Out of the Ashes (12 page)

“So, why do you sing American songs?”

The press of the cool cloth on his back stopped.

“I wasn’t singing,” she replied, but the telltale force she used when she resumed cleaning his cut told him she was embarrassed that he’d caught her at it.

“Yes, you were. And that’s not the first time I’ve heard you doing it.”

Angling to look at her over his shoulder, he planned his next words very carefully.

“What I find interesting is that you seem particularly fond of American Big Band tunes. I thought you hated Americans.”

“I do.”

“But you like their music?”

Sera’s expression shifted to guarded in an instant. She pulled away, putting the relative safety of space between them. Even though she no longer touched him, David could still feel the heat of her fingertips burning a trail down his back.

She tossed the rag on the table and screwed the top on her canteen.

“It’s not a crime.”

“Ah, but Mussolini might disagree. It’s illegal to listen to Allied broadcasts, and that’s the only place you could be hearing those songs.”

When her eyes met his, he saw alarm in them. Her face grew pale, making tiny brown freckles stand out on her checks. She stood and went back into the pit and resumed digging. The scrape of her trowel in the ash and pumice filled the silence around them.

“Don’t worry. You aren’t the only one to sneak a listen to the Allied broadcasts. If I had a radio, I’d listen to them myself.” That, at least, was no lie. What he wouldn’t give to hear daily news on the Allied front.

Sera sat in her little trench and stared at him. He could almost see the wheels in her head turning as she weighed his words. Could she trust him? Would she?

Finally, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Maria and
Heberto
listen to the BBC on the radio, and occasionally I listen with them. Sometimes they play the Big Band songs. Besides, it’s better than listening to Mussolini talk about the war.”

“So, you don’t like listening to
Il Duce’s
lies?”

“They’re not lies.” Once more, her defenses came up.

David walked over and squatted down on the edge of the hole.

“Maybe not all of them, but you can’t tell me you believe everything he says. That the war is succeeding? That Italy is stronger than ever because of her ties with Hitler?”

The scraping stopped, and she looked at him as if he were stupid.

“Do you expect me to believe the Americans are telling the truth about the war? That they care what happens to us as they trample their way across Italy to Germany?”

He shrugged to mask the tension he was feeling. He had to be careful. He was treading on fragile ground. If he asked too many questions, he risked exposing himself instead of discovering what lay behind Sera’s issues with America.

“From what I’ve heard, the Allies aren’t so bad. I’ve heard they’ve been dropping supplies for the poor and hungry all over Italy. Their medics treat the wounded and sick with medicines they might never get if it weren’t for the U.S.”

“That’s just Allied propaganda.” She turned back to her work, gauging deep chunks of earth in the pit. “They also drop bombs on innocent women and children. Those same bombs destroy centuries of art and history, so don’t tell me the Allies care about us.”

“And I suppose the Germans have been nothing but courteous to the citizens of Italy?”

“They’ve been better than the Americans.”

“What has America ever done to you?”

David had to know. His mission—his life—might depend on it.

“They’re the enemy.”

“So are Britain and France, but you seem to hate Americans in particular. Why?”

Sera’s hand gripped her leg, the knuckles turning white as she clutched the muscle of her thigh.

“They have no business being here.”

“Only Hitler and Mussolini think that.” He rested his chin on his folded arms, prepared to pick at whatever scab he needed to in order to get some answers. “If the Allies can bring about the end of the war, all the better. Most of Italy couldn’t care less who wins anymore.”

“There are some who still care.”

“The Fascists.” He eyed her speculatively. “Are you a Fascist, Sera?”

She glared at him, her mouth compressed into a thin, hard line. He knew he was pushing her hard, but it was the only way he could get to her secrets.

“No, of course not.”

“Then what is it? You certainly don’t strike me as a resistance fighter.” The very thought of reserved Sera with a gun in her hand almost made him laugh. Threaten her precious ruins, and she’d fight like a mother lion protecting her cubs, but otherwise she didn’t seem to care about anything else.

“Tell me. Why do you hate the Americans so?”

The force she used with the trowel when she resumed digging told him he was getting too close, and she didn’t like it. She turned her head away from him, and for a moment he thought he may have pushed her too far. Or maybe he hadn’t pushed her far enough.

“Why, Sera?”

She threw her trowel in the dirt and whipped around to look at him, her blue eyes shooting daggers of fire.

“Damn it. Because my father is one.”

Serafina stared at David as his tan face paled. Had she shocked him? Was he appalled?

She told herself it didn’t matter, that everyone in town knew what she was. It would have been only a matter of time before he found out, too.

But it did matter.

Bastarda
. The word still hurt even after all these years. The looks from the women in the marketplace as she shopped with her mother, comments whispered behind cupped hands to protect a child’s sensitive ears.

But she’d heard them. The taunting of her classmates when she was a young girl, words hurled at her on the playground like stones thrown at a stray dog.
Bastarda
.

