Taking Tuscany (13 page)

“A. J., look!” Benji is standing by the water trough holding one sopping wet, shivering puppy.

“You found him!” I grab an old blanket hanging by the horse stall and hustle to the trough. Ci-ci's already there, yipping like a protective mama, scolding her baby.

“He fell in,” Benji says. “I heard a whimper when I walked by the trough, and there he was, just standing there, with the water almost up to his neck, shivering himself to death.”

I take the blanket and gently scruff him dry. Wrapping the little guy up, I hand him back to Benji. After all, he was the rescuer. “Let's wait in the horse stall with him until he warms up.”

The rest of the rescue crew gathers round to give the puppy their regards, then they head on home for supper. Benji and I sit side by side on a hay bale, taking turns warming the puppy up. Ci-ci is nestled at our feet with the rest of her litter, keeping a watchful eye on us.

“Boy, if he'd gone much longer, that water would have started to freeze …” Benji can't even finish the sentence.

“God helped you save him, Benji. I had barely gotten my prayer out when you found him.”

Benji says, “Does he have a name yet?”

“I don't think so.”

“I think we should call him Luigi. Little Luigi.”

“I think that's a good name for him.”

Angelo comes over after closing the stall door and thanks Benji for finding Ci-ci's
cucciolo.

“Luigi,” Benji says.

“
Si, Luigi
,” Angelo nods.

Once Little Luigi is all warm and dry, we tuck him into the middle of his brothers, all snuggled up to Mama for the night. “
Buona notte e sogni d'oro, Luigi
,” Benji whispers. Good night and sweet dreams.

I look over at my little brother. I've never seen Benji take to an animal before like he has with Luigi. He sure seems attached to the little guy.… But it makes sense, after all—Benji's the runt in our family too.

12

La Principessa Dorotea

(Princess Dorothy)

Falling into Winter

Fall + Winter = Finter

Finter 1972

Secret Lives of Nuns

October evenings are really too cold for any more secret rendezvous with the nuns. I let Sister Aggie know that our only hope for another ride would have to be on a sunny afternoon, in broad daylight. After discussing the matter with the reverend mother, Sister Aggie hailed me down on my last ride and let me know that she and Reverend Mother are willing to risk an afternoon ride together before giving it all up for the winter. I'm not sure who they are worried about being seen by: the other sisters, the bishop, the public … or all of the above.

They've decided they would like a picnic in the country, which they have agreed to provide since I'm supplying the horse. We have it all planned out. I'll pick them up Saturday, one at a time, and deliver them to a favorite lookout spot on Cresta di Papavero, Poppy Ridge. Once we're all together, we'll feast on fresh fruits and the fine fare of finter.

While I'm saddling up Caesar, Napoleon is no longer the only one pacing back and forth, waiting impatiently for us to head out. Now the four puppies pace back and forth along with him. They're learning the ropes from old dad. Little Luigi has made a full recovery. It takes him twice the effort to keep up with his siblings, but that's only because he's the runt. He's a real trouper.

Once I've explained to Caesar that he's gotta be on his best behavior today for the nuns, we hit the trail with Napoleon and his four boys trotting along behind us. I can only imagine what we must look like passing in front of these villas along the way.
Look, Mama, it's a parade!

When we reach the convent, the reverend mother is waiting in the olive grove, all packed up, ready to go. Standing on the wood pallets, she loops her knapsack over the saddle horn and hops on board. With her familiar
corriamo
command, we set off. Caesar, Napoleon, the reverend mother, four pups, and me, all take to the hills. The Pied Piper, the nun, and the pony and puppy parade.
Oh, what I would give for a picture of this.

Cantering up a gentle slope, we crest the ridge top. The view from here is a definite
bella vista,
overlooking gentle slopes and streams that meander all the way down to the valley. Rays of sunlight reflect off fields of gold. Finter at its finest.

We deliver the reverend mother safely to the banks of
Ruscello di Sole,
the Stream of Sunshine
.
She breathes in the country air, and begins unpacking her knapsack with an expression of sheer joy on her face. I leave her to set up camp, and head off to round up Sister Aggie.

In record time we arrive back on the banks of the
Ruscello di Sole
with our procession of pups and Sister Aggie. Set before us on a starched white tablecloth are plates of salami, cheese, fresh berries, grapes, olives, bread, and a fresh bottle of grape juice. “
Mangiare, mangiare
!” Eat, eat! the mother says, just like an Italian mama. So we bless the food and we eat! It all tastes so good up here in this crisp country air with the sunshine beaming down on us. Thanks to these nuns, I am beginning to experience some of the finer things Italy has to offer. It helps to counteract all of the not-so-fine things.

The sisters are thrilled over Napoleon's new family, who end up with a good deal of the salami. I'm big on salami myself, but the grapes are especially
delizioso
. What a great word,
delizioso.
Grapes are always
delizioso
this time of year. It hasn't been long since the harvest. The air is filled with the lingering fragrance of overripe grapes. My senses are on high alert, but so is my curiosity about these nuns and their riding fetish
. I have to know what the story is, and now is as good a time as any to find out.
“So … where in the world did you both learn to ride so well?”

The mother and the sister look at each other and smile. “Go ahead, Sister Agastina,” the reverend mother says, “you tell her.”

Sister Aggie rearranges herself on the blanket, so I do the same. It reminds me of getting ready for story time in kindergarten.
Where's my little green blanket?

“Do you know much about World War II, Angelina?”

