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When Alex and Nicolas returned home the following day, Alex felt as if everything and nothing had changed at the same time. She and Nicolas had clearly made a connection in Florence. Not only had he held her hand during the funeral, but he held it off and on throughout their tour. Does that mean something, or was it just a friendly gesture? Alex couldn’t quite figure out where things stood. And there wasn’t time to figure it out once they were back at the vineyard. Alex quickly put her bags in her room and grabbed a bite to eat before heading to the winery to check on Maria. Alex knew that Maria’s hands had been full while she and Nicolas were in Florence and Maria had to cover all of their daily jobs as well as rescheduling and getting ready for the tours.
“You have two English tours scheduled for tomorrow,” Maria told her. “Do you need the afternoon to get ready? Because the brochures are ready to be picked up from the printer, and we have an outgoing delivery today. The men will all be busy doing some trimming and hydrating,”
“Whoa, slow down,” Alex said. “Take a breath. I’ll go get the brochures and prep when I get back. I prepared what I’m going to say before I left, so I’ll be fine. Just let me run next door and grab my purse.”
“Not so fast,” Maria stopped her. “What happened in Firenze? When Pietro and I were checking out, Nicolas came in and told the clerk not to check you out. Then he told us to have a safe trip back, and he disappeared into the elevator.” Maria narrowed her gaze at Alex. “And you never answered my texts. And now you are blushing. What did I miss?”
Alex shrugged and headed toward the door. “Oh, nothing.” Maria looked at her skeptically. “Nicolas just wanted to show me around Florence, and Marta wanted to have dinner. It was very nice. I didn’t have time to text you back.” Nor did I know how to answer your questions. “We just walked around and saw the sights. We had some gelato and a nice meal. We couldn’t get into any museums because it was too late to get tickets, but Nicolas said that next time-”
“Ah ha!” Maria exclaimed and pointed at Alex. “You said ‘next time.’ So there will be a next time for you and Nicolas to go to Firenze?”
“Of course,” Alex said with exaggerated exasperation. “I’m sure that we will have business reasons to go back, and of course, there’s Marta.”
“Do not try to fool me. There is something different about you. There is more that you are not telling me.”
Alex blushed and looked away then turned back with a frown. “I don’t know what to tell you. He held my hand some of the time that we were together, but that’s all. I don’t think anything has changed between him and Eva.”
“Uffa,” Maria scoffed. “She did not even come to his father’s funeral. What kind of fiancé is that? Mi madre had quite a lot to say when we drove her home that morning, and she was right. How could her holiday be more important than Nicolas?”
“I don’t know,” Alex agreed, “She’s supposed to be gone for another week, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens when she returns.” She sighed. “You know, it was an emotional few days, with the funeral and helping his mother settle his father’s estate. He may have just needed a day to have some fun, and I just happened to be there.”
“Nicolas has many friends in Firenze. He could find others to have fun with. He chose you.”
“As I said, we’ll see,” Alex said. “For now, I’m just going to act as if nothing has changed. It’s his call as to what happens next. I’m not going to come between him and the woman he claims he wants to marry. I’ve got to go. I’ll be back soon.”
Maria watched Alex go and couldn’t keep from smiling. There was certainly a change in Alex. Things are going to be even more interesting around here, Maria thought. She chuckled to herself and thought about how far Alex had come in the short time she’d been there, and how far Nicolas had come as well. Tours, fancy brochures, Nicolas falling in love - she was sure of that. Maria never thought she’d see this day, and she loved having a front row seat to it all.
It was late by the time Alex and Nicolas sat down to eat, and they were both exhausted. Nicolas looked so tired that Alex thought he was going to fall asleep at the table. His eyes were heavy, and he yawned almost continuously. His first day back at work, along with the emotional toll of his father’s death and burial, had left him exhausted.
“Why don’t you go up to bed, and I’ll clean up,” Alex told him. Instinctively she went behind him and began rubbing his shoulders. Rather than relax, she felt his muscles tense and she quickly pulled her hands away.
“No, please,” Nicolas said tiredly. “That feels so good.”
Alex smiled and continued kneading his shoulders and neck. “It’s payback for when you consoled me on the date of my father’s death. I haven’t felt that,” Alex almost said “loved” but stopped herself, “cared for in a long time.”
