Rachel sobbed as she ran back to the niche, the wrong direction from where her father must lie. She scooped up her father’s bag and kept moving. Scott led her through a maze of small rooms and chambers. Her stomach wanted to revolt at the image of Professor Berti dead and her father falling.
She trembled as Scott dragged her into another room. This one had a half wall he hunkered behind. “We’ll catch our breath here.”
The silence was as deafening as the gunshots. Where was the German? Could he creep up on them? “Should we keep moving?”
“I need a moment to think how to get out.” Scott cupped her face, made her look at him. Lines etched his face. “Your father planned for this. He had a gun.”
She nodded, sinking into the feel of him with her. Would she escape this building? Glass crunched somewhere and she jerked.
Scott eased up, then back down. “I can’t see the soldier. We have to get out of here, get you to safety, send someone for Renaldo.” His words rambled as if he was talking to himself as much as to her. Of course he was. He’d known her father for years.
“All right.”
“Pray we pulled the German away in time.” He released her and fisted his hands. “We can’t stay here, but we have to be smart. Stay close, and we’ll make it back to the other side of the Arno.”
They slipped through the vast maze of the Uffizi. As they ran down a staircase, Rachel froze when she saw the German skirt around the corner. Scott tugged on her arm, but she refused to budge. She could never find her way back to her father without Scott. She’d be lost in a hopeless circle, but if the soldier had left, was it safe to go back?
He gave his life for me. She choked on the words. Why would a father who didn’t know her sacrifice himself? Had he mirrored Christ in that moment? Was that the way God loved her? Sacrificially? So much more than she could ever hope to deserve . . . yet He’d given His all for her.
Scott tugged her forward again. “We can’t stop. Not yet.”
The heat pushed against her as he led her out of the building. “As soon as I get you back to the gardens, I’ll come back. Check on your father.”
“It will be too late.” She turned to go back in. She couldn’t leave him after she’d just found him.
He yanked her back. “You can’t go in.”
“Please. The soldier left, and I just found my father.” Tears started anew and she hung her head.
Scott pulled her back into the sheltering walls of the Uffizi, then into his arms, his solid embrace that offered sanctuary. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I will give you fifteen minutes. If there is the faintest noise, I will rush you out of here.”
In a flurry of action, he swung her through a reverse course, retracing their steps to the main floor. Nothing stirred except for a bird that flew in one window and then raced out another. When they reached the top floor, he set her in the niche. “Do not move from this spot unless I tell you. Understand?”
She nodded, afraid to trust her voice. Long minutes passed as she waited. Finally Scott returned. “Come quickly.”
When she saw her father, she cried out. Red covered his chest and shoulder. She rushed to his side and fell next to him. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “I should have stayed back.”
Her father’s dark eyes fluttered open, then closed.
“Stay with me. Please.”
“Daughter.” The word was a benediction on his lips. A balm to her aching heart. “You are worth this.” He shuddered, then was still.
“Papa!” She rubbed his shoulder, looked for breath, any sign of movement. “Scott, help me. Help.” She could feel her panic rising in the face of his utter stillness.
She couldn’t lose him, not when he’d tried so hard to protect her.
Scott pulled her back. “I’m sorry.”
She twisted away from him, feeling emptied inside, like every emotion had been scooped up and thrown across a canvas. A smattering of color and form but an absence of depth. She’d wanted to know him, learn more about him, but now she couldn’t.
You can know Me. The words resounded through her heart. An invitation to come closer. How she wanted to.
“We have to leave.”
Rachel stood. “Thank you for the paintings, Renaldo.” Sobs edged her words. Then she turned and followed Scott from the Uffizi. The weight of what had happened followed her.
She pulled into herself and searched her heart as Scott led her back to the gardens and then back to Montegufoni. Over the next days Scott spent more and more time in Florence, and she spent time in her room or in the baroque gardens at Montegufoni. She read the Bible Scott had found and pondered what her father had done. Most of all she sought peace. That elusive feeling.
The days passed in a blur—trips into the city, wrestling with the AMG for more passes, the miles of paperwork that never ended. Visits to different buildings and monuments in the heart of Florence in an effort to get repairs launched led to more paperwork. A never-ending cycle of paper and red tape. Some days Scott felt caught between the church, the art superintendents, and the battle that still raged too close to the city.
At night he escaped to Montegufoni. Rachel had stopped traveling with him. Had she worked out a break from her editor? He didn’t push. Instead he did what he could to ease the way for her to sell one of Renaldo’s paintings. His assistant curator back in Philadelphia assured him multiple buyers were interested. But each day felt like a delay that could make Renaldo’s sacrifice meaningless.
Through it all Rachel had pulled inside herself, and he’d sit next to her praying for God to reach her heart.
She had captured his, and it killed him to wait, not knowing how to smooth the process or speed it along.
Three weeks after that day in Florence, he drove back to Montegufoni with a letter in his pocket. A radio from his assistant sat next to it. He prayed the letter held news as good as the radio message. He jerked the trusty jeep into park and hurried toward the courtyard. The bite in the evening air made him wonder what fall would be like in the Tuscan countryside. The rain was already intermittent but always threatening. It looked like another fall and winter of slogging through the Italian countryside waited for the poor grunts.
