The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Read online

  At every bend, there was a small shrine with a religious statue inside, painted and decorated with flowers and candles. They were picturesque and somehow comforting, like constant reminders that you weren’t alone.

  It only took me twenty minutes to reach the edge of the village, where I passed a church and found my way to the main square. Montevino was picture-perfect. Everywhere I turned it was like being part of an enormous play, where the backdrop was this amazingly theatrical scenery – the small stream dividing the place in two, a stone bridge making the halves one whole place; the old cafés with yummy smells of coffee and freshly baked goods wafting from them; the narrow cobbled streets; and overlooking it all, the Alps. They seemed to be everywhere I turned, standing sentry to the busyness of life in this little corner of the world.

  The moment I stepped onto the cobblestones of the square, my cell phone rang. It was Kirsten; her face appeared instantly.

  “Hi!” I smiled and held the phone with both hands, tucking the documents under my armpit. “So good to speak to you! I’m so sorry, it’s like the Bermuda Triangle here. Phones don’t work where I’ve been staying… and there was a huge storm last night.” A few people threw glances at me, hearing me speak English.

  “Yeah, I was worried! It’s like two in the morning here, but I’m up wondering how you’re doing. So, how are you?” She was in her room – she lived with her parents – and in seeing that place, with the hanging lights behind her and the mountain of teddy bears on her bed, where we’d spent so much time hanging out, I was ambushed by homesickness. I stopped and sat down on a wooden bench, clutching the documents.

  “I wish you could see all of this… wait,” I said, and turned the camera around to give her a mini tour of where I was.

  “Wow! It all looks so… old! Cool!”

  I laughed. “I know!”

  “So… Did you find your family? Did you see the house? Oh my God, show me everything!”

  “Malva… my biological mother… I’ve found out that she passed away, sadly.”

  Her voice grew quieter. “Oh, honey…”

  “Yeah. I know. Her sister – my aunt, I guess – is here, but she’s… fierce… let’s put it that way. As for the house, it’s incredible! I’m going to be staying there. It turns out it’s livable, not abandoned! And get this: there’s a castle right across from me!”

  Kirsten’s eyes got huge. “A castle?”

  “Yes! Very European, isn’t it? The village is in the middle of nowhere! I’ll send pictures as soon as I can.”

  “Is everything all old and beautiful? Is the food amazing?”

  I laughed. “Pretty much everything is ancient, and I haven’t had much chance to enjoy the food yet, but I did try some local liquor, and boy, it’s good!”

  “Liquor?”

  “No, no, no, not that way. I was soaking after the storm, so this guy I met gave me a drink, I was staying at his—”

  “Callie?”

  “It’s not like it sounds,” I said, laughing.

  “I’m sure there’s a plausible explanation for drinking liquor with a guy you just met and staying over at his house,” she said primly.

  “It really wasn’t like that.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Callie…” She tilted her head slightly.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve only been away two days!”

  “There’s something different about you. I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

  I had to change the subject. I was already halfway between elated, because of everything exciting that was happening to me, and distraught because of Flora; I couldn’t deal with more drama. “How are things with you?”

  “You might’ve changed in like two days, but everything is just exactly the same here.”

  “I suppose so. Everything is so surreal for me at the moment. Anyway. I’m meeting the lawyer now to talk more about the house. Hopefully I’ll understand the jargon in Italian. Have to go, you get some sleep.”

  “Okay. Speak soon, girl.”

  “Speak soon. Take care.”

  I touched the red button and the call ended. It was so good to talk to Kirsten, but the call had left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. She had to accept I wanted something better. A true friend would support me, even if she believed I wasn’t doing the right thing. I supposed I had to give her time – everything had happened so fast.

  Lost in thought, I began looking for Studio Tava. It sounded like some hip-hop recording place in downtown San Antonio, instead of a law firm somewhere in deepest Italy. The GPS on my phone guided me across the small stone bridge to the other side of the river. The water was white-green, pure melted ice, and ran furiously fast and foamy. Stone houses were built right on the water, and mossy steps ran from them to the shore. One of them hosted Studio Tava, as announced by a silvery plaque at the door. I rang the bell, and once again in the space of a week, I was soon sitting in a lawyer’s office.

  “Ah, sì, la ragazza dal Texas,” an older, larger-than-life man boomed at me. “My name is Corrado Tava. We got your email. It’s a pleasure meeting the new owner of the Stella house.”

  “Grazie,” I said with a smile.

  “You probably know that Anthony Baird” – his pronunciation of the name threatened to draw a smile out of me, then I remembered how funny my American accent probably sounded to him – “contacted me too, and asked to see all documents you were to sign. He gave his blessing. Did he tell you?”

  “Well, I haven’t read my emails since I arrived.” Right at that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pretty, tiny Italian girl with a pixie cut looking at me from her desk. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes, though: it was vicious.

  I wasn’t having much luck with first impressions here.

  “Why don’t you do it now? Phones work in this particular spot. We are a bit behind here in Montevino!” He laughed. “Sofia, can you bring us a coffee? Coffee, yes?” he added toward me. Sofia, the girl with the scowl, stood with an expression that suggested she would have liked to slip poison in my cup. Maybe she was having a bad day?

