Shadowed by Grace (39 page)

Scott closed his eyes, then reopened them. “This is criminal. There was no reason to destroy this ancient section of the city.”

“Rome was their reason.” The professor knelt in front of a shattered cross. “Your army moved through Rome too quickly. Our bridges paid the price.” He crossed himself and stood. “We must move on.”

Rachel held her nose against a smell that took her breath and shoved it back down her throat.

“The sewers.” Professor Berti said no more.

They joined a flood of civilians picking their way across the Ponte Vecchio. “Be careful. The mines are plentiful.”

Rachel had to agree as she noticed the liberality with which the Germans had strewn the mines along the bridge. Even with the low level of the river, walking the bridge was better than fording the Arno with some dangers hidden and others visible.

“There’s the Uffizi.” Scott pointed. “How damaged is she?”

The professor shrugged. “Much broken glass and plaster. The art was removed.” He paused and looked at Scott. “Your friend will meet you there?”

“Renaldo? He said the bridge later tonight.”

“He sent me to bring you here.”

Scott nodded. “All right. Let’s be quick. We’ll need to return to our quarters before dark.” He swatted at a mosquito.

“You mean to the castle?” Rachel tried to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. So many were trapped in desperate circumstances, yet if they could leave, it would mean less strain on the limited resources.

“Yes. It’s a better location to regroup than here. With our passes we can come and go freely.”

The shelling picked up again. Rachel kept an eye on the sky as the professor ignored the constant whine and whistles.

“If this keeps up, Florence will be pulverized.” Scott helped Rachel over another compilation of rubble that left her scrambling like a mountain goat to get to the other side.

“We can only pray.” The professor’s stoic words matched his resigned expression.

Rachel wished there was more she could do, but at the moment taking photos and praying seemed all that was left to her. She hoped it was enough to stave the hand of destruction.

He should have left Rachel at the gardens or the palazzo. As she slipped and slid over another mound of rubble, he hurried to her side. She grimaced whenever her hands touched the rocks. Her palms must sting. They had to use care as they picked their way across. A mine could hide anywhere in this mess, and there was little he could do. Still, she was with him, and he had to get to the Uffizi and find Renaldo somewhere in the maze of the palatial museum.

Rachel reached the top of yet another mound and snapped a series of photos, starting with a backward glance at the Arno River and the utter destruction around the Ponte Vecchio before continuing to the disaster in front of them.

Time ticked as he waited for her to finish her shooting. Time in which another sniper could site on her. “Are you ready to move?”

She shook her head yet began closing her camera. “I could take photos for a week and never capture the absolute destruction.” She sighed. “It’s such a waste.”

A bullet whistled past, and she dropped to the ground. Scott army-crawled toward her. “Can we get out of here?”

“The shooter is too far away to harm us.”

“That didn’t feel far.” Scott waited five minutes, then nodded at Rachel. She crouched as the professor led them on to the Uffizi.

The slight man remained silent as he led the way until a ripple of applause reached them. Scott stopped and looked for the source, humbled when he saw a small group of Florentine residents with half-empty baskets resting at their feet. “They wish to say thank you.”

Heat charged up his neck into his face. Snipers mixed with celebrations. What a crazy circumstance. “I’m the wrong one to say grazie to.”

“You are here.”

The solemn words settled over Scott. Professor Berti was right. Scott and Rachel were the only ones wearing American uniforms. So they received the thanks that belonged to the soldiers who had fought their way up Italy and now across Florence. Rachel had reopened her camera and snapped another photo as Scott bowed his head to acknowledge the quiet applause that ended after a look from their guide.

“Follow me.” The professor led them into the building and up a glass-strewn staircase to the top floor of the Uffizi. There, in the loggia that ran around the top of the building, windows and their frames were destroyed. Roof tiles were displaced, but in the shadows stood the figure of a man, looking out over the Arno.

The professor turned to Rachel. “Captain Justice, a roof tour of Florence?”

Rachel glanced at Scott, then accepted the professor’s proffered arm. “Thank you.”

Scott waited until Professor Berti led her in the opposite direction before approaching Renaldo. The man reached out to grasp him with a strong hug and kissed both of his cheeks. “You made it to Florence.”

“Yes.” Scott slipped into Italian. “I am saddened at what I see.”

“Hearts have broken.” Renaldo stepped back and turned to stare in the direction of the Pitti. “Now that you are here, I can provide more information. Where the Germans have taken art. Much are tales, but you are better positioned to locate the truth than I.”

“I will do what I can.” He checked the progress of the professor and Rachel. “We have another matter to discuss.”

“
Sì
.” The man bowed his head. “I think I know of what you speak.”

“She has come a long way to find you. To know you as her father.”

His mentor looked as if he had aged a decade in the short days since he’d left Montegufoni. Could Rachel be the reason? Or was it the destruction of historic Florence? Scott waited, giving his friend the freedom to direct the conversation.

“I did not expect her.” The man held his hands up in a small gesture. “When Melanie left, . . .” he groaned, “she took my heart with her. I did not know she carried a child. If I had, I would have followed. Somehow.” He walked away, head bowed. “How do I help Rachel understand?”

Scott considered his words carefully. The man needed hope almost as much as Rachel needed her father to acknowledge her. “God has her on a journey of opening her heart. But you should also know she comes seeking something.”

“This I expected.” The man turned to Scott, an intensity burning in his eyes. “I must meet her. Officially. Where she knows who I am.”

Scott looked out the windows, noting the time. “Do you want to meet her now? Or come with us to Montegufoni for the night?”

“Now. We shall see about the rest.”

