Shadowed by Grace Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Rachel fell onto the bed, ignoring the sounds of laughter and conversation that drifted into her hotel room. When she’d returned earlier that evening, the lobby had overflowed with soldiers intent on forgetting the front they’d left behind and would return to. The walls seemed thin, like the bombing had left a network of spider cracks that sound penetrated, but at least this hotel remained in one piece. Thanks to the benevolence of the war office, she had a room she shared with only one roommate, and it had a sink and cold water. Down the hall she shared a bathroom with others.

  She should count her blessings. She should, but she couldn’t.

  The military hadn’t extended a warm welcome, but then neither had her editor, Dick Forsythe, in the United Press Naples office. He didn’t appreciate having a woman in his office . . . thought she was too distracting, so she stayed away. As long as she brought in a roll of film a day, Dick was happy.

  With each new day she was no closer to finding her father. That meant she was no closer to saving her momma. Mail hadn’t caught up with her yet. The postcards Rachel mailed the family watching her mother couldn’t say much. But at least the Troxels could tell her momma she was alive. How she longed for someone to tell her the same about Momma.

  She wanted to believe, had to believe, or all of this was in vain.

  Why did she long to meet the man who had never cared about her? Not even enough to send her a simple postcard, let alone a few dollars to help? Maybe if Momma hadn’t worked two jobs most of Rachel’s life, Momma wouldn’t be so sick now.

  Couldas, wouldas, shouldas didn’t change reality.

  The clock ticked on. Time slipped through her fingers while she waited for the army to give her permission to head north where her heart whispered she’d find answers if any existed.

  If only she knew where to start.

  Traveling to Italy had seemed like a good plan. After all this was where Momma met her father and fell in love. Yet after scouring her momma’s small apartment, she’d found little to point her to the man. A cryptic diary and a sketchbook that might not be connected at all. She’d brought them with her, scouring their contents on the trans-Atlantic passage.

  She pulled her momma’s diary from her musette bag, stroking the emerald leather cover. Tonight she didn’t want to look at the sketches. She wanted to see her momma’s spidery writing and doodles that filled the pages. After opening the cover, a tear slipped out at the sight of her momma’s words. She brushed it off her cheek, lest it fall and smear the fading ink.

  Touching the book, she could almost imagine Momma sitting next to her on the bed. What would she tell Rachel about her father?

  Other than leave him alone? Nothing.

  Rachel sighed and set the diary with the sketchbook. She’d examine them later. Much had changed in twenty-four years, not the least of which was the war. Maybe someone with United Press or another news agency could help her, but for the next few days, she’d travel with the mysterious soldier.

  He’d acted with such care toward the little boy, then defended her to the sergeant. Warmth flooded her at the memory of his care, something she’d never experienced in a home without a father or grandfather. Even the memory of the lieutenant’s efforts to redirect her when she’d wanted to let the grunt behind the desk know what she thought of his tone made her smile. Lieutenant Lindstrom didn’t know her, but he’d cared enough to keep her from foolish actions.

  In the morning she woke, the diary clutched to her chest. Her roommate’s bed looked like no one had slept in it, a distinct possibility with the odd hours Dottie kept as a nurse.

  Lord, help me. Give me wisdom. Keep me safe.

  Her thoughts wandered to Psalm 4. “Hear me when I call, O God.” Strange how she’d heard that psalm in Sunday school, and even when she wasn’t sure she believed God cared about her, the urge to pray sprang to her lips.

  How she needed that assurance in a land she didn’t know with a people she struggled to understand. She needed somebody to hear her. To see her. Could that be God?

  She stood and dressed in her uniform, opting for khaki trousers instead of a skirt. Adding a shirt and tie, then the dark-olive dress jacket and garrison cap, and she looked like she belonged.

  If she could believe it.

  After grabbing her camera, she pulled her musette bag over her shoulder and headed downstairs. She’d arrive downstairs to meet Scott before the assigned time.

  When she reached the lobby, Lieutenant Lindstrom sat in an oversized chair, an Italian newspaper across his lap.

  “Planning to read that?”

  He startled from wherever his thoughts had carried him. “Pardon?”

  She gestured toward the paper. “Do you read Italian?”

  “Passable knowledge. I spent a year at the American Academy in Rome before returning to the States to work in a museum.”

  “That sounds more than passable.”

  “I’m trying to make it better. My job requires some fluency if I want to be effective.”

  She eased onto the chair next to him. “Why?”

  “Have you been to Rome, ma’am?”

  “No.” Only in her dreams carried on the wings of her momma’s remembrances.

  “There’s an ancient beauty to that city. To Italy. It collides with modern realities. It blends into a mix unique to this country. One moment you walk across stones laid by Romans centuries before Christ’s birth. The next you’re on asphalt squeezed across the narrow roads designed when horses were the main transport.”

  “You love it.”

  He inclined his chin. “I do. To help preserve its culture, I’ll need to connect with local art officials. There is value to the places. Buildings. Art. We are defined by what we love and respect.”

  “So what aspect will you show me today?”