Scott shook a couple lingering raindrops from his jacket and looked for the bench Rachel often occupied. Most evenings he’d find her there even in a light drizzle, waiting for him. If it was dry, the sketchbook would sit in her lap, her momma’s letters next to her. A time or two she’d even had her camera, though it wasn’t quite the automatic attachment it had been.
Today she wasn’t on the bench, so he headed to the kitchen. Only a few refugees remained. As the fight had moved north of Florence, the families had left determined to rebuild. He’d grab a glass of water before he started looking for her.
Soft voices greeted him as he reached the half door. Rachel laughed softly, and he looked through to see her wiping tears from her cheeks. He raised a hand as she found his eyes.
A shy smile graced her face, and his heartbeat quickened. She had to be the most beautiful woman God had created.
As he studied her face, he imagined a life with her. Growing old. Having children, then watching them parent grandchildren. It sounded like the perfect life. One he would be content to know and live.
“Enter.” Renaldo’s sister welcomed him with flour-covered hands. “Your Rachel makes pasta.”
Rachel grimaced and shook her hands over the table. “I’m pretty terrible at it.”
“You will improve.”
“I doubt it. I never could make bread either. Guess I should leave the cooking to others.” She turned toward Scott. “Your day was . . . ?”
“More of the same until I left.” He pulled out the letter, studied the address a moment, then handed it over. “A letter for you.”
She accepted it, holding it against her. “Your day couldn’t have been that routine.”
“Close. I’ve got more news.”
She swallowed. “They’re moving you north?”
“No, I’ll be here. Is that all right?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
He nodded. “I don’t want to leave you either. At some point we’ll get separated.”
“Not yet.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t stand it. Being alone.”
Her hand rested on the table between them. He grasped it, trying to infuse her with his strength. “I have to trust that God sees us and knows our desires.” Renaldo’s sister had moved away, giving them an illusion of privacy. He’d bet she still heard every word. “I heard from Philadelphia.”
Rachel inhaled sharply. “Is there a buyer?”
“Yes, and it’ll be a substantial sum. This particular art investor wants to increase his holdings. He liked the exhibit and has offered several thousand for one painting.”
“Is that okay? Or is he overpaying?”
Scott clamped down a laugh. “It’s a bit high, but I agree with his assessment that Renaldo Adamo will become a name many know and appreciate. Rachel, your father created works that speak to people. As we leave this war behind us, his paintings will be in demand. I wouldn’t be surprised if the man is able to resell the painting in a couple years for much more.”
“So I should keep it? Wait until it appreciates?”
“No. You need the money now for your mom’s care. Renaldo knew that, and I have a feeling he’d approve.”
Rachel’s eyes misted and she nodded. “Then sell it.” She dipped her chin again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He would do so much more for her if she asked. He was grateful to do anything to relieve her burdens. He tapped the envelope where it rested in her hands. “Gonna read it?”
“I’m afraid. The next letter could tell me Momma’s passed and I was here.” Her fingers tightened on the paper. “Before I met Renaldo, I accepted I’d be alone. Now . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I get so sad to think of that day.”
“I can leave if it’s easier to read it alone.”
She grabbed his hand. “Please. Stay.”
He settled onto a wicker-back chair next to her and let the silence settle as Rachel played with the envelope. After a few minutes she gingerly opened the V-mail. The paper shook as her gaze trailed down the page.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. They’ve seen a couple of photos they’re sure are mine in the paper. Momma appears headed to remission. If we can get her the treatment, the prognosis is much improved.”
“Then let’s get that painting sold.”
“Thank you again, Scott. For everything. For helping me find my father.” Her fingers played with the locket at her neck. He fought to keep his attention focused on her face. “For loving me.”
His heart thundered to a stop at her words.
A flicker of emotion flashed across Scott’s face, too fast for Rachel to decipher.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
He placed a finger on her lips, stilling her frantic attempt to make things right. “Shhh.”
“I love you, Scott Lindstrom.”
“Shhh.” He leaned closer until she could feel his breath against her cheek. As the area cleared of refugees, leaving just a few men in the security detail and a few who came and went as their work allowed, she’d tried to prevent them from having time alone. Now she wanted to give in to the longing that surged through her to feel his arms wrapped around her, holding her close enough to feel his heart. Instead he teased her by lingering in the space right above her.
“Scott . . .”
“Shhh.” He leaned close until his breath mingled with hers.
Then his lips claimed hers, and she sighed.
A moment later he pulled back, searching her eyes. “Rachel, I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know you. Even in that time I know I will barely plumb the depths of who you are. But I want to know and love you the rest of my days.”
Her mouth fell open. With conscious thought she closed it and searched for words. “Is that a proposal, fine sir?”
His eyes tightened and then he relaxed. “Yes, if you will have me.”
She leaned toward him and matched her lips to his.
A minute later he pulled back, and she looked breathlessly at him. “That was a yes?”
She nodded. “You are my home, Scott.”
As she rested in the circle of Scott’s arms, she understood the way God had shadowed her life with His grace, even when she didn’t know to look for Him. He’d provided an opportunity for her to work in Italy. Then He’d sent Scott to work with her and keep her safe. He’d even led her to her earthly father if only for a few days. In the process He’d reaffirmed His deep love for her.
Peace settled over her, and tension leached from her muscles.
She could rest in God’s care. And she could rest in Scott’s love.
Rachel smiled as Scott’s arms tightened around her.
She’d found her home in the storm of war.