The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER TEN

ISABELLA

Rome, Italy

Friday, October 8, 1943, 6:00 a.m.

When I woke the next morning, my first thought was for Riccardo. The man’s uneasy gaze still bothered me. He would not have returned to find Mia if he had not cared for her. He had not inquired about a baby, so he was either being discreet or did not know.

I knocked on Mia’s door, and when she did not answer, I opened it and found her bed made. Had I not heard her rise? I was a light sleeper, and I could not remember a day when she’d woken before me. Then it occurred to me that she had not come home last night.

Descending the stairs, I found Signora Fontana in the kitchen, stirring a very large pot of polenta. She was humming and looked as if she had lost ten years of stress. It was the arrival of the boys. They reminded her of her lost sons, as Mia’s baby had conjured memories of my infant.

“Did Mia leave early?”

“She must have. I didn’t see her this morning. The girl is barely here anymore.”

I poured a cup of coffee. It was watery and bitter, but the heat warmed my body. “She has had a lot of work to catch up on at the shop since her summer absence.”

Signora Fontana nodded slowly. “It’s good to see her growing up and taking responsibility.”

“Yes.” I kissed the signora on the cheek. “Do not spoil those boys too badly today.”

“The poor things are half-starved. They’ll love the cheese for breakfast.”

“I’ll see what else I can find today for them to eat.”

She pinched my cheek. “That’s a good girl. With the money you gave me, I’ll check the black markets for meat.”

As I hurried to work, the streets were shrouded in a grayish light and were already filling with Italian and German soldiers as shopkeepers opened their doors along the piazzas. I was careful not to make eye contact with the soldiers, fearful of attracting their attention. Several whistled at me, and some made rather rude suggestions, but I pretended not to understand and quickened my pace.

Relieved to see the familiar red door of Sebastian’s salon, I rushed to the side-alley entrance. I discovered the door was locked, so I pulled the bell cord three times, feeling the chime resonating in my chest.

The door came equipped with a small peephole, and I sensed a scrutinizing eye angled close to it on the other side. Straightening my shoulders, I lifted my chin, looking slightly annoyed.

When the door opened to Sebastian, I asked brusquely, “Now you lock me out?”

“I’m taking precautions. I don’t want any uninvited guests to surprise us. This city is becoming too dangerous.”

“Perhaps that is wise.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I did not sleep well.” Which was the truth. My sleep had been troubled with dreams of bombs, of the boys hidden within our house, Mia’s absences, and her troubled brother who had visited.

“Mia again beat you to work.”

Perhaps I had been wrong about Mia. Maybe she had slipped out early. “Good.”

I darted around him, hurried down the narrow hallway toward the sewing room and the chatter of women. In the sewing room, I passed by each machine, nodding politely to each woman. At the end of the row, I slid on my well-worn smock, which smelled faintly of lye soap. Mia was working at her station, her head bowed as she eased the sleeve of a blue dress under the needle. This was not the time to talk to her about Riccardo or let her know about the additional houseguests. That would wait for our lunch break.

Sebastian brought me a skirt made of thick wool, dyed a deep, rich navy blue. “Frau Brenner’s maid dropped it off for her. Frau Brenner believes the hot Italian summer must have shrunk the garment.”

“So it needs to be let out.”

“Yes.”

“Before the war, many women complained of the same problem. No more, thanks to the food shortages. I’ll have one of the girls use the measurements I took at her dress fitting.”

“The original seams are generous, and I suggest the seamstress steal every quarter inch of fabric she can. Better to make her feel a little too small for the garment.”

“Of course.”

After waving Maria over, I watched as she laid the skirt out on my table. The process of tearing out the seams was more tedious than I had imagined, but I wanted the girl to go slowly and not make any mistakes. The original seamstress, perhaps the Jewess the frau had mentioned, had constructed the garment with small stitches that did not wish to be dislodged.

Though I moved to the next project, a tea dress for an Italian princess, I kept a watchful eye on Maria. By ten she had the skirt deconstructed and laid out on the table behind me. By our lunch break, she had sewn half the expanded seams back together.

