The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  Oddly, she had never questioned the mismatch between her parents’ goals and her own of being a Broadway star. That Marcie had was one more thing to admire about the girl, even if it did sting to hear her complaints about having to get married when Vi likely no longer had that option. Not with her past.

  And why was it that one didn’t truly value an opportunity until it was taken away?

  With a sigh, she looked up at the endless blue sky and wondered if it was sunny in Chicago. She thought of a small boy and sparkly sequins and all the other precious things she had left behind, perhaps forever.

  “I wonder where we’ll end up.” Marcie scrunched her nose. “I hope not England. I hear the weather there is awful. Rainy, gloomy . . .”

  “On the other hand, we’d at least speak the language.”

  “Ugh. I hadn’t thought of that. I hope we don’t land in North Africa, then. I don’t know a word of African.”

  “I think French might work there, too. At least that’s what I gathered from watching Casablanca.”

  “I didn’t get to see that movie. Once Mama heard it was about a love triangle involving a married woman, that was that!”

  “I think it was about more than just that,” Vi said dryly.

  “In any case, I don’t speak French, either.”

  “Well, don’t look at me.” Vi stretched her arms over her head to ease the cramp in her back. “I only know German, and heaven forbid we ever end up playing for Nazis!”

  “Unless we were spies.” Excitement lit Marcie’s eyes. “Do you think you could teach me? Then we could go undercover and smuggle out secrets. It’d be so much more glamorous than being a mere chorus girl.”

  “So much more dangerous, you mean.”

  “But think of the fun.” Marcie sat up straighter, her eyes widening. “Ooh, can you imagine if we get sent to Italy?”

  “Why?” Vi said dryly. “Neither one of us speaks Italian. Though, come to think of it, Luciana might.”

  “Bah! That contadina wouldn’t fool anyone as a spy.”

  Vi blinked, startled by the unfamiliar word. “Canta deena? Is that some kind of female singer?” Her Latin was pretty rusty, but she was pretty sure “canta” had something to do with singing.

  “Singer?” Marcie laughed in genuine amusement. “Well, I suppose in a way I can see how you got that. But it’s not canta, but conta.” She stressed the longer vowel. “Contadina, which is Italian for . . . well, farmer or peasant.”

  “Luciana is a farmer?” Vi asked casually, even as her pulse raced. In all the weeks they had known each other, this was the first time Marcie had given even a hint of her real identity—assuming Sal and she were right and Marcie really was Angelina Maggio. She decided to give her travel buddy a little push into disclosing more. “So how is it an Irish girl knows Italian?”

  Marcie wrinkled her nose. “Irish? Whatever made you think that?”

  “Well, your last name, for one. The Mays I’ve met were from Ireland.”

  “Really?” Marcie’s gaze slid away. “I had no idea.”

  “So ‘farmer,’ eh?” Vi tucked the word into her memory, not buying Marcie’s evasion about her ancestry.

  “It’s considered a bit of an insult, so be careful using it,” Marcie warned.

  “Why?” Vi asked, surprised. In Iowa, farming was a venerated profession.

  Marcie shrugged. “It just is.”

  “You still haven’t said how you learned the word,” Vi reminded the girl. For someone who said she couldn’t keep a secret, her travel buddy was proving remarkably cagey about her Italian roots.

  Marcie rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t hard. I mean, there’s no way someone can grow up in Brooklyn without picking up a few words of Italian here and there. Particularly insults and swear words.”

  “Kind of like how I know all kinds of improper words in German thanks to growing up in a town chock-full of German immigrants,” Vi said with a wry laugh.

  “Just so!” Marcie laughed and grabbed Vi’s hand, giving it a squeeze in her excitement. “I’m telling you, if the show flops, we should become some kind of spy duo.”

  Vi shook her hand free. “No thanks. The life of intrigue might appeal to you, but I want to get home again as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you leave a fellow behind?” Marcie’s eyes rounded in sudden compassion, the mercurial mood shift so typical of the girl, Vi almost laughed, despite the ache in her chest.

