Burning Fields

by Alli Sinclair

  Rosie sat on the chair beside him. “I think we need to get you out here more often.”

  When he smiled, it was crooked, the right side of his face permanently showing the hell his body had been through. “Thank you for being so stubborn and forcing me to get out here.” His eyes travelled the vista before them. Sugarcane swayed in the light breeze, the blue haze of the mountains in the distance, the bougainvillea in full bloom. “I’ve missed her.”

  “She’s missed you.”

  “It shouldn’t have taken me so long to get out here, but I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready. I thought…” He closed his eyes briefly. “I thought it would break my heart not to be out there amongst it all.”

  Rosie placed her hands on her father’s, surprised with his candor. “How do you feel now?”

  “I feel like I’ve been reunited with an old friend.” He turned to her. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you anticipate what someone needs? Even when they don’t know it themselves?”

  Rosie shrugged. “Intuition?”

  Her father gave her hand a quick pat then rested it on his knee. “That was a smart move, Rosie.”

  “What was?”

  “Taking your brother to the river. He told me what happened. You helped him connect with his roots. His memories from childhood. You gave him the courage to tell us what we needed to know.”

  Someone must have put something in the tank water because all of a sudden the men in her family were talking. Miracles did happen.

  “So you’re not angry with him for keeping us in the dark all this time? Has he told Mum yet?”

  “She hasn’t a clue and I think we should wait for the right time to tell her. Alex agrees. As for being angry”—he scratched behind his ear—“what’s the point? He’s explained his reasons and, believe it or not, I understand. I don’t agree with what he did, but it’s his life.”

  Rosie listened to her father and as she did so, a kernel of annoyance grew within. Alex could disappear for years and come home like the prodigal son, yet when she wanted something… Gah! She’d been over this a million times already.

  “As soon as he feels better,” her father said, “then he’ll send for his wife and children.”

  “They’ll come here?” That aspect hadn’t entered her mind. Oooh. Nephews!

  “That’s his hope.”

  “Well, it would be nice to see it happen. Tulpil is the perfect place for kids to grow up.”

  “It is, it is.” Her father couldn’t take his eyes off the view before him.

  Uneasiness grew within. The subject had to be broached. “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hear the workers haven’t received their money.” There it was. Out there now, waiting for a response.

  Her father raised his eyes to the ceiling. His gaze dropped and he looked directly at her. “We don’t have it.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We have to sell off some land.” Although his voice remained steady the pain in his eyes was apparent.

  A lump formed in her throat. “We’ve already lost some land to the Contis. Surely there’s a way around it?”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “How much do we have to sell?” she asked.

  “Enough to reduce Tulpil from the largest cane farm in the district to one of the smallest.”

  “No.” She gripped the edges of her shirt. “We can’t owe that much.”

  “It’s not just the workers, Rosie. We still owe money to suppliers. And”—he rubbed his brow—“the bank.”

  “The bank?” Her voice came out an octave higher. Why had her father withheld this information for so long? To protect her supposed delicate sensibilities? “How could all this have gone unnoticed?”

  “I have no idea,” her father said. “A desperate man will find a way.”

  “How much money did Bartel take?”

  “Enough to potentially destroy us.”

  * * * *

  Rosie drove the dusty roads back from town after her meeting with Sergeant Gavin. He’d tried his best to be accommodating while she went through a laundry list of why the police should have found Bartel by now. He’d nodded and “hmmm’d” where appropriate, but Rosie hadn’t felt like she’d made any headway. She made a mental note to follow up with the owners of other farms to whom she’d written to in case Bartel crossed their paths. William had reached out to his network of workers around the state, so there was still hope Bartel would be caught. Rosie clung to that belief like it was a life raft in a vast, stormy ocean.

  Her fingers grasped the steering wheel so hard they turned white, but the color came back when she loosened her grip as thoughts of Kitty and Isabelle floated in. Rosie had called in on Kitty after going to the police station, and although the visit had been short and sweet, it had been enough time for her friend to bathe in peace and for Rosie to squeeze in some quality godmother time. The little cherub had grown considerably in such a short period and it reminded Rosie that time stood still for no one—that there’s only one chance to make the most of this life and wallowing in pity did nothing but create barriers in making dreams reality.

  She rounded the bend and slowed the car down as Il Sunnu came into view. A figure moved near the entrance of Tomas’s place and Rosie squinted to try and get a better look. She should have put the pedal to metal when she realized it was Nonna but it was too late—Tomas’s grandmother had spotted Rosie and was signaling for her to come over.

  “Damn it,” Rosie muttered as she pulled over, turned off the engine, and got out of the ute. She put on her best smile as she went to Nonna, who held a bunch of weeds in her gloved hand. “Good afternoon, Signora Conti.”

  The old lady waved her spare hand. “Please, call me Nonna.”

  “But—”

  “Everyone calls me Nonna. It makes my family very big. We do not need to be related to be family, no?”

  “I guess not.” Rosie couldn’t see why Nonna would even consider her as a remote family member given the last conversation they’d had.