  “Thanks, I just had one,” I said.

  “Oh, bene, bene, so you’ll have coffee then.” Of course. Another Italian thing: you cannot refuse coffee. “I have someone in now, but I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Is it okay to wait here for a little while?”

  “No problem,” I replied and took a seat in a small waiting room. The door between the waiting room and the office was open, so I was directly in Sofia’s icy eye line. Great. I quickly checked my emails – yes, Mr. Baird had given me the all-clear with the documents he’d seen. Maybe I had some time to catch up with Elisa. I took the diary out of my cross-body bag and began to read again.

  August 28, 1939

  Caro Diario,

  I’ve chosen to work at Leone’s candy factory. At least it means I can stay home, instead of moving down the plains to the rice fields. I spend all day making candy, stuck in a room with other Montevino girls. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good job. Well paid, and easy, and we get to take lots of candy home, to Pietro’s joy. But I am meant to be a doctor, not a factory worker.

  My first day of work, to add insult to injury, ended with Carlo Caporale waiting for me outside the factory. Word must have gone round that the haughty Stella girl who’d been accepted into university could not go, and he was jumping at the chance.

  “Fancy a vermouth?” he asked in that way of his, like he is the king of the village.

  “No, Carlo, thanks.”

  He jokingly laid a hand on his chest. “Aw, you break my heart.”

  “You’ll pick up the pieces!” I said, laughing.

  “Come on. Give me an hour of your precious time.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I lied out of politeness. “It’s that they’re waiting for me at home.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “’Bye.” I hurried away.

&
nbsp; “What possessed you? Go with him!” The girls who’d come out from the factory with me were bewildered.

  “You’re welcome to him, girls,” I whispered, making sure he couldn’t hear me. But the jolliness was a facade. I didn’t want to show how gutted I was, spending my day making candies and chocolates and nougats when I wanted to be in university. Oh, this makes me sound so spoiled, when Mamma, Zia Costanza and Pietro break their backs on the farm, when Papa makes and repairs tools all day from his wheelchair, until he’s so sore he can only lie down. This is a good job. Stop complaining, Elisa! And get on with it.

  I said my goodbyes and walked away, but one of the girls, Francesca, took me by the arm.

  “Be careful with Carlo,” she said. I shrugged and ignored her. What did she mean? Carlo was no harm. Just a boastful rich boy. I would be polite, of course – nobody deserves to be dismissed – but I would not give anyone the chance to say we were going out together. Even exchanging a vermouth and a chat with a man has a heavy meaning in Montevino, and I can’t have that.

  After a week at the factory, I was so low I would just wake up with tears in my eyes. I was throwing my life away, I knew it. I did what most Montevino people do when they just don’t know where to turn – I went to Don Giuseppe again. I begged him to ask the bishop for financial help, and he did, but nothing came of it. Any surplus funds would be to help the poor, not to send a woman to university.

  It feels like the whole world is against me. Almost like it’s not meant to be, because the obstacles are simply insurmountable. I should give up and move on, but I just can’t. In spite of all my hard work in school, all my achievements, I will never be allowed to be anything more than an unqualified midwife like my mother – this sounds like I’m dismissing her, but it’s not so! The work she does is incredible, but it would be even more incredible if she had knowledge of modern medicine, and more than herbs and poultices to work with. I would take everything she knows, everything she taught me, and take it further. I would do this for her, not just for me! And for my grandmother as well. For the women in our family.

  I went to the High Woods to think and cry all my tears in private, and found refuge in the stone cabin that I’d used as a playhouse all throughout my childhood. It’s the perfect place to think and be alone. There, I could let go of my strong facade, of the pretense I kept for my family so as not to upset them, and for my friends out of pride, and let myself go. I cried so much that I fell asleep there, among the chestnut trees, the woods enveloping me and giving me a little comfort.

  When I woke up, Leo was there.

  I hadn’t seen him since the birthday party, since dancing together. Truth is, we haven’t been seeing each other as often as we used to. Things are a bit awkward between us now. I can’t explain…

  Everything was easy when we were children. We spent almost every afternoon together; he’d come to my house and call me out with our signal. We thought it was a secret between us, but Mamma knew very well, always opening the door first and calling him in for milk and bread before we went out to play. We had this pact that we would marry one day, in a future so comfortably far away that it didn’t worry me then. But now the future is here.

  I awoke to the sound of him whispering my name. He kneeled beside me, and I could see at once that only propriety stopped him from taking me in his arms. I must have looked a tear-stained mess.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, without me having to explain anything. “If I could help, I promise you, I would. Even if…” His voice trailed away. I knew he would have good reason to secretly rejoice if I stayed in Montevino.

  “Thank you, Leo.” Strange – I’ve known him since we were babies, and only now did I notice how long-lashed his eyes were.

  “I know you’re disappointed, but it’ll get better, you know. When my father left and my mother almost seemed to give up on life, it seemed like everything was against me. There would be no way out. Just slaving away day in and day out, simply to survive…”

  I stopped reading for a moment. The words on the page resounded with me to the point that my heart skipped a beat. I’d come so far, across the ocean, to read memories from people who lived decades ago and seemed to echo my own thoughts, and in this case, my memories.

