by Cara Putman
She hadn’t heard from her mom since leaving the States. Was she all right? Rachel couldn’t bear to consider the alternative, but the question whether her momma had already died haunted her. She sucked in a steadying breath, then repeated. She might suck all the oxygen from the room before she gathered enough courage to rip the V-mail open. She held the envelope toward the weak sunlight filtering through the curtains in an attempt to decipher the message.
Finally, in one smooth motion, she ripped the seal from the V-mail. As she unfolded the sheet, tears clouded her vision. She blinked them away, then sighed when she saw her momma’s beautiful, tiny script filling the page. The quarter page of the reproduced mail made it tricky to read.
May 8. She was still alive as of May 8! Rachel’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she clutched the sheet of paper and collapsed on the bed, limp with relief. Thank you! Rachel rolled onto her pillow, plumping it under her stomach. Once settled, she read the missive.
Darling, I hope this finds you well. Sorry for the delay. I haven’t been well but feel better. So I write. Are you enjoying Italy? Inane question really. Of course you are. You have Italian blood and my love for art and beauty. Both will serve you well there.
The letter continued with a few tidbits about neighbors but nothing about her momma. Then in closing:
Take care with the sketchbook. I value it. Do not forget my instruction. Leave your father alone. It is best for everyone you not contact him. You must trust me in this. All my love, Mother.
Rachel read the words again. Why was Momma so adamant that she shouldn’t find him? Didn’t she know that would push Rachel to do that very thing? Why did Momma still care so deeply? For goodness sake it had been almost twenty-five years since the tête-à-tête.
After rolling over and sitting, Rachel refolded the letter and slid it into the front of the sketchbook. She examined the drawings again. This time they reminded her of art she’d seen somewhere. Was it something she’d seen in one of the villages or a museum in Rome? If she could remember where, it might provide a clue on the elusive artist she could call Father.
She studied her face in the mirror. Why had he never attempted to find her? All she’d wanted growing up was a daddy to take care of her and Momma. Instead, it had always been the two of them. Barely making it yet self-sufficient. She’d watched the years wear Momma out, but in the last few the tuberculosis had afflicted Momma with its ugly symptoms.
Her attempts to find some hint of who he was had failed as she’d showed the sketchbook at the galleries she found open. Even the initials didn’t help. They were too obscure. Her feet were sore and her heart burdened when she’d sought refuge at the Coliseum. Hearing Scott call her name had been the one good part of the day.
God, will you help me find him? You know this is about so much more than me.
Maybe God would listen for Momma’s sake. She shoved away the thought that the man, if and when she found him, might be moved to care. If this much time had passed without a word, he may have forgotten her momma entirely. Maybe he didn’t even know about Rachel. The harsh possibility could steal her drive if she let it, so she punched it to the side and squared her shoulders, determined to find the man who could and would save her momma.
She stood and paced the small room. If she stayed, she’d feel like a caged animal, trapped and frustrated. The clock said she had some time before Scott came for her, assuming he could get away from his meeting for dinner. So she grabbed her camera and bag. The media offices were close. She’d see if Dick had sent any of her photos through the radiophotography machine. Once run through its magic, the photo would be in the States in minutes, faster than the relay of planes that flew photos over the Atlantic. She could slip over and back before Scott finished his meeting at the Vatican.
Rachel waited at the end of the hall for the elevator. After sliding the cage closed, she wished she’d taken the stairs as it inched to the lobby. The seating area was comfortable with worn-around-the-edges Persian rugs scattered across the floor. She wove her way through the tables toward the revolving door when someone called her name.
“Hold up, Rachel.”
She turned, trying to place the voice.
“Tell me you aren’t going out alone.”
“What if I was?”
“Then I’ll accompany you.” Archie Letterbein strode toward her, his short legs churning through the distance. A reporter with the wire service, he always wore a happy grin. Yet his eyes carried the knowing of war and its terror. “We aren’t back in the States. Not a safe place for a woman alone at night.”
Rachel wanted to protest, then glanced out the large windows and accepted dusk had fallen. “All right. I was headed to the press office.”
“Now? Why would you waste your time there?” He closed the distance separating them. “Let me take you out for a real meal. Get you authentic pasta.”
Rachel glanced at his ring finger. She couldn’t encourage him if he was married, and it was too hard to know in this war-torn section of the world if a man would honor his wedding vows. She’d heard stories of women reporters thrust into the arms of a soldier. That wasn’t why she’d come. “I shouldn’t.”
“Look, I’ll grab someone else so it isn’t just the two of us.” He studied her intently, and Rachel felt like he could see into her deepest thoughts. “I can’t let you venture out there alone.”
“But I’ve got plans.”
He stared her down. “Where is he?”
“At the Vatican.”
The man snorted. “He won’t get out of there anytime soon. It’s a quagmire. Come with me.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll go?”
“As long as you grab someone else. We’ll make a party of three.”