  “I’m not sure.” He shrugged. “My mission exists in theory. The army believes there are more important duties at the moment. It’s hard to blame them. But with every day more is lost or destroyed.”

  Rachel pondered his words. He believed what he said. It was clear he valued his job, but it wasn’t fully formed yet. Was this why the general had thrust her off on him? Both of them lost in a sea of war without a real role?

  Her warm chocolate-colored eyes sparkled as she stroked her camera. Hard to imagine how such a small machine captured such vivid photos. Scott pulled the New York Herald Tribune from beneath the Naples daily rag. “Have you seen this?”

  “No. I don’t get much American news unless I’m in the press office.”

  “Turn to page A7.”

  She accepted the paper with a curious gleam. “Anything in particular I’m looking for?”

  “You’ll know it.”

  The pages rustled and then she straightened. The photo sat in the middle of the page of war news. A simple image that captured a soldier interacting with a child amid rubble. The photo conveyed how war had aged the child.

  One child.

  Her photo.

  His image.

  He wasn’t identified, but somehow the photo had made it back to the States and was already in print. He could imagine how many other papers had picked it up from the United Press or other photo wire service. The image captured so many nuances and realities in one frame.

  “Oh my.” She breathed the words, lifting one hand to her throat.

  “It’s a powerful image.”

  She nodded. “I knew it was special when I snapped it. But seeing it in print . . .”

  “How did it manage to land in the paper already?”

  “The editor picks a few photos to be wired immediately. The others are flown on military transports.” The pages trembled as she looked at him. “I dreamed it would be picked up.”

  Her enthusiasm charmed him, even as he knew he needed to quell it. “It’s not a good ide
a to have you join me, Captain Justice.”

  “You won’t take me?”

  He ran a hand along his neck trying to ease the tightness creeping into the muscles.

  She sat on the edge of a chair, her posture so perfect it looked painful as she waited for his decision. He had strict orders to take her, yet he couldn’t imagine a worse idea than traveling alone with a beautiful woman into an area the Germans might hold.

  She was flustered and he’d caused it. She’d come to life when he showed her the photo in the paper and now sparkled with excitement. If they were thrust together for the crawl north, then he’d focus on keeping her safe.

  Some soldier wolf whistled as he walked across the lobby, and faint color stained her cheeks. Scott glared at the soldier who then winked at her. If this was how the soldiers treated Captain Justice when they weren’t telling her to go home, then he was glad she’d been assigned to him. He’d treat her like a kid sister and restrain his thoughts from straying to the piece of hair that kept falling across her eyes, begging him to brush it to the side.

  No, when Elaine had given back his grandmother’s ring, he’d had all the reminder he needed that war was not the time to plan the future. He’d keep Captain Justice safe, then hand her off to her next guardian.

  “Let’s find some more images for you to snap.”

  She pulled her gaze from the page, and her grin blinded him. “Let’s.”

  Scott led Rachel outside to the ramshackle excuse for a jeep the sergeant had assigned him. “Hop on in.”

  “Really? Are you sure it will make it around the block?”

  “It’s the best transportation I’ve had so far. If we’re lucky, we won’t break down before we return.” After they hopped in, he double-checked the extra can of petrol in the back. The vehicle grumbled to a start, and then he drove through the streets of Naples and out of town.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “A village at the foot of Mount Vesuvius near Sant’anastasia.” He could check the church and the art it should hold. Connect with local people. Practice his Italian and maybe perform first aid on damaged structures. Rachel could follow along and capture images to bring the war home.

  “I didn’t realize Vesuvius was so close to Naples. For some reason I’ve always pictured it off the mainland.” Rachel shaded her eyes as she scanned the horizon. “Wish I’d been here in March when it blew.”

  “I missed it by a few days, but other soldiers said it was surreal to see the explosion from Naples. There’s nothing like that on the East Coast.”

  Clouds roiled across the sky, painting the hills with craggy shadows. The hills looked like crumpled scrap paper arranged in clusters. He imagined an artist like Monet painting with frantic strokes as he tried to capture the nuances the light created. Now to find some of the masterpieces Renaissance artists had created centuries ago. A bird dipped toward the jeep, a worm clasped in its beak.

  Rachel shifted against the seat. “Where are you from?”

  “Philly.”

  “Me too.”

  Scott studied her, then squeezed the steering wheel as he cleared his thoughts of this dark-haired beauty. Philadelphia was a major city. He shouldn’t expect to know her. “Worked for a small museum there, bringing in special exhibits. Grew up near Valley Forge and returned after getting a degree at Harvard.”

  “Wow. That’s a prestigious college.”

  He paused. She didn’t offer anything about herself and where she’d lived. Interesting. “God opened a door. I knew I wanted to pursue art after so many weekends at the Philly museums. I had no idea how my family could pay for it, but He made a way.”

  “God hasn’t done much of that for me. At one time I thought he might, but now he’s forgotten me.” Rachel shuddered, then hunched her shoulders. She looked like a turtle pulling its head in its shell as she burrowed deeper into her jacket.

