The Golden Hour - Margaret Wurtele

by The Golden Hour (epub)

  The word among her friends—and my mother was one—was that the marchesa had begun by offering food, shelter, and often first aid to a succession of escaped prisoners of war. Her English was a natural magnet for those lost souls, and her reputation as a warm, understanding, exceedingly generous provider became known in close circles. She used her own network of farmhouses to keep these fugitives hidden for a brief time, then sent them on their way. Soon, however, as word spread throughout the Serchio River valley, demand forced her to create a fully operating secret clinic, undiscovered by the Germans.

  There was an ancient stone structure on the property that had originally been built as a chapel. Mass was still celebrated there on feast days for the farmers and their families who lived on the estate, the ancient bell in its tower tolling slowly to draw the residents throughout the vineyards and fields to gather on those now increasingly rare occasions. Connected to the sanctuary at the rear was a two-story stone annex that, over the decades, had variously served as a kindergarten, a rest house for pilgrims to Rome, a schoolhouse for local children, and now as a makeshift hospital for victims of war.

  At first, the marchesa had made do with help from the farmers’ wives who lived about her own estate, but the demand and the pressure on them had become too great. She found a couple of trained nurses, whom she paid, and then recruited young women from the village like Violetta to work regular shifts once the nurses had trained them.

  I arrived at the clinic on Monday morning and, as instructed, I camouflaged my bicycle in the thick underbrush before entering the building. Coming in from the bright summer day and climbing the dark, rough staircase, dank with mildew and hemmed in by moss-covered stone walls, to the second floor, I found it hard to see. But as my eyes adjusted, I could make out two rows of cots, one along each wall of the large open space. A central aisle divided the room in two halves. I nearly gagged from the smell—a powerful mixture of disinfectant layered over the stench of burned or rotting flesh, unwashed bodies, and full bedpans. Ammonia fumes assaulted the back of my throat, and my eyes began to water.

  I could see the outlines of bodies on half the cots, and four or five women were busily moving throughout the space. On my immediate left, a curtain of army blankets had been strung from a frame of pipes, and a deep moan rose from behind the folds of rough gray fabric. On my right, a rope hung from the ceiling, cradling a man’s ankle and holding up his leg encased in a plaster cast. All I could see was a tangle of greasy black hair on the pillow, his face turned away. The rest of his body lay covered by a rumpled, stained cotton sheet.

  Two other men, propped up against their pillows, chattered amiably from adjoining cots, the smoke from their cigarettes curling lazily above them and merging into a single cloud.

  As I stood there, taking all of this in, a slim, erect figure walked briskly in my direction. She was casually dressed, a loose kimono-style smock over her tailored shirt and slacks, her light brown curly hair tousled in an attractive bob.

  “Giovanna! You’re here! I was delighted when Violetta said we might expect you this morning.” The marchesa flashed me a warm smile and took hold of both my upper arms in a gentle squeeze. “How is your mother, dear? It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

  “Oh, she’s fine, thank you.” I tried to focus on her face, but my gaze kept wandering off to take in all that was happening around me. “She asked me to give you her best.”

  “Oh, thank you. You are more than welcome here.” Up close, I could see her pale eyes were blue, tending to lavender, like flax blossoms. Her skin was pinkish in tone, almost translucent, and she had a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. “I believe you’ll find Violetta at the last bed on this end. She can show you around and give you a sense of what we’re about.”

  I walked slowly in the direction where she had pointed. I passed one of the nurses, holding a man’s head as he vomited into a pail beside his bed. On another cot, the sheet was pulled all the way up and over the head of the body lying there. Could he be dead?

  Violetta saw me and gave an excited wave. “Giovanna! You made it. Come here—I want you to meet Frederick.” She grabbed me and whispered in my ear, “He’s my favorite at the moment.”

