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Sunday morning found Alex much too excited to stay in bed. She was up earlier than necessary and ready for Mass with time to spare. Though she tried to concentrate on the homily (she was getting much better at keeping up with Padre Rulli’s Italian), she found herself turning around several times to look at the empty space above the back doors of the church.
When the Mass was over, she and Nicolas waited for all of the other parishioners to leave before they spoke of the missing Robbiano.
“Is it my imagination, or is the outline still there?” Alex asked as they gazed up at the brick wall.
“Sì, I see it, too. It is very faint, but it is there.” Nicolas seemed amazed at the discovery. “All these years, and I never saw it until now.”
“Were we to meet?” Their concentration was broken by Padre Rulli’s voice.
“Oh, no, Padre,” Alex said as she walked to him and kissed his cheeks. “We were just,” she looked at Nicolas.
“We were wondering why there is nothing above the doors. I never thought about it before, but it does seem like something is missing.”
“Allora,” the priest nodded, “there is a record of a priceless Robbiano that was a gift to the church in the early 1500s from Andrea della Robbia, nephew of the great sculptor. According to church records and town legend, it was stolen by the Germans during the second world war. It has never been found and is believed to have been destroyed or damaged beyond repair.” Padre Rulli shook his head. “It was very tragic. The parish priest at the time lost his life trying to protect it.”
Alex gasped and squeezed Nicolas’ hand.
“Mi dispiace, Signorina,” the kind priest said. “I know it is troubling.”
Alex swallowed and tried to mask her true concern. “Sì, Padre, it is most troubling.”
“Grazie, Padre,” Nicolas said as he shook the priest’s hand. “Bunona Serata.”
“Anche ha a te.” Padre Rulli smiled and turned to go.
“Padre,” Nicolas stopped him. “If the Robbiano was not destroyed, could it have survived all of these years without being ruined?”
Padre Rulli shrugged, “Non so. Perhaps if it was kept somewhere safe where the weather could not affect it. If it is in a salt mine somewhere in the North, then, sadly, I do not think so.”
It was their first family dinner since Nicolas’ fall, and the villa was abuzz with excitement. The conversation focused on the vineyard and this year’s vintage as well as the spring wedding, but all of that was outshone by Giovanni's announcement that little Marco was to be a big brother. Nicolas insisted on opening a bottle of Amarone, and everyone shared in a toast to the newest addition to the family, including Adrianna who followed the Italian custom that one glass of wine per day would produce a beautiful baby. While the women washed the dishes and talked about the baby, the wedding, and how they would handle Adrianna’s bridesmaid dress, the men watched la partita. Though every time Alex stole a glance into the parlor, she met Nicolas’ stare, and she felt the thrill of knowing that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
After saying arrivederci, Nicolas and Alex collapsed on the sofa, his arms around her, and her head on his chest. Alex closed her eyes and found herself wanting to stay there forever. Nicolas had other ideas, though, and took her chin in his fingers, tilting her head up until their eyes locked and their lips found each other. Curling into him, Alex gave herself to his kiss, and he eased her onto her back as his kisses became more intense. She knew that his ribs were healed, and that this situation was only going to become more and more difficult over the next several months, but she couldn't help herself. All of her senses were lost to his touch, his taste, his warm breath on her skin.
When she felt his need, she gently pushed him away. “I think we should-”
“Go upstairs?” he asked huskily, his eyes on fire with passion.
“Read,” she managed to say between heavy breaths, “the journal. I think that’s for the best.”
“Allora, it is for the best,” Nicolas said as he reluctantly pulled back and ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. He took a deep breath and exhaled it through his puffed out cheeks. “But a spring wedding is too far away. We will speak with Padre Rulli about doing it sooner.”
Alex began to protest. “But there is so much to do and plan.”
“What is there to do? We just need the church and a tent on the vineyard grounds. You have your attendants, and I have Luigi and Giovanni. The rest is easy.”
Alex smiled. “I guess having it earlier would make things easier on Adrianna.”
“Sì, and on me,” Nicolas sighed.
November 3, 1943
Throughout Italy, works of art are being secretly crated and moved to undisclosed locations for their safekeeping. The Germans talk of Kunstschutz, their word for preserving cultural and artistic treasures, but what they really want is to take all of the world’s art for their own. That will not happen here, not in our town. We go tonight to take matters into our own hands.
“Look how her handwriting changes between these paragraphs,” Alex pointed out.
“Sì, something has happened,” Nicolas agreed, and he read on.
