Free Shadowed by Grace by Cara Putman Page A

many times she told herself that, she still wondered why he hadn’t been even a little interested. Yet he’d sought her out. That had to mean something.
    What did she want?
    To lock her heart away and keep it safe?
    Or a man who would scale the barriers and wariness to penetrate her heart?
    Rachel couldn’t risk meeting someone who would seduce her with an imitation of love. The starkness of her thoughts scared her. She couldn’t live her life with barriers surrounding her heart.
    The room’s door banged open, and Rachel shoved the diary under her pillow. Dottie bounced in, her blonde curls swirling about her pixie face. “You missed the most divine night.”
    “I’m glad you had a good time.”
    “You must come next time. It’s unhealthy to spend so much time cooped up in this small space. You have to get out and do something.”
    “Dancing?”
    “It is exercise.” Dottie’s grin sparked an answering one in Rachel. “And nice to forget for a bit where we are.” She lay back against her pillow. “I always wanted to see Naples. It seemed so romantic.” She propped up on her elbow and wrinkled her nose. “This is not.”
    Rachel stifled a smile. It could be . . . if she spent more time with a certain lieutenant.
    The next morning Rachel roamed the streets of Naples, her camera in hand. The breath of approaching summer filled her as she saw rosebushes pushing to life through a mound of rubble that must have been a home before the battle. She opened her camera and framed the shot. This wasn’t an image her boss would use, but it spoke to her. Somehow in the rose finding the strength to bud, she imagined the Italian people doing the same. Yes, it would take time. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but the country would rebuild.
    After snapping a frame, she moved on. This portion of road stood almost clear of debris. She glanced down occasionally to keep from tripping or falling into a hole. Strains of an opera turned her gaze up. She paused when she noticed a Victrola phonograph standing in the glassless window of a second-story apartment. The building looked intact, if one didn’t need windows. Maybe that’s why the high contralto floated unhindered to Rachel’s ears. A bass undertone vibrated with it. Rachel closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the warmth of the sun as the song played.
    The moment felt touched by grace. Kissed by heaven with the resonance that life would go on. Despite the destruction.
    As the last notes warbled on the air, Rachel opened her eyes and sighed. The warmth of the music penetrated her, and she longed to savor the moment. After raising her Argus C3, she took another photo, trying to capture the contrasting grace of the beautiful phonograph against the broken shards in the window’s corners.
    A woman stepped next to the phonograph. Rachel pointed at the camera, then the woman. The woman frowned then seemed to understand. She posed, one hand resting on the horn of the phonograph, the other on the window ledge. Her solemn gaze never flinched from the camera until Rachel pulled it from her face and smiled. “Grazie.”
    “Certamente.” The woman waved a birdlike hand and then restarted the phonograph.
    Rachel resumed her pace, then turned once when her senses stood at attention. She felt like someone was watching her. She turned to examine the sidewalk for someone, then shrugged and resumed her wandering when she saw no one.
    Since coming to Naples, that’s all she’d done. Like the stories she’d heard in Sunday school of the Israelites. The problem was, she couldn’t afford to wander for forty days, let alone forty years.
    She slowed as she reached a battered stone building. In the States it would qualify as a small church, one that would house a small, tightly connected congregation. As Rachel stood in front of this one, she wondered how many of its faithful lived. Did any remain to worship in its battered facade?
    The ping of something striking stone mixed with voices