Burning Fields

by Alli Sinclair

  “Ah!” Bandiera slapped the kid on the back. “Just in time.” He turned to Valerio, Tomas and the other men. “For our leader.”

  “Pardon?” Tomas asked.

  Valerio frowned and Tomas instantly regretted his faux pas.

  Bandiera either didn’t care or hadn’t heard as he waved for the men to gather around the table.

  “Roll out the maps,” Bandiera ordered Tomas, who did as asked. The whole goal of this mission was to slip under the radar, not be part of Mussolini’s album of snapshots. Bandiera barked orders as to who would stand where and what pose they’d hold. Tomas hunched over the map, pointing, while Valerio, Bandiera and the other men took their places. Thankful he was looking down, Tomas held his pose and prayed this photo went no farther than Mussolini’s office. He’d worked too hard to get to this point undetected. If a defector from the partisans identified him, Tomas might as well pull the trigger on himself.

  “Up! Look up! All of you!” Bandiera demanded and Tomas had no choice.

  The bulb flashed and the young photographer made a hasty exit. Shortly after, the men slowly filed out of the office. Valerio and Tomas split from the others and headed south. The cool day wrapped around him and he shivered. How long could he keep up this charade? He’d left a brokenhearted family who didn’t fully understand his need to follow this path. It had hurt, keeping them in the dark, but he had to do it to protect them. All they knew was he had an important job and he’d be gone indefinitely. He missed them immensely. Missed his beloved Palermo. The Sicilian culture. The warmer climes. He missed a world that once existed in peace and he couldn’t predict when peace would come again—if ever. Which is why he had to do what he was doing now—no matter the risk.

  “You’re doing well,” Valerio said quietly as he kept his head up and looked confidently around the busy street.

  “I have so many doubts. I—”

  “Shhh.” Valerio held out his arm, stopping Tomas’s progress.

  Across the street a noisy crowd chanted and waved their fists, the air thick with anger.

  “What’s happening?” Tomas whispered. A second later, his question was answered. A group of men in thin ragged shirts and ripped trousers were marched through the crowd by German soldiers. The onlookers jostled the prisoners and yelled abuse while the men, with hands tied behind their back, walked with their heads held high, as if they were in a parade for victors, not captives.

  Tomas had heard about these lynching mobs. He’d managed to avoid them over the years but now, in a region where fascism ruled with an iron fist, he had no choice but to watch the event unfold before him. He closed his eyes briefly and said a silent prayer for the men who were walking toward certain torture that would likely end with death.

  A prisoner who couldn’t have been more than eighteen stumbled, almost losing balance. The soldier nearest whacked him with the butt of his gun and the prisoner collapsed on the ground. Another soldier barked orders at him to stand up but the boy was weak, barely able to lift his head.

  The soldier swung his leg and landed a heavy boot into the partisan’s rib cage.

  Tomas forced himself to remain still, even though it tore him apart.

  The prisoner didn’t make a sound.

  A gun was pointed at his head. With effort, the boy pushed himself to his knees, then held up his hands, his eyes wide, his body shaking.

  The gunshot rang through the street.

  The boy collapsed to the ground, a pool of blood staining the cobblestones.

  The crowd’s bloodthirsty cheer filled the freezing day. Tomas sucked in his breath.

  “Oh no,” he whispered.

  “Shut up,” Valerio said out the side of his mouth then coughed as he fiddled with the collar of his black shirt.

  Clenching his fists in his pocket, Tomas took a good look at the partisans. Throughout the whole situation, none of the other men had shown a visible reaction. Was it out of necessity or because they had seen so much brutality that they’d been numbed?

  The men were ordered to walk and as they grew closer, one particular captive caught Tomas’s attention. He dragged his feet, as if every step was painful. His head hung low, the rip in his shirt exposing the red and purple welts on his dangerously thin rib cage. Tomas wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the bushy eyebrows that framed the eyes he knew so well.

  Tomas dug his nails so hard into his palms, he could feel them bleed.

  As if sensing Tomas’s presence, the prisoner’s head turned, his steps faltered. A soldier shoved him in the back and he stumbled forward.

  Standing amongst a crowd of angry fascists with German and Italian Republic soldiers clutching guns at the ready, Tomas had to watch Bruno Abato march into hell and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

  Chapter 33

  Rosie stood in one of Il Sunnu’s fields, her gaze fixed on the mountains that had always felt like a custodian, protecting the residents of Piri River. The setting sun painted streaks of red and yellow across the sky and the smell of burnt cane and foliage hung in the air. Once the fires had been extinguished, everyone had set to work, not stopping until the cane had been cut and hauled away for processing before the sugar evaporated. It was long and arduous work, but it had been done quickly so the Contis stood a very good chance of making some money from the season.

  From what she could gather, every able-bodied person in Piri River and surrounds had shown up to save the farm of people they didn’t really know. She was thankful the townsfolk were so willing to put themselves in the face of danger to help. And, she suspected, they would do it all again if they had to.

  “What are you thinking?” Tomas’s lips grazed her ear.

  She stepped back. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought—”

  “Nuh-uh. The last two times we saw each other you were rude and, quite frankly, nasty.” Should she be pushing this issue right now, after all that had happened?