I should not be here, writing this down, taking time that we cannot afford to waste, but I shall quickly note, with trembling hand, what is likely to be my last entry before Roberto and I return to our work in the moonlight. Last night, under the cover of darkness, we went to the church where Padre Lorenzo was waiting for us. He let us in, and we worked as quickly and quietly as we could. Using a rope system that Papà and Roberto designed, we lowered the Robbiano to the floor without a scratch. With Mamma’s blankets, we wrapped the large piece of art as best we could and rolled it out into the night where Papà had the trailer waiting, the one that we use to carry the baskets from the fields to the winery. We loaded the Robbiano onto the trailer and thought all was well. Then we heard the command to halt. A German officer appeared in the night. He must have been watching us. He held us at gunpoint and motioned for us to move away from the trailer.
What I write next will be the most difficult thing I have ever had to write, but it needs to be done. Papà tried to talk to the soldier. He told him that we would not obey, and my own papà took a gun from his coat and aimed it at the soldier. Roberto grabbed me and pushed me behind him. I admit that I clung to him in fear. I watched my papà walk toward the soldier telling him to back down, to drop his gun, but the young man stood firm, his hand shaking. Even in the pale moonlight, I could see the sweat glistening on his skin and realized he was not much older than myself. “Halt!” he called, but Papà did not stop. He called to Roberto to get me into the truck. I protested, but Roberto told me that I would make things worse if I fought, so I went with him to the truck. The soldier yelled at us in his own language, and though I did not know the words, I understood that he was ordering us to stop. Roberto turned on the truck, and I watched as the German looked frantically from us to Papà. Suddenly, he swung back toward Papà and fired the gun. Padre Lorenzo leapt in front of Papà. I believe he yelled something, but all I heard was the shot and the sound of my own screams. As we pulled away, I watched in horror as Padre Lorenzo fell to the ground and Papà fired his own gun at the soldier. The blast was louder than the first one had been, but before I had time to wonder why, I watched as both the German and Papà fell. I screamed for Roberto to stop, and opened the door and jumped out before he even braked.
Papà died in my arms.
Alex held her breath, tears streaming down her face, as she listened to Nicolas read the tear-stained last words on the page.
November 4, 1943
It is done, and I am more afraid than ever. Roberto and I will take tonight’s train from my beloved home. It is safest that way. Nobody else knows what happened last night nor where the Robbiano is hidden. We will take the secret to our graves, whether that be sooner or later is in God’s hands.
May He bless this land and my mother. May she forgive me for running and never discover what we have done. And may God forgive us for the sin we have committed.
Alex awoke that Monday morning with an aching heart. Throughout the night, she had been plagued with dreams, some of which were vivid memories. Her mind conjured up the scene outside the church over and over, but each time, it was Alex’s father dying in her own arms, sometimes in the cold, dark churchyard and other times, on the side of the road on a hot summer day. Alex stared groggily at the ceiling and fought back tears. There were so many parallels between Signora’s life and her own, though her life seemed idyllic compared to Isa’s.
Though they had come to the end of the journal, the question still hung in the air. Why had Signora led them here? To this place and time, to the journal? Was it just to lead them to each other?
Alex closed her eyes and shook her head. No, that couldn’t be all. She was certain that Signora wanted something more from them. Was it to find the missing Robianno? But how? It had been lost for so many years. How long? Alex began calculating the years and stopped.
She suddenly realized what day it was. Reaching for the iPad next to her bed, she pushed away thoughts of Isa and the Robbiano. She opened the tablet, and the date on the calendar app jumped out at her. The harvest made every day seem like one long one, and dates meant nothing to them as they worked. Alex shook her head and laughed at herself when she thought of how completely preoccupied she had been. She tapped on the Facebook app and scrolled through the greetings. She needed cheering up, even if it came from people she didn't even see or talk to any more. There was just a handful of messages; after all, it was still the middle of the night in the States. When she opened her mail, she saw that she had two messages from back home, one from her mother and one from her friend, Cindy.
Tears again came to Alex’s eyes as she read her mother’s email. It was so full of love and promise, and Alex was immensely grateful to Signora for helping her take the first step toward reconciliation. She typed a quick response and filled her mother in on the wedding plans, though she hadn’t gotten very far, and it seemed that they were moving things up quite quickly if Padre Rulli agreed. After signing off, Alex got up and dressed before heading to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Nicolas was nowhere to be found, and she assumed he had gotten an early start to the day. She was disappointed. After the rough night, she needed to see his face and feel his reassuring touch.
“Buongiorno, Alex,” Maria said with a smile when Alex walked into the winery. “The oxygen levels look good,” Maria continued. Alex walked over to look at the charts and inhaled the sweet smell of fermentation. “Luigi is going to go into tank numero tre to shovel it out and could use your help.”
Alex looked around, peering between the tanks, and then walked to the window to look into the fields. “Where is Nicolas?”
“Non lo so. Was he not with you at the villa?”
“No.” Alex tried to hide her sadness. “I guess he had some early business in town.”
“Sì, he is probably meeting with a new buyer,” Maria agreed.
This early? That’s odd...