  “You look very pale. You need more sun.” She reached over and pinched Rosie’s arm. “You need to eat. Come.” Nonna started toward the house and panic shot through Rosie. What if Tomas was there?

  “Thank you for the invitation but…” Why did her voice sound so shaky? “I really need to get back home.”

  “It is obvious you do not eat there. Come with me, I fix you something special.”

  Rosie followed Nonna, well aware she would not win this argument. This is what Rosie got for slowing down and gawking at Tomas’s house rather than heading home and getting on with life.

  Rosie fell into step with Nonna, who traipsed up the driveway, stopping every so often to check the leaves of a plant or flower. The closer they got to the house, the harder Rosie’s heart beat against her chest.

  Nonna climbed the steps and entered the house and Rosie did the same, casting furtive glances around in case Tomas materialized.

  “You are looking for Tomas?” Nonna asked in an innocent tone.

  “No, I’m not looking for Tomas,” she said, trying to sound cool, calm and collected.

  Nonna’s friendly laugh accompanied them down the hallway. “He makes you nervous?”

  “No.” This time Rosie sounded more confident. She should be struck down by lightning for lying to a grandmother.

  “You did not listen to me.” They entered the kitchen and Nonna gestured for Rosie to take a seat at the table.

  “About?” Now it was Rosie’s turn to act innocent.

  Nonna’s sigh was long and loud. She set about opening cupboards and the icebox and arranging various ingredients on a platter. Nonna set it down in front of Rosie and gestured for her to start eating. Her stomach grumbled. After leaving hom
e so early this morning she’d forgotten to eat.

  Rosie placed sliced cheese on a piece of bread then added a couple of olives.

  She put the bread down.

  “You do not like?” Nonna sat opposite.

  “I do, I just…” Rosie concentrated on the plate of olives. “Did you know about this?”

  “What?”

  “About him…you know…the betrayal that led to death.”

  Nonna’s shoulders dropped and she rested an intense gaze on Rosie. “He told you about this?”

  “Yes.”

  Nonna took a tall silver pot from the stove and poured black coffee into two small cups. She passed one to Rosie, who took it tentatively, never having tasted coffee before. Her family were staunch tea supporters and thrived on their ritual of tea preparation. Nonna appeared to have her own method when it came to coffee. She passed a sugar bowl with a tiny spoon. Rosie put in one. “You will need more,” Nonna said.

  “But I don’t have sugar in my tea.”

  Nonna laughed. “One sugar is not enough.”

  Rosie did as she was told and kept adding until Nonna held up her hand. Rosie lifted the cup, inhaled the rich aroma of the dark liquid and took a tentative sip.

  She nearly choked on the bitterness.

  “The taste is acquired.” Nonna reached over and patted Rosie’s hand. “But I like that you try.”

  “Thanks.” Rosie put the cup down and wondered whether Nonna had forgotten they’d left a conversation unfinished. Rosie had already been gone from Tulpil for too long and she needed to check on her father to make sure he’d taken his tablets. “Is this why you asked me in? To talk about Tomas?”

  At least Nonna had the sense to appear surprised by the question. “Oh no. You looked hungry.”

  “I was in the ute on the way to my house.”

  “You were so slow I thought you might not arrive at your house before Christmas. I thought maybe you didn’t have the energy to drive.”

  Touché, Nonna.

  Nonna tapped her index finger on the table. “I told you to stay away from my grandson because you are a nice person, Rosie Stanton. My Tomas is a nice person also, but, he has done…things…that make him difficult to be in love with.”

  “Surely you can’t expect him to never fall in love or marry?” She couldn’t imagine Tomas becoming a priest and taking a vow of chastity.

  “I am afraid love could break him.”

  Rosie got up and placed the coffee cups in the sink. “Love can heal.”

  “It does not heal everything.”

  “Besides,” Rosie said, “it’s not possible for people to break.” No sooner had the words tumbled from her mouth than her vision blurred and Alex came to mind. She willed herself to remain calm, but the second Nonna reached for her hand, Rosie dissolved into a sobbing mess.

  Nonna pulled her close. It had been years since her own grandmother had passed and, until now, Rosie hadn’t realized how much she missed the loving and secure hugs of a grandparent. Despite efforts to hold back the tears, they came out thick and fast. Nonna stroked Rosie’s hair and spoke quietly in Sicilian. Rosie instantly relaxed and the tears slowly dried up.

  Nonna placed her hands on Rosie’s shoulders and gently moved her away so she could look up at her. “This is not all about my grandson?”

  Rosie shook her head and sniffled.

  “Please, come with me.” Nonna guided Rosie to a small dark room at the front of the house. She gestured for Rosie to sit on a large, red brocaded reading chair while Nonna closed the shuttered door and sat on the lounge. “I think you are in need of talking, yes?”

  Rosie nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.

  “I get us water.” Nonna disappeared and Rosie used the time to catch her breath. No matter what Tomas had or hadn’t done, his grandmother still loved him and, bless Nonna, her heart was big enough to look out for the girl next door who had fallen for her grandson. Nonna returned with a jug of iced water with a few slices of lime. She set about pouring and handed a glass to Rosie. “When you are ready, we do the talking.”

