FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Stella was at the dock beside Father Girotti’s church, stepping out onto a damp walkway and able to thank the captain in flawless Italian. She was sure he never suspected. Her night studying had paid off and it didn’t hurt that she said very little.
People passed by her, singing out buongiorno and smiling at her, sunny as the weather. Everything was different, not that the Venetians weren’t friendly before. They were, but there was a restraint to it, a kind of acknowledgement that she wasn’t one of them. It was small, so small that she didn’t know it was there before. She couldn’t hear it. Now that she did, she couldn’t fail to notice all the other little differences. The women held themselves a certain way with a kind of pride and swing of the hips. Once Stella saw it, she could imitate the attitude and it gave her a satisfaction she’d never felt before. To blend and become, in an odd way, invisible was special.
She turned and went under the archway into the church’s courtyard. A bunch of little boys were kicking a ball through the remaining water, cheering wildly. They were the first kids she’d seen since she’d encountered Peiper’s boy and they were a whole different story. Peiper’s boy looked as though smiling was a foreign country and not to be trusted.
Stella glanced around nervously, remembering the hate. Maybe it was his youth, but something about that boy made him seem worse than Peiper as bad as he was. The boy was actually more like Gabriele Griese and that thought made her hurry into the church and down the nave as if she were being chased.
Stella knocked on the door to the dressing room. No one answered so she went in. The room had changed. No coats, boots, or umbrellas. Instead, there were stacks of crates stuffed with clothing, old dishes, and tins of food.
The office door at the far end was cracked open and soft, musical Italian voices floated out into the dressing room. Stella walked down, smiling. Although she couldn’t follow exactly what they were saying, she knew that noise. It was as familiar to her as her mother’s voice. Clinking china, scraping forks, talk of food, money, and children. The priests were hosting a charity meeting and the good ladies of the parish had turned out with their pastries and pocketbooks to decide what to do about fundraising and the donations.
Francesqua Bled had hosted a million and a half of those meetings. It wasn’t unusual to have fifty ladies in the garden discussing how much money an orphanage in Arkansas needed to stay afloat. Stella loved those meetings. She was rarely called on to attend, since she was supposed to be studying, and fifty ladies was enough of a distraction that she was able to sneak out to the airfield or the brewery.
Stella paused at the door, trying to think of how to get Father Girotti out of there. Should she be Italian or Canadian? Maybe English was best.
She didn’t get a chance to decide. The door opened and two portly ladies in black came out at top speed.
“Buongiorno,” said Stella automatically and the ladies came at her in a rush of Italian, taking the rolled-up clothes and adding them to a stack of boxes next to the door. She couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Stella recognized that, too. Whenever her mother’s cadre of volunteers got a new recruit there was a whole lot of happiness. Those women didn’t know what they were in for and neither did Stella.
The ladies herded her into the office and before she knew it, she was in a chair with a coffee cup in her hands and a chipped plate holding a slice of almond cake, a croissant, and five cookies. She must’ve looked hungry because she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The group of ladies, ten in all, did it for her. When Stella looked up, she met the astonished eyes of Father Giuseppe. The poor man was wedged between two of the older ladies, who looked like they were force feeding him. He sat there with his shoulders up around his ears with a coffee cup halfway to his mouth.
“Buongiorno, Father Giuseppe,” Stella said sweetly.
He nodded and took a sip, presumably too shocked to speak. The ladies took care of that and, luckily for Stella, they were talking over each other and she just kept nodding and stuffing herself with cake so she couldn’t speak. She was able to nod correctly to being married and shake her head when she thought they asked if she had children. There was a lot of encouragement about bambinos. They pinched her cheeks and admired her curls. She was pretty sure they thought her babies would be beautiful.
Father Giuseppe just sat there totally useless. He never spoke and nodded so much she would’ve thought he didn’t speak Italian either. She had to get out of there and quick. Time was going by way too quickly. She was on her third cup of coffee and her plate was nearly clean. If Stella knew them, and she was pretty sure she did, they’d be piling her up with more cake any second.
Stella forked the last bite in her mouth and swallowed without chewing. It hurt, but it was worth it.
One of the ladies saw and went for a tall cake with lemon filling and Stella made her move. “Father Giuseppe, dov’è il bagno, per favore?”
The ladies sucked in a breath and leaned back. Stella hadn’t considered that going to the bathroom was a crime, but clearly ladies didn’t go to the bathroom.
“Scusi. Scusi.” She had to save it, even Father Giuseppe was horrified. The man was blushing intensely.