  A blond, strikingly handsome man lay there under a sheet, his curly hair resting on a rolled army blanket. He looked up at me and smiled. “Buon giorno.” He pronounced it bahn jornow, with an English lilt. “We’ve been having some Italian lessons,” she said, “and Frederick is doing really well. This is my friend Giovanna.” And she placed me to his left side, moving back with practiced confidence to his right. As I watched, she drew the sheet down, revealing a leg wrapped with strips of linen cloth that were soaked through with blood, much of it still brilliant red. Violetta kept up a steady, cheerful banter with Frederick, who winced with pain while she began slowly unwinding the bandages. With each turn, I could see more and more of the mangled flesh that hung in strips around an exposed bone gleaming white in the dim light. Suddenly the back of my neck felt as if it were floating. I swallowed rapidly over and over as an irresistible pressure pushed up in my throat. I retched and doubled over as the floor came up to meet me.

  When I opened my eyes again, Violetta was leaning over me, fanning my face with her handkerchief. “Giovanna—Giovanna—are you all right?” My field of vision came slowly back into focus; then the utter humiliation of my position descended on me. How could I—healthy, robust, and young—have fainted in the midst of all these soldiers suffering from horrific diseases and injuries? I sat up, my head throbbing where it had hit the stone floor, and looked around. A couple of women were looking at me curiously, but for the most part, they had stuck to their duties and ignored me. Now I had let Violetta down as well. Her friend had turned out to be a weak sissy who couldn’t even look at an injured leg without keeling over. I was furious at myself. I brushed my skirt off with both hands, smoothed my hair, and sought to convey a sense of both seriousness and commitment.

  “I can’t imagine how that happened. Silly me, I skipped breakfast this morning,” I lied, “and the hunger must have overtaken me….” I noticed, to my relief, that the marchesa was nowhere in sight.

  “It’s all right, Giovanna. It happens. Don’t give it a second thought,” said Violetta, thrusting a pan of warm water into my hands. “Now, hold this while I rinse out these bandages.” The red blood swirled into the basin as she squeezed the strips of linen. No worse than my own menstrual blood when I wash out my underwear, I thought determinedly. This is only blood, just natural. These people are healing, getting better, and it is part of the process. I managed a weak smile at Frederick there on the pillow.

  “Where are you from in England?” I asked, and had to repeat it slowly, wondering if I could manage to put together a few sentences in my schoolroom English.

  The morning dragged on endlessly. I shadowed Violetta, fetching instruments or water or new bandages as she went from bed to bed, constantly cheerful, warm, and caring. I admired her with every inch of my being. I didn’t faint again, but several times I had to look away as she emptied a bedpan or wiped up vomit from a freshly made bed. Try as I might, I just couldn’t feel the kind of desire to heal and help these people that Violetta clearly had. I was shy around them, impatient with their pain and complaints, and disgusted with their bodily fluids and open wounds.

  At last it was time for us to take a break. We sat outside in the warm sunlight, eating our lunch together, sprawled on the long grass. “I just don’t know if I can do this,” I said. “I’m just not you—not anything like you. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this kind of work. But—” I stopped. “Violetta, can I trust you? Really trust you?”

  “Of course. What are you talking about? Of course you can.”

  I knew that widening the circle of confidantes was dangerous, but there was no way I could do this job right and keep my pledge of support to Giorgio. “I’m not really here because I want to work in the clinic,” I said. “In fact, when I think about y
ou spending day after day with these sick and dying soldiers, I just don’t know how you do it.”

  “I really do love it,” she said, looking me straight in the eyes. “I just know this is my calling.”

  “And it clearly is,” I answered quickly. “But I don’t think it’s mine.”

  “So find something else.” She was getting irritated now, as if I had somehow belittled the clinic and her role in it. “I won’t be hurt if you don’t come.”

  “Here’s the problem, Violetta. I need the job as a cover.”

  “A cover?”