  “Yeah. I guess you could say that,” she said, thinking of Jimmy and then trying not to think about how far she had traveled from him.

  “I wish I had someone waiting for me to come home.” Marcie looked out over the ocean, her expression wistful. “At least someone I liked.”

  Vi pulled herself back to the present. “Not just some fellow your parents picked out?”

  Marcie nodded, and then she glanced back. “Is it so awful I want to marry for love?”

  “Love is overrated,” Vi said flatly, her memories of Robert less than romance inspiring. “And so is marriage, for that matter.”

  “But what about children? Don’t you want any?”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak as a familiar pain sliced through her, awful and inescapable. She closed her eyes, focused on the feel of the sun on her skin, the sound of the gulls overhead. Breathe, Vi. She didn’t know. She opened her eyes. “Children aren’t an option for me. I suffered an injury when I was fifteen that made it impossible.”

  As Marcie’s eyes widened in shock, Vi forced herself to smile.

  The news, when she learned it, had devastated her. It had come up as she was being discharged from the hospital after Jimmy’s birth. She could still see the serves-you-right glint in the doctor’s eyes as he explained how complications during the admittedly difficult delivery had irreparably damaged her. This after she had already given her baby up for adoption, so there was no chance of ever undoing the void that had opened in her soul.

  “I’m sorry.” Marcie laid her hand over Vi’s and squeezed gently. “That really stinks.”

  Vi blinked back sudden tears. The utter inadequacy of “stinks,” given the awful reality, struck her as both darkly funny and deeply sad. And yet there was nothing she could do to fix it, except go back in time and be someone else, to wit, someone more likely to think before jumping into the unknown with both feet.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Marcie let go and pointed down the deck. “Am I seeing things, or is Ann actually waving us over to talk to her and Luciana? And look, there’s Sue, too.”

  Vi wiped her cheeks and looked where her travel buddy was pointing. Sure enough, Ann was waving them over. “I wonder what’s up.”

  “Should we go find out?” Marcie asked.

  “If it means no more talk of marriage, absolutely.” Vi jumped to her feet.

  By the time they had reached the small group, Gertie and Frances were there, too.

  “News,” Ann exclaimed in her perfect East Coast diction as everyone drew near. “Sue finally has some news for us.”

  Sue, not looking nearly as excited, frowned at Vi and Marcie. “Why aren’t you two ladies in uniform?”

  “Because we were working on our dances,” Marcie said with an airy wave of her hand. “And it’s difficult to get the moves right in army-regulation skirts.”

  “You’re not kidding,” Frances said, with a roll of her green eyes. “And the pants aren’t much better; I have to roll them up so far to keep from tripping on them.”

  Sue scowled, clearly unimpressed.

  “News?” Gertie prompted gently, ever the peacemaker, her worried gaze bouncing between all their faces.

  Sue’s expression lightened. “There’s been no official word, but the scuttlebutt”—which was the army slang for gossip—“is that the voyage is almost over and we’ll be landing in two days’ time. So I want you all to get started packing up your things, in case we land earlier.”

  “Do we know where yet?” Frances asked, taking Gertie
’s arm as if to reassure her.

  “Well, it’ll either be North Africa or Italy,” Sue said. “Because see that smudge over there, on the horizon?” Six gazes turned toward the starboard side of the ship. “That’s the coast of Africa. We went through the Strait of Gibraltar last night.”

  “Truly?” Even Ann, who never seemed impressed by anything, looked awed by the information.

  “Well, if it’s Italy, Luciana here can help translate,” Frances said. “Right, Luciana?”

  Luciana didn’t say anything, her gaze fastened on the opposite horizon.

  Surprised by the actress’s silence, Vi studied Luciana’s expression for a clue to her thoughts. It wasn’t like Luciana to ignore people. In Vi’s experience, the actress was as kind as she was beautiful, and easy to talk to once one got past her slightly imperious manner. It had been Luciana who had explained Ann’s dislike of the dancers, saying it wasn’t their fault. Ann’s fiancé had run off with a dancer the year before, breaking the blonde’s heart, and she had yet to recover.