Alex found Luigi and told him she was ready to help, and they proceeded to tank number three. They chatted, and Alex tried to keep up her spirits as Luigi cleaned the tank and hoisted the bucket up to her. After about an hour, Alex felt a familiar pair of arms slide around her as she reached the bottom of the ladder, and she let herself melt into Nicolas, laying her head back and nestling it where it fit so perfectly in the crook of his neck. She closed her eyes and inhaled the very essence of him.
“Buongiorno,” he whispered into her ear, his warm breath tickling the side of her face and sending ripples of longing through her. He was her rock, and she felt strengthened by his very presence.
Nicolas slowly turned so that he was in front of her, his arms still locked around her waist, the bucket awkwardly clutched in her hands between them. They gazed at each other, and Nicolas leaned in for a kiss just as Luigi called out from inside the tank. “Alex, dove sei? I need the bucket.”
“Oops,” Alex smiled and handed the bucket to Nicolas before quickly grabbing another and heading back up the ladder. “Mi dispiace, Luigi. I’m coming.”
When she looked back down from the top of the ladder, Nicolas and the bucket of solid must were both gone. To Alex, it was as if the light and warmth were gone from the room.
When lunchtime arrived, Nicolas had once again disappeared. Luigi went into the villa to clean up after rinsing under the outdoor shower. Alex didn’t see Giovanni or Maria. There were no more hired hands as the harvest itself was done, and the vineyard was eerily quiet except for the humming of the fermentation tanks. Alex wondered if this was how it felt to Isa the morning she left, quiet and lonely. Alex walked to the villa to search for her family.
“Hello? Where is everyone?” Alex called when she walked through the back door of the kitchen. The house was silent and dark, which was odd for the middle of the day. She went into the parlor and squealed when a strong pair of arms grabbed her and spun her around. Nicolas’ lips came down hard on hers as Maria, Giovanni, and Luigi burst into the room from the front porch.
“Buon compleanno!” the three yelled as Nicolas pulled back and smiled.
“Sorpresa,” Nicolas whispered as he beamed at her.
“How? I didn’t...”
“Mia bella, did you not think that I would know it is your birthday?”
“Seriously, how did you know?”
Nicolas laughed. “Tua madre. She called me.”
“Oh,” Alex said in surprise.
“I made Polenta Pasticciata for lunch,” Maria announced.
“My favorite,” Alex smiled and hugged her friend.
“Allora, let us eat while it is hot.”
When they were done with their baked polenta and Fontina cheese, Maria surprised Alex yet again with a torta alla panna, a whipped cream birthday cake. With tears in her eyes, Alex thanked everyone.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” she said. “This is truly the happiest birthday I’ve had in many years.”
“Allora, there is more,” Nicolas said as he stood. Pushing his chair out of the way, he took a box from his pocket and dropped to one knee. Alex gasped as he opened the box and revealed a gold ring with a heart-shaped diamond.
“The engagement ring is an Italian tradition dating back to the earliest Roman times. Traditionally, a set of hands, or hands holding a heart, are the symbols of eternal love.” Nicolas looked into Alex’s eyes. “You are my eternal love, Alessandra. So I ask again, mi vuoi sposare?”
With unstoppable tears and a lump in her throat, Alex nodded and took hold of Nicolas’ arms, pulling him up toward her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. Maria, Luigi, and Giovanni clapped and whistled. Nicolas leaned back and looked at Alex for a moment before kissing her, tenderly at first, and then urgently and with a fiery passion that sent Luigi and Giovanni into howls.
When they parted, Alex's face was flush, but she smiled, and her eyes twinkled with happiness. Nicolas removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger.
“The Italians chose this finger because the ‘nerve of love’ runs from here to the heart.” He slowly ran his finger from the ring, across her hand, up her arm, and down to her heart, which was rapidly beating with excitement, love, and desire. They held each other’s gaze until Giovanni spoke.
“Allora, there is work to be done.”
“Sì,” Nicolas said quietly, taking his gaze from hers and raising her hand to his lips.
Finally able to find her voice, Alex urged the men to go back to work. “Maria and I will clean up,” she told them.
After they were gone, Alex looked at Maria with a pained expression. “I need help.”
Maria raised her brow in question.
“Can I please move in with you, just until the wedding? We’re moving it up, but I’m afraid it won’t be soon enough.”
“You are afraid, Alex?”
Alex nodded and blushed.
“Sì, and this is something I’ve always wanted, to wait until my wedding night, and now that it’s so close, I’m having a hard time remembering why I wanted to wait to begin with.”
Maria laughed. “It is a curse. Lo spirito è pronto, ma il carne corpo è debole.”
“Sì, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is very, very weak.”
Nicolas did not take the news well, but he didn’t protest too much. He knew that it was for the best for both of them. But that evening, as he sat alone in the villa, he saw and felt Alex everywhere. He knew that once they were married, he would never again let her out of his sight.
