Free To Find a Mountain by Dani Amore Page A

where the footpath starts near the big yellow boulder. Do you know where that is?”
    I nodded. By now, my brain was fully awake, and I began to wonder if this had anything to do with Papa.
    “Do you know where that is, Benedetta?” Zizi Checcone asked again. I then realized that it was too dark for her to see me nodding yes.
    “I know where it is.”
    “A man will meet you once you start walking up the path. Do what he says—he is risking his life to come and get you.”
    “Did Papa send him? Does this mean he is alive?” Hope had blossomed in my chest.
    “Hush, child! I said I don’t know anything.”
    “What if the Germans see I’m gone?”
    “Colonel Wolff said he would not be back for several days, so you should be safe. If he comes back early, we’ll say you’re at a neighboring village, helping a cousin who is sick.”
    That made sense to me.
    “Be just as careful when you come back,” she said, grabbing me by the shoulders and hugging me. Then she shooed me toward the stairs.
    My mouth felt dry and my heart pounded as I walked down the stairs to the front door and adjusted to the shock of being awakened from a dead sleep to sneak out of the house in order to climb a mountain. I stopped at the hearth and took a quick drink of water, and then I was out the door and into the cool still of the night.
    I walked quickly at first, but then slowed down, realizing that I should look as casual as a girl my age could walking around in the dark at two o’clock in the morning. I doubted there were any Germans out and about at this time of night, but who knew for sure?
    The stars were out and a gentle breeze blew. The booming of the distant guns was going strong.
    I made my way around the village, walking on the outer paths where soldiers returning from the front would not be traveling. My heart started to slow down as my feet fell into an easy rhythm, and I wished that I had stopped to go to the bathroom before I left. A vision came into my mind of my guide and me being caught by the Germans because I had to stop and pee.
    The path narrowed and soon the Marciani house came into view, a low stone structure with a red tiled roof. I passed it quickly as a dog started to bark, and then soon I was beyond it. The path wound its way through trees and thick brush. After several minutes, I realized that I must have missed the entrance to the mountain path marked by the big yellow rock. I backtracked and soon found it. I stood at the path, uncertain. Where was I going? Would I find my father alive or would I have final proof that he was dead? The path into the woods was dark and intimidating. I couldn’t see more than a few feet into it.
    There was only one way to answer any of my questions, and I plunged into the darkness of the path.
    It was a dirt path with large stones sunken deeply and erratically, the kind that make you stub your toe and twist an ankle. The path rose quickly, and I frequently reached out to branches for support, as well as to help pull myself up after a rock tripped me. Soon, though, I fell into an awkward rhythm and my eyes adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see the more well-worn parts of the path with signs of recent use, and I wasn’t stumbling so much. I was even able to pick out small clumps of fresh dirt that signaled the recent presence of a boot.
    As I passed a particularly thick stand of trees, a dark shadow silently emerged and stepped in front of me. It was a man, tall and slender, with a black cap on his head that cast a shadow over his face. I froze, hoping to hear a kind voice.
    “Benedetta Carlesimo?” he asked softly.
    “Yes.” My voice sounded small and weak in the darkness of the forest.
    “Follow me. It will take two hours. Be as quiet as possible.” His voice was so low I couldn’t get any feeling for who he was or if I knew him.
    With that, he started walking.
    We climbed steadily for almost an hour. The trail leveled off at times but always returned to a steep