Shadowed by Grace (15 page)

If Rachel were here, he’d show her the Coliseum, but he’d also love to show her the unique spots he’d discovered during his year here. She’d understand and appreciate the heart of the city. She’d see beneath the current events to the depths.

Rachel’s soft brown eyes would appreciate the ancient beauty Rome offered. She would understand what it meant to experience something of this age and appreciate the perspective it offered.

It was useless to wish for something he couldn’t have. He couldn’t imagine a worse place to cultivate dreams for the future than in a war zone. Better to stay realistic. Today was all he had.

He’d almost talked himself into believing that when he caught sight of a woman in uniform. She stood out in the Coliseum, and she drew him to her without knowing he was there, watching.

Chapter 14

SCOTT APPROACHED THE WOMAN,
and when she turned toward him, her smile almost blinded him. Rachel! “Captain Justice.”

“Scott.” Her eyes softened, and her shoulders relaxed as she smiled at him.

“I thought you’d have left Rome.”

“Not yet.” She patted the space next to her, a brilliant smile lighting her face from the inside. “And you’re already here?”

“Been here a couple days. I came ahead of the others.”

“Have you found what you needed?”

He nodded. “A man who mentored me years ago smoothed the way with others. I’ve had meetings inside the Vatican.”

Her eyes widened. “What was it like?”

“Ornate. Removed. Apart from everything else. Surreal. I never imagined I’d find myself talking with a cardinal inside those walls. How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know.” She plucked a piece of grass and twined it through her fingers. “With Normandy the enthusiasm has evaporated for Rome. I’m one of a few who thinks it matters.”

He frowned at the thought. “Of course it does.”

“Can I help you while I wait to see what’s next?”

She wanted to spend time with him? The thought sent a shot of pleasure through him. Rachel, the woman whose lithe frame hit him at the right place, a perfect fit beneath his chin. He would find a reason for her to help and spend time together. If nothing else, he could show her why what he did mattered.

From the reports the art superintendents and the other officials had given at yesterday’s meeting, the buildings and galleries stood largely undamaged. There was cleanup work, but small compared to what he’d anticipated. Instead, his post in Rome provided the opportunity to build rapport and goodwill with the local officials. He needed to broach the missing art. Still the few stories he’d heard of paintings being placed on a truck and then never arriving gave him pause, feeling too much like the missing altarpiece. The MFAA would work with the locals to create lists and determine what people knew about each piece. Had it been headed north to a villa in Tuscany? Or had it headed east? He expected that most art had headed north, always north to the regions outside the cities. Remote villas in remote regions, and hopefully not to Germany.

“I would love to show you my city.”

“Rome is your city?” She smirked at him as they bumped shoulders.

“Today it is.” How had Rachel Justice woven herself into his very fiber? She gave every indication that she had no idea what she did to him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “First we’ll stop at headquarters, then we’ll find a quiet place.”

When they reached headquarters, he led Rachel to the corner he’d secured for MFAA loaded with bags and boxes.

“There you are.” Blake sidled up to him. “Enjoy your tour of Rome?”

“It’s been quick.”

“But you found time to bring someone along.” He winked at Rachel, and Scott fought back a rush of irritation.

“Blake, you remember Captain Rachel Justice.”

“Miss Justice, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Captain Justice.” Rachel’s posture straightened and she inched closer to Scott.

Scott stood taller at the thought she wanted to be nearer him.

Blake opened one box and pulled out manuals and requisition forms. “Has the begging started?”

Scott shrugged. “Not bad.”

“Yet.”

“Yet.”

“It’ll come. They always want more. Sometimes I want to remind them they partnered with Hitler. They should ask him for recompense.”

“Good luck.”

“Always fighting the good fight.” Blake set a stack of blank forms on the corner of a desk, topped them with a few pens. “Now I’m ready for the masses.”

Keller walked in with a couple boxes balanced in his arms.

“You here already?”

Keller dropped the boxes on a chair. “DeWald decided you could use the help since the military is already in and out.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re out.” Scott thought of all the soldiers he’d seen while he walked.

“Give them twenty-four hours, and good ole Mack will have them headed up the road again.”

Scott nodded. General Clark was pushing hard to get out of Rome.

“These boys won’t even get a good night’s sleep.” Blake slapped a name plaque on the table. Guess he was officially in business now that he had the sign alerting the world to the fact he was the designated requisitions man.

“They’ve earned some rest.”

“Not with the Germans on the run and still around. Gotta kick them all the way back home.” Keller turned his back on the other man and focused on Scott. “So where do you need help?”

“I don’t have a handle on what’s been moved with intent versus disappeared. There are rooms of protected art in the Vatican. Beyond that I don’t know much. The attention is on preventing looting as armies move in and out.” He headed to the door. “You guys have this under control. I’m giving the press a tour.”

“That’s what you call it?” Blake chuckled.

“Yep.”

Keller stopped him with a hand. “Much to shore up?”

“Not this time. The damage to buildings is minimal.”

Keller nodded. “That’s a welcome change.”

“Agreed. There’s nothing critical that I’ve seen.”

“Get on with your tour, but if the army’s moving out as fast as it looks, we’ll need to double-time.”

“Got it.” So sleep would be short while he was in the capital. He could live with that.

When he stepped outside, he found Tyler waiting while the sky behind the jeep began to darken into a cascade of colors.

Tyler snapped to attention when he saw Rachel. “Miss, um, Captain Justice.”

“Private.” Funny how she turned so regal with others yet didn’t take those airs with him.

Tyler looked from Scott to Rachel. “Ready for that Vatican meeting, Lieutenant?”

