Shadowed by Grace (18 page)

The color leached from Rachel’s cheeks followed by a sickly tint. Her pale skin hid nothing of her reaction to the scene surrounding them. The German retreat had turned into a skirmish here. How could he warn her to prepare when this was as bad as he’d seen? Worse could wait over the next hill, a slice of earth turned into a hellish vista. At some point they’d run across American and other Allied soldiers. How would she react? How would he?

The radio cackled to life, and he grabbed the microphone. “Lieutenant Lindstrom here.”

Scott scratched a note on a piece of paper as the operator gave him coordinates for headquarters. “Roger.” He straightened the map and hunted for the coordinates, then stabbed the map. “This is where we’re headed, Salmon.”

The driver edged the map his direction. “All right. Keep your eyes open.”

Rachel’s head swiveled, and Scott kept his eyes focused ahead for any sign someone waited to destroy the jeep. His chest tightened from the pressure.

“We’re a couple klicks away. If we find HQ there, we’ll be in easy distance of several villages we can check in the morning.”

Tyler sniffed at Scott. “Another wild-goose chase, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” The man could shred his last nerve. Best to let most of what Salmon said float in one ear and then blaze out the other, spending as little time as possible in the space in between.

Rachel’s attention flipped back and forth between the two. At least their act pulled her from the scene spilling onto the road. “This can’t be good.”

“What?”

“One of you will get me killed.”

He gave her his full attention, sinking into the depths of her chocolate gaze. “I will do all I can to ensure you make it home in one piece.”

“Thank you.” Some of the tension eased from her face.

“I bet you left a line of broken hearts across the East Coast.”

Scott wanted Tyler to shut his trap as he watched Rachel pull into herself. It was clear as the sky she didn’t have anyone. The torment in her posture left him wanting to know why, to assure her she had infinite value. Because as he watched her and spent time with her, he sensed she didn’t understand that simple fact. He couldn’t fathom why. She was as beautiful as the most vibrant sunset and as smart as anyone he’d met in academia. Beyond that she was valued because God created her, yet he sensed she didn’t understand any of that.

“I hate to disappoint you, Private Salmon. I didn’t leave a solitary lonely heart behind.” Her voice faded until Scott had to lean back to hear the next words. “No one would miss me.”

“Not even your parents?”

She shrugged. “If my momma survives the war, she would. But I never met my father. I hope to find him in Tuscany.” She pulled her legs beneath her, into a pose that looked better suited for a penthouse on Fifth Avenue than the backseat of a jeep in war-ravaged Italy. She leaned against a bag, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. From her even breathing, he decided she trusted him a bit to keep her safe.

“Where next?” Tyler’s words had him turning back over the map, splitting his attention between that and the road.

“Follow the truck in front of us as long as it turns at the next left.”

Rachel feigned sleep as she listened to the two in the front seat. Their dialogue made her imagine a bad short involving Abbott and Costello. Constant bickering with a humorous edge. Often a sharp edge, but she had to work to keep her face slack when she wanted to smile. The last thing she needed was to let the handsome lieutenant any deeper into her soul. She’d already told him more than most. Details she shared with no one.

Most people couldn’t fathom a good reason for an absent father. Problem was she couldn’t either. They all cycled back to not being enough. For whatever reason her momma hadn’t been enough to keep him. Rachel hadn’t been enough to entice him to form a family. Her heart cried to understand. The realistic portion understood if she found him, all she could hope was to remind him of his love for her momma so he’d part with enough money for Momma’s treatments. Anything else was a dream that couldn’t come true apart from the pages of a book or the celluloid of a film.

The next time the jeep stopped she’d take photos. The light was still good, but in another hour or so twilight would alter that. The light values would make shooting a waste of film unless bombs streaked across the sky. Maybe she could replicate Margaret Bourke-White’s stunning photos of the German bombing of Moscow. Rachel would never forget seeing the streaks and explosions behind the Kremlin. The photo had defined an aerial assault to those in the United States.

Tyler cursed and braked. The momentum threw her against the front seat back, and she groaned.

Scott turned and offered her a hand up. “You okay?”

She reached for his hand from her cramped position trapped between the two seats. “Not sure you can yank me free.”

“I’ll try.” He gripped her forearms, and with a yank she broke free. It felt like someone had poked her ribs hard.

“What’s with the stop, Salmon?”

The man shrugged and pulled his cap lower over his eyes. “You’d have to ask the half-track in front of me. And the troop mover in front of him. Then move on up the convoy. Maybe someone knows. At least we aren’t sitting ducks out here on the open road. Nothing but fields on either side of us.”

Scott scanned the sky in the familiar motion that let Rachel know he was alert to potential dangers.

Rachel rubbed her side and sank lower. The open jeep wouldn’t provide protection if Germans waited to ambush the convoy.

“Put your helmet on.” Scott thrust it at her. “Leave it on from now on.”

“Won’t do much for my hair.” She tried to smile, but the seriousness of where they were flattened it.

“I’d rather you travel with smashed hair than die.”

She didn’t want him to believe her petty. She adjusted the helmet, wishing it sat a little snugger on her head. As loose as it was, the first close shell might knock it off.

“Here.” Scott reached for it.

She slapped it into his hand. “Why give it to me if you wanted it back?”

“I might not look like a seasoned soldier, but I served in the National Guard before this stint. I can tighten your helmet.” In a quick sliding motion he adjusted the chinstrap, then handed it back. “Try that.”

“Thanks.” She took the helmet, examined where he’d played with it, then slid it back on. “Much better.”

“I’m here to tighten the army’s sloppy helmets.”