Would David reject her, too?

Could he see her pain? She knew the truth was there, written all over her face. She could feel the strain in every muscle of her body as she tried to hold back the emotions.

He finally closed his gaping mouth, and a look of genuine concern replaced his stunned expression.

“Jesus, Sera. What did he do to you?”

Her shoulders slumped as the fight went out of her. She didn’t have the strength to keep the past buried any more. At least, not with David.

“My mother was the prettiest girl in
Pompei
.”

He moved from his squatting position to sit on the edge of the pit. She spoke so softly, he had to lean closer to hear her.

“She had her whole life ahead of her… and then she met a man. It was during the Great War. He was an American soldier stationed in Naples. To a girl from a small, remote town, I supposed he seemed brave, heroic. It wasn’t hard for him to sweep her off her feet.”

Understanding dawned in David’s eyes as he listened to her story.

“Your father?”

“Yes.” Her hatred of the man still left a bitter taste in her mouth. But she would not cry over him, not anymore. He wasn’t worth it.

“What happened?”

She shrugged, trying to show her indifference over the man who gave her life. But if the simple act didn’t fool her, how could she expect it to fool David?

“He did what a lot of American soldiers did then. Promised her the world, took what he wanted, and then left her behind.”

“And you? Did he leave you behind, too?”

She ran her fingers through the loose earth in front of her, staring down at the dirt and ashes as they slipped through her fingers.

“He told my mother he’d send for us after the war was over.”

“But he never did?”

She turned her head away. The story was all too familiar for many soldiers returning from war. Everyone knew that, but it didn’t make the hurt any less. She shook her head.

“No, he sent a few letters and some money in the beginning. But even that small gesture stopped after a year or two.”

“So, what happened?”

“My mother was disgraced. Her parents—my grandparents—stood by her, but most of the town shunned her when they found out she carried a bastard. An American bastard.”

David sat silent for a long time. What was he thinking? How would he look at her now? She kept her gaze on the dirt in front of her, not daring to look up to see.

Finally he spoke, his voice a soft whisper.

“That must have been tough for her.”

“It was.”

“Did she ever marry?”

She thought of her beautiful mother’s lovely face slowly becoming etched with lines of worry and exhaustion as she struggled year after year to support them both.

“No. This is a small town. People here don’t forget that easily.”

“What about you? It must have been hard for you growing up without a father.”

Serafina recalled the many times she ran home from school, the other children’s voices chanting close behind her as she darted down the narrow town streets.

“Children can be very cruel to anyone who’s different.”

“I’m sorry.” There was a long silence between them before he spoke again. “Did you ever meet your father?”

“Once. My mother had me study English after school. I didn’t know why at the time, but after she died, I found the few letters he’d sent her, and I knew. She was preparing me to meet him someday. So when I was nineteen, I went to America to find him.”

The flapping of the canvas tent over their heads seemed to rip at the silence between them, the sound of the meager breeze tearing large holes in the delicate fabric of her emotions.

“And did you find him?” he finally asked.

She nodded.

“It took a while, but I finally did. In Arizona. I even spent a year studying archeology at the university there, trying to get up the courage to knock on his door and meet him face to face.”

She could feel the sob welling up in her chest, threatening to burn a hole in her heart. The memory of his distant, dispassionate eyes when she told him who she was. The sound of the door slowly closing in her face, shutting her out of his life forever.

“He told me that he already had a family. He told me… to go back home.”

Before she realized what he was doing, David slid down into the shallow pit and took her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sera. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

His arms felt so strong and comforting around her, she wanted to sink into his warmth. His smell, of musk and sunshine, surrounded her.

“He didn’t want me,” she sobbed, the dammed up emotions bursting forth as she clutched at his shoulders. “He didn’t… want me.”

He rocked her as if she were a child, one arm around her waist while the other cradled her head against his chest. Her tears dropped one by one on his skin, leaving wet streaks down the dust and dirt where his heart hammered beneath her cheek.

He held her for what seemed like an eternity, and then she felt his fingers beneath her chin. Gently, he tilted her head up and looked deep into her eyes.

“How could he not want you?” His gaze flicked to her mouth, then returned to stare at her eyes with a burning intensity. “How could anyone not want you?”

His brown eyes held all the warmth and compassion she’d never received from her father. From any man, for that matter. She felt herself falling into their depths, drowning in the fire blazing within them. She was lost.

He bent his head and kissed her, gently at first. She let him in, clutching at him and pulling him closer. The kiss deepened until his tongue crossed the boundary of her lips to delve inside. She welcomed the invasion, sinking deeper into his hold.

The thumping of the canvas overhead echoed the beating of her heart. Her head swam as he crushed her to him. She had never felt so comfortable, so desirable, so wanted. All were foreign feelings to her, and yet they felt so familiar with him.