She held up her sticky fingers and tapped them together, making a face. The ladies let out a collective breath and smiled understandingly. Several started to get up to take her to the bathroom, but Father Giuseppe finally came alive and insisted on taking her to Stella’s relief. She didn’t miss the knowing glances that zinged back and forth between the ladies. Little did they know how wrong they were.
Father Giuseppe opened the door to Father Girotti’s office and ushered her inside, closing the door behind them. He leaned against the door and whispered something so fast she couldn’t catch a word.
“Scusi, Father Giuseppe. Passporte?”
He went blank.
“American passporte. Dov’è Father Girotti?”
Father Giuseppe said he was gone. Something about ladies.
“Dov’è passporte?” she asked.
He clearly didn’t know.
“Mr. Myna and I are leaving Venice. We’re going today.”
He shook his head and she was forced to get out her dictionary to cobble together an explanation.
Father Giuseppe understood, but he didn’t know where they were. He took Stella by the shoulders and put her against the door to block any noisy ladies from coming in. There was a key in the lock, but no doubt the sharp ears in the next room would hear it turning and there would be talk. Forever.
The priest started going through drawers and then seemed to have an epiphany. He went to the floor to ceiling bookcase and hunted down a fat book with a French title. Once he opened it, Stella saw that it had been hollowed out and inside was a cache of money in several denominations, papers, and their passports. Father Giuseppe held them up in triumph and Stella patted her chest over her heart whispering, “Grazie mille.”
He gave her the passports. She tucked them away and stopped him from replacing the book.
“Here,” she said, handing him a good deal of lira and dollars. “For the cause.”
The priest tried to refuse, but Stella insisted. She couldn’t think of the right words and could only say, “Per Goldenbergs and per Ladners. Dalla Germania.”
He put his hand on his heart and bowed his head. “Grazie, Signora Myna.” Then he took her to the other door and opened it, looking out briefly.
“It’s okay,” whispered Stella. “I can do it.”
“Sei sicuro de questo?”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she agreed to it and went out the door. Then she turned to kiss him on both cheeks before hurrying away in the warren of back hallways. She must’ve made a wrong turn because she ended up getting shunted out the door on the right side of the altar instead of the backdoor Father Girotti had sent them out. She considered turning around but decided that would take too long and there was a good chance she wouldn’t do any better a second time. The church was empty anyway, except for a few people praying in the pews and they didn’t pay her any attention.
Stella walked quickly down a side aisle, heading for the doors when three men burst in. They discussed something loudly for a second and then one, the youngest, dashed down the nave and ran into the cloak room. Stella stepped behind the pillar, listening as more people came into the church. Voices were raised and panicky, but she couldn’t make out what was happening. They were talking so fast their words ran together in a jumble of fear. Then she heard the distinctive tones of the ladies and peeked out to see them flooding into the nave, throwing up their hands. Some were raising their fists. Her mother’s volunteers never looked so feisty. Whatever it was, it was a cause for rage, not sorrow, and more and more people flooded through the front doors. She’d never get out that way.
Stella turned around and nearly yelped in surprise. Sister Claudia stood ten feet away as shocked as she was. The terrified nun hadn’t gotten her wish to never see Stella again and she was acting so oddly someone was bound to notice her there, frozen with her mouth open. Stella walked over and quickly turned the nun around, hustling her to the door beside the altar.
When Stella closed the door behind them, Sister Claudia took a breath and whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to return the clothes and get our passports. We’re leaving.”
“When?”
“Today at two.” Stella checked her watch. “I have to go.”
“Yes. Go. Go quickly.” Sister Claudia took her by the hand and practically dragged her down the hall. Something about the way she did it was odd, even for Sister Claudia. Stella dug her heels in. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You will be late.”
“I have a little time.”
Sister Claudia shook, her pale hands fluttering against her black habit. “You must go.”
Stella narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what happened.”
“They can’t find you here.”
“They?”
Sister Claudia glanced around. “The carabinieri.”
Stella shook a little herself. “Now you have to tell me what happened.”
The little nun could barely speak she was so frightened. Father Girotti had been arrested by Bartali for something. She didn’t know what, but she expected Bartali to invade the sanctity of the church at any moment to search for evidence.
“Can he do that?” Stella asked. It didn’t seem right. She didn’t think that priests could even be arrested.
“He will. He knows no bounds,” Sister Claudia said. “Please if he finds you here…”
Stella took her by the arms. “If he finds you here.”
The nun shook like a sapling in a summer storm. “God will protect me, if it is his will.”