The journey north would be long as they snaked between refugees on the road. The people were worn, shoulders hunched, clothes dirty and tattered. Children walked among the adults. One child was dressed in a yellow dress a couple sizes too small as it hung above her knees. She must have sensed Rachel’s stare because she turned, and a shy smile softened her face.

Rachel returned the smile, then shuffled through her bag until she found the sketchbook. Might as well take advantage of the fact she had an art expert with time in the vehicle. Maybe he could generate ideas about the artist. It didn’t hurt to ask.

She slipped the book toward him. “Would you look at these?”

Chapter 17

ASKING AN ART HISTORIAN
for an opinion tasted a bit like throwing Brer Rabbit into the briar patch. As a child, Scott had heard plenty of stories about Brer Rabbit’s penchant for trouble. When Rachel tapped his shoulder with the book, Scott accepted.

“Why carry this journal around Italy?”

“I’d like to find the artist. My mother may have acquired it while she studied in Tuscany. She hasn’t told me anything about it though.”

Space carried a premium with two bags, so something more motivated her to bring it. Scott wanted to dig deeper but would wait until he knew if he could help her. “The artist could have died long ago.”

“Possible, but the clothes look like they’re from the twenties, so not that old.” She sighed as she braced herself against the back of the front seat. “What do you think?”

Scott opened the cover carefully. If it was important enough to drag across an ocean into a war zone, he’d treat it with respect. The heavy cardboard cover appeared undamaged. Someone had treated the book with care. “How long have you had it?”

“I found it right before sailing on the
Queen Mary
.”

“Any thought who created the drawings?”

She hesitated, just a second, but enough to make him wonder why she formulated an answer to a simple question. She definitely held something back.

“All I could find was one sketch with initials.” She flipped to the page.

Scott glanced at them. “RMA. Any idea who that is?”

“No.” Her gaze flicked away before returning to his. “Momma never mentioned anyone who had those initials.”

Okay. He scanned several more pages. “These look like concept sketches. Artists use them to map out how a painting will look. They play with perspective, spacing, and other elements without committing them to oils. Let them determine the best arrangement.”

“Momma did that when she found the time to paint. Her sketches had repetitive elements like these.” She pointed to the woman, the layout of the hill, and the item she held in her hand.

“Could it be your mother’s?”

“I don’t think so. She would have just said that. The style is wrong too.”

Scott pulled the journal closer as he studied the woman. “Who is she?” Rachel’s silence caused him to look up and catch her stare. “If you told me, I could narrow down the location.”

“I’m not sure. Even if I’m right, she’s unknown.”

“Your choice, Justice. Keep your secrets.” He turned a couple more pages. “I don’t see any initials or name.”

“I didn’t notice them either.”

“Then I guess that’s that.” He handed the book back to her. “Your guess on the time frame is right. There aren’t enough details to place it anywhere. Could be Italy, might be Provence. Wish I could be more help.”

“Am I crazy to think the artist is Italian?”

“He could be. But he could also be English, French, German, or even American. People traveled in the twenties. It’s not hard to travel between the European nations when they’re at peace.”

A drone began in the distance and built.

“That’s a plane, Lieutenant. We’ve got to get out of here. We’re too visible.” Tyler stopped the jeep, hurdled out his side, and headed for the ditch at the side of the road.

“Come on, Rachel.” Scott offered his hand but withdrew it as she rummaged through her musette bag. The color had drained from her face again, and she looked ready to get sick. He shook her shoulder. “We’ve got to move.”

“Just a second.”

Scott eyed the now-visible plane. “We don’t have time.”

“Got it.” She held up a small book and a handful of film canisters. After she shoved both in her shoulder bag, she scurried from the vehicle. The next moment she had her camera open and pointed to the sky. Her movements tracked the motion of the planes.

“In the ditch, Rachel, in the ditch.” Didn’t she understand she was a sitting duck? Exposed and vulnerable? And the metallic glint of the sunlight off the front of the camera invited the enemy to aim for her. He jumped in and then tugged her after him.

She skidded down the slight embankment, her feet not finding a grip in the soil. She shrieked then fell backward on top of him.

His breath was forced from his lungs as she sat on his stomach. Her camera dangled against his jaw banging into his mouth, yet she seemed frozen in place. She felt so light, he’d need to make sure she ate, or the pace of war might do her in.

A shrill whistle filled the air, overlapping the drone, followed an eternity later by the thunder of explosions he felt through the ground. Dirt and debris towered into the air before cascading back to earth. Men screamed as shrapnel embedded in the men unlucky enough to be close to the detonation.

Rachel shuddered and covered her ears. Scott rolled, placing himself on top of her, sheltering her as best he could.

A second wave of planes flew by dropping more bombs.

Each explosion seemed to roll through him. More screams followed by moans.

How close were they?

He didn’t dare look around since moving would be foolhardy and create a target for the pilots.

He felt a vibration as Rachel twisted beneath him, her mouth moving. The words didn’t reach him. His ears were filled with the echoing concussions of the detonations.

At synchronized intervals death and destruction rained about them.

He pushed her head down.

Long minutes passed, and then the silence became real enough to touch.

Rachel shuddered, and he eased to the side.

He eased up, then helped her. Her eyes were wide, shock enlarging her pupils, her cheeks slack. He traced his hand down her cheek, then leaned closer to hear her words.

“We’re alive?”

“Yes.”

She threw her arms around his neck and held on. He memorized the moment. The feel of her tucked next to him, then tipped her chin up and pulled her close. His lips settled on hers, and he deepened the kiss as she matched his fervor. He needed to end this. Put a stop to the kiss before it got out of control. But all he could think was how close he had come to losing her. One misplaced bomb and they’d both have died.