“You look like you had a terrible night’s sleep,” Mia said.

“Perhaps I was worried about you,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said lightly. “I can take care of myself. Come into the alley, and we can take a break. I have the best cheese and sausage.”

Ration cards offered limited quantities of meats and cheeses, if they could be found, so unless she had raided Sebastian’s stash as I had, she could have received it only from Hauptmann Brenner.

“I can see your thoughts churning,” Mia said as we climbed the stairs to the alley entrance. “There’s nothing wrong with a man being generous to a woman he likes.”

Outside a warm breeze swirled. I followed her to a bench, and we sat. “Frau Brenner sent her maid to the shop this morning with a skirt,” I said. “Do you think she knows about you and her husband?”

She seemed uninterested as she laid the cloth on top of a barrel and unwrapped it. “He says she’s the jealous sort.”

“She has the right, don’t you think?” I snapped.

“It’s up to her to keep her husband interested.”

“Foolish girl. Do you think this will end well?”

“I don’t care how it ends,” she said.

“What do you know of Dannecker?”

“Tall, rather vicious looking. Why?”

“Frau Brenner, your lover’s wife, is hoping to impress her husband’s business associates, who are SS. Do you really think it’s wise to get close to a man like that?”

“I am not worried about being wise, Isabella. I want to have fun, and so does he. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“And what will happen when this war ends? The Americans have taken Naples. Some say they’ll be in Rome by January.”

“Karl does not think the Allies will win. He’s confident the German defenses will hold them off.”

“He’s SS. He’s married,” I said. “There is no happy ending.”

“He plans to divorce his wife.” She opened the muslin cloth, spread it out over the stone bench between us, and arranged the pieces in neat rows. “When he’s free, he’s going to marry me. He assures me she won’t be a problem much longer.”

“Frau Brenner does not act like a woman getting a divorce.”

“She’s very clever,” Mia said. “They have not been in love for years.”

“How many times have we dressed women who have said the same thing? And how many of their lives have ended in despair?”

“This is different.” She chose a piece of cheese and nibbled the edges. “Do not worry about me, Isabella. I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Enough about me.”

“Have you seen Aldo again? He watched you closely that night at the café.”

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

“I saw you two arguing the day of the bombing.”

She sighed. “He wants what he cannot have. Now do not spoil my lunch with a lecture.”

I looked into her brown eyes. “Your brother stopped by the house last night.”

Her mild expression hardened. “Riccardo. What did he want?”

“He wanted to see you.”

“The time to see me has passed.”

“Why? He’s your brother.”

“We had a falling-out when I told him about the baby. We have not spoken since.” She dropped the piece of cheese on the muslin and slowly brushed her fingers clean. “He’s the past.”

“He will always be your brother.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore. What matters to me now is enjoying what little fun we can.” She selected a thick sausage. “Now we must eat before Sebastian calls.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. I’ve seen how little you eat. You’ll do no one any good if you faint.”

I accepted the slice of sausage. It had been weeks since I had eaten meat and was surprised how good it tasted.

We ate in silence for several minutes, and I was amazed at the rich flavors. Karl Brenner, like many of his kind, was enjoying the sweet fruits of the city.

“Can you teach me some German?” Mia asked.

“I speak just a little.”

“I thought you were quite fluent. Didn’t your father teach you many languages?”

“No, not really.” I loved Mia and would do what I could for her, but I did not trust her, given her attachment to the captain. We would have to be very careful with the boys hiding at the signora’s house. We had been lucky that Mia had not returned with her lover last night. “My father was.”

“What other languages do you speak?”

“A little French and English.”

“I don’t think there’ll be much call for English. Right now, most Romans hate the English and Americans. And it won’t be long before they are turned away from Italy’s shores.”

Given the destruction the Allies were willing to dispense, it seemed they were not ready to give up on Italy.

“You must see Riccardo,” I said.

“It’s better for us both if we do not.” She wiped her hands. “Now I must get back to work.”