Archie chuckled, a wry baritone sound. “Good enough. Wait here, and I’ll be back in two shakes. Take you to this great place around the corner. It doesn’t look like much, but the food is so much better than military food.”
“I’m sold, Archie. I’ll be here.”
“Good, or I’ll tell Dick to ship you home faster than you can snap your fingers.”
She settled on a clean but shabby armchair. The upholstery had turned nubby and one spring pushed at a sharp angle.
She should be grateful Archie had intercepted her. A foolish risk wouldn’t serve her purposes, yet as she watched darkness finish its conquest of the street, an air of urgency kept her leg bouncing while she waited.
A few minutes later Archie returned with a familiar man. “You ever met Lieutenant Scott Lindstrom, Rachel?”
Warmth rippled through her as she met Scott’s gray gaze. “I’ve had the pleasure. Traveled with him around Naples.”
Archie quirked a brow as he turned to Scott. “You didn’t tell me that, Lindstrom.”
“Let’s just say you didn’t give me a chance as you tugged me out here.”
Rachel looked between the two of them. “How do you know each other?”
“We shared a room one semester at Harvard.” Archie poked Scott in the ribs. “It was all I could stand with this Goody Two-shoes. We bumped into each other at the Vatican. He said he was headed this way so I bummed a ride.”
Scott shrugged. “Always good to catch up with another Harvard alum.”
Archie smirked. “At least I didn’t spend all my time studying canvas and stone.”
“No, you studied the girls.”
“And an occasional book.”
Rachel shook her head. “No wonder you couldn’t room together.”
Archie pulled a long expression. “Does that mean you like this lout?”
“He’s a friend. And I appreciate every friend I have here.” Now Scott’s face fell. Why on earth? Rachel shook her head slightly. “Each of you promised me dinner. I’m hungry.”
“Let’s eat.” Archie led the way out
the door, the men taking up stations on either side of Rachel. Their attentiveness smothered her. They’d just reached the street when Scott touched her elbow, and she glanced at him. The silence stretched, and she took a step to catch Archie, but Scott held her in place.
“I had no idea what Archie was up to when he asked me to come downstairs. I thought we’d go somewhere . . . alone. Why didn’t you wait?”
The look in his eyes almost tore her in two. “I was headed to the press office while I waited for you. Archie refused to let me go out alone. I thought you’d gotten caught at the Vatican and we’d find each other later.”
Scott’s shoulders slumped, but he straightened, and she almost didn’t catch it. “If I say I’ll be here, I will.”
His words settled over her, and she accepted his chiding. “I’m sorry. I should have waited.” She bit her lower lip, then touched Archie’s arm. “Thanks for wanting to save me from my naïveté. Scott asked me to dinner earlier. Now that he’s here, we can follow our plans.”
“Sure, I understand the boy wanting to keep you to himself.” He nodded at Scott. “There’s a restaurant a couple blocks from here you might try. Rachel, we got our assignments after you left. The soldiers aren’t loitering around Rome. We move out tomorrow with them.”
“Thanks.” Interesting Dick didn’t mention that in his note with her mother’s letter. She’d have to stop by the press office or make sure she got there first thing in the morning.
“See ya.” Archie sauntered down the sidewalk while Scott stood in front of Rachel studying her intently.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then took her hand. “I’d like to take you to dinner if you don’t need to hurry back and get ready for tomorrow.”
Rachel looked at their intertwined hands, then smiled at him. “Since he’s walking away from the office, I have time.”
She slipped her arm through Scott’s and followed him down the street. He pulled her into a small alcove, then through a door that led to a small room that smelled wonderful. They waited while a waitress seated them. Candlelight softened the room, giving it a warm glow and ambience. Scott set his elbows on the table and stared at Rachel with an intensity that left her feeling exposed.
“This feels almost normal.”
Scott chuckled. “It does.” A waitress arrived and after an exchange of Italian, Scott looked at her. “I ordered for you if that’s okay.”
“Sure, I certainly couldn’t communicate with her.”
“Hopefully, they’ll let me pay.” A few minutes later the waitress placed steaming bowls of pasta doused in a red sauce in front of them. “Do you mind if I pray?”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Please do.”
Scott clasped her hand, a gesture that felt natural even as she couldn’t remember the last time someone had prayed with her. “Father, thank You for this time. Bless the food and be honored by our conversation. Amen.”
“That was beautiful.” What would it be like to feel comfortable enough with God to talk to him like that?
“I’d call it simple.”
As they ate, she studied the man across the table from her. He had a depth that drew her to him. What if they’d met at a time that allowed them to explore a relationship? She wanted to know more about him, so she led him through a few questions about his family and Harvard.
“I managed to scrape together the money to stay in school until I graduated with my fine arts degree. Not the best choice graduating when I did.”
Rachel took a sip of water. “I can’t imagine Boston and Harvard. I managed to receive a scholarship to Chestnut Hill College in Philly.”
“I thought it was a Catholic institution.”
“It is, but a sister at the private school I attended took an interest in me. It was a great education and a gift really. There’s no way I could have afforded college otherwise. As it was, Momma scrimped together the money to pay for books and board. My roommate was the one who introduced me to photography.”