  Tomas ran his fingers through his hair, leaving behind a trail of soot. “I should never have treated you like I did. I was just very confused and…it is no excuse. I was wrong and stupid and I am so sorry.”

  His sincerity shone through and her heart wanted to believe him.

  “Your behavior the last time I saw you, it had to do with Abato?” she asked.

  “You know about him?”

  Nonna hadn’t told him about Rosie’s visit?

  “He showed me a photo of you. In…”—her mouth felt dry, so very, very dry—“a black shirt.”

  Tomas squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples. “It is true. I was one of Mussolini’s men.”

  She couldn’t swallow and the adrenalin she’d been surviving on fell away, leaving her body an aching mess. Rosie stared at the ground, wanting to collapse in a heap, but at the same time she wished her legs were strong enough to carry her away; to remove her from a situation she couldn’t fully comprehend. She didn’t even know if she wanted to understand.

  “Rosalie…” When Tomas touched her cheek she unwittingly flinched. “I want to explain.”

  She gave a short nod, her legs feeling like they were cemented into the ground. As Tomas told her the story of how he’d gotten involved and why, she studied his expression, listened intently to his tone, and watched the way he held his body. She looked for the slightest hint that lies fueled his words, but her head, and, more importantly, her heart, told her this man only spoke the truth.

  When Tomas finished, he looked at her expectantly. She had no idea what to say as her mind tried to connect all the pieces together. A spy? Although she’d heard about spies during the war, she certainly never thought she’d meet—actually, fall in love with—a real one.

  “In war, things…they get very complicated very quickly. Sometimes it is impossible to think things through. You must act in the moment and hope that what you do i
s right for your cause. For your people.”

  When Rosie had worked with the Australian Women’s Army Service it had been in Australia, far removed from a war front. Of course, northern Queensland and the Northern Territory were under constant fear of bombings, but Australia had had it easy compared to other countries. Rosie had never lived with the dread of waking up in the middle of the night and being dragged out of the house by a group of unknown men. She’d never had to live with the fear of being thrown into prison for something as innocent as associating with, or being related to, enemies of the state.

  “But why a spy? Surely that meant you would have to kill your own men.”

  “I didn’t plan to be a spy. When I fought with the partigiani I could not kill. No matter how bad a war is, I could not take a life. Though there are many out there who would disagree with my view.”

  She needed to understand. Needed to make sense of this. She wanted so desperately to feel like she could trust Tomas with her heart once more.

  “Rosalie, the photo you saw was taken when I was undercover. I did nothing directly that harmed a person, I promise you. My heart is torn by the things I saw—things I never knew humans were capable of. It still haunts me to this day.”

  Rosie sucked in a deep breath, her chest still hurting from the smoke and swinging the hessian sack. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Why bring up a past that is so very difficult to explain? Besides, since that moment I saw Abato in Salò, I have carried guilt around with me. I thought he was dead. I thought my silence had killed him.”

  “Did you tell Abato about it? Surely he would have understood you couldn’t do anything.”

  “I did, but he chose not to believe me. It was easier for him to choose hate over reason,” he said.

  “I guess he wanted to blame someone for his sister’s death. And he could cause trouble by telling everyone you were a fascist.”

  “With that photo, he would have done much damage, but it would have taken time. Maybe he was impatient and setting a fire gave him instant satisfaction.” Tomas threw his arms wide.

  “So it was deliberate?”

  “Last night he called to say he wanted to talk. He apologized for his behavior and said he wanted to make things right.”

  “He would have been lying, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I wanted to believe him. We had been through so much…I thought after all this time…” Tomas let out a long breath. “My thinking was wrong. The shock of seeing him when I thought he was dead…” He shook his head. “I was relieved and surprised to see him but…”

  “It’s not a bad thing to try and see the good in people. Unfortunately, not everyone is capable of being a decent human being. What happened after he called you?”

  “I went into Piri River but couldn’t find him where he said he would be. I waited, then a young boy showed up with a note. Abato had paid him.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “This is my translation: To betray a friend is to betray God. Those who betray go to the fiery depths of Hell on earth.”

  “Jeez,” she said. “He put a lot of thought into this. So getting you into town was a decoy?”

  “Yes. To make me waste my time.”

  Rosie shook her head.

  “When I discovered Abato’s plan to delay me, I hurried home and saw the flames by the river.”

  “Abato was there?”

  “I found him with petrol and matches, but it was too late. The fire spread very quickly.”

  “What did Abato do?” she asked.

  He pointed at the swollen eye that had taken on various shades of black and purple. “He may be small but he is very strong.”

  Rosie cast her mind back to when Abato had her in a hold and the pain she’d experienced from his forcefulness.

  “We fought with our fists and the flames grew bigger. He had a cane knife and used the handle to hit me on the head and I fell. When I woke up, he was gone.”

  Rosie grabbed his arm. “You could have died!”

  The heat and smoke, let alone the flames, could easily have turned back on Tomas if the wind had changed direction. She dreaded thinking about what could have been.