Scott rubbed his forehead. “I forgot about that. Rachel, I’m sorry.”

She put a finger to his lips, and his breath caught at the softness of the touch. “Don’t apologize. I understand.”

“Can you have a late supper?”

“I’d like that. If it doesn’t work out, I can always have a C ration.” She grimaced. “So hurry, all right? I’m at the hotel across from Albergo Città.” She turned and melted into the foot traffic.

“Don’t apologize?” Tyler rolled his eyes. “Looks like there’s something between you.”

“Maybe.” He’d sure like there to be.

He pulled his attention from her retreating form to the meeting ahead. This one had been called to discuss plans for storing the art until the hostilities ended. After giving and getting assurances that everybody wanted the art to be returned to the cities, villages, and original owners, he made his way toward the Hotel Excelsior. Maybe he could get a good night’s sleep before shipping out. With beds as soft as the hotel’s, it seemed a crime not to at least try. It seemed as good a place as any to look for the headquarters. But first, dinner with Rachel.

Rachel sat on her bed staring at the envelope the front desk clerk had handed her when she arrived. A small note from her editor accompanied it.

Know you’ve awaited word from home. Thought you shouldn’t wait any longer.

Rachel studied the envelope, hands trembling as she realized the return address included her momma’s name, but the handwriting wasn’t hers. The paper trembled in her hands, evidence of the turmoil in her heart. Dare she open it? After all this time could it be good news?

She hadn’t heard from her mom since leaving the States. Was she all right? Rachel couldn’t bear to consider the alternative, but the question whether her momma had already died haunted her. She sucked in a steadying breath, then repeated. She might suck all the oxygen from the room before she gathered enough courage to rip the V-mail open. She held the envelope toward the weak sunlight filtering through the curtains in an attempt to decipher the message.

Finally, in one smooth motion, she ripped the seal from the V-mail. As she unfolded the sheet, tears clouded her vision. She blinked them away, then sighed when she saw her momma’s beautiful, tiny script filling the page. The quarter page of the reproduced mail made it tricky to read.

May 8. She was still alive as of May 8! Rachel’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she clutched the sheet of paper and collapsed on the bed, limp with relief.
Thank you!
Rachel rolled onto her pillow, plumping it under her stomach. Once settled, she read the missive.

Darling, I hope this finds you well. Sorry for the delay. I haven’t been well but feel better. So I write. Are you enjoying Italy? Inane question really. Of course you are. You have Italian blood and my love for art and beauty. Both will serve you well there.

The letter continued with a few tidbits about neighbors but nothing about her momma. Then in closing:

Take care with the sketchbook. I value it. Do not forget my instruction. Leave your father alone. It is best for everyone you not contact him. You must trust me in this. All my love, Mother.

Rachel read the words again. Why was Momma so adamant that she shouldn’t find him? Didn’t she know that would push Rachel to do that very thing? Why did Momma still care so deeply? For goodness sake it had been almost twenty-five years since the tête-à-tête.

After rolling over and sitting, Rachel refolded the letter and slid it into the front of the sketchbook. She examined the drawings again. This time they reminded her of art she’d seen somewhere. Was it something she’d seen in one of the villages or a museum in Rome? If she could remember where, it might provide a clue on the elusive artist she could call Father.

She studied her face in the mirror. Why had he never attempted to find her? All she’d wanted growing up was a daddy to take care of her and Momma. Instead, it had always been the two of them. Barely making it yet self-sufficient. She’d watched the years wear Momma out, but in the last few the tuberculosis had afflicted Momma with its ugly symptoms.

Her attempts to find some hint of who he was had failed as she’d showed the sketchbook at the galleries she found open. Even the initials didn’t help. They were too obscure. Her feet were sore and her heart burdened when she’d sought refuge at the Coliseum. Hearing Scott call her name had been the one good part of the day.

God, will you help me find him? You know this is about so much more than me.

Maybe God would listen for Momma’s sake. She shoved away the thought that the man, if and when she found him, might be moved to care. If this much time had passed without a word, he may have forgotten her momma entirely. Maybe he didn’t even know about Rachel. The harsh possibility could steal her drive if she let it, so she punched it to the side and squared her shoulders, determined to find the man who could and would save her momma.

She stood and paced the small room. If she stayed, she’d feel like a caged animal, trapped and frustrated. The clock said she had some time before Scott came for her, assuming he could get away from his meeting for dinner. So she grabbed her camera and bag. The media offices were close. She’d see if Dick had sent any of her photos through the radiophotography machine. Once run through its magic, the photo would be in the States in minutes, faster than the relay of planes that flew photos over the Atlantic. She could slip over and back before Scott finished his meeting at the Vatican.

Rachel waited at the end of the hall for the elevator. After sliding the cage closed, she wished she’d taken the stairs as it inched to the lobby. The seating area was comfortable with worn-around-the-edges Persian rugs scattered across the floor. She wove her way through the tables toward the revolving door when someone called her name.

“Hold up, Rachel.”

She turned, trying to place the voice.

“Tell me you aren’t going out alone.”

“What if I was?”

“Then I’ll accompany you.” Archie Letterbein strode toward her, his short legs churning through the distance. A reporter with the wire service, he always wore a happy grin. Yet his eyes carried the knowing of war and its terror. “We aren’t back in the States. Not a safe place for a woman alone at night.”

Rachel wanted to protest, then glanced out the large windows and accepted dusk had fallen. “All right. I was headed to the press office.”

“Now? Why would you waste your time there?” He closed the distance separating them. “Let me take you out for a real meal. Get you authentic pasta.”