The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Monday, June 14, 5:00 p.m.

The weather had grown oppressively hot as the three Mitchell women gathered at the kitchen table. After they finished a light supper, Zara read the last of Isabella’s journal.

Gina pushed around her untouched pasta and sipped sparingly on her glass of rosé wine. “Nonna, how did you escape Rome?”

Nonna dabbed her napkin to her face. “I don’t remember. It was so long ago.”

“Nonna, you don’t forget,” Gina said. “You can still recite each grade I earned my senior year of high school.”

“They weren’t the best grades,” Nonna said. “I was worried.”

“If you didn’t want to talk about Rome, you wouldn’t have told us about the wooden box. I would have found it after you passed and been left to speculate,” Zara said. “And you know how I hate unanswered questions.”

“Who was Aldo?” Gina asked. “And do not say you don’t remember. Neither one of us has a lot of time left, so you’ll have to spill soon.”

Nonna regarded Gina for a long moment and then in a quiet voice, as if she were revealing a dangerous secret, said, “He was your grandfather.”

“You mean Papa?” Gina said.

“Of course. As you know, he spent some of his youth in Italy, and he spoke Italian fluently, like a native. When the war broke out, like many men, he signed up. He told anyone who would listen that he spoke Italian and that he should be placed in Italy as a spy. Which of course is what they did in early 1942.”

“Was he working with Padre Pietro?” Zara asked.

“Not at first. When he arrived, he had to build a network of men and women he could trust. Riccardo was one of his first recruits.”

“How did you meet him?” Zara asked.

“I met him at a café party that Riccardo took me to. He asked me to dance.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Zara asked.

“He said it was for him, but for me, no.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “As you say, one kiss led to another.”

“I never remember you two saying a word about the war.”

“We did some in the early days, when your father was a baby. But as he grew and time stretched on, we chose not to think about it. It was easier to forget.”

“Wait. Are you Isabella?” Zara asked.

Nonna carefully set down her fork and reached for her glass of wine. She took a liberal sip. “No, I am not Isabella.”

Gina and Zara sat in stunned silence, staring at their grandmother.

“Then who are you?” Zara asked. “How did you get her journal?”

“I found it at Sebastian’s,” Nonna said. “She had taken to hiding it there in those last weeks.”

“What happened to her?” Zara asked.

“Signora Fontana died the night her house came down. She had been returning to her home when the explosions occurred. It would be days before her body was found in the rubble. Isabella and Mia left Rome for Umbria because there was more food, and the air was cleaner. In many ways, the two of them were like sisters and all each other had.” She was silent for a long moment as she moved her bent fingers along the wineglass stem.

“So how do you fit into all this?” Zara asked.

“I am Mia.”

Both Gina and Zara exchanged glances. Of all the theories they had had about Isabella, they had never once assumed their grandmother was Mia.

“Wait a minute,” Zara said. “Your name is Renata, not Mia.”

“Mia was a family nickname that stuck. I stopped using it when I came to America.”

“If you’re Mia, that means you lost a baby in the summer of 1943. How did Papa figure into this? The way Isabella wrote about him, I thought maybe he had a thing for her.”

“No ‘thing,’ as you said. But he respected Isabella. And he appreciated what she had done for our child.”

“The baby you had, Gina, was Papa’s?”

“Yes. We met at the café, as I said, and he kept finding a way to see me. We began a secret affair, and I fell deeply in love with him. I knew he was involved in some part of the Resistance, but I had no idea he was an American. He and my brother shared a passion for freeing Italy, and the two left Rome shortly before I found out I was pregnant.”

“Where did they go?” Zara asked.

“Naples. They were trying to set up networks to help the Allies when they landed in Italy.”

“And then you had the baby alone,” Zara said. “When did he find out about the baby?”

“When he saw Isabella in Padre Pietro’s office, and she told the priest the baby was mine.”

“Had he come back for you?” Gina asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t know that. And he could not make himself known to me. It was far too dangerous at that time. The Germans and the Fascist police were arresting people for no reason, and if anyone were to dig into his background, they would have known his papers were forgeries.”

“You became Karl Brenner’s lover,” Zara said.

“Grief and anger make us foolish. I thought I could not only hurt Aldo but I, too, might earn my brother’s respect and be a source of information for the Allies.”

“That night after the bombings. You insisted on seeing Brenner. Aldo told Isabella he would escort you. Why?”

“It was his chance to see me alone,” she said.

“You have lost your mind.” Aldo spoke quietly as he gripped her arm.

“Maybe I have,” she said. “What difference does it make to you?”

“Brenner will kill you.”

