Out of the Ashes (11 page)

There had to be something else, and David needed to find out what it was. His mission might depend upon it.

* * *

A door slammed somewhere in the house for the second time in less than fifteen minutes. Hershel jumped in his overstuffed chair, causing him to rip the week-old newspaper he was reading.

Marsha stalked into their sitting room, shoved Hershel’s feet off the ottoman where they’d been resting comfortably, and flopped down on it.

“We have a problem.”

Obviously, Hershel thought. “What is it this time?”

“Serafina just came in, and she’s madder than a monkey on a fire-ant hill.”

Hershel lowered the paper to his lap, scrunching up the edges as he did so.

“Oh, no. What has he done now?”

“Who?” Marsha looked momentarily confused. “David? No, it wasn’t something he did. At least, I don’t think so. No, she just came from seeing the newsreel in the
piazza
, and it’s gotten her all fired up again.”

“About what?”

“Well, in case you’ve forgotten, our little Serafina has an intense dislike of Americans.”

“So?” He lifted the paper up again and tried to find where he’d left off.

Marsha swatted it back down into his lap, crumpling it beyond hope, and glared at him.

“So, David is American.”

“So?” The light bulb inside Hershel’s head finally flashed on. “Oh, no.”

“Exactly. We need to make sure that she doesn’t find out about him until we’re… until she’s ready.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know. So far, he’s been doing a good job of keeping her in the dark, but she’s a smart girl. I’m worried what she’ll do when she does find out.”

The problem was starting to make Hershel’s head hurt. And just when everything was starting to fall into place.

“So, what do you propose we do about it? I mean, as mortals, we can’t exactly perform miracles down here. It’s not like we can sprinkle angel dust on his head and turn him into a real Italian for her.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Marsha propped her elbow on the arm of Hershel’s chair and tapped her fingers against her chin. “We need to come up with a plan. Something to speed things up a bit and bring them closer, so that by the time she does find out, it won’t matter.”

He shrugged. “Why don’t we just tell them they’re soul mates destined to be together, so they can just go ahead and get on with it?” He smiled at himself. Why, the idea was absolutely brilliant. He didn’t know why they hadn’t thought of it before. “That should certainly speed things up.”

“Hershel.” Marsha frowned and shook her head at him. “Even if we could tell them—which we can’t, you know it’s against policy—do you think they’d actually believe us?”

“No, I suppose not.” He slumped back into his seat. Drat, and here he’d thought he’d come up with the perfect answer. “So what more can we do? After all, they’re working side by side five days a week as it is.”

She stared off into space, and then a wicked gleam brightened her eyes.

“Evidently side by side isn’t close enough. I think our young lovers need to have something happen to bring them closer. A lot closer.”

Hershel stared at his wife. He didn’t like the sound of her voice.

“Marsha, what are you going to do?”

“It’s not what
I’m
going to do.” She grinned impishly. “It’s what
you’re
going to do.”

David worked in one of the holes they had started excavating in the center of the old road. A tent shaded the shallow pit, its thick canvas tarp bucking gently in the soft breeze that managed to slip over the high stone walls. He shook his head. It was the third tent they had erected on the site. He was grateful for the shade, but the damn place was starting to look like the county fair back in Bedford. As he dug, Sera begin singing a soft, melodious tune and he recognized the song immediately.

“I’ll Be Seeing You
.
”

It was another Big Band hit, and, just as before, memories of America flooded him. Only this time, the longing for home tangled with the Italian-accented lyrics, recalling a more recent memory of a beautiful archeologist weeping over a long-dead child.

How was it that she could make him think of home when he was thousands of miles away in a foreign country surrounded by the enemy?

He looked at her digging in the dirt under her own tent, so engrossed in her work that she seemed oblivious of the world around her, and reminded himself that he stood just a few feet away from one of the people his country was fighting against.

He scraped up another layer of dirt and enjoyed listening to her sing, until an odd sound drew his attention. He could have sworn he heard something hit the top of Sera’s canvas. He glanced skyward for any sign of an impending thunderstorm, but as far as he could see, there was only clear blue sky.

Shrugging off the sound, he bent once more to his task. Then he heard it again, the plunk of something hitting the tent, followed by a soft tumbling sound as the object rolled down the slant of the canvas to drop with a clunk on the ground.

A bird? Hail? He glanced around to see where it might have come from, but he and Sera appeared to be completely alone in this area of the ruins.

He shook his head and went back to work. All the non-stop digging had him hearing things now. Or so he thought, until he heard it again.