“Let’s forget about his will for a minute and get out of here.”
Sister Claudia became calm. “I cannot leave the church to hide, but you must go.”
“Please,” said Stella. “You have false papers. Bartali might notice.”
“He might notice that one of my number are gone, too.”
She had a point, but Stella wasn’t ready to give up. “Just make yourself scarce. Go buy bread or visit the sick. That’s not out of the normal, is it?”
Sister Claudia hesitated. “No, but…”
“What would Father Girotti want? You in jail with him? I don’t think so.”
She shook her head. “No. I will stay with my sisters and pray for the Father and the ladies.”
“The ladies?” asked Stella.
“Father Girotti was visiting the sick when the German came.”
All the air left Stella’s lungs and Sister Claudia pulled her through the hallway, getting her to the outside door. “You will go now and leave Venice. No one can find you. They will know that the Father helped you.”
She started to open the door and Stella found her voice. “Was anyone else arrested?”
“Yes.” She fluttered her hands. “Go. Go away.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
“The doctor and some others. I don’t know who they are.” She pulled on the angel wing door handle, but Stella put her hand over the nun’s. Her chest was tight and was getting tighter. Had she done it? Was it her fault? “Which doctor? Davide? Salvatore?”
“No, no. You don’t know him. They arrested his wife, too. I don’t know why.”
Stella could barely keep from shouting. “Who is it?”
“The rich one for the tourists. You don’t know him.”
She could barely breathe. “Dr. Spooner?”
Sister Claudia’s eyes went wide. “You know him? You have no money to pay him.”
“I…I…we met through a friend.” Daniel. They might’ve arrested Daniel. “It’s us. It has to be us.”
“You? No. This rich doctor, it is just bad luck that you know him.”
“No, it’s not. It can’t be a coincidence. Where was he when he was arrested?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It does not matter.”
Stella squeezed the nun’s hand. “Trust me. It matters.”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was Father Girotti visiting?”
“A very sick lady. Word came that she was very bad and he went to her,” said Sister Claudia. “Please go now.”
Stella took a breath. “Was it Rosa von Bodmann?”
The nun began shaking so violently that her teeth chattered and she nodded with her hands clamped over her mouth.
“They were arrested at the Vittoria?”
Sister Claudia nodded.
If Peiper knew about Dr. Spooner and his wife, Father Girotti, and the Vittoria, he might know about Daniel or he would shortly. Nicky was going to see Daniel after the first telegraph office.
“I have to go.” She hugged the nun fiercely, tears flooding her eyes. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”
Sister Claudia whispered in her ear, “You did not do this. The hunted are not responsible for the hunt.”
“It is my fault. Please forgive me.”
“You were born forgiven.” She kissed Stella’s cheek.
“A lot has happened since then.”
“Then work for His forgiveness and you will be forgiven. Go now. Save yourself. I feel it is his will.”
“What about you?” asked Stella.
“I know my place and it is here.” Sister Claudia opened the door and Stella went out. She caught one glimpse of the little nun and she was smiling, serene and not shaking. Not one bit.
Stella paced on the dock for a good ten minutes before she flagged down a taxi. Venice was awake again after her damp slumber and absolutely everyone was on the move. Once she explained where she needed to go the captain turned his little craft around and headed for the Grand Canal, but it wasn’t exactly the top speed Stella had requested. She wanted to yell, “Rapido!” at the poor man but knew it would do no good. The narrow canal was clogged with boats of every description from small personal crafts to big ones hauling produce.
She thought it would get better on the Grand Canal, but it didn’t. A boat towing shipping containers was jackknifed in the middle, having barely avoided a collision with another smaller boat. Stella started to wish she’d run to the Bella Luna. It might’ve been faster and she was considering getting off and doing just that when the captain squeaked around the shipping container boat with inches to spare. He turned and grinned at her. She smiled and nodded while suppressing the yell that wanted to erupt from her throat.
Instead, she did the math in her head one more time. Nicky would take a minimum of fifty minutes round trip on the vaporettos, then he’d have to walk to the telegraph office and he wasn’t exactly speedy. Assuming he found nothing out about the Sorkines, he’d be on to Bella Luna. That wasn’t an hour. He wouldn’t be there yet. She could head him off at the dock and decide what to do about Daniel. Sending a note to the butler didn’t seem appropriate, but being seen at the hotel just then wasn’t the best idea either. Would a note be enough? Would Daniel understand the danger? Stella could see Albert’s hands. Roger’s. Peiper was capable of anything. No. They would have to talk to Daniel themselves and convince him to leave with them or just plain leave.
