Shadowed by Grace (35 page)

“Why should Renaldo give you a painting?”

“Momma contracted tuberculosis here in the twenties.” Her breath wavered but she plowed on. “The doctors say it’s waited, dormant, for years. Now it’s roaring through her with a vengeance. The doctors did all they could with the little money we had. Until I can raise more funds, she has to wait in a small room friends gave her. She can’t work; she can’t breathe.” Her words hiccupped on a sob.

“I’m sorry, Rachel.” Scott reached out, and when she didn’t step away, he pulled her into an embrace.

“I wouldn’t have left her, but there was no other way to find money. I’m crazy to try to find a man I’d never heard of that she forbad me to find. A man whose name I didn’t suspect until yesterday. He’s gone again.”

“Then we’ll get to Florence as soon as it’s safe. Track down Renaldo. I promise.”

“But it could all be too late. I hear from Momma rarely. The war slows down our letters. Maybe she’s already dead, and I should have stayed home. Maybe she died alone because I was too determined to save her.” Sobs racked through her. She wanted to hide, to prevent him from seeing her pain.

As Scott rubbed her back and murmured soft sounds, she felt sheltered.

She felt like she’d come home at long last. Even after what he’d done.

If she didn’t move away now, she’d stay forever. “I’m sorry.”

She pushed away from him and hurried downstairs. Somehow she made her way through the maze of the castle’s halls and around the refugees who had pushed into the building and the few soldiers mixed with the crowd. At the door to the kitchen, Scott caught up and spun her around. He pulled her to him.

Then before she could move, he claimed her with a kiss.

A kiss that sent sparks spiraling through her.

A kiss that had her wrapping her arms around his neck or else her knees would collapse.

A woman cleared her throat, and Scott jerked away. Rachel almost groaned at the sudden emptiness.

The woman who thought Rachel was a spirit stood next to the stove, gaze locked on her. She clucked and returned to stirring whatever was in the large pot. Was this woman related to Renaldo? Did that explain the intense reaction she had each time she saw Rachel?

Scott pulled her back to his side and gave a slow exhale. “Would you stop running?”

“I can’t. My father was here. Now he isn’t, and I don’t know where to find him. I have carried that sketchbook across an ocean and through a war and he’s gone.”

“We don’t know yet that he’s your father. Just that he’s probably the sketch artist.”

Rachel puffed out a breath. “The woman in the painting upstairs looks like my mother in her early twenties.”

“She looks like you.”

“No.” Rachel had never carried her mother’s easy grace and elegant beauty.

“Yes, Rachel. I see so much in you.”

“Upstairs?” The cook’s voice penetrated the fog Scott’s words created.

“Yes.”

“Grande?”
The woman held her arms out to reflect a large painting.

“Yes.” Could this woman be the key? Could she help?

The woman’s round face split with a smile. “My brother paint.”

“Your brother?” Rachel staggered against Scott at the idea. “Where is he?”

She waved a flour-covered hand. “Gone.”

“Please, where is he?”

The woman backed away, an invisible wall settling on her features. Rachel followed her.

“Please help me. If I’m his daughter, you’re my aunt.” Rachel knew she was babbling, and the woman couldn’t understand, but that didn’t slow her words.

Scott spoke a couple quick words in Italian, listened, then nodded, and steered Rachel from the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Preventing you from scaring the woman. She thinks you’re a ghost.”

Scott led Rachel to the inner courtyard and settled on a bench, then patted the seat next to him. She joined him but stared at a rosebush climbing the far wall. The cascade of blossoms colored the air with sweetness, a scent she’d noticed before, a picture tinged with the brush of hope.

Scott slipped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and nudged her closer. He’d almost allowed the kiss to get out of control in the kitchen. He wanted to be her hero. He wanted to be the one who provided the money she needed to get treatment for her mom.

But he thought of the pittance in his bank account. It was an impractical idea. Was Renaldo the solution?

“I need a little time alone.” Rachel edged away from him and stood. “Thank you for listening.”

“We’ll find Renaldo, Rachel. I promise we will.”

“I hope so.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as it trembled on her lips.

Scott remained on the bench to honor her request for privacy, even as he felt the rejection that he wasn’t enough for her. Who was he kidding?

Elaine had left him in New York because his vision of the future hadn’t been enough for her. Now he couldn’t be enough for Rachel.

After his betrayal he should be grateful she stayed here.

He looked at the sky, a clear cerulean with hardly a wispy cloud dotting it. A flock of birds cawed overhead as they circled and danced in the drafts. What would it be like to be that free of other’s expectations?

That’s what I want for you.
The words echoed in his soul, as clearly as if someone had sat down next to him and spoken them.

A verse from Galatians came to him: “For do I now seek the favor of men, or God?”

He’d allowed his focus to switch to what men—and women—thought of him. In the past—before Elaine—he’d felt such freedom. But that came when his eyes and focus rested squarely on God and what He wanted from him. Scott sat on the bench praying and meditating on the Galatians verse until his stomach growled. Then he headed into the kitchen, which was filled with women doing their communal cooking. He stood a moment watching the bevy of activity, until Renaldo’s sister approached.

“Signor?” She offered him a roll.

“Grazie.” He took a bite and enjoyed the way it melted in his mouth. How could she create such delicacies with limited supplies?

