CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE
Rosa
16 October 1943
Rosa sniffled, her tears finally subsiding. Maria had come to the hospital to tell her that her mother was dead, along with Beppe, and that her father and Sandro had been rounded up. The news had overwhelmed Rosa, engulfing her in sorrow and grief. Maria had comforted her, and even cried with her, which helped her through the initial shock. The word of her mother’s murder spread to Dr. Cristabello, Sister Anna Domenica, and her mother’s former colleagues, who had come by to pay their respects. Even now, nuns looked over in sympathy as they swept through the ward, their black habits stark against the whiteness.
Rosa wiped her eyes, trying to fathom the loss. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to her mother, but everyone had told her the amazing story about the Syndrome K ruse and her mother disguised in Sister Anna Domenica’s habit, of all things. Her mother had risked her own life to save Rosa’s, and Rosa loved her so much. She wished David were here, but he was in harm’s way, too. Fear for him made her want to cry all over again.
“I’m so sorry.” Maria held her hand, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. She had on a black dress, but no jewelry, and Rosa remembered the gold crucifix she had contributed to satisfy the Nazi demand for gold, which had been a cruel lie.
“What an awful day.” Rosa pressed Maria’s handkerchief to her eyes. “And Papa, and Sandro, too . . .”
“I didn’t mean to burden you when you’re ill. But I felt you should know as soon as I could tell you.”
“I appreciate that, thank you.” Rosa blew her nose, her eyes stinging. Her chest felt hollow and empty, her mouth dry. She still had a fever, but her own illness was beside the point now.
Maria squeezed her hand. “It is so hard to imagine your mother gone, and Beppe. It’s impossible.”
“I’m so sorry about Beppe.” Rosa had never felt closer to Maria. The two families had always been friends, but now they were joined forever, having a tragedy in common. A wave of despair washed over Rosa, knowing that there would be no justice for her mother’s murder, or for Beppe’s. War welcomed and concealed the most heinous of crimes.
“Beppe tried to save her. I know he died the way he wished to, as a fighter.”
Rosa patted her hand. “He was a remarkable man, an oak, and you know my father loved him.”
Maria nodded, managing a smile. “Marco was devastated. It’s hard on him, after Aldo.”
“I’m sure.” Rosa remembered Aldo, with a pang. “I’m grateful to Marco for trying to save Sandro and my father.” She paused, her head fogged with grief. “But who’s helping Marco, if not Beppe?”
“Elisabetta.”
“That’s all?” Rosa couldn’t hide her despair. There had to be a way she could help. She started to rise, but eased back, weak and dizzy. “Maybe I can talk to the doctor—”
“No, you need to get well.” Maria patted her hand. “By the time you’re ready to leave the hospital, Emedio will have false documentation for you, and a place to live in the Vatican.”
“How can I go, with Papa and Sandro in such jeopardy?”
“You must go, for them.” Maria leaned forward, her dark eyes flashing. “Your father and Sandro love you, and it will ease their burden to know that you’re safe.”
“How will they know where I am?”
“Marco will get to them, and he will find a way to tell them. Think of your mother, Rosa. I know, as a mother, that she would want you to live the life that God gave you. Your survival will be her triumph.” Maria tilted her chin up, in teary defiance. “Live in honor of her memory.”
Rosa listened, hushed. She could almost hear her mother saying those same words.
“Rosa, I know we’re not the same religion, but we both believe in a just and loving God. I believe that He brought us all together, so we can be family for each other, now.” Maria looked at her, her love plain in her anguished eyes. “And think of your father, too. I have shared glasses of wine with him, at the bar. What is his toast, most of the time?”
Rosa knew the answer. “L’Chaim.”
Maria nodded. “‘To life.’”
Tears filled Rosa’s eyes. They felt true, and she let them flow.