Gracie spent the next few hours searching out churches. Otavia divided the district by streets and told Gracie what to expect, but it was still a new area for her. Fortunately, although there were hundreds of churches in Rome, most of them weren’t concentrated in San Lorenzo.
Otavia was already in the cemetery, sitting on the grass next to a headstone, when Gracie arrived. When she saw Gracie, she smiled up at her. “I’m sorry. I should have taken one more and given you one less.”
Gracie waved her hand, dismissing any suggestion that Otavia had cause to apologize—in truth, she had probably saved a few people’s lives. “I couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you.”
Otavia pushed herself from the grass but stopped midway to her feet, still hunched over. A grimace of pain showed on her face, and one of her hands pressed against her abdomen.
Gracie rushed over to her. “Are you all right?”
Otavia took a few deep breaths before answering. “I’m not sure. It’s not so bad now, but it was like those cramps I used to get if I did too much walking and didn’t drink enough water. Except I’d get them in my calves, not all the way across my stomach.”
“You don’t suppose the baby’s coming?” Gracie asked.
A look of panic crossed Otavia’s face. “It’s too early.”
“Sit down again and rest. I’ll find you some water, and then I’ll help you home. Where do you live?”
“By the Villa Borghese.”
That was a long way to walk. They could take the tram, but even that would involve a significant stretch on foot. Gracie helped Otavia back to the ground, noticing a few rivulets of sweat along Otavia’s hairline. Gracie checked Octavia’s forehead for fever, but she felt cool and clammy. “I’ll be back as soon as I find something for you to drink.” Gracie left the cemetery, thinking she’d go back to the last church she’d been to.
“Excuse me, signorina. Is something wrong with your friend?”
Gracie turned around to see a young Italian of about thirteen. His clothes were old and slightly dirty, and he needed a haircut, but underneath a layer of grime, his face was earnest. “She’s feeling ill. You don’t know where I could find someone with a car or a horse-drawn cart, do you?”
“Depends on what you can pay.”
Gracie wasn’t sure if the boy wanted money for himself or for the driver, but she assumed she’d need to pay both. The tram would be less expensive, but trams were breeding grounds for lice, and Gracie wasn’t sure how far Otavia should walk. She felt in her pocket, pulling out enough lira to buy several days’ worth of food. “Will this do?”
“That’s enough for me to find someone for you. What he charges is another story.” The boy reached for the bills, but Gracie held them out of his reach.
“Find the cart first.”
The boy nodded and ran off. Gracie checked her pocket again, grateful OSS had given her plenty of currency. Purchasing a ride home wouldn’t be a problem. It was finding a ride that was a challenge. Gracie continued along the street until she saw a café. Deciding to skip the church, she went inside and convinced the owner to fill an empty wine bottle with water and sell it to her.
When Gracie returned to the cemetery, Otavia was waiting. “I had another one,” she said, rubbing the side of her abdomen.
“Here, have some water. That should help.”
Not long after, Gracie saw the boy again. He lingered outside the cemetery’s entrance, so she walked over to him.
“I found something for you.” He pointed down the road to where a cart pulled by a single horse plodded toward them. “He’s a milkman.”
Gracie handed the boy his money. “What’s your name?”
“Neroli.”
“Thank you for your help, Neroli.”
He shoved the money into his pocket and grinned before running off.
When the cart pulled to a stop, Gracie negotiated with the driver on the price of a ride. He was less expensive than Neroli, but she didn’t regret paying the middleman, or middleboy. Like most of the people she passed on the street, Neroli looked like he needed more food, and without his help, she wasn’t sure she could have found a way to take Otavia home. Gracie helped her friend to the cart, and the two of them found places to sit on the floor. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was better for Otavia than walking or standing in a crowded tram.
The cart was slow—Gracie thought she could have beaten the horse in a footrace—but she didn’t have anything else to do before curfew, other than collect Ley’s report. Otavia had no additional contractions during the ride, but she grimaced as the cart jostled them about. Despite the discomfort, she managed to smile for most of the journey.
When they arrived, both women thanked the milkman, then watched him drive away.