Plunk… rattle, rattle, rattle…
cherchunk
.

He looked toward Sera’s tent and noticed that she had heard it, too. She’d stopped singing and was softly humming the tune. Her movement was almost imperceptible. She didn’t even look up as she set down her trowel and scooped up a handful of small pebbles.

David waited, curious to see what she was going to do.

Plunk… rattle, rattle…

The rock hadn’t hit the ground before she bounded out of the trench and started flinging pebbles at a low section of wall on the edge of the dig site. Jumping back into the pit, she flung herself on the ground as a barrage of small stones came flying back in her direction.

In her prone position, Sera was safe from the onslaught, but David felt the sharp stings on his thighs and arms as he was pelted with tiny rocks.

“Hey! What the—?”

Giggles erupted from behind the crumbling wall. Three young boys jumped out from hiding and proceeded to run around the site, whooping like little wild Indians.

Sera hopped out of the hole and grabbed the slowest boy by his dirty shirttail, wrapping her arms around him and imprisoning him in a big hug.

“Got you now!”

“No, Serafina. No kisses.” The boy struggled to get away, while the other two stopped to laugh at their comrade’s plight.

She tried to kiss him on either cheek, then finally settled for placing one on the top of his ruffled hair and released him.

“What took you so long to find me?”

“We didn’t even know you had moved until we saw Olympia working with Giovanni instead of you. He wouldn’t tell us where you were, but
Heberto
did.”

Her smile momentarily disappeared, her eyes narrowing as she glanced down the road in the direction of her old dig site. “That’s because, hopefully, Giovanni has no idea where I am.”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” the second boy chimed in. “
Heberto
told us to keep it a secret.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, Giovanni’s a
coglione
,” the third boy grumbled as he kicked at a rock with the toe of his worn shoe.

Her good humor returned, and she smiled at the three boys.

“If you say so.”

The third boy glanced up and took notice of David.

“Is he a new archeologist?”

She looked over in his direction.

“No, but Signore Corbelli is helping me dig here at the new site.”

“Is he nice to you?” the first boy asked.

“Anybody’s
gotta
be nicer than Giovanni,” the second boy corrected him.

“He’s nice to me,” she said, never taking her eyes off David, “most of the time.”

“Do you need us to kick his ass?” the third boy asked, his bravado diminished by his thin, lanky stature.

“You could try,” David answered, feeling a juvenile urge to defend himself.

The boys laughed at his threat and ran around the tents, taunting David to catch them. He hopped out of his hole and lunged at the boy with the gutter mouth, but the boy was quick as an alley rat and dodged out of arm’s reach.

Sera joined in, circling one of the boys around the sifting table. They pivoted and dodged, until the boy darted back out into the open area. She was quick on his heels, and her hat flew off as she chased after him.

David stopped in his tracks, and the boy he was after dashed away out of sight. David had never seen her without that stupid straw hat on. In the bright sun, her brown hair lit up in a thousand shades of gold and bronze. The wavy tresses tumbled down around her shoulders as the breeze tossed the locks about her face. Tucking an errant strand behind her ear, Sera laughed as she bent to retrieve her hat, and he was struck again by how beautiful she was in the rare, unguarded moment.

Still staring, he wasn’t prepared when his own hat was slapped off his head from behind. He spun around to grab the miscreant, only to trip over the shovel at his feet. He careened into a tent post, and then slid against the tight rope tethering it to the ground. A streak of fire burned across his back as he went down, until the iron spike gave way and pulled from the earth, collapsing the corner of the canvas tent on top of him.

“David!”

The tarp lifted, and a cloud of swirling dust clogged his throat and burned his eyes.

“Are you all right?” Sera asked.

He lay sprawled in the dirt, staring up into her concerned face, the sun a bright halo around her head.

“I’m fine. Just my pride is hurt.”

Her frown transformed into a broad grin. “
Sì
, it’s not very
machismo
to be bested by an eleven-year-old boy.”

“I wasn’t bested, merely caught off guard.”

“Sure you were.” She offered her hand and helped him to his feet.

“Sorry we wrecked the tent, Serafina,” one of the boys said as the three gathered around them.

“It’s not me you should apologize to.” She nodded her head in David’s direction.

“Sorry, Signore Corbelli,” the boys said in unison.

“Apology accepted.” He tried to look stern, but it was hard when faced with their contrite expressions. “Next time I’ll be ready for you.”

“You’re on,” said the one who’d gotten the better of him.

“Go on now.” She waved them away. “We’ve got a tent to repair.”

