In Perfect Time

by Sarah Sundin

That was plain silly.

  Something bright shone up ahead, disappeared, reappeared.

  Kay’s heart slammed into her throat.

  A murmur worked its way down the line.

  Georgie turned to Kay. “Take cover.”

  Somehow Kay passed the message to Louise behind her.

  The road curved around a hill, and everyone scrambled for the downward slope to the right. Kay eased her way off the road, down through the brush, the mud.

  “Get down. Lie flat. Stay together.” That was Roger’s voice, firm, low, calm, and coming nearer, working his way down the line. “Everyone here?”

  Several feet below the level of the road, Kay flattened herself to the slope, damp grasses clammy on the side of her face.

  “Vera, Alice, Georgie, Mellie, Kay.” Roger crouched at her feet until she looked his way and nodded. “Louise, Mike, Pettas, Whit.”

  In the stillness of the night, a car engine rumbled. The light must have been a headlight. Who had cars in this area? Who would be out past midnight? Only the Germans or the Italian traitors, as Enrico called his countrymen who still chose to fight for fascism.

  Kay hunched lower and pulled her hood over her face, longing to blend into the dirt, into the night.

  Behind her, at the end of the line, Roger would be hunkered down too.

  The new thought leached into her mind. Was it possible? Was he afraid of repeating history? Of getting Kay pregnant? Of hurting Kay? Of getting hurt himself?

  She couldn’t exactly ask him why he rejected her. What would be her motive? So she could counter his arguments. So she could convince him to take a chance on her. So she could manipulate him to do her will.

  Kay shuddered.

  “Lord, please,” Georgie whispered. “Keep us safe. Hide us.”

  The engine rumbled closer. Light spilled down the slope, skimming over the nurses and airmen.

  She should be praying for safety too. Why did her thoughts and prayers stray? Lord, help me release Roger. You know I love him. You also know why he doesn’t, can’t, or won’t love me.

  The sound of rubber on wet pavement, of water shooting behind tires.

  Kay couldn’t get any flatter, her cheek pressed into the mud. She’d tried to manipulate Roger to love her by flirting, but it didn’t work. Just as she couldn’t manipulate God to love her by being good. The Lord loved her simply because he chose to love her.

  Roger had chosen not to.

  Light flashed overhead, the engine and tire sounds peaked and then passed by.

  Kay’s back and arms and legs relaxed, and a strange, airy, sad peace filled her. She couldn’t force Roger to love her. She couldn’t control him, nor did she want to. Because she loved him. And that meant letting go.

  Lord, I release him.

  32

  November 23, 1944

  In the dim predawn light, Roger crouched behind a hedge and peered over the top. A vineyard lay before him, rows leading toward a two-storied home with a square tower and hills just beyond.

  “This is the place,” Enrico whispered.

  “Good.” After over a week of hiding by day and sneaking by night, they’d finally reached a more permanent refuge. If all went well.

  “See?” Enrico pointed to the right of the house. “The cellar’s in a cave in that hill. The Germans stole the vino, smashed everything to bits. They won’t be back. Let’s go.”

  Roger glanced behind him. The rest of the party huddled just behind the tree line, waiting. He motioned for them to stay put while he and Enrico checked things out.

  “Let’s go, Ruggero.” Enrico vaulted over the hedge.

  Roger patted his shoulder holster for security and followed, if less gracefully. Mike also had his pistol to protect the ladies if necessary.

  The men scurried down a row between the grapevines, hunched over. At the end of the vineyard, they crossed an open yard, ducked between some outbuildings, through a gate in a stone wall, and approached the back door.

  Enrico rapped out a knock. Knuckle, knuckle, fist, fist, knuckle. A secret code the partisans used, switching it up from time to time.

  A wizened little old man dressed in black opened the door and ushered them in. His wife stood in an inside archway, wrapped in a black shawl.

  “Buongiorno, Signore e Signora,” Roger said. “Grazie.”

  The signora raised one white eyebrow and sized up Roger, head to toe. She sniffed.

  Not fond of guests, apparently. Or Americans. Or redheads. Or bad Italiano.