  Having fallen victim to a man’s lies herself, Vi had utterly forgiven Ann from that point on.

  “Well, that’s it, kiddos,” Sue said. “Vi, Marcie—I don’t want to catch either of you on deck out of uniform again.”

  And with that last bit of advice, she strode off toward the stairs leading to the upper decks.

  “Time to be drab again,” Marcie grumbled. “Think she’ll soften up once we land?”

  “Nope. We’re with the army now.” Vi watched the other women drift off on a wave of excited chatter. All except Luciana, who shivered and then glanced around the deck, looking a little lost.

  Concern tugged at Vi’s conscience, despite a hard-and-fast rule of not getting involved in other people’s business. No good ever seemed to come of it. Jealous boyfriends, broken promises, troubled marriages? Not her problem. Through with some guy and no longer caring who he went out with? Not falling for it. She’d been burned believing Fern on that last one, which had resulted in the Robert fiasco. And her experience with mobsters had only cemented her belief that she was better off minding her own concerns.

  Still, something about Luciana’s sad, almost pensive expression gave Vi pause. It was as if the actress wanted to talk something over with a friend, but there was no one there. Except her.

  Vi sighed. She really wasn’t any good at the whole female-friend business. Men were all right because they were so straightforward about what they thought and liked. Women had always been more of an enigma to her.

  On the other hand, if Luciana, who was much closer to the directors than Vi, was worried about something that might even tangentially affect Marcie’s safety, Vi wanted to know about it.

  “What’s the holdup?” Marcie asked. “Aren’t you going to change?”

  Vi hesitated a moment more and then made her decision. “You go ahead and get started. There’s something I want to talk to Luciana about. Nothing important. Just girl talk.”

  Marcie gave her an odd look. “Oh-kaaaay, but don’t take too long. Sue was pretty steamed.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Vi waited until Marcie was out of sight. Then she turned, screwed up her courage, and spoke. “Luciana?”

  The actress glanced up with a startled, doe-like air.

  “I—I wanted to tell you how much I like watching you perform. I’m learning a lot.”

  “Thank you,” the actress said softly, her slight singsong accent more pronounced offstage. A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “That’s so nice to hear. And may I return the compliment? You are a very talented dancer. I’ve been watching you rehearse with Miss May, and the show will be much stronger with you in it.”

  “Oh! Thank you.” The unexpected praise almost threw Vi off track. Then she gave herself a mental shake. Stay on task, Vi. Be a friend; gain information. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem rather down. Is it something to do with the show?”

  Luciana blinked. “The show? No, not at all. Though I’ll be glad when we can get back to full rehearsals. It’s hard to perfect one’s role when scenes are forever rehearsed out of order. But I doubt the soldiers will demand perfection.”

  “Unless they were former theater critics,” Vi said. The remark earned a small laugh from Luciana. “It’s not something Mr. Miller said, then? Frances said he made you cry the other day, when we were at Camp Kilmer.”

  Luciana’s lips parted in surprise, but then she quickly composed herself. “I was unaware anyone saw us.” She took a deep breath. “Please tell Frances not to worry. Mr. Miller was merely passing along some bad news.”

  “Nothing too bad, I hope,” Vi said. “I know how hard it is to perform when your mind is elsewhere.”

  “Don’t we all.” Luciana smiled gently, and then sorrow filled her dark eyes again. “Since you were so kind as to ask: Mr. Miller brought me news of my relatives in northern Italy. Ones we had lost touch with after the Nazis took over. When the Allies landed, we hoped we would soon hear from them again. When we didn’t, we made inquiries through . . . various channels. The embassy received a report while I was at the camp, and . . .” She blinked as if to hold back tears and looked out over the ocean again. “The news wasn’t good. The Nazis have taken them away.”

  “They’re not dead, then?” Vi asked, trying to get a better grip on the situation. “I mean, it probably isn’t good the Nazis have them, but at least they’re still alive.”