“It was my pleasure,” Nicolas said, but the words were quiet and slurred. His head slumped, and his shoulders relaxed. Alex kept massaging for a few more minutes until she heard his shallow breathing and noticed how limp his body had become. She smiled and gently nudged him.
“Go to bed, Nicolas,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nicolas stood and staggered up the stairs. Alex smiled as she watched him go. Yes, she thought, the same yet different. But it was all good.
March 15, 1943
Papà is sending me on a dangerous mission, and I’m not sure whether to be frightened or proud that he trusts me so. Tomorrow, I will board a train to Firenze. I will go alone, though Mamma worries about this. Papà assures her that I will be fine. I wished to take Gabriella with me, but Papà said that would only endanger her, and I cannot put my dearest friend in harm’s way. Papà will take me to the train early tomorrow morning, and I will deliver a letter to a church. That is all that I know for now.
“How scary,” Alex commented the following night as they read the journal. She was leaning against Nicolas as he read, their bodies touching and sending pulses through Nicolas unlike anything he had ever felt. He resisted every urge to kiss the top of her head or to turn her toward him and take her fully into his arms. Living in the same house and sharing the intimacy of his great-aunt’s haunting story were becoming increasingly harder for him. He told himself that it was only because Eva had been gone for so long. He was lonely, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of Alex.
“I cannot imagine how she felt,” Nicolas said honestly. “I only wish I could have asked her. I never even tried to see her or get to know her.”
Alex turned her head to look up at him. “You would have loved her,” she said quietly. “I can picture her, a younger her of course, as you read. I can see how she became the woman I knew her to be. She was strong, smart, confident, all of the things I wish I could be.” Alex looked down and sighed.
“But you are, mia bella, you are, and you do not even see it.” He stopped himself from leaning over and skimming the top of her head with his lips. Before he allowed his emotions, and his body, to take over, he propped the book back up and continued reading.
March 16, 1943
I am so tired I can barely put my words on paper, but I must write down the events of my day before it all seems more like a dream than what is real. Papà took me to the train early this morning. I had to awake before the sun rose, but I was filled with excitement and did not feel tired at all. Of course, once I was alone on the train, my excitement turned to fear. There seemed to be soldiers everywhere. I had no way of knowing if one of them might ask me where I was going or what I was doing there. The letter was hidden inside the seam of my coat, my mother’s handiwork in the late hours of the night. My hands were cold inside of my gloves, and my boots did little to stop the cold from settling into my toes. I coughed when the doors opened and tried to hold my breath to stay quiet and not draw attention to myself.
When I finally reached Firenze, the city was just waking. There were very few people on the streets as I walked from the Santa Maria Novella station. I passed by the Basilica and nodded to the sisters on their way to daily Mass. I had to hurry or I would be late. I had been to Firenze before but never alone. I tried to follow Papà’s directions, but they were not written down as he made me commit them to memory. I had to stop myself from running through the Palazzo Strozzi. I was out of breath by the time I reached Chisea di Santa Trinita. I went inside, dabbed my finger in the holy water and blessed myself before sliding into a pew about halfway up the aisle. I knelt down and barely finished my prayers before the priest began his ascension up the aisle to the altar. The Mass seemed to drag on forever, and in spite of the cold outside, I began to perspire under my heavy coat, but I was too afraid to take it off in case I needed to run quickly away. After Communion, while I prayed, I quietly and carefully pried open the seam inside my coat and slid out the envelope containing the curious letter. I waited for the church to empty before slipping into the Confessional. I began to say “Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” but I remembered that I was supposed to use the code that Papà told me, and so I asked for pardon and gave the code. The priest opened a small door in the wire between us, and I slid the paper into his hands. I prayed that this was the right person and not a trap. Father thanked me and blessed me and then prayed for my safe return home.
After Mass, I hurried from the church without looking back. I still do not know if the letter made it to its intended receiver, but I followed my papà’s instructions, and made it to Firenze and back safely. Now I lie here and pray that I was successful and that Papà will send me again. Aside from the night in the barn, I have never felt such a thrill in my life.
The vineyard was busy the rest of the week and into the weekend with tours, the filling of orders, and general care of the vines. On Sunday, Alex complained that it was all she could do to drag herself out of bed in time for church. Nicolas smiled, but he didn’t tell her that she hadn’t felt exhaustion yet. Just wait until harvest began. She fell asleep in the car on the way home from Giovanni and Adrianna’s, and Nicolas felt his heart tug as he watched her sleep. They’d had little time alone since they returned from Florence. Even the evenings had been busy getting ready for the extreme heat the end of July and the month of August would bring.
