Free To Find a Mountain by Dani Amore

letter. A bead of perspiration trickled down the glass and darkened a circle onto the paper.
    “Have you ever been in love?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Never been a boy who has caught your eye?”
    “I work so hard. I don’t see many.”
    “That is a shame. You are a beautiful girl. You have the kind of beauty that is timeless. Eternal. If I were a young man . . .”
    I felt his eyes on me, a hungry look on his face. He quickly looked away and his body relaxed. Whatever thought he had, brief as it was, had left.
    “But I am not a young man,” he finished, then proceeded to drink three glasses of wine. On the fourth glass, he tipped his head back to take in the drink, and he fell backward—Colonel Wolff, the chair, and the wine all crashed in a heap. His glass flew out of his hand and landed behind his head, shattering and spilling wine. As he fell backward, his boot caught the edge of the table and lifted it briefly off the ground, causing the bottle to tip over and roll off the table, where it smashed and sprayed glass in a shower onto the floor.
    He struggled to stand up, his face red from the fall, the humiliation, or, more likely, both.
    “Are you all right, Colonel Wolff?” I asked, rushing to him, helping him stand up, where he swayed like a sapling blowing in the wind. His arm rested heavily on my shoulder and I put my arm around his waist.
    “You didn’t tell me the wine was this strong!” he said, then burst into laughter.
    “We make it strong,” I said. “That way we don’t have to drink as much, and it lasts longer.”
    “That’s the second thing tonight that knocked me over,” he said, gesturing toward the letter. He reached for the paper and crumpled it up, walked unsteadily to the fireplace, and threw it in among the logs, where it shriveled and blackened.
    “Good night,” he said, bowing formally at the waist. “It was a wonderful evening. Love, betrayal, and humor. What more could a young girl ask for?”
    Lots of things , I thought to myself. But instead, I wished him a good night.
    As he trudged toward the stairs, I swept up the glass, the bright pieces twinkling at me. Yet another delicate object smashed by the heavy hands of the Germanesí.
    There was no doubt in my mind now.
    The Germans were going to lose the war.

P ART TWO

C HAPTER SIXTEEN

    December 1944
    T he hand was clamped tightly over my mouth, tearing me from a dream in which I had run from the Germans and was now hiding in the abandoned chicken coop with the pig, which was trying to eat me. I tried to sit up, but was firmly pushed down. My eyes flew open and I half-expected to see before me the grinning leer of Schlemmer, his eyes watery and mad, wearing the same expression he wore when he killed our pigs in the front yard.
    Instead, I saw the alarmed but always kind eyes of Zizi Checcone.
    “Shhh!” Her brow was furrowed in concentration, willing me to wake up fully. My body relaxed and she slowly took her hand from my mouth. There was a faint taste, or scent, of tomatoes lingering on my lips.
    When she saw that I was alert, she helped me sit up.
    “What? What?” I said.
    “You must get dressed quickly,” she whispered.
    “Why?” I said, louder than I intended, and was shushed again, but I barely noticed as I searched frantically for my shoes.
    “You’re going to the mountain.”
    “What mountain?” I asked stupidly.
    Zizi Checcone rolled her eyes toward the heavens, then pulled a dress over my head. I pushed my arms through the sleeves automatically. It had been a long time since someone had dressed me like this.
    “Why?” I tried again.
    “I don’t know,” she answered. “All I know is that you are to go tonight.”
    I pulled a heavy sweater over my dress, then tied my hair back behind my head.
    “Don’t ask questions and speak only when spoken to,” she said. “You are to walk quickly to the south end of the village, past the church and past the Marciani house. Go to the right side of the road