  I bent over and worked a patch of long grass, stroking it, braiding it, trying to decide whether I should tell her anything at all. Then the story began spilling out: the note from Giorgio, the meetings at the gazebo, the Fox, the supplies I had taken to the Santinis’ cellar. “I just feel that right now the war effort itself—stopping the Germans and driving them out of here—is the most important thing. And, of course, my brother. I want to stay in touch with him however that’s possible, and make sure he’s safe.” My shoulders ached from the tension of it all. I worried that the very telling of it was some sort of a betrayal of Giorgio. But what choice did I have?

  Violetta looked away and sat thoughtfully for a long time. “You know, it’s odd,” she said. “When I think about traveling around the countryside, searching for supplies right under the nose of the Germans, having meetings with partisan soldiers—that takes a kind of courage that I’m sure I don’t have. I feel secure here, hidden away inside the clinic, where I don’t think we’re so likely to be attacked. I guess we’re all made differently. I think what you’re doing is brave and loving and really important. So let’s figure out how we can arrange a cover for you. You go now, and I’ll ask around, see what we can do.”

  “Without giving me or Giorgio away?”

  “Do you trust me or don’t you?”

  I knew the schedule at the School of Santa Maria so well. It would be rare for anyone to be left at five p.m., either the nuns or the German soldiers. On Wednesday evening, I strolled casually into the vicinity of the school, pausing and peeking through the rear hedge. All was quiet. I waited, watching for any sign of Klaus, listening for the sound of his footsteps inside. Nothing. It was five p.m., exactly—I knew that. I squeezed between two bushes and entered the schoolyard. No one was in sight. Maybe he was just watching from inside, I thought. I sat on the swing, where I knew he could see me, and quietly rocked back and forth, my feet gently scraping the ground.

  I had no interest in a permanent relationship with Klaus. I was clear on that. And he, of course, was married. Yet I couldn’t deny my feelings for him. We had forged too close a bond in the last months for me simply to disappear. I wasn’t sure exactly what his expectations were, but I wanted to find out. I was just drifting off into a fantasy of his warm breath on my ear when a tap on my shoulder made me jump. I nearly fell off the swing as I wrenched around. There he was, standing behind me with the note in his hand.

  “I was not sure what to expect when Sister Elena handed this to me and I saw the writing paper from the convent,” he said with a smile. “I’ve missed you since our little picnic.”

  Did he say Sister Elena? I tucked a lock of unruly hair behind my ear. He must have been mistaken. He must have meant Graziella. I smiled back at him, and he drew me to him, holding my head against his chest and stroking my hair. “That’s my beauty, my treasure,” he said.

  I leaned into him, feeling his heart beat beneath the rough fabric of his uniform jacket, and put my arms around his waist.

  “Come inside,” he said. “There is no one here.” Then he laughed, adding, “No one yet, anyway.” He took his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder.

  We settled in the kitchen, probably because of our memories of the picnic, and sat down together on a couple of the small chairs. He leaned forward eagerly, his elbows on his knees. “How are you, my beauty?”

  “Sister Graziella told my father what she saw the other night,” I began.

  “And?”

  “Well, my parents are very angry.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I can imagine that.”

  “I went to the convent and spoke with Graziella myself, and she doesn’t want me to work at the school anymore.”

  He gave a quick little nod and looked away. “This is no problem. We can meet here in the evenings. You will bring sunshine into my life, just when the sun is getting low.” He leaned forward, taking my hands and kissing me gently, as he always did.

  “But, Klaus, you are married. I think about Mathilde, about your baby, and I just don’t know. I…”

  He stood up suddenly and began walking back and forth as he talked. “Giovanna, who knows how long we will be here or what could happen? The Allies could come along at any time. I could be killed just setting a mine on one of the bridges. Life is so uncertain that we have to live as if we have one day only.” He took my hand again. His eyes were beginning to tear up. “You are precious to me, and I—life here—would be empty if I could not see your wonderful smile. Ja—you are my home now, so far away from Germany.”