The taxi got caught in another jam at the Rialto bridge and Stella very nearly jumped ship, but the captain got them through quickly with a combination of yelling and rude gestures, which were returned in kind. They zipped under the bridge and in just a few minutes, he turned onto a smaller canal and glided up to the grand hotel to drop her at the door.
She managed to direct him a little farther down so she could get off at the end of the Bella Luna’s courtyard. The captain only shrugged and took her where she wanted to go. She paid him generously and he helped her out before heading back into the fray on the Grand Canal.
Stella made herself small beside the pillar at the end of the courtyard and watched the comings and goings at the hotel. She didn’t remember it ever being that busy, but she probably just wasn’t paying attention. Stella hadn’t paid attention to much before Vienna. She felt like she’d been asleep and had been rudely awakened to find herself in a world that looked the same but definitely wasn’t.
She kept checking her watch. Where was he? He should be there. Five more minutes. He still didn’t come. Maybe she’d missed him. Could he have slipped by her? Come from a direction she didn’t expect? Maybe.
Stella bit her lip and made up her mind. She’d go ahead and warn Daniel. Then she’d station herself at the service entrance. She doubted that Nicky’d go in the front. He was in pain, but he wasn’t crazy. She dashed into the courtyard and splashed around the hotel. Maybe she could talk to Chef Brazier. He’d want to protect Nicky. He might be willing to spare someone to watch the front, just in case.
She turned the last corner and was relieved, then nervous to find the area empty and eerily quiet. Not a single delivery was coming in. No one was out having a cigarette, enjoying a moment in the sun. That seemed unusual, but it didn’t stop her from heading for the recessed door, but the scream that came out of it did.
Stella froze and a second scream pierced the still of the courtyard, this one a high-pitched shriek, like a woman, but it wasn’t a woman. Then other people were yelling, outraged and terrified. A man came stumbling out of the door and tripping over the sandbags. He was battered and bloody. Daniel. He fell to the flooded ground with a splash and Peiper was on top of him, screaming, “Where is he?”
Daniel sputtered, spewing blood in a wide arc.
“I know he was here!” Peiper kicked Daniel in the ribs, eliciting another shriek.
Several carabinieri came out with another man, Chef Brazier. He had bruises on his thin face, but he wasn’t bleeding. Stella didn’t recognize the carabinieri. Bartali wasn’t there. Those men, they weren’t happy, whether it was about what Peiper was doing or Daniel’s not cooperating, she couldn’t tell.
The hotel manager rushed out in a panic. “What do you want? I don’t know what we have done.”
Peiper turned on the manager and the man nearly went down he was so afraid. “I want Nicolas Lawrence.”
“Mr. Lawrence checked out weeks ago. He’s not here.”
Peiper got in the man’s face. “He was here this morning.” Then he pointed at Chef Brazier. “He saw him and sent him to your butler.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you don’t,” said a tall carabinieri that came out. He was obviously the highest ranking, going by the number of pins and medals on his uniform. “These Americans are dangerous criminals.”
“The Lawrences aren’t criminals. Mrs. Lawrence is a Bled of the Bled Brewery family.”
The tall carabinieri turned to Peiper. “Is this true?”
“You’ve been ordered to cooperate with me fully,” said Peiper, gesturing to the door. The boy came out. He had blood on his slender hands. “That woman attacked him. She tried to drown him in the Grand Canal.”
“I don’t understand,” said the manager. “Mrs. Lawrence wouldn’t hurt a child.”
“I’m not a child!” screamed the boy and the manager shrank back.
The carabinieri were looking at their leader, doubt written all over them.
“Perhaps we should bring this man to our office and contact the embassy,” said the tall carabinieri.
Peiper pulled out his weapon and pointed it at Daniel, who was on his knees, sobbing. “Where did he go?”
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“You gave him money.” Peiper walked up to Daniel pointing his weapon at his shaking head. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Stella Lawrence?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s not at her hotel. Where would she go?”
Daniel sobbed. “I don’t know.”
The tall carabinieri stepped up. “That is enough. If the man knew this information, he would’ve told you.”
“It’s not enough!” screamed Peiper. “Where are they?”
“Stop this.” The carabinieri reached for the weapon and Peiper fired. Blood sprayed from Daniel’s head and he fell backward into the water. Stella was screaming. She could hear it coming out of her but was powerless to stop it. The carabinieri fought with Peiper. Chef Brazier tried to break away. The boy. He turned. He saw her.
“There she is!” he yelled.
She turned and ran with more screams ringing out behind her.