“Some. I know about the Nazi nut, Hitler, and how he hated the Jewish people and tried to kill them all.”

“Yes, well, near the end of World War II, in 1943, the reverend mother and I were both young sisters of Cuneo. Our convent was near the base of the mountains. The Nazi forces were moving across Europe and thousands of Jewish refugees were fleeing over the Alps into Italy to escape the death camps. Italy was their only hope for a safe haven. But almost as soon as they arrived, the Germans rolled into Italy and took occupation of our town. They invaded the homes of the Italian people, and took away all the Jewish people they could find.

“Our secret mission was to hide the Jewish children from the Nazi soldiers. Desperate parents gave their children to anyone who would help them escape. Many Italians were trying to hide them. But if they had nowhere to hide them, they brought the children to our convent, where we kept them until nightfall. After dark we rode the children on horseback to farmhouses farther out in the hills and valleys, to places known as safe houses.”

So that's why they like the night rides. Well, and probably the embarrassment of being seeing in public riding in a habit. Glad to know it's not because it's a sin to ride horses.

“The Nazis would raid our convent every few nights, trying to find any children that were being hidden, but they never once found them there. The children were always gone by the time the soldiers came.”

“
Grazie a Dio
.” Praise God, the reverend mother whispers.

“Weren't you scared?” I ask her.

“
Eravamo spaventati da morire
,” she replies. We were scared out of our wits. “But we didn't want to scare the children, so we made a game of it. We told them we were on an adventure and had to sneak away from the other team. So the children knew they had to be very quiet. They thought it was quite exciting to ride horses in the dark. The other team, of course, was the German soldiers, but the children never realized that.”

“Where did you find enough houses to hide all of them in?”

“If there wasn't room in the houses for all of the children,” Sister Aggie says, “we'd hide them in barns and lofts and attics, anywhere we could—sometimes we'd have to hike into the hills to get far enough away. We climbed mountains with children on our backs—even scaled a few rocky cliffs.”

So that's where they learned to climb.

“Finally, in 1945, the allies liberated our town and all of the children came pouring out of the farmhouses one by one. They say the Italians helped to save forty-five thousand Jewish lives.”

Wow.
That pretty much answers all of my questions about the secret lives of nuns.
Meraviglioso!
Marvelous.

When I return home, there's a letter from Indian Island waiting for me. I run up to my tower to read it.

September 20, 1972

Dear A. J.,

How are things at the castle? I need to ask you a favor. Would you pray for a guy named Chuck? He's a kid I met at school who's kind of a loner. A few days ago some of the jocks started picking on him, so I stepped in to help him out. The next thing I knew, half of the football team showed up, ready to take me out. One of them held my arms behind my back so the others could take their best shot at me. Suddenly I heard someone yell, “Let him go.” It was this guy I recognized from my youth group. Turns out he was the captain of the football team. It was a miracle he showed up when he did. Anyway, Chuck agreed to come to youth group with us. Please pray for him, that he'll be open to knowing God.

I hope things are going okay for you at your new school. It's never easy being the new kid. Sailor is great and says hi. I shot the pictures you'd asked for and will be sending them as soon as I get them developed.

Give my best to J. R. and your family,

Danny

Well, that is interesting. Seems Chuck and I have a lot in common. I wish Danny were here to step in for me. Maybe there is a way to ask for help without having to reveal the whole sad scenario that defines my social life right now. I hope one day I'll have a heroic story of my own to tell, but for now, we just have to face the facts …

October 15, 1972

Dear Danny,

Thanks for the letter about Chuck. I will be happy to pray for him. I know someone who needs some prayers too, and was wondering if you could pray for her? Maybe you could ask your youth group to pray for her too. She might not want her name mentioned, so I'll just call her Dorothy. She's this really nice girl who is kind of new around school. There's this group of girls she calls “the beehive” who don't like her. They have a queen bee named Annalisa, who they will do anything for—they're her little worker bees. Annalisa has talked them all into hating Dorothy. They torment her daily—especially in front of boys. They call her a Yankee and a Barbie doll—among other names that I won't mention. Their latest prank left her looking like she got her hair caught in a ceiling fan.

Anyway, Dorothy has just had it up the kazoo with these buzzing idiots and could really use some prayer. Please pray that God will rescue her—while she still has some hair left—maybe even send her to America before she gets stung to death over here by the mean bees.

That is really neat that God stopped those guys from hitting you. I hope He'll help Dorothy too. Give Sailor a hug for me.

Your friend,

A. J.

At dinner Mama announces that Cousin Stacy called to tell us she got invited to Rome to attend
Il Premio di Dante
,
the Dante Awards, in November for her award-winning poem, “Once upon a Tuscan Hill.” Mama says she should have entered her own poem:

Once upon a Tuscan hilla

Sat an ugly big blue villa

It sent the tourists into fits

And ruined business for the Ritz.

Mama is having a hard time letting go of this. She's already been to confession twice over the whole thing and will now have to confess that poem as well. I wonder if she'll actually recite it to the priest.

So far none of Mama's guests have canceled their reservations over seeing the blue villa. They usually just laugh and say, “What a crazy thing to do.”

Mama has had a steady flow of bookings ever since she schmoozed with all of the tourists along the Riviera in August, but most of them have booked for the spring and summer months ahead. Mama decided to block November and December from booking guests, so we can relax and enjoy the holidays. Those are usually pretty cold months here, and Mama says she doesn't want to get called at six a.m. to bring someone a cup of coffee in the freezing cold just because they're too lazy to make their own.