David’s hand moved from her waist to cup her cheek as the other held her head firmly in place for his kiss. His passion obliterated the painful memories, and, for the moment, they were the only two people on Earth.

Then he pulled away, leaving her bereft of his warmth. She tried to follow his mouth, but his hands on either side of her head would not let her.

She slowly opened her eyes, and the fog of desire quickly evaporated. A strange look had replaced the fire that had burned in his eyes only moments ago—a look that spoke words her mind could not decipher. He traced the curve of her moist lips with his thumb, a wistful expression clouding the passion on his face.

She could have sworn she’d seen that look on his face before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall when or where.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” he said. He gently released her and leaned back, putting a wide gulf between them. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want it to be like this… not this way.”

What did he mean? That he wanted to continue this, at some other time, some other place? Did she want to? Her emotions were in such turmoil, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

But it didn’t matter. David took the choice from her.

He stood abruptly and walked away.

* * *

Marsha glared at Hershel, her hand fisted on her boney hips.

“You were supposed to get the boys to horse around with them so that Serafina could show her fun, nurturing side, not get David nearly killed.”

“He wasn’t nearly killed.” Hershel crumpled his hat in his hands as he stood in the doorway of their kitchen. “It was a minor rope burn. Not like he lost a leg or anything.”

She shook her finger at him.

“Lucky for you. With our record, we can’t afford any minor
anythings
. They have a way of turning into major
somethings
, like the death of one or the other.”

“Nobody died, and he did get to see her caring nature when she tended to the scrape on his back, just like you wanted.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Marsha wiped her hands on her apron and took Hershel’s lunch bucket and hat from him, setting them on a counter crowded with cheap porcelain bric-a-brac.

Hershel rubbed at the back of his grimy neck as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“I’ll tell you, Marsha, being mortal again is hard work.”

“Oh, stop whining, and tell me what else happened,” Marsha said as she joined him.

He hesitated a bit too long, and she gave him the
look
, the one that said she could tell he was hiding something.

“What went wrong?”

“Hmmm?”

“Spit it out, Hershel. I can tell something went wrong. What is it?”

He winced. “Well, it appears David knows about her being half American and all.”

She gaped at him like a fish tossed on the beach.

“He knows? How on earth did that happen?”

Hershel shrugged and started picking at the dirt under his fingernails.

“I guess it was when Serafina told him.”

“She told him? How do you know?”

“I heard her tell him about it. I went to their area of the dig to check on how our little plan with the boys was progressing.” Hershel looked pointedly at Marsha, just to make sure she knew he was doing his part of the job. “And I found them together.”

“Together? What do you mean together?” She stepped closer, eager to hear any bit of juicy gossip.

“Well, when I got there, he was holding her, and she was crying about her father.”

“Holding her? Holding her how?”

He was confused for a moment. “What do you mean how? His arms were wrapped around her. How else do you hold someone?”

“Think, Hershel. Was he holding her like a friend or like a lover?”

“I don’t know. Is there a difference?”

“Of course there’s a difference,” Marsha grumbled, then shook her head. “And you wonder why we never had any children.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind.” She turned her attention back to the issue at hand. “What happened after he found out? How did he react?”

“I suppose he looked a little pale to me. Maybe even a bit queasy. Of course, she was really carrying on, sobbing all over him. It’s enough to make any man uneasy.”

“Of course you’d think that.” She frowned at him. “Any time I get the least bit emotional, you run and hide.”

“I do not.” Hershel stiffened his spine. “At least not always,” he conceded as his shoulders resumed their normally stooped posture.

Marsha glared at him, calling him a liar without saying a word.

“Well, can you blame me? Once you get started, you sound like an alley cat with its tail caught in the screen door.”

Now it was her turn to get defensive. “I do not sound like a screeching cat.”

“Oh, you’re right, dear. It must be all the real ones in the neighborhood joining in the chorus who make all that racket.”

“Now you’re just being silly. Let’s get back to David and Serafina. What else happened?”

“I don’t know. I left. I didn’t want them to catch me spying on them at such a tender moment.” Hershel raised his bushy grey brows at Marsha, letting her know that he included the last bit of romantic information for her benefit.

He stood to go change out of his dirty work clothes, but stopped just before he left the kitchen. With his hand resting on the doorsill, he turned back to Marsha.

“Oh, yeah. And he kissed her.”

“
What?
” She jumped up, knocking over her chair and sending it clattering on the tile floor. She chased after him down the narrow hallway. “He kissed her?”

“Yes. Almost forgot that part,” he said as he entered their bedroom.

“How could you forget that? It’s the most important part.”

She plopped herself down on her small twin bed and stared across Hershel’s matching one as he stood beside it unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged out of the dirty garment, revealing his thin, boney body in a white undershirt stained yellow under the arms from long, hot days digging at the ruins.

“This is fantastic.” Her eyes took on a dreamy glow. “He kissed her… even after he found out about her tainted background. I was so worried it might be a problem.”