Nicolas quietly exited the car and walked to the passenger side. He opened the door and cautiously unbuckled Alex’s seatbelt. Gingerly, he scooped her out of the seat and used his hip to close the door. Alex snuggled up against Nicolas’ chest without ever opening her eyes. Somehow, Nicolas managed to open the front door and get into the house, but that was as far as his arms and back would allow him to carry her. Gently laying her down on the couch, he stood over her and watched her curl up onto her side. Nicolas picked up a blanket from the nearby chair and draped it over her sleeping body. Kneeling beside her, he leaned over and brushed the hair from her face and resisted kissing her on the cheek. He smiled.
He noticed the smell of her hair, the same strawberry and vanilla scent he remembered from the day they met, and her skin was as soft and smooth as the skin of a grape. Her lips were the color of a rich rosé, and her skin glowed with the tan she had been building up as they worked in the fields and walked the streets of Florence. He resisted the urge to cover her mouth with his and stood quickly before he did something he would regret. Closing and locking the front door, he gave her one last look before heading upstairs to bed.
Alex opened her eyes. Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she pulled the blanket up tighter around her shoulders. She felt just a tiny bit guilty about pretending to stay asleep when Nicolas lifted her from the car. Being enfolded in his arms as he carried her into the house felt too much like being carried by an angel through the gates of Heaven. Besides, she reasoned, she was awfully tired. She snuggled down into the cushion where they usually sat reading the journal, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, Nicolas was treated to a delicious breakfast before heading to the fields. Alex spent the day giving tours and working on marketing materials that they were sending to restaurants throughout the region. Both continued acting as if their day in Florence had never happened.
“I don’t understand,” Maria prodded. “Are you seeing Nicolas or not?”
“Of course, I’m seeing him. I see him every morning and every evening and any time he comes inside, plus church, family dinners-”
Maria cut her off. “You know what I mean. Are you two...?” Maria gave Alex a curious look.
“Heavens no,” Alex said as she playfully pushed Maria away. “That would just complicate things. He’s still with Eva, and besides, I’m not like that.” Alex blushed and looked away.
“Not like what?” Maria waited, but Alex did not answer. Her face reddened even more deeply, and Maria suddenly understood. “Wait. Do you mean....?”
“So, what do you think of the modifications to the web site?” Alex quickly changed the subject.
“Mamma mia! You’re an American! How can this be?”
“Just because I’m an American doesn’t mean—my goodness. What kind of American movies have you been watching?”
“It is understood that American women are,”
“Now wait a minute,” Alex said emphatically.
“No, mi dispiace. I did not mean,”
The phone rang, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. She busied herself with a few final tweaks on the web page and hastily scribbled a note for Maria before the phone conversation ended. She headed to the villa for lunch, grateful to be able to get away before any more was said about her relationship with Nicolas or about her lack of experience. She’d had this conversation with her girlfriends, not to mention Patrick, too many times in her life and wasn’t about to rehash it. She wasn't going to be just another cow giving the milk away for free.
That evening, Alex and Nicolas had a simple dinner of panini made with fresh tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil. It was simply too hot to cook anything else. Instead of sitting inside, they sat on the chairs on the front porch. Alex curled her legs under her and melted into the chair. She sipped her wine and closed her eyes as Isa took her back in time.
March 24, 1943
Papà says that the War is becoming more intense and that it is only a matter of time before the Allies reach Italy. I do not know if this is good or bad. What will happen to our towns and cities when the fighting is on our land? I fear for my family, my friends, and Valpolicella. We hear of many Jews throughout Europe being taken from their homes and put into work camps. Papà says that not allowing this to happen in Italy is the only good thing that Mussolini has done in this war. Papà says that if that changes, our little group will have a much more difficult job – to somehow hide, or smuggle from our country, our Jewish friends and neighbors. This both frightens and excites me. I so wish that I could do more.