  I could see that he meant it, every word of it. But as he talked, I became more and more convinced that my situation was not the same as his. I was not far away from home. This was my life—my real one—and I needed to live it in the best way I could. Not to mention the danger he posed to my work with Giorgio and the risk of discovery. Now it was my turn to stand up. “It just doesn’t feel right to me. It isn’t what I want in my own life right now. I’ve found another place to work, and…I just can’t come back here.”

  He rose to his feet and grabbed me, pulling me tightly to him. “No, don’t say these things, Giovanna. You must not…you must not make me sad.”

  I pushed him gently away with both arms. “I don’t want to make you sad. I don’t. But…”

  “If you make me sad, then you will make me angry too. I don’t want to be angry with you, my treasure.”

  I was crying now. This was hard, so hard. “I’m not angry with you, Klaus, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I just can’t see you anymore. I have another life to lead.”

  He stared at me. “Well, then, you go ahead and lead your life. I will not be part of it.” He grabbed his coat, turned, and left, slamming the cafeteria door in his wake.

  The sound reverberated in my ears for hours.

  Violetta showed up at Villa Farfalla the next evening. She greeted my parents with a big hug. “We are so thrilled that Giovanna will be working at the clinic,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “The work is so important, and she will be a valuable member of the team. Of course, the hours are unpredictable, and emergencies do happen. I just wanted to be sure that you’ve accepted that and that you will be willing to let her come and go when she’s needed.”

  Mother nodded. “We’re just so thankful for the work the marchesa is doing,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d sleep at night if there weren’t someplace around here for the wounded to be taken care of. And for Giovanna to be part of it…we’re so pleased.”

  I thought of the marchesa, her smock spattered with blood, parsing her valuable time between nursing the wounded and finding shelter for escaped prisoners—not to mention her own family. Mother had no idea how dedicated and brave the marchesa truly was—my mother, who passed her days overseeing the garden and planning the family meals. She spent her mental energy resenting the Germans, worrying about Giorgio, and feeling sorry for herself; she had no energy left to actually do anything to help.

  I looked at Father. “What do you say, Papa? Are you sure it’s all right with you?”

  He looked at both of us. “Well, I’ve never thought of Giovanna as much of a caregiver type. But I guess war makes fools of all of us. If that’s what you want to try, piccola, I’ve got no objection. Just don’t faint and hit your head.” He looked at Mother, rolled his eyes, and laughed out loud.

  I felt hot tears well up and fought them down. Without looking at him, I took Vi
oletta by the arm. “Let’s go into the garden and you can begin my schooling right now.”

  When we were alone, I grimaced. “I just can’t please him no matter what I do.” We walked to a bench and sat down. “But now, tell me: What have you arranged? It sounds perfect from what you said to my parents.”

  She smiled mysteriously at me. “You always were the organizing type,” she said. “How would you like to be in charge of the supply closet? You know, straightening the shelves and making sure everything is in its place.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s all?” My relief must have been obvious, because she started laughing hysterically.

  “You thought I’d make you empty bedpans? Giovanna, it’s no problem. It’s all volunteer anyway, and I just told them you were good at that sort of thing.” She sobered. “If I were you, though, I’d come upstairs now and then so the marchesa and other people get to know you. Make it known when you are there. Then, if anyone asks, they’ll be ready to corroborate your cover.”

  “Okay. I’ll try not to faint and hit my head while I’m at it.”

  Violetta laughed and got up to leave.

  “Wait.” I grabbed her. “Before you go, I have to tell you about what happened last night.”

  Violetta listened with full attention. At the end, I added, “The strange thing is that he said it was Sister Elena who had given him the note, not Sister Graziella. Do you think it’s possible that Elena found it and opened it? There was no envelope in his hand. I was so absorbed in our conversation, I didn’t think about it last night.”

  Violetta thought for a moment. “I’m sorry, but you know how relieved I am that Klaus is out of the picture. But what about Sister Graziella? If Elena did open it, she probably showed Graziella the note. She might even be planning to tell your parents you decided to meet Klaus. And none of them knows yet how it all turned out.”