“Not if I’m careful.”

“We need to talk properly.”

She tried to yank her arm out of his grip, but it was unbreakable. “We’re done.”

“We are far from finished,” he said.

He approached a parked car and opened the front passenger door. “Get in. We will talk before I deliver you to that monster.”

“No.”

“Get in the car.”

As she considered running, several Roman police dressed in black uniforms strolled along the sidewalk. She knew they were part of Italy’s secret police, so she got in the car as Aldo waved to them casually, smiled, and got behind the wheel. He turned to her as a lover might. They both sat in tense silence as the police passed.

“I know about the baby,” he said quietly.

All the fight and anger melted from her body. “How?”

“I was at the church when Isabella brought her to Padre Pietro.”

Her body had shed so many tears she was certain there were none left to give, but they still came, spilling down her cheek.

He took her hand in his and said quietly, “I am so sorry.”

“There is nothing to be done about it,” she said softly.

“I love you, Mia,” he said. “I have since the moment I saw you laughing at that party.”

She closed her eyes, and the pain gripping her heart eased. When he touched her face, she looked into his. “Now is not the time for love.”

Shaking his head slowly, he kissed her on the lips. She had missed his touch and hungered for it more than she had realized.

They drove to his small apartment and that night made love. It was as endearing as it was passionate. When she rose before dawn to dress, he sat propped on the bed pillows, staring at her. “You can’t go back to him,” he said.

“I have to. I can learn so much.”

He rose out of bed and laid his hands on her shoulders. “There will be another way.”

“Not until this war ends. We both know that.”

His face grim, he reached in his coat pocket and removed a knife. “Keep this close. Promise me you’ll use it if you have to.”

She ran her fingers over the worn black handle. “I promise.”

Snatching up her purse, she hurried from the room, fearful if she lingered, she would lose courage. She went straight to Sebastian’s.

“And then Brenner caught you going through his papers?” Gina said.

“Yes.”

“Where is Isabella?” Gina asked.

Nonna closed her eyes and again lapsed into silence. Zara thought she might not answer, but when she opened her eyes, they reflected raw pain. “After the Americans arrived, Isabella and I left Rome, as I said.”

Neither Gina nor Zara spoke as they waited for her to continue. Nonna took a moment to rearrange the folds of her skirt. “Isabella died giving birth to her son. I was with her, holding her hands as the midwife helped with the delivery. I thought she was going to be fine. And then she started to bleed, and before I realized it, she was gone.”

Zara studied the deepening lines in her grandmother’s face. “And the baby?”

“Your father, of course.”

“You and Papa weren’t Daddy’s biological parents?” Gina asked.

“The boy was my nephew and the child of a woman I respected greatly. I took him to raise as my own without a second thought.”

“Did you ever tell Daddy?” Zara asked.

“No,” she said. “There were times your grandfather and I wished we had, but our generation didn’t talk about the past. We moved forward. We tried to give him his best life, but as you girls know, he was never settled or content. So like Riccardo.”

“How did Papa find you?” Gina asked.

“He came looking for Isabella and me in Assisi. By then your father was four or five months old, and I was supporting us, taking work from anyone who needed mending or a new dress made. We were barely getting by, but I was content. I was where I belonged.”

“And Papa showed up,” Zara said.

“And you two made up?” Gina asked.

Nonna laughed softly. “No. Not at all. But he felt an obligation to Isabella and Riccardo’s son. He saw to it we had extra food rations, and then he left. I thought he would never return, but a week later there he was. These visits went on for several weeks until finally he told me he was returning to the United States. He asked me to marry him. Our love had never died, and we shut the door on the past. God did not bless us with more children, but we had your father, and he gave us you two girls. Our lives were full.”

They all sat in silence.

“In my heart your father was my son, and I didn’t want him to think less of me,” Nonna said. “I should have shown him Isabella’s journal when he was a young man. Papa wanted me to tell him, but I begged him to remain silent. I thought no good would come from the truth.”

“What about the broach?” Zara asked. “How did you get it?”

“When I returned to the kitchen to get the knife, I took it as well. I thought it could be of use.”

“You recognized the broach when Brenner gave it to you?” Zara asked.

“Yes. But I could not speak for fear Brenner would kill me. He already suspected me by then.”

“You were spying on him?” Zara said.

“Yes. I was able to track who Karl was hunting and able to tip off many. As I told Isabella, my arrival the night the police showed up for the Biancos was not an accident. I would like to find the Biancos,” Nonna said. “The emerald belongs to them. I am too old to find them, but you girls are clever.”

“We actually have a little news about them,” Zara said. “Finding them might not be so hard.”