 
“Bye, Serafina,” the boys shouted as they raced down the street, their joyful laughter a stark contrast to the horror of the war going on outside the ancient walls.

 
“Isn’t it a bit dangerous for children to be playing in the ruins?” he asked as he brushed the dust and dirt off his pants.

“
Sì
, but it’s safer than running around the countryside where the Germans might run over them with one of their tanks, or the Allies might shoot them for the fun of it.”

His expression must have surprised her, because she raised a challenging brow in his direction.

“Don’t look so shocked. I used to play in the ruins myself as a child.”

“Now, why am I not surprised?” He shook his head and watched the boys disappear around the corner. “I’m amazed that your father allowed you to do it.”

Her good humor instantly vanished.

“My father never gave a damn what I did.”

She stepped around him and picked up the fallen tent post. Looking at her profile, with her jaw clenched and her lips pressed into a thin line as she struggled to right the canvas tarp, he could tell she was fighting another kind of battle, one deep within herself. Somehow, he had struck a nerve, and a very sensitive one, at that.

“Here, let me help.” He reached for the tarp and guided the grommet onto the tip of the post.

“I don’t need any— David, you’re hurt.”

* * *

“What?”

“Your back. There’s blood on your shirt.”

“There is?” He twisted to look over his shoulder, not that he would be able to see the spots of crimson seeping through the rough gray cotton. “Probably a rope burn from when I fell against the tether line.”

“Well, let’s take a look at it.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He shrugged, then failed to hide his wince.

“With all the dust and dirt around here, no open wound is fine. It could get infected.”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want to lose your cheap slave labor,” he grumbled as he righted the corner of the tent.

“You’re not cheap slave labor. Your work is very helpful and much needed. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Thanks.” He turned to face her, surprise at her concern evident in his expression. “It’s nice to know you care.”

Serafina took a step back, flustered by his comment. Did he really think she was cold and heartless enough not to worry over him?

“Here, sit down.” She indicated one of the two stools under the shifting tent. “Take your shirt off so I can get a look at the damage.”

David unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it from his broad shoulders, exposing a strong chest and toned stomach. Serafina’s breath evaporated from her lungs. Her heart pounded wildly, and her blood pulsed in certain lower areas where it had no right to be pulsing.

Not for David.

She grabbed her canteen and a clean rag, busying herself with the items she might need to clean the cut as he sat on the stool and waited.

She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. What in the world had come over her?

When she turned back, she nearly tripped over the other stool.

David sat still as stone, looking as only God could make a man. He was beautiful—the only word to describe him at that moment. The sunlight filtering through the tent kissed every curve and muscle, gilding each hollow and ridge on his body with a golden hue.

She sat on the stool behind him before he caught her ogling him. Placing her hand against her thundering heart, she tried to catch her breath. She unscrewed the top of her canteen, wetted the rag, and attempted to pull herself together.

Oh, come on, you’ve seen a man’s bare chest before.

Yes,
a little voice inside her head chimed in,
but never looking like this
.

She dabbed at the cut, the angry raised welt a vicious stripe across his strong back.

“
Ow
. Take it easy.”

“Sorry.” She tried to calm her voice. After all, it wasn’t his fault she’d lived the life of a nun for far too long. “There’s some dirt ground into it. I need to clean it out.”

She gentled her touch and allowed her fingers to graze his skin, the heat of him warm against her fingertips.

She heard his intake of breath, but whether it was from the cool rag on his cut or her fingers on his skin, she couldn’t be sure.

As she dabbed at the rope burn, her vision blurred, and the raw mark shifted and grew. Soon, his back was covered with deep, red lash marks, as if he’d been whipped repeatedly. She felt sick, seeing strips of torn flesh and oozing welts where his smooth, tan skin used to be.

Serafina squeezed her eyes shut. But try as she might, the image of David, his back torn and ravaged, was still there.

He shifted and spoke over his shoulder to her.

“Sera, are you all right?”

* * *

“Fine. I’m fine,” she snapped, swiping her hair out of her face.

She was lying. He could tell. But about what, David couldn’t be sure.

Suddenly the question that had been in the back of his mind since they’d seen the newsreel appeared front and center. Why did she hate the Americans so? Common sense told him to leave it alone, that her reasons were none of his business.

But the soldier in him wanted to find out what Sera’s secret was. Everyone had one. Lord knew, he was living proof of that. He needed to know if hers might somehow jeopardize his mission. All he had to do was find the right trigger to get her to talk.

The tunes she hummed when she thought no one was listening drifted back into his head.