his pace while still being mindful of Antonina’s short legs.
Once they’d cleared the trees, Emmett stopped. The building he thought he’d seen was just one remaining wall of what had been a house. A nearby barn had also been reduced to rubble by the earthquake. If Clare had come here, would she have moved on in her search for water?
“Guardare,” Antonina cried. Look. She pulled Emmett forward as she pointed to something across the yard.
There, beside the well, lay the prone figure of a woman. Emmett recognized Clare’s robe and copper hair. He let go of Antonina and sprinted toward his wife, his heart throbbing painfully with panic. Had he rescued her from the viscount’s villa only to lose her now? Please, Lord, no.
He knelt in the dirt at Clare’s side and touched her shoulder. “Clare? Can you hear me? Where are you hurt?” He was profoundly relieved to see she was still breathing, and that there were no visible signs of blood or broken bones. Yet her eyes were still closed.
A low moan tumbled from her lips. “My head . . .”
He gingerly examined the back of her hair and discovered a large bump. Without opening her eyes, Clare winced. She’d clearly struck her head on something, but Emmett couldn’t identify what. There was the well and an overturned bucket, but nothing else. Only then did he notice the shoe prints in the dirt around her. Clare wasn’t wearing shoes, though, and the prints weren’t Emmett’s either. He’d approached his wife from a different direction. Wariness had him glancing around to ascertain if they were alone.