  The gentleman talked with Enrico in hushed tones, pointing in the direction of the cellar. Roger could only make out “Americani” and “amico.”

  The signore lowered his head, grunted, and headed for the door, beckoning with short, sharp motions. Great. They were being kicked out. So much for a long-term hiding place.

  At the door, the signore kept going, at a quick pace for a man his age, straight to the cellar.

  “Is he letting us stay?” Roger asked Enrico.

  “Si. He is not happy though.”

  “I don’t need a translator for that.”

  “The farmers bring some of their harvest here before the Tedeschi steal it. They feed many people. Signore is afraid you bring trouble, bring the Tedeschi. Then they starve.”

  An orange glow rose behind the hill. “I should get the group before the sun rises.”

  “Si. I go with Signore.”

  Roger retraced his route, found the group, and led them to the cave. An arched doorway framed the entrance, but a huge wooden door lay hacked to splinters on the ground.

  “We’ll have to clean that up,” Georgie said as she picked her way through.

  “No.” Roger gave her a hand to help her through the rubble. “If we clean up and the Brigate Nere or the Germans come by, they’ll be suspicious.”

  “Oh,” the ladies said, almost as one. Most of them—except Kay—took his hand to climb through the jumble of broken boards. Roger scanned the wood, looking for any piece close in size to a drumstick. When he’d thrown himself down on the hill the other night, he’d snapped one of his sticks in half.

  “Oh my,” Mellie said. “Isn’t this charming?”

  Roger headed down a long arched tunnel, faced with ancient golden bricks, lined with wine barrels on each side. A few oil lamps burned to guide the way.

  “It smells funny.” Alice pressed her hand over her mouth and nose.

  It smelled like wine and oak and stone and earth. Most of the barrels had been smashed or hacked, and dark stains marred the brick floor.

  Enrico and the signore stood talking at the end of the tunnel, where two vaulted alcoves sat side by side, each lined by empty wine racks.

  “This is perfect.” Kay pointed to the alcove on the right. “Ladies on the right, gentlemen on the left. We even have racks to hang our wet clothes and store our things.”

  Alice huffed. “Sleeping on brick. I wouldn’t call that perfect.”

  “Yes, you will.” Louise broke into a coughing fit. She’d been coughing a lot lately and running a fever. All the more reason to stay put for a while.

  The women stashed bags on the wine racks, then shed coats, shoes, and socks.

  Roger backed off to give them some privacy and to talk to the Italians.

  Enrico and the signore were deep in conversation, and it didn’t look like a happy one, but the boy motioned Roger over. “We talk about food.”

  “Biggest topic of conversation in this group.” Their tinned rations were running low. Roger glanced behind him to the raggedy party. To his surprise, Kay came over.

  She held out her hand to the older gentleman. “Grazie, Signore. Perfetto.”

  The man’s face softened, and he almost smiled. “Prego.”

  Roger didn’t blame the man. Kay wore a warm smile. Her beauty shone even without makeup, even with dirt smudges on her face.

  She grasped the signore’s hand in both of hers. “Enrico, please tell him how grateful we are. It’s so nice to be out
of the wind and the rain. One of the girls is sick and needs to rest. And the cellar is lovely. We’ll be very happy here.”

  As Enrico translated, the elderly man’s face brightened, and he smiled and nodded.

  “Uno.” The signore lifted one finger and laid down a long string of Italian to Enrico.

  “Signore says we can have one hot meal a day. Only one.”

  “One,” Roger said. “That’d be great. That’s one more than we’re used to.”

  “That’s a lot of work for the signora.” Kay worried her bottom lip. “Can we help?”

  “No, you need to hide.” Enrico adjusted his rifle strap.

  “Perhaps . . .” Kay narrowed her eyes. “What if we borrow an old dress, a shawl? One of us could go to the house early in the morning, help with cooking and chores during the day, then bring the food to the group in the evening. She shouldn’t have to do all the work for us.”

  “That might work,” Roger said. “I like the idea of paying our way. Ask him if there’s anything else we can do, chores he could bring to the cellar. We’d be glad to help. We don’t want to be a burden.”