  “So are you going to reciprocate?”

  She looked at him with a cute, wrinkled-nose expression. “What?”

  “Share some of your facts and history.”

  “Not on the first day.”

  Okay. He could honor that, though the drive might get long if she didn’t want to talk. The clouds overhead indicated it could be another day tainted with cold rain. For spring the rain kept the roads mired in mud. Just one nice day. That’s all he wanted. One day to get out of Naples. Do something important. If they got turned back by rugged roads or roadblocks, he’d go crazy.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” He relaxed his hold on the steering wheel. “Can you grab the map in my bag? I think we go about five miles out of town before turning.”

  “Kilometers?”

  “Sure. Check the map.”

  Rachel bit her lower lip as she pawed through his bag, but he still saw her grin. “This it?” She held up a crumpled piece of paper.

  “Looks right.” He worked to keep his attention on the heavily rutted road rather than on the woman next to him.

  She spread the map across her lap and frowned. “Guess I should have taken Italian. My momma did. She studied here in the twenties.”

  Scott glanced at her in time to catch the shadow that fell on her features. “You didn’t study it?”

  “Not enough. If my mom wanted me to, then I didn’t have the desire.” She turned the map from side to side. “I’ll have to work hard to say more than grazie.”

  “Not many Americans care to do that.” Today would be his first real test. He hoped he was up to the challenge, especially with an audience.

  Chapter 4

  May 16

  The hill they drove stood like a multilayered terrace, each level lined with the remnants of vines. Grapes maybe? Rachel fingered Momma’s silver locket as she searched the landscape. She’d never seen anything like it in Philadelphia. She hadn’t grown up in an agricultural center. Now she wished she’d asked her mom more questions and made her talk about Italy.

  The GI seated next to her drove the jeep with confidence, but what did he see? The silence that settled over them said he didn’t need to entertain her. Yet the longer the silence stretched, the more curious she became. Then she’d catch him looking at her. The kind of glance that telegraphed he saw her, really saw her, and wanted to know more.

  Her cheeks warmed and her palms sweated. He’d given her openings to share some of her story, but the words failed. They’d just met, and she couldn’t let him see the turmoil roiling inside. No, she needed to affix a look of composure and strength and never let it slip. One word from him and she’d spend her time in Naples fighting with Sergeant Bowers for another assignment.

  “Do you think we should stop?” She held up the map. “We should have arrived by now.”

  He glanced at her, his brows merging in a frown. A crater in the road almost yanked the steering wheel from his hands, and he fought the car back into position. “A couple more minutes. We can’t go fast, so it’s still ahead of us.”

  “All right.” She turned back to the map. The lines zigged and zagged across the page without making much sense. Guess this wasn’t the time to mention she’d never had occasion to drive or use foreign maps.

  They approached a crossroads. “Which way, Justice?”

  She stilled as her name sounded like a caress. “I’m not sure. Sorry.”

  He pulled the jeep to the side of the roadway and gestured for the map, which she handed over with a smile. After a minute studying it, he eased back onto the road. “We’ll try left.”

  “Try? Aren’t we in a war zone? Trying doesn’t sound safe.”

  Did he just growl?

  He was driving her into the unknown and growled at her. Rachel crossed her arms and leaned against the bench seat. Her gaze darted back and forth. Far behind them the dust of a vehicle rose in a cloud. What if they drove into Germans? Or partisan Fascist troops?
Would her rank as a captain protect her in the event she became a prisoner of war, or would they know it was a sham?

  “I’ll get us there and back.”

  She nodded but refused to comment, not sure her voice would cooperate. She turned to look at the cloud but couldn’t tell if it drew closer.

  “What are you looking at?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I can’t tell. Is someone following us?”

  Scott shook his head. “As far as I know we’re alone out here. But there are a lot of men in the army.”

  “You’re right.” Rachel turned around and tried to focus on what was ahead of them. She’d anticipated many things when she asked for a war assignment. She tried to weigh the costs, and compared to her momma’s life, this seemed small—when she was half a world away reading the stories and watching newsreels. Now that a shell could explode next to the jeep or a bullet could pierce her, it seemed real. Too real.

  She longed to excel at her assignment, to see her name grace the byline for photos that filled newspaper and magazine pages next to Therese Bonney’s photos. Maybe Rachel’s photos could impact breakfast conversations around the States. Then she would belong with the elite photojournalists who could tell an entire story in fewer column inches than their typing brethren. That was an important purpose. One that gave meaning to her time in Italy even if she never found her father. Even more important, with each photo that found its way into the papers, she’d earn the extra money needed to keep her momma alive until she could finance a miracle.

  A formation of planes flew overhead, and Scott jerked the jeep to a stop at the side of the road under a tree. She hunched down reflexively and startled when Scott pushed her down, then placed his body over hers. She felt him move, then ease away, and she fought the urge to pull him back down. She felt safe with him between her and danger.

  “They’re ours.”

  Relief surged through her veins, making its way to her brain even as she missed the security his arms around her generated. She tried to relax her muscles but felt locked in place.