Free The Golden Hour by Margaret Wurtele Page A

little by little, someplace you can get to without my help, maybe during the night.”
    We suggested various barns and sheds, buildings at the edges of nearby properties. Every place we thought of had animals nearby or people who couldn’t be trusted. Then Giorgio had a brainstorm. “Remember the old cellar behind the Santinis’? It’s dug into the ground, and there’s a trapdoor. They used to store wine in there, but then they dug the bigger caves. Someone told me he had spent the night there safely a couple of weeks ago.”
    “I remember it,” I said. “Where we used to play hide-and-seek with Luigi, right?”
    “That’s the one. You could get there easily during the week, load the supplies into it, and then we could come whenever it worked for us without disturbing anyone.”
    “And since Saturday is bread-baking day, I could bring the loaves when I come here on Sundays.” Giorgio looked at me kind of quizzically. He went over close to the Fox. They turned their backs to me and talked in low voices so I couldn’t hear them.
    “Okay, Giovanna. We really might need you for messages and special requests, so I’ll keep coming Sundays like this whenever I can, just as long as you know that now and then I might not show up.” He was distracted now, kind of nervous, looking around like they’d stayed too long. “One other thing. You are going to need a special name too. Just in case I need to leave a note or something. What’ll it be?”
    That was something I hadn’t thought about. Maybe a flower, or a famous writer? Maybe an animal or someone in history. Ithought about hunting for supplies and remembered the raptor we had rescued together all those years ago. “The Hawk?”
    Giorgio looked at me, frowned, and shook his head. “I don’t think so, little sister. But you will have to carry messages and cover a lot of ground. We’ll hope this brings peace and call you Columba, the dove.” He kissed me lightly on the forehead, and they took off, the hemp bag slung over the Fox’s shoulder.
    I thumbed my teeth at his retreating figure.
It should have been the Hawk,
I thought.
You’ll see what a hunter I can be.
    On my way home, a shot rang out north of me, echoing in the hills. Maybe it was a cannon or maybe dynamite from one of the bridge mining operations by the river.
Klaus?
When I neared the open fields, I saw a jeep pulled over to the side of the road and German soldiers digging in the potato field. Potatoes weren’t something we ate all that often, but the Germans seemed to love them and raided those crops before anything else.
Rosa,
I suddenly thought.
I’m going to have to take Rosa into my confidence. She’ll have all those basics tucked away, maybe enough to share.
    Rosa had been our kitchen maid for many years. She and her husband, Geppe, raised four children on our land, living in a small apartment in the lower part of the villa. In the years we lived in the city all winter, they would look after the main house. Three of their children were still at home. But the Germans had captured their oldest son, Gigi, only fourteen, in one of their roundups after our surrender to the Allies last September. In fact, German soldiers were still frequently driving through the villages, combing the area for able-bodied boys to send to Germany or northern Italy to work; boys were constantly on the lookout, living in fear of being snatched up. It had been almost ten months since Gigi had disappeared. Rosa was worried sick about him, but she and Geppe stayed on, working faithfully, now forced to wait on the officers living downstairs. She loved Giorgio, and I hoped that, like Catarina, this might give her something positive to focus on.
    Rosa was a tender soul, discreet and unobtrusive, who moved about with the stealth of a furtive rat. A smile rarely graced her lips, and she carried herself like a court aristocrat, her posture proud and correct. Her face was chiseled, its sharp features casting deep shadows that