  Enrico translated, and the signore’s eyes moistened. “Si. Si.” The older gentleman spoke some more to Enrico, then took Kay’s hand, kissed it, and headed back for the house.

  “Great job, Kay.” Roger resisted the urge to nudge her in gratitude, because she’d clobber him.

  Instead she gave him a smile, the first she’d given him since the wedding. “You did a great job too.”

  Roger’s insides flipped around. Maybe she could forgive him, move on, and they could be friendly again. If they could work together, it would be best for the whole group.

  “Just in time.” Enrico laughed. “Signore first say no food. None. And you leave in two days. Now he say one meal a day, and you stay as long as you need.”

  Back in the alcove, Louise coughed and coughed.

  Kay frowned. “I should give her some codeine so she can sleep.”

  “How are we doing on meds?”

  “All right. Vera’s leg looks good, but we used a lot of sulfanilamide on her wound. We have a bottle of a hundred codeine tablets. We’ll be fine unless too many of us catch what Louise has.”

  “Let’s hope we get out of here before long.”

  “Yes.” A slight smile, and she returned to the ladies’ alcove.

  Roger felt lighter inside. A short conversation, not even a personal conversation, but a good one.

  “Ruggero?”

  “Hmm?” He turned back to Enrico.

  The boy waggled his black eyebrows and grinned. “Bella.”

  He’d been caught watching Kay. Was his love that obvious? He couldn’t let Enrico harbor that idea. He leveled a strong gaze at the kid and shook his head. “Just a friend.”

  Enrico gazed past Roger, down the tunnel, and he stiffened and gripped his rifle.

  Roger slipped his hand inside his flight jacket to his shoulder holster and turned.

  Three armed men marched toward them.

  “Marco!” Enrico loped toward them. “Giovanni!”

  Fellow partisans. Roger released his breath, eased his hand out of his jacket, and joined the four men.

  “Ruggero, this is the man. The OSS man.”

  Roger scanned the threesome. They all looked like Italian partisans, wearing a motley collection of work clothes and jackets and hats.

  The shortest of the three stepped forward to shake Roger’s hand. “You must be the pilot, Lieutenant Cooper.”

  He laughed in relief at the Brooklyn accent. “Yeah, I’m Cooper.”

  “Capt. Tony Anselmo, Office of Strategic Services.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to meet you.”

  Anselmo’s smile tilted a scruffy dark mustache. “Want to go home, huh? Well, quite a few souls in Washington want to see that happen.”

  “Good.”

  “How are the ladies holding up?”

  “Great. They’re real troupers. One of the gals is sick, but she keeps up with the pack.”

  Anselmo peered past Roger. “Folks back home don’t like to see women in danger, and the newspapers smell a story. The Army’s managed to keep them quiet, saying it’s in the girls’ best interest. The more of a fuss we make, the more the Germans will be determined to find you. They know you’re out here. They’re looking. And they don’t like to fail.”

  “No, sir. Any ideas on how to get us out?”

  “We’re putting together two plans, by sea or by air. Both are tricky this time of year, and it’s shaping up to be a bad winter.”

  “Yeah.” Thank goodness the women had heavy coats with liners, and the men had their sheepskin-lined leather flight jackets.

  “We’ll leave Enrico here with you. I’ll introduce myself to the crew, then return to my base, send a message. I’ll use partisans for messengers and only come back when it’s time to get you out.”

  “Any idea how long?”

  Anselmo’s dark eyes narrowed as if Roger had asked for a feather bed and a steak dinner. “These things take time.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.” Roger gave the man a hearty handshake. “I appreciate everything you’re doing. We’re all thankful.”

  “Celebrating?”

  “Celebrating, sir?”

  A smile twitched. “It’s Thanksgiving, Cooper.”

  “It is?” Roger gazed down the tunnel toward his crew and the nurses, who would sit down to K-rations instead of turkey today. But they were alive and moderately healthy, with a plan in the works to go home. “It sure is.”