  The cool, clear liquid soothed Rosie’s throat and the zesty lime flavor had a lovely calming effect. Setting the glass down on the tray in front of her, Rosie took a deep breath and said, “My brother has been so very mixed up and even though he’s shown signs of improvement, I worry he won’t have the strength to fight his demons.”

  Nonna nodded slowly but didn’t speak for a while, as if allowing the words to sink in. “Sometimes, the demons will win.”

  “I know.” Rosie sniffled again.

  Nonna shifted on the chair and leant forward. “I tell you this: love does not conquer all. Whether love for the family or a man who captures your heart. Love can help, yes, but the answer can only be in the heart of the person who is suffering.”

  “I worry for my brother, my father. Even my mother.”

  “Your family has much hurt?”

  Rosie nodded, slightly embarrassed by the state of her family. “Although there are so many people hurting in this world.”

  Nonna made a steeple with her fingers and slowly tapped them against her chin. “Sometimes it is very hard to find the good.”

  “It’s there, I know it is, but it can get buried. Although, at times, I just feel so…helpless. It’s like every time there’s a step forward, there’s two back.” Rosie shook her head. “It’s like what happened after the war when the men came back and women were thrown out of the jobs they’d come to love and be really good at. I understand why things had to change—so the men could adjust to their lives postwar and have a sense of purpose—but what about the women? We’ve experienced independence, new skills. How are we supposed to go back to the ways of old? And then there’s…” She let the sentence fall away, not sure she should go down that road.

  “There is?”

  Nonna’s kind expression encouraged Rosie to take the leap. “Then there is the whole issue of men who think they can treat women like objects, like we don’t matter. Where’s the fairness in it all? What would they do if women banded together and said ‘no more’? What would happen, do you think? I would love nothing more than to find a way to help women find their voices.”

  Sparks shone in Nonna’s dark eyes.

  “You and I, we are of kindred spirits. And, there are many ways we can change the world, sometimes it is in a way you do not expect.” Nonna looked at the doorway. Quietly, she said, “When I was in Sicily, I worked very hard to help other women.” She sat back and closed her eyes, perhaps recalling memories she’d hidden for years. “Back when I lived in my home country, Mussolini and his men saw women as servants of the state—they think we live only to give birth, cook, clean, keep men happy and healthy—but”—she dipped her chin and looked up at Rosie—“you and I know we are so much more than this.”

  “We absolutely are.”

  “So for this, some of the women in my neighborhood would get together and help the partigiani—the partisans. We provided food and shelter. Sometimes, we passed on secret messages through the vendors in the markets and other times we would do it through the baker or the seamstress.”

  “There was a whole network?”

  “Of course!” Nonna squared her shoulders. “We women are very smart, we know how to read people by watching and listening, seeing the small things that tell us more than words. The women of my country, they deserve so much better and it was my duty to do what I could to change this but it was all done in secret. No one ever knew.”

  “But you told your family, right?”

  Nonna shook her head slowly. “My son would never approve, and Tomas, he had enough of his own problems.”

  Rosie didn’t reply, unsure what to say. Why would Nonna trust her with this information?

  Nonna filled Rosie’s glass with water again. “This desire for
women to find their strength and their voice is very good. I also believe it is possible to make change if we work together. Please, I would like to help.”

  “You would?”

  “Do not sound so surprised, bella. I may be old, but my mind is sharp and my heart is full.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that it’s just…”

  “Just?”

  “No one’s seen you outside of Il Sunnu.”

  I have not had a good reason to leave, though now”—she smiled—“I have a very good reason. We women, we must work together. We may not be partigiani, but we can make much difference. Rosalie, the fire in your belly will serve you well.”

  Chapter 24

  1943—Palermo, Sicily

  Tomas shifted on the hard wooden chair in a small room off the main hall, his nerves on edge as Spina leant on the table, drumming his fingers. Donato sat across from Tomas, who was unusually quiet. Rachel studied her clasped hands in her lap, her breathing shallow.

  It had been a risk getting Rachel involved, but after a long discussion with Spina, Tomas didn’t see he had any other choice. Besides, Rachel wasn’t one to sit and watch the world go by. Once she’d put her mind to something, the task would be done. When she’d prepared her speech at the house, she’d sounded confident and Tomas had been impressed by her strength, yet when they walked through the doors of the hall, she’d turned into a quivering wreck, falling over her words, trembling like a deer.

  After Rachel had finished her speech, Spina said, “I’m not so sure this idea is a good one.”

  “Why not?” Rachel’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Things have changed since the Allies arrived in Sicily.” Spina leant against his chair and rested his arms behind his head. “They’re losing ground as much as they are gaining it.”

  “Yes, I know. But my contacts…my contacts can…” Rachel’s voice sounded an octave higher than usual. She glanced at Tomas. He gave her a nod.

  “Look.” Spina smacked his hands on the table. “I don’t have all day so unless you can convince me this will serve a purpose, this meeting is over.” Spina pushed his chair back, as if readying himself to make a hasty exit.