“Wait here.” Scott left the man leaning against a broken window, his head bowed as if in prayer. Rachel turned toward Scott as if she’d waited, keenly in tune with his every move. She held her breath until he took her hands and stroked them, feeling a faint tremble in hers. He waited until she lifted glistening eyes to his. “Your father would like to officially meet you.”

“Really?” He could hear the ache that edged her words.

“Yes. Are you ready?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Yes. I don’t know.”

“He doesn’t want to wait.” Another shell whistled overhead, punctuating the wisdom of that sentiment.

Rachel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “He’s why I came.”

“There’s my spitfire. Let’s go.” He looked for the professor, but the man had melted into the background. “Where did Professor Berti go?”

“I don’t know. He said something about needing to get someone else.”

“Well, let’s go see Renaldo.”

While her words had been eager, her steps faltered as Rachel followed Scott across the gallery. He kept his fingers laced with hers, lending his support and strength as he led her to the man who was her father.

“Renaldo, may I introduce your daughter, Rachel Justice. Rachel, Renaldo Adamo, your father.”

Chapter 36

YOUR FATHER.

The words sounded sweet to her ears, blotting out the reality of where she stood. All that mattered was that the man in front of her was her father. From their conversation at Montegufoni, she knew he had a compassionate heart. Now he was here.

She studied him through a mist of tears that threatened to erupt into sobs if she couldn’t hold them in check. He didn’t stand much taller than she did, but as she studied the planes of his face, she could see the remnants of a handsome man who had swept her momma or any woman off her feet. He gave her the same studious examination, one she submitted to in hopes he would see traces of her momma.

“You are as beautiful as Melanie.” The accented English was musical and tentative.

“Thank you.” Rachel swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “I wish I knew more about you.”

“A grief for us both.”

“One we can fix.”

He shrugged in a languid motion. “If we are blessed. Tell me about Melanie.”

“She is sick, dying.” Rachel bit down before she said too much, too quickly.

“This I am sorry to hear.”

“Thank you.”

“But why come find me now? In a war?”

How to make him understand how truly desperate she had been? “We have no money and the hospital could do no more without it. All I knew was my father was somewhere in Italy near Florence. It wasn’t much, but Momma is everything to me. I had to try. Here I could take photos to sell to newspapers. And I could find you.” Her breath shuddered.

“Can she be cured? She was always so alive.”

“She has tuberculosis. The doctors think it’s been dormant since she lived here.”

“But how?”

“It can hide for years. In her case it did. Then it came and went. Now it stays.”

“Why not remain with her?” His question made sense. Her momma was the only one who never asked it. Others had and hadn’t understood.

“I had to find you. Find help.”

Scott stepped forward. Other than his hand on her shoulder, she’d forgotten he remained. Later she could think about how odd and wonderful it was that she could share her pain and this moment with this man her heart adored.

“We can’t stay much longer. Renaldo, come with us.”

The man shook his head. “I need to collect more information. Return tomorrow, about noon. I will have something for you both.” He stepped to her, tentatively touched her cheek. “Your momma captured my heart. Now you have.”

Rachel turned to Scott. “Please, can we stay a few minutes?”

“I’m sorry, Rachel, but it’ll be tricky crossing the bridge. We need light to avoid the mines.”

He was right. She didn’t have to like it, but she would acknowledge it. “Renaldo?” What to call this man? “You promise? You’ll return tomorrow?”

His smile was slow, like a sunrise, and it lit his face. “I will do all in my power. If not here, I will find you at the gardens.” He turned to Scott. “Keep her safe. I have much to learn from my daughter.” Then he faded into the shadows.

Rachel felt a tremor work from her heart to her toes. “I can’t let him leave.”

“You can’t stay. It’s too dangerous.” Scott tugged her toward the staircase. “Renaldo will be here tomorrow. You’ll see.”

The next day she paced the glass-littered gallery again. Had she made a fatal mistake in following Scott across the Ponte Vecchio, to the jeep, and back to Montegufoni? The return trip to Florence this morning had left her harried, always waiting for a misplaced shell to land on top of them and then stepping around a poor civilian who’d been shot by a sniper and left where he’d fallen in the ultimate indignity. Killed by a countryman.

And now her father hadn’t returned.

“He’ll be here.”

She brushed aside Scott’s assurances. “What if he stepped on a mine last night? We’d never know.”

The sound of steps shifting through the glass had Scott pushing her into the shadows. “We stay here until we’re sure it’s Renaldo.”

She nodded, pressing as far as possible into a nook along the wall. She hadn’t made it this far to die because she was too stubborn to take precautions. Still, she sagged against the wall when her father’s small frame came into view.

“Scott? Rachel?” His whispers carried through the space, held by the walls that used to hold the artistic heritage of the Medicis and Florence.

“Over here.” Scott stepped around a pillar, letting Renaldo see him. Her heart swelled at the way he continued to protect her. “You are alone?”

“
Sì
. Who would come? Where is my daughter?”

“I’m here.”

Renaldo walked to her as if he carried a burden too heavy for him. “I made a decision last night. May it be in time to assist Melanie. The art I entrusted to Scott you may have. Sell it, keep it, do as you please. My wife may have what is in our flat and Montegufoni.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled weakly. “It is little but what I can do. I wish we’d had time to know each other. You are an adult. I wish to have known you as a baby, a child.” He traced a hand down Rachel’s cheek. “You have her eyes. They drew me to her in the first moment and never let me go. Even many years after she left.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope he handed to her. “This has what you will need to take ownership of the paintings. Scott will help with the details.”

Rachel took the envelope and slipped it into her rucksack. “Thank you.”