“Art in another form.”
“I suppose.”
“What happened to your father?”
“I never knew him.” She held her breath. How would he respond?
Scott took her hand and stroked her fingers with his thumb. “I’m glad God is the Father who is always there. He never leaves us even when we walk away.”
She glanced at their intertwined hands, noting how natural it looked.
“Promise me when this war ends you’ll come find me at Woodmere, assuming they hold my job.”
“Is that the museum you worked at?” She tried to hide her relief that he hadn’t probed.
“Yes, small and new, but they allowed me to handle exhibits.”
“I walked through it the night before I left. It was opening night for an exhibit by an Italian artist.”
“My last contribution.” He squared his shoulders. “I helped a friend get his art out of Italy before it could be harmed. It took a couple years to get the exhibit ready, but we preserved his art.”
In the sweetness of his pride, Rachel felt herself falling for a man who was unlike anyone she’d known. He had a quiet confidence and a genuine interest in others. He’d been a rock when they traveled in danger and yet came alive talking about the art he protected.
He was a good man.
What would have happened if they hadn’t found each other during a war that would tear them apart?
Chapter 15
June 7
At oh dark hundred, Rachel joined the others hurrying from the hotel to the Albergo Città. She needed to reload her bag. Stuff all the film and processing chemicals in it she could find and that it would hold. Once she joined a unit, she couldn’t depend on a place to restock if she ran out. When she reached the office, Dick growled at her. “My office. Now.”
She caught Archie’s eye, and he shrugged with a frown. Guess she was on her own. One way to find out what had made Forsythe a bear. She straightened her spine and marched to his small office.
“I don’t like this.” He’d slumped at his makeshift desk, elbows propped on the cluttered surface, hands clasped.
“Sir?”
“Sending a woman to combat. What are the muckety-mucks thinking?”
“That I take good photos?”
“That’s a given. Radiophotographed one to the States yesterday. Should have sent it slow boat rather than let them see the full scope of your work.” He rubbed his hands back and forth over his balding head. “You can decline the assignment.”
Her breath caught. “Decline?”
“Do I have an echo? Yes, decline.” He pushed off the table until he leaned over her. “This isn’t taking photos for the social column.”
“I’m aware of that, . . . sir.” He couldn’t keep her here. Surely he wouldn’t. She needed to move north, somewhere she could show the drawings and prepaintings in the sketchbook and pray someone recognized the artist. Her search in Rome had been fruitless. She had to believe somewhere someone could identify the man. Since receiving Momma’s letter, Rachel felt the pressure to find the man while she still had time. Something she couldn’t do from here. “I’ve been assigned to the Fifth for weeks.”
“Now they’re moving.” Forsythe matched her stare, as if daring her to do the right thing, the safe thing. He couldn’t know how desperately she needed to leave Rome. Surely he would see that as weakness and demand she stay put. Stay safe. Stay controlled and inside his protection. She couldn’t do that.
He blinked. “Well. Seems you’re set and the brass back in New York want you moving out. They must think this is some tea party or something. Fools.” He cursed and Rachel tried not to flinch. “You’re going out with some part of the army I’ve never heard of. Seems like a waste to me, but maybe you’ll get some good photos and stay out of the firefights.”
He reached toward his f
eet and, when he straightened, handed her a satchel. “I had the boys gather extra supplies. Should be enough to keep your camera operational until you return to civilization.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s also got my number and a few others in there. Anything happens, call or radio through the military, and they’ll get it to me eventually. We’ll try to get you help.”
The word try made her want to shudder. Instead, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin a fraction. “If I’m with soldiers, I’m sure they’ll keep me safe.”
“A camera isn’t much protection in the real world, Miss Justice. Remember that. It’s not a shield. And that WC on your lapels won’t do you a lick of good in the event you’re captured, so don’t let the Germans or Fascists near you.” He grabbed a cigar from his desk drawer and chomped down on it without bothering to snip the end or light a match. “Good luck. I’d hate to lose you.”
“Sir.”
“Quit with all the sir garbage. Just call me Dick and get back here in one piece.”
Rachel nodded, then hiked the bag on her shoulder. Enough film to keep her shooting for a couple weeks nestled among other supplies. Looks like she was set to take this next layer of adventure. “Where should I go?”
“Your government-provided ride arrives in ten minutes. Hope you brought everything you’ll need. You’ll meet him at the curb of your hotel.”
“I’ll find him.” If only it were as easy to find her father.
She hustled toward her desk and threw everything into her bag. She didn’t like the idea of leaving her items at the hotel unattended. At least her momma’s diary and the art journal were in her musette bag.
Those in the newsroom nodded her direction as she left. A chorus of “stay safes” followed her. When she’d arrived in Naples, the action had already concluded. Now she didn’t know what to expect. She’d heard the stories told by those who’d slogged across Anzio and up Purple Heart Valley, but would this journey north carry the same harrowing experiences?