  I was ten years old and sitting on a plastic chair, my legs dancing. I was in a hurry to go home, but I was waiting for my parents; the people who’d brought me here had made it very clear I couldn’t leave. In my hands I held my favorite Italian book, Priscilla, and on the chair beside me sat a brown teddy bear someone had given me the night before. I didn’t want it. I wanted my own toys. I wanted home. Most of all, I wanted my mom and dad.

  I’d been waiting for ages, when a short, plump woman came to sit beside me. She looked nice, but I really didn’t want to talk to her.

  “Honey, my name is Brenda,” she said, and tried to hold my hand, but I held my little fist tight against my chest. Her kind expression didn’t change. All these years later, I still remember the brilliant green of her blazer and the large hoop earrings that twinkled when her head moved. When she spoke, she sounded like she was whispering. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  I eyed her. “I’m okay. Can I go home now?”

  She looked at my anxious, swinging feet. “Well, we’re looking for a nice, comfortable home for you as we speak. Are you hungry?”

  I shook my head. “I want to go home to my mom and dad. Where are they?”

  “Honey—”

  “I’m not honey,” I snapped. “My name is Callie.”

  “Callie. Sorry. Come into my office, okay? We’re going to have a little chat and then guess what? We’ll fix you milk and cookies from our special cupboard.” She threw a glance to a tall, blonde woman who’d materialized at her side. The woman’s eyes were shiny, but I didn’t understand why.

  “I don’t want to go to your office. I don’t like cookies.”

  “Honey…” Brenda began.

  “I said my name is CALLIE!” I shouted and burst into tears.

  That moment I knew I wouldn’t ever be going home. My ten-year-old self understood that Mom and Dad were gone forever, even though I tried to deny it. Images of the smoke, the fear, the cries, a pair of strong arms lifting me up and taking me somewhere I could breathe again – they all told me the truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Brenda wrapped her arms around me. I hid my face in her chest and sobbed. She whispered words into my ear that everything was going to be okay. Except, it was never going to be okay again.

  Here I was now, eleven years later. And, yes, like Leo had said about his own situation… I’d survived. Probably not exactly thrived – but that was my fault, I supposed, with the chronic distrust of life I'd developed.

  “…but then, I began living again. Even if I truly didn’t believe that was possible.”

  I’d held my breath while he was speaking, because Leo rarely talked about himself, and I didn’t want to break the spell.

  He was right.

  And he was wrong.

  Because I will survive and move on, yes, but what I lost will always be there as the reminder of a broken dream.

  “Thank you, Leo,” I said gently. “Really.”

  “I have to be honest with you. It’s good that I can see you more often again. Here at the cabin, or at your house. But if I could choose between this, and seeing you happy, I promise I would choose your happiness. I would choose for you to go to university.”

  That is Leo, generous to a fault. I didn’t know what to say, because I felt he was trying to tell me more than he was actually saying… it was a way of asking me if we could see more of each other now; and I knew he didn’t mean just as friends. “But, maybe, you can find other ways to be happy,” he concluded.

  I knew what he meant. I looked down at my hands, folded in the lap of my cotton dress. I could not reply.

  What a day. The fireflies are dancing outside my bedroom windows, there are so many tonight! Everything is going so fast at the
moment. Life charges on and I feel I’m half a step behind with just about everything.

  Goodnight, Diario,

  Yours, Elisa

  The mention of the fireflies made my heart skip a beat: was she talking about Firefly House? I looked at the diary in wonder. I was sucked into Elisa’s life like it was a novel. How were Elisa and I related? It was strange, to read these words written almost eighty years ago and yet find them so relatable even now. It was as if I’d just lifted the veil of time, and I could see the past unfolding before my eyes. So strange, and yet so simple.

  She’d said that the Stella women were generations of healers. And I was a Stella woman too. A whole new life was forming in my brain, with new thoughts and new possibilities.

  Elisa had been so sure of her life’s purpose and unafraid to follow her path. Perhaps because she’d had someone like Leo in her life. I’d had guys asking me out, but had never said yes. Maybe I just hadn’t given anyone a chance…

  Sofia slammed a cup of coffee in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. “Tell your aunt to stay away from us,” she hissed.

  I looked up at her, gaping. What…? But I didn’t have time to form any words, because Signor Tava called me into the office.

  Still reeling from Sofia’s words, I took the pen the lawyer offered and tried to concentrate as he ran me through proceedings in almost incomprehensibly fast Italian.

  “Am I giving my soul away here?” I asked nervously, as I signed on one dotted line after the next.

  “Italian bureaucracy,” he said cheerily.

  “Oh.”

  Once it was all done, I smiled through Signor Tava’s hearty handshakes and warm welcomes to Montevino. With the deeds to Firefly House clutched tightly to my chest, a sudden, shocking revelation dawned on me. No wonder Flora was so hostile! I’d just told her Malva had left me our family home… I kicked myself for being so insensitive. She’d kept the place so well, year after year – while for some reason not living in it – and then I had arrived out of the blue to take it away.