  33

  December 6, 1944

  “It’s too much.” Alice Olson piled the dirty dinner dishes into the basket. “The cold, the dirt, the hunger, the danger. And Signora yelled at me all day long. It’s all too much.”

  Georgie tossed a cloth over the basket. “Just yesterday you were griping about never getting out of this cave, and now it’s your turn to get out and you still whine.”

  “Leave her alone.” Vera adjusted her kerchief over her hair. “You do your share of whining about how poor little Hutchie is doing.”

  “Be fair,” Mellie said. “Hutch isn’t next-of-kin like my Tom. The Army Air Force won’t notify him. All he knows is Georgie isn’t writing.”

  In the corner of the alcove, Louise broke into another coughing fit.

  “Knock it off, Louise,” Alice said. “For heaven’s sake.”

  Kay held her breath and planned her words. Tension had escalated the past two weeks in the cellar. The boredom of inactivity brought out worse attitudes than the danger of the week on the run.

  “Enough, ladies.” Kay got to her feet, still weak and woozy from the respiratory ailment that had swept through the group. “Louise can’t help coughing. It’s not her fault she hasn’t shaken the bug as quickly as the rest of us. We’re out of codeine, and there’s nothing we can do. As nurses, compassion is called for.”

  Alice lowered her head. “I know. Sorry, Louise.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Now, Alice.” Kay nodded at the blonde. “Did Signora really yell at you?”

  She gazed up with wide blue eyes. “She wouldn’t stop.”

  “Does she yell at any of the rest of you?”

  A chorus of “no” circled the group.

  “I’ll have Enrico ask her what the problem is. But we should remember she’s putting her life at risk having us here, not to mention the frustration of communicating with people who don’t speak her language.”

  Georgie leaned against the brick wall. “I’m trying to learn some Italian. I ask her the words for the tasks we’re doing or the food we’re cooking. She likes that.”

  “Great idea.” Kay smiled at her friend. “As for loved ones, you all have folks who are worrying and don’t have enough information. You can’t do anything about it, and worrying only wastes energy.”

  Mellie scooted close to Georgie. “ ‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for
the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.’ ”

  “Exactly.” Kay pulled a blanket off a wine rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. “We’re all cold and dirty and hungry, we’re all bored and uncomfortable and tired of being in danger. So have compassion on each other. Stop whining, stop snapping, and buck up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Georgie gave her a salute and a wink.

  “Let’s get a game going.” Kay leaned around the wall to the men’s alcove. “Who wants to play bridge?”

  “I do.” Mike sprang to his feet and urged Pettas, Whitaker, and Enrico to join them.

  Kay scanned the group. Four men and six ladies, but Louise was too ill to play. “Have fun. I’ll check on Roger, see if he needs anything.”

  “All right.” Vera pulled two decks of cards from her musette bag.

  Kay headed down the tunnel to the doorway, where Roger had guard duty. The men took turns. Over the past two weeks, Kay and Roger had inched their way to a wary friendship.

  At the entrance, Roger sat by the pile of rubble, drumming on blanket-padded planks. He used his single drumstick and a scrap of wood.

  “Hi.” Kay leaned against the far doorjamb. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Sure. I’m an Iowa farm boy. This is balmy and warm.”

  Snow fell in the darkness outside, adding to the several inches coating the ground. “Wish I could offer some coffee.”

  “Me too.”

  “Want some company?”

  Roger laughed. “Why? Want to get away?”

  Kay slid to the ground and arranged her blanket around her. “How’d you know?”

  “I couldn’t hear the words, but I got the gist. Alice whining, Vera snapping, Georgie and Mellie worrying about their men, Louise coughing, Kay soothing.”

  “Mostly right.”

  “Mike too eager to help, Pettas grumbling about not having any cigarettes, Whitaker threatening to raid the locals’ food supply, and Coop goofing off.”

  Kay scratched her scalp under her kerchief. What she wouldn’t give for a good shampoo. “Goofing off? Hardly. You’re our trusty night watchman, our fearless leader.”

  “Fooled you, didn’t I?” A slight smile, a strike on an imaginary cymbal in the air.

  Why did he see himself that way? “Were you really that bad as a boy?”