Mia left the food behind, so I quickly rewrapped it, knowing the boys would gladly eat it. Mia returned to the blue cocktail dress she was hemming, and I checked on Maria’s progress. At ten minutes to two, the garment was complete, and I was ironing out the final wrinkles.

“Frau Brenner is here,” Sebastian said.

“Is there a problem?” I asked. “She does not have an appointment.”

“She has brought a friend, and she would like to introduce you to her. This is good, Isabella. It could be more money for the shop. It’s important that we make a good impression. Hurry up.”

“I have finished her skirt.”

“This is bigger than a skirt,” he said quickly. “These women cannot wait. Now go on. Get upstairs.”

I hurried up the back staircase, the skirt draped over my arm, and, pausing at the curtains, listened as the women spoke to each other in German.

“It’s a pretty city even with the bombing. I love my apartment and would hate to see my view of the Colosseum ruined,” Frau Brenner said.

“We live near the Vatican, so we should be fine,” another said. “The Americans are soft, which is why we will win.”

“I’ll feel better when the roundups are complete. Karl won’t be gone from home as much, and perhaps we can enjoy the city.”

“Stop fretting over the roundups,” the second woman said. “And be careful. Your sympathy for the Jews still shows from time to time.”

I had no love lost for the Americans. They had killed thousands and left twice as many homeless. However, the Germans posed a greater, longer-lasting problem.

Summoning a smile, I pushed through the curtains. “Ladies,” I said in Italian. “Frau Brenner. A pleasure.”

Frau Brenner’s expression brightened. “Isabella, you look well.”

“I am indeed.”

“May I introduce Frau Schultz. She has only recently moved to Rome with her husband.”

Frau Schultz regarded me with some skepticism, as if judging me as too Italian looking. Hair too dark, skin not ivory white, a figure of curves. “How wonderful,” I said in Italian. “What is it I can do for you ladies?”

“I’m hoping that is my skirt and it’s ready.”

“It is. Would you like to try it on?”

“Yes.”

I motioned to the dressing room. As Frau Brenner passed, she moved with more confidence. “When will my dress be ready?”

“The first fitting is Monday as planned.”

“Are you personally sewing the dress?”

Frau Schultz sat as Frau Brenner set her purse down and unbuttoned her jacket.

“I am overseeing its construction,” I said.

“How many girls do you have here?” Frau Brenner asked.

“Eight. Plus me.”

“I hear there is a girl named Mia here,” Frau Brenner said.

“Yes.”

“I would like to meet her,” she said.

The purpose of this visit was not for a skirt or dress but to see Mia. “It can be arranged.”

She slid off her skirt. I took it and held up the mended garment so she could step inside. It slid up over her silk slip, and I fastened the button in the back and smoothed the sides over her full hips. “You like?”

“It fits much better,” she said.

“Good.”

“What do you think, Elke?” she asked.

“Very nice. The workmanship is excellent.”

“I told you these girls were talented.”

“Frau Schultz would like you to make her a dress,” Frau Brenner said in Italian. “And I would like another as well. There’s going to be several parties coming up very soon.”

“How very exciting. When are these parties?”

“Early November at the German embassy,” Frau Brenner said.

As tempted as I was to ask more, to do so could lead to trouble. “Can you come with Frau Brenner on Monday? We will look at new fashions after your fitting.”

“So long?” Frau Schultz asked. “I was hoping for today.”

“The Romans move at a slower pace,” Frau Brenner said in German. “But the wait should be worth it.”

“I certainly hope so,” Frau Schultz said. “I want a dress no later than November first. My husband has assured me the roundups will be finished by then, and he will have more time for me. Who would have thought there was so much work involved in transporting Jews?”

I smiled blankly, as if their words buzzed past my head like a breeze.

“Now, Mia,” Frau Brenner said.

“Of course.”

Down the back staircase, I hurried to Mia’s station. “She wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” I said.

Mia rose from her machine. “Then I suppose we will meet.”

“This is trouble,” I said.

“I’ll play nice. I swear.”