April 1, 1943
I have delivered perhaps the most important document that I’ve handled so far. I was leaving school today when Signor Lombardi called to me and asked me to pick up an order for my mother. Confused, but guessing the meaning of this sudden directive, I went inside the butcher shop. I hurried home with the meat wrapped in paper and wondered, not for the first time, if we were lucky recipients of free meat, or if he and papà had a deal in which Papà’s secret correspondences included payment for the meat. But back to the letter. Papà called me into his room a few minutes ago to tell me that if all goes as planned, we will have a new leader within the week. He refused to tell me any details, but it seems that the resistance, thought by many to have faded into the background, is alive and well and being led by Pope Pius XI himself.
Nicolas stopped reading, and Alex felt a shift in the air. She realized that even across the porch, she could feel his movements and mood changes. She opened her eyes and looked at him as he shook his head in confusion.
“What is it?”
“This has always been suspected. History tells us that the Italian resistance did not exist during the War and that Mussolini remained in power until the middle of the summer. And Pope Pius was seen as aiding the Nazis by not speaking out against them. I have heard that there was more to it, but I have never known for certain.”
“Perhaps the rumors were true. Could this be the beginning of the end? Maybe the end of his reign began in April and was finalized during the summer.”
Nicolas shook his head again. “Non lo so. I am not sure what is right.”
“Then keep reading, my man. Let’s see what happens next.”
Nicolas feared that the journal might turn out to be a work of fiction, a projection of his aunt’s thoughts but also her imagination. Having never actually met the woman, Nicolas couldn’t vouch for her sanity nor whether she had a penchant for not telling the truth. He worried that these writings would give Alex a false impression of the history of Italy as well as his family. But he felt a thrill at the possibility that the resistance did exist and that his family and the Pope were a part of it. He read on.
April 8, 1943
Alas, the plan was foiled, and not one word of it was uttered on the radio or in the papers. The government controls every piece of news, and they continue to act as if the resistance does not exist, as if every Italian man and woman are in full support of our so-called leader and this War.
Papà believes that the Blackshirts heard of the plot and warned Il Duce, thus allowing him to leave the country. It is reported that he met with Hitler yesterday in Austria to further their plans for the War. Uffa! I never thought I would wish for someone to die or that I would be a part of a group planning to kill one of the most powerful men in the world, but I do believe that there is a God and that he will not allow us to suffer through this much longer. Papà says that all is not lost. Il Papà is working with priests throughout Italy and Germany to stop Hitler. Other lay people like us are currying the messages. I pray that we are successful. God, please forgive me for my thoughts and for my words. Please forgive those of us involved for our lies and secrecy and especially for our part in what may happen. I do not know how to live in this world any longer without losing myself, my soul. If only Paolo and Roberto would come home. Then perhaps, the world could be right once again.
“Wow,” Alex said. “There certainly seems to be a whole part of history that the world does not know. How do you know that there was no resistance to the War in Italy?”
“It is what we have always been taught, or at least, it is always what we were led to believe, but as I said, there have always been rumors.” Nicolas became quiet.
Alex leaned toward him and took the journal from him, turning it over and laying it gently in her lap.
“Isa was a good person, Nicolas. I know she was. Signora was a remarkable woman who loved her country and her family. Whatever she did, whatever she was involved in, she truly believed it was the right thing.”
Nicolas nodded. “I know you are right, and it truly does shed a new light on the actions of the Pope.” He smiled a small, half-hearted smile and turned toward Alex. “You knew her better than I,” he hesitated. “If she loved it so much, why did she never return?”
Alex looked at him affectionately. “I don’t know, but perhaps she will tell us.” He nodded, and Alex thought it best to leave him to his thoughts. “I’m going to bed now. Good night, Nicolas.”
He looked at her then, and her heart leapt as she saw in his eyes the reflection her own affection. “Goodnight, mia bella. Sleep well.”
Alex smiled at him before getting up and going into the house.
Once in bed, she had a hard time going to sleep. Her thoughts ran free like a horse out to pasture, and she let them gallop, unbridled. Flashing through her mind were the scenes she pictured of a young Isa lying in this same room, writing in her journal; an older Signora, proud and regal, talking about her country and all of its treasures; the atrocities unleashed on the world by the two dictators for whom Isa rightfully held so much disdain; and finally, Nicolas, his loving touch, his warm chocolate eyes, the kiss that she longed to taste. At last, her mind quieted down having run itself into exhaustion, and Alex drifted off to sleep thinking of Nicolas and hearing Isa’s words floating through the room like whispers on the breeze.
Then perhaps, the world could be right once again.