Scott approached the woman, and when she turned toward him, her smile almost blinded him. Rachel! “Captain Justice.”
“Scott.” Her eyes softened, and her shoulders relaxed as she smiled at him.
“I thought you’d have left Rome.”
“Not yet.” She patted the space next to her, a brilliant smile lighting her face from the inside. “And you’re already here?”
“Been here a couple days. I came ahead of the others.”
“Have you found what you needed?”
He nodded. “A man who mentored me years ago smoothed the way with others. I’ve had meetings inside the Vatican.”
Her eyes widened. “What was it like?”
“Ornate. Removed. Apart from everything else. Surreal. I never imagined I’d find myself talking with a cardinal inside those walls. How long will you stay?”
“I don’t know.” She plucked a piece of grass and twined it through her fingers. “With Normandy the enthusiasm has evaporated for Rome. I’m one of a few who thinks it matters.”
He frowned at the thought. “Of course it does.”
“Can I help you while I wait to see what’s next?”
She wanted to spend time with him? The thought sent a shot of pleasure through him. Rachel, the woman whose lithe frame hit him at the right place, a perfect fit beneath his chin. He would find a reason for her to help and spend time together. If nothing else, he could show her why what he did mattered.
From the reports the art superintendents and the other officials had given at yesterday’s meeting, the buildings and galleries stood largely undamaged. There was cleanup work, but small compared to what he’d anticipated. Instead, his post in Rome provided the opportunity to build rapport and goodwill with the local officials. He needed to broach the missing art. Still the few stories he’d heard of paintings being placed on a truck and then never arriving gave him pause, feeling too much like the missing altarpiece. The MFAA would work with the locals to create lists and determine what people knew about each piece. Had it been headed north to a villa in Tuscany? Or had it headed east? He expected that most art had headed north, always north to the regions outside the cities. Remote villas in remote regions, and hopefully not to Germany.
“I would love to show you my city.”
“Rome is your city?” She smirked at him as they bumped shoulders.
“Today it is.” How had Rachel Justice woven herself into his very fiber? She gave every indication that she had no idea what she did to him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “First we’ll stop at headquarters, then we’ll find a quiet place.”
When they reached headquarters, he led Rachel to the corner he’d secured for MFAA loaded with bags and boxes.
“There you are.” Blake sidled up to him. “Enjoy your tour of Rome?”
“It’s been quick.”
“But you found time to bring someone along.” He winked at Rachel, and Scott fought back a rush of irritation.
“Blake, you remember Captain Rachel Justice.”
“Miss Justice, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Captain Justice.” Rachel’s posture straightened and she inched closer to Scott.
Scott stood taller at the thought she wanted to be nearer him.
Blake opened one box and pulled out manuals and requisition forms. “Has the begging started?”
Scott shrugged. “Not bad.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
“It’ll come. They always want more. Sometimes I want to remind them they partnered with Hitler. They should ask him for recompense.”
“Good luck.”
“Always fighting the good fight.” Blake set a stack of blank forms on the corner of a desk, topped them with a few pens. “Now I’m ready for the masses.”
Keller walked in with a couple boxes balanced in his arms.
“You here already?”
Keller dropped the boxes on a chair. “DeWald decided you could use the help since the military is already in and out.”
“I wouldn’t say they’re out.” Scott thought of all the soldiers he’d seen while he walked.
“Give them twenty-four hours, and good ole Mack will have them headed up the road again.”
Scott nodded. General Clark was pushing hard to get out of Rome.
“These boys won’t even get a good night’s sleep.” Blake slapped a name plaque on the table. Guess he was officially in business now that he had the sign alerting the world to the fact he was the designated requisitions man.
“They’ve earned some rest.”
“Not with the Germans on the run and still around. Gotta kick them all the way back home.” Keller turned his back on the other man and focused on Scott. “So where do you need help?”
“I don’t have a handle on what’s been moved with intent versus disappeared. There are rooms of protected art in the Vatican. Beyond that I don’t know much. The attention is on preventing looting as armies move in and out.” He headed to the door. “You guys have this under control. I’m giving the press a tour.”
“That’s what you call it?” Blake chuckled.
“Yep.”
Keller stopped him with a hand. “Much to shore up?”
“Not this time. The damage to buildings is minimal.”
Keller nodded. “That’s a welcome change.”
“Agreed. There’s nothing critical that I’ve seen.”
“Get on with your tour, but if the army’s moving out as fast as it looks, we’ll need to double-time.”
“Got it.” So sleep would be short while he was in the capital. He could live with that.
When he stepped outside, he found Tyler waiting while the sky behind the jeep began to darken into a cascade of colors.
Tyler snapped to attention when he saw Rachel. “Miss, um, Captain Justice.”
“Private.” Funny how she turned so regal with others yet didn’t take those airs with him.
Tyler looked from Scott to Rachel. “Ready for that Vatican meeting, Lieutenant?”
Scott rubbed his forehead. “I forgot about that. Rachel, I’m sorry.”
She put a finger to his lips, and his breath caught at the softness of the touch. “Don’t apologize. I understand.”
“Can you have a late supper?”
“I’d like that. If it doesn’t work out, I can always have a C ration.” She grimaced. “So hurry, all right? I’m at the hotel across from Albergo Città.” She turned and melted into the foot traffic.
“Don’t apologize?” Tyler rolled his eyes. “Looks like there’s something between you.”
“Maybe.” He’d sure like there to be.
He pulled his attention from her retreating form to the meeting ahead. This one had been called to discuss plans for storing the art until the hostilities ended. After giving and getting assurances that everybody wanted the art to be returned to the cities, villages, and original owners, he made his way toward the Hotel Excelsior. Maybe he could get a good night’s sleep before shipping out. With beds as soft as the hotel’s, it seemed a crime not to at least try. It seemed as good a place as any to look for the headquarters. But first, dinner with Rachel.
Rachel sat on her bed staring at the envelope the front desk clerk had handed her when she arrived. A small note from her editor accompanied it.
Know you’ve awaited word from home. Thought you shouldn’t wait any longer.
Rachel studied the envelope, hands trembling as she realized the return address included her momma’s name, but the handwriting wasn’t hers. The paper trembled in her hands, evidence of the turmoil in her heart. Dare she open it? After all this time could it be good news?
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?