We climbed the stairs together and found the two women standing in the center of the room. Frau Brenner regarded Mia closely. “This is Mia?”

Mia nodded. “Yes.”

“She’s a pretty little thing,” she said.

“She’ll be easily forgotten,” Frau Schultz said in German. “You have lowered yourself enough. Now we will go.”

Frau Brenner stared at Mia a little longer. “He will never divorce me, girl. I know too much, and he knows it.”

Mia was silent.

Finally, the women turned and left the store, and we stood, watching the ladies get into the waiting Mercedes. “This is not good,” I whispered.

“It’ll be fine.”

Sebastian rushed into the room. “What is Mia doing up here?”

“The ladies wanted to meet one of the seamstresses,” I said.

“But they are returning?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Excellent.”

Hours later, when it came time to leave the store, I gathered up my hat and purse as Mia approached. “Are you headed home?”

“Yes. And you?”

“To a nearby apartment. It’s a very fancy after-curfew party. There will be wine, and my friend has a record player. Wouldn’t you love to dance?”

“Perhaps another night.”

Mia regarded me. “I can see there is a young woman trapped inside you, Isabella. She wants to get out and have fun.”

“Another time.”

“Suit yourself. But I’ll tell you all about it in the morning and do my best to make you regret missing the party.”

Her cheer prompted a smile. “I am so warned.”

The streets were busy, as they always were in Rome. It struck me that there were helmeted Germans everywhere. Their presence was a stark reminder that Italy’s former friend now controlled her every move.

I stopped by the church, anxious to tell Padre Pietro what I had heard today, but when I could not find him in his office, I stopped a nun passing in the hallway. “Have you seen the priest?”

“He’s out making rounds and will not be available until morning. Can I tell him who wants to see him?”

“Not necessary. I’ll return in the morning.”

As I walked out on the street past a busy café filled with music and laughter, memories of a happier time came alive. When I was eight, my mother and I had taken the train into the city, hired a car, and ridden to the Hotel Pincio near the Trevi Fountain. Our first night in the city we had dined in a café and then spent several glorious days in the fashionable Via Veneto area, studying the garments in the tiny shop windows. Mama had laughed a lot in those days. Papa had still held his teaching job at the university, and none of us had seen the troubles beyond the horizon.

After losing my Enzo and our child, I was more attuned to the shifting winds. There had been a sudden cooling of the air in Rome, and we were about to be hit with a storm.

As the sun dipped lower and the people on the streets thinned, I made my way to the signora’s house. The front door was locked, so I knocked.

The signora opened the door, smiling. “Ah, Isabella. I always worry. You’re late.”

“I was looking for Padre Pietro.”

She took my coat and hung it up. “Confession again?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, your soul must be light. Hurry and put your things away. I’ve heated dinner with the evening’s ration of gas. Best to eat while it’s still warm.”

“I brought food for the boys.” I handed her the muslin-wrapped cheese and sausage.

“Their bellies are fed, and they’re already to bed. Now you must eat.”

Dinner was a simple fare of lentil soup and warm rustic bread. We ate in silence, the flickering light of a bulb swaying gently over our heads. The tension simmering between us was no different than the worry sweeping the residents of Rome.

After supper, we sat in the kitchen, each of us mending garments for the children on the streets. Winter would come soon enough, and many were homeless. “I heard rumors of roundups today,” I said.

“That is not good,” she said as she hemmed a pant leg.

“No.”

“Can you warn that woman you know?” Signora Fontana said.

“I already have.”

“And when you deliver these clothes to the ghetto, can you spread the word?”

“I will try. But most don’t believe the Germans will harm them. For the most part, the Germans are good customers in their shops and polite.”

“Then what more is there to do?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“We do what we can, Isabella.” She clipped a piece of thread and held up the small pair of pants. “Did Riccardo show up at the shop?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“He will return. Men like him only come around when they have good reason.”

“Maybe he wants to make peace with her. She said he was angry when she told him about the baby.”

“People are rarely as simple as they appear.”