  “Perhaps yes, but I am still here. When I woke up there were so many people already helping.” He smiled. “I hear your father organized this.”

  “I believe he did.” She really did need to thank him later. “Do you honestly think the police will find Abato?”

  “I think Bruno Abato is long gone from Piri River.” Tomas gazed out at the burnt fields. “I thought I knew Abato once but I guess I never knew him at all. He was not always a bad or angry person. Circumstances in his life meant he made some terrible choices.” Guilt mixed with remorse clouded Tomas’s face. “I should have done something when I last saw him in Italy.”

  “How?” Rosie asked. “You had to keep everything secret?”

  “Yes…” He breathed in slowly. When Tomas held her hand, a shiver ran up her arm. “I cannot change the past, I realize this now. I must look forward to the future. Our future.”

  Chapter 34

  A week later Nonna stood in the dark at the edge of her rose garden, patting her red eyes with a lace handkerchief. The fire that had taken out three-quarters of the property, including half the house, had also destroyed most of Nonna’s roses. A couple of bushes had miraculously escaped the licking flames and Nonna softly touched the surviving petals and leaves.

  “I’ll help you with a new garden.” Rosie put her arm around Nonna, who leant her head against Rosie.

  “Grazie.” Nonna looked at her roses one more time, a sad smile on her lips. “They have suffered much distress but they will survive and they will grow strong.”

  “Just like us.” Rosie squeezed Nonna’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

  “I am not ready.”

  “Why not?” Oh no. Tomas had warned Rosie this might happen.

  “They do not know us. And there have been all these rumors. What if people believe them? I have spent all my time staying away, closing the door to their world. What if they do not like us?”

  “They want to meet you and I promise that they will absolutely love you. Just like I do.” Rosie planted an affectionate kiss on Nonna’s forehead.

  Rosie gestured that they go and this time Nonna moved forward, slightly hesitant. They left the half-destroyed house behind them and followed the path that led down to the shed. Strung between the trees were party lights, gently swaying in the light breeze while underneath them, Tomas’s father and other musicians were setting up. A steady flow of cars snaked along the driveway and parked in a nearby field that had been cleared where the fire had ripped through. Those arriving brought platters and beer and wine, flowers and chocolates, baked goods and smiles and hugs. Every person stopped to greet Nonna, Tomas’s father and mother, and Tomas, who couldn’t stop beaming. He looked over at Rosie and gave her a cheeky wink.

  The food was deposited on large tables just outside the shed, the Australian favorites mixing with delicacies from Italy, the Baltics, Africa, and the Pacific. The balmy night filled with friendly chatter and laughter—a stark contrast to the horrifying scenes played out on Il Sunnu not so long ago.

  “This looks beautiful.” Rosie’s mother sidled up to her. “What a lovely idea of the Contis to thank everyone.”

  “They’re really nice people, aren’t they?” Rosie said.

  Her father nodded and she placed a hand under his elbow to guide him. These days he seemed to be relying less on her strength to help him get around.

  “Dad, thank you for making such a big effort to come here. I know it’s taken a lot of your energy.” Physical and mental.

  “Ah, Rosie, it is my pleasure. I was wrong. Not all Italians are the same.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to be wrong.” She laughe
d and he did the same.

  “They’re actually very good eggs.” Her father’s gaze travelled over to where Tomas stood chatting with Alex. Every so often they broke into laughter and patted each other on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to collaborating with the Contis. I must say”—he looked at the table groaning under the weight of booze bottles—“it was a wise choice not to start tomorrow.”

  Alex waved goodbye to Tomas and headed up to where Rosie stood with her parents. Alex still battled his anxiety when an innocent sound or event would bring him to his knees, but he was doing the best he could and maybe one day Alex would find the sunshine he so desperately sought.

  He nudged her. “He’s a nice bloke, Rosie. You’ve chosen well.”

  “Why yes, I am a lucky girl.”

  “Speaking of lucky…” Alex dug his hand into his back pocket and pulled out a light blue envelope with red-and-blue stripes around the edges. “I got some mail.”

  “From France?” Rosie grabbed it and sure enough, the missive was covered in French stamps. “What does this mean?”

  She handed the letter back to her brother, who clutched it against his chest. “It means she is willing to talk about how we can reunite.”

  “What? What!” Rosie jumped up and down. “Are they coming here?”

  Alex shrugged. “It really depends on what happens with Tulpil.” He glanced at John.

  “I can’t make any promises,” their father said, “but we are giving this our best shot. With the Contis and their men on board, we’ll get this season sorted and once I pay them their share, we should be out of dire straits.”

  It had taken some swift negotiation on Rosie and Tomas’s parts, but the deal their fathers had struck benefited everyone beautifully. With most of the men from Tulpil having already found work elsewhere, and the Conti’s farm mostly harvested after the fire, it made total sense for the families to join forces. Of course, her father was reluctant at first, but with the Contis living at Tulpil while they sorted out new housing arrangements, John had gotten to know Tomas and Cosimo quite well over an incredibly short period of time. The barriers that her father had spent so many years building had toppled down brick by brick, helped greatly by Nonna’s excellent cooking, especially her Sicilian apple cake.