  “If they were only Italian, perhaps.” The actress took another deep inhale. “But they are also Jews. And worse, my cousin apparently fell in with the Italian resistance. He was arrested by the Italian fascists, and now the Germans have rounded everyone up: his parents, grandparents, siblings, everyone.”

  Vi’s breath left her as if she’d been hit. She could scarcely imagine how Luciana could stand it. If she had learned her family, even one of the more distant branches, had been captured by Nazis, the news would have brought her to her knees. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” Luciana’s tremulous smile tore Vi’s heart even more. “When I auditioned for the USO, I hoped we would go to Italy, since that’s where I was born. But now that my family is gone, any homecoming will be bittersweet, to say the least.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Anything any of us can?”

  “Defeat the Germans?” Luciana said with a wry laugh. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “You wouldn’t happen to speak Italian?”

  “Not a lick. German? Sure. And even a few words of Norwegian and Swedish.”

  “Really?” A curious expression crossed the actress’s face and then was gone. “I suppose the person I should be asking is Miss May. Though Sicilian isn’t all that useful once one leaves the island.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  The actress shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I suspect May is a stage name. She has that look of someone from Sicilia. And Maggio—that’s May in Italian—is a common enough surname.”

  The latter part Vi already knew, but the first? “I meant your comment on Sicilian. Do they not speak Italian there?”

  “Yes, and no.” The actress’s lips twisted slightly. “Millennia of trade have taught them our language, of course. But their dialect is their own and unlike any other in Italy, something they are quite proud of.”

  “Meaning if she teaches me Italian, no one in the rest of Italy will understand me?”

  Luciana’s amusement grew. “It’s not that bad. Though honestly, no matter what accent you learn, you’ll never be completely understood everywhere. Remember there was no ‘Italy’ a hundred years ago. So the concept of a unified language is new to us. Every region has its own dialect, its own history, its own customs.”

  “But Italy fights as a single nation.” Vi was pretty sure of that fact.

  “No.” Luciana smiled sadly. “Not at the moment. Not as the Allies would wish. It all comes down to our history. If you were to ask an Italian who they are f
ighting for, it wouldn’t be the Allies or the Germans. It would be for their hometown, for their friends and relatives. For what they know and love, because armies come and go. Kingdoms rise and fall. Political systems flourish and fail. What doesn’t change is the Italian heart, which is strong and full of passion. But will the Italian people help us, you might ask? I suppose it will depend on who you talk to and who you mean by ‘us.’”

  Vi gave a half laugh. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “You’re welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go inside. I’m not so bold as to risk Sue’s wrath,” Luciana said with a smile. She started to turn away, then stopped. “Virginia . . . I meant what I said just now about your talent. If something should happen to me, I’d like—”

  “Nothing will happen to you,” Vi said quickly, shocked the actress would dare the Fates like that.

  “Nevertheless,” Luciana said, raising her finger to quiet Vi. “You might wish to learn my lines, just in case.”

  “Except that I don’t sing,” Vi told her, even as her mind reeled at the possibility.

  Luciana’s expression fell. “Ah. Then I guess not. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  Vi stood on deck for another moment after Luciana went inside, torn between astonishment and dread. That Luciana had thought her good enough to be an understudy thrilled her to no end. But it also made her uneasy. Not that she was superstitious, but she wouldn’t mind a lucky rabbit’s foot about now. Particularly since Luciana’s portrayal of Italy hadn’t been all that reassuring.

  Even though Luciana hadn’t said anything directly, Vi worried Marcie’s heritage could prove a problem. It made sense that there might still be regional jealousies and conflicts despite a central government. Rather like siblings under a shared roof, she imagined, each one trying to best the other, trying to stand out, wanting to feel superior if only for a moment.

  That’s the way it had been with her and Fern. They had stood together against outside threats, like when Artie Crandall had teased Vi in seventh grade about being so busty and Fern had given him a dressing down like no other—a rare show of sisterly love that had made Vi cry. And Vi had let the air out of Charlie Keller’s tires after he had broken Fern’s heart by standing her up on the night of a big dance.