“My apartment is a block back,” Otavia said. “I gave him the wrong address, to play it safe.”
Gracie nodded. “I’ll see you in, if it’s all right with you.”
“Thank you, Tesorina.”
The street where Otavia lived was old, with lush, ancient trees and buildings that reminded Gracie of palaces. She paid more attention to the architecture than to the inhabitants, but as Otavia led her inside, Gracie caught sight of a boy’s head. She couldn’t be sure from the back view, but for an instant, it looked like Neroli. Then Gracie lost sight of him and couldn’t find him again. There were plenty of children in Rome who needed haircuts, and the dirty brown and gray of the boy’s clothing was common enough. She almost suggested they walk around the block as a precaution, but Otavia looked tired. It’s just a coincidence.
They took the stairs slowly, and as soon as they arrived in Otavia’s modest apartment, Gracie had Otavia put her feet up. The view from the living room window was extraordinary, showing Rome in all its splendor.
“You said your mother lives with you?” Gracie asked.
“Yes, but my aunt isn’t feeling well, so she went to stay with her.”
“Do you want me to find her?”
“No, I’ll be all right.”
Gracie hesitated. She didn’t want to intrude, and Otavia seemed better, but Gracie wanted to be sure. She glanced around the orderly kitchen, suddenly itching to make something. “Can I at least cook you dinner?”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“I don’t have a kitchen, and I miss cooking, so you’d actually be doing me a favor.”
Otavia laughed. Gracie loved the way she laughed—as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Gracie knew that wasn’t true. Otavia’s husband was away, involved in a dangerous partisan movement; her beloved city was occupied; and she risked execution if the Nazis caught her gathering and passing information to the Allies. Yet even with reasons to frown, Otavia consistently looked on the bright side. “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose I could let you borrow my kitchen. I think my mother went to the market before she left, so there should be something worthwhile to make.”
Gracie found fresh fish, cicoria, and cheese. She looked through the cupboards and found basic baking supplies too. The flour wasn’t as fine as she preferred, but she still thought her biscuits would be good if eaten while warm. Even Gracie’s mother liked her biscuits. She seasoned the fish and cicoria with olive oil and lemon juice, and they ate the biscuits with slices of cheese.
“Do you want a job? I’ve never been a very good cook.” Otavia helped herself to a second serving. “Not that I could pay you—we can barely afford rent nowadays.”
“I’d be happy to come cook again,” Gracie said. “And I left money and ration coupons on the counter to make up for what I’m eating.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. Food’s hard to come by, and I know I won’t starve.” Ley would give Gracie food if she asked for it.
“Thank you.” Otavia wrapped the leftover biscuits in a cloth and put them in a breadbox. “Do you suppose whichever church was hiding people got them moved by now?”
“I hope so. But it can’t be easy to find somewhere new on such short notice.”
“Do you think the SS would search catacombs? Most of the churches have them. Plenty of hiding places down there.”
Gracie shuddered. “I’d hate to hide there. It’s so dark. And it would be so creepy with all those skeletons.”
“They’re just bones. Better to hide there than get arrested.”
“But don’t you think it’s spooky? I mean, they used to be living, breathing people, and now . . . now they’re gone.”
Otavia looked thoughtful. “I don’t think they’re gone. They’ve just moved on to a better place.”
Gracie nodded. That was what she believed too—she wouldn’t have been able to survive the past year if she hadn’t known with certainty that life continued after death. But she still hoped she’d never have to hide in the catacombs.
The afternoon passed quickly, full of conversation. They laughed a lot and even cried once when Otavia spoke of how much she missed her husband. Before Gracie knew it, a nearby clock struck five in the evening. Curfew had come.
“I should have left an hour ago.” Gracie had missed her rendezvous with Ley. Otavia’s apartment didn’t have a phone, so she couldn’t call to explain, and she’d probably be arrested before she reached his hotel.
“You can stay the night, if you’d like,” Otavia said. “I’d hate for you to get caught out after curfew. If we warned the right refugees, the SS will be extra nasty to anyone they arrest tonight.”
Gracie thought for only a moment before agreeing.