He left the kitchen and stopped by his room. Tyler’s bed was a mess, like someone had decided to sleep in it. Had he come and left again? Scott looked around for a note but didn’t find one. Guess he was an adult and would reappear when they needed him.

Scott moved on to the room storing Renaldo’s art. The door stood cracked and a muffled voice reached him.

“Is this my father’s? Or am I crazy? God, I don’t know what to do or think.” The last came out like a prayer, but in a rush as if she wasn’t sure about speaking it out loud.

Scott pushed the door open and whistled a few bars of “I’ll Be Seeing You” in an effort to let her know she wasn’t alone. She startled and stepped from the painting. It was one of Renaldo’s disturbing, realistic portrayals of the Great War. Scott was certain those paintings would escalate in value thanks to the current war, but Rachel didn’t understand that.

He joined her, close enough to see the sparks in her brown eyes. “He’s an amazing artist.”

“He is.”

“It’s easy to tell you’re his daughter because you create art with your camera.”

x

Chapter 32

SCOTT’S WORDS WATERED HER
soul.

With all his education and credentials, he thought she had talent. He stepped closer and cupped her cheek. His touch turned her thoughts to jelly. She forced herself to step away.

“Will he help? Do you think Renaldo will understand?”

Scott shrugged. “If he’s half the man I knew, he’ll find a way.”

Rachel felt a tightness in her back relax. “When can we leave for Florence?”

“As soon as the army clears us and Tyler returns with the jeep. We have a lot to inventory while we wait.”

The next hours passed in a blur as Rachel tried to keep up with Scott. He was a man consumed by a mission, identifying each piece lining the walls of the great castle. Rachel tried to focus on the beauty surrounding her but found her thoughts adrift between uncertainty at being so close to the end of her journey and intrigued as she listened to Scott explain what made the different works meaningful. If only they had the time for him to properly introduce her to the paintings. She could imagine spending unhurried days wandering the halls of the world’s great museums with this man who saw beauty in the paint strokes and the stories of the artists.

Someday.

Her world was a collection of somedays and maybes.

By the time they finished inventorying the second floor, Scott had seen an abundance of art, most of it in good condition. Some frames were broken. A few removed from their frames, but at least no canvases had been slashed or otherwise damaged. Rachel had taken a few photos saying someday people would want the story about what happened to the rich artistic heritage of Italy. Now though, she yawned as she rubbed her back.

“Time for a break. We’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”

Once Tyler reappeared, Scott would take the jeep and drive to the castle at Poppiano and inventory the art there. If Tyler didn’t show up soon, Scott would walk. It couldn’t be more than a few kilometers since he could see Poppiano and its accompanying villa from Montegufoni. Maybe when he was done with that castle and villa, they’d receive the green light to travel to Florence. He should radio Lake Trasimeno where the division headquarters had set up, see what the other MFAA officers were hearing about their ETAs to the great city since the troops of the first battalion didn’t know more than he did.

Rachel stretched her lower back and moved to a long window. “The troops are ready to move.”

“All packed up?” Scott joined her.

“Even most of the tents are down.” She pointed to the emptying field. “Tyler’s back.”

“Really?”

“At least the jeep is down there.” She turned toward Scott. “Where has he been?”

“That’s one question I’ll ask.” Now, if only he could find the slippery man. He took Rachel’s hand, stroking her fingers. They were so delicate and smooth. “Let’s get you downstairs so you can eat before the cook closes the kitchen.”

A few minutes later Rachel sat at the table in the corner with a slice of warm bread and a bowl of vegetable soup. They had stopped by their rooms, but Tyler hadn’t been there. His bags looked like someone had rummaged through them. “I’ll find Tyler while you enjoy your supper.”

Rachel’s gaze studied him, warm with concern. “You should eat too.”

“Later. Hearing what Tyler’s been doing is more important.”

She could use the time to probe the cook about her brother, something Rachel could do more easily without him.

Where to locate Private Salmon? He’d start with the jeep. In the growing gloom of twilight, he walked to the jeep. The vehicle was covered with mud as if it had forded its share of streams, but otherwise it was in good shape. He couldn’t find anything that indicated where Tyler had disappeared.

Scott stepped back from the vehicle and scanned the horizon. About a hundred yards in front, a man slipped around the castle. Looked like an American uniform, so Scott headed that direction. When he turned the corner, he’d closed the distance and could tell it was Tyler.

Scott paused a moment, then decided to keep trailing, see what he could learn before alerting Tyler to his presence. When the man glanced around, Scott dropped behind a tree trunk. Tyler seemed satisfied he was alone because he approached the well house and pulled a key from his pocket. After he unlocked the door, he slipped into the building.

Why would the man go in there?

Scott couldn’t imagine any valid reason. Rachel had told him the small space was empty after she took the hatbox. Guess it was time to see for himself.

Scott approached the building. From inside he heard a grunt followed by creaking. Scott paused. Entering was the only way to know what was happening.

Scott took a breath, then eased around the side of the building. The door stood cracked to let the fading sunlight enter. He couldn’t see anything through the crack, placing Tyler behind it.

Releasing his breath in a trickle, Scott squared his shoulders, feeling a surge of alertness.

God, help me.