As Romeo walked down the familiar road, he noticed that from the bend to the house, flat fieldstones had been laid where there had only been dirt. He looked for his silo, the chicken loft, and the springhouse. All were intact. He wondered if his eyes deceived him. Was it a mirage?
The clapboard on the exterior was freshly whitewashed. The porch was swept. Was she here? Had Agnese escaped and made it home? His heart filled with anticipation. Speranza tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed the door open.
The three-room house was as Agnese had left it. Speranza called out for her. He walked to the kitchen. He looked around before opening a drawer. He slid a long kitchen knife up his sleeve. He brushed his hand across the dining table—no dust. He went to the window. A soft breeze ruffled the paisley curtains Agnese had made from fabric she had purchased at the bazaar in Venezia. He walked through the house. The bed was made with a coverlet and feather pillows. The bathroom he had installed indoors as a gift to his wife was scrubbed clean.
Romeo went outside and walked to the back of the house. Across the green field, the breeze carried the sound of laughter and conversation from the one-room guesthouse beyond the springhouse. He walked in the direction of the sound.
Emos the shoeblack was chopping wood by the fence. He looked up. Romeo raised his hand to wave. Emos went into the house from the back.
“No! No! Emos, it’s me,” Speranza shouted.
Emos emerged from the front door with a woman who carried an infant in her arms. Soon a second child around age three followed them out.
Speranza watched them as they crossed the field. While he was busy wasting time in service to the enemy, life on the farm had gone on.
“Signore!” Emos ran to greet his padrone. “Welcome home! We’ve been waiting! Where have you been?”
“Berlin.”
Speranza, who had not said a word or shed one tear when the Americans brought him to Buchenwald to find his wife, began to weep.
“Oh no. No.” Emos motioned to his wife. She took the children and went back inside.
Speranza removed the knife from his sleeve and handed it to Emos, who set it aside. Emos helped Speranza to the edge of the porch to sit.
“It’s true what they did?” Emos asked.
“Signora did not make it out of the camp. She died there.”
Emos’s eyes filled. “She is safe now.”
“I want to be with her,” Speranza wept.
“But you cannot go because you want to,” Emos told him. “Only God can call you.”
Emos’s wife emerged with a cup of water and handed it to Speranza.
“This is Eva. She worked as a servant for the Andamandre family until we married.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked Speranza. “I will bring your dinner to your house. You may eat it there and rest.”
“Thank you. I would like that,” Speranza said to her. “Emos, how did you do it? How did you save the farm?”
“The Blackshirts never came up the road. Once, they looked at the place from the field, but for whatever reason, they turned back. Eva believes the farm is blessed.”
“It’s a small farm. That’s all. My lack of ambition before the war kept them away. There wasn’t enough here for them.”
“They did terrible things to the Fontazza family. And that way, over the mountain, they murdered the people in the village. There was no plan. The evil drifted around us.”
Emos led Speranza to the springhouse. The shallow, indoor pond was hemmed in fieldstone and filled with cold water from an outdoor spring. In the dark, the surface of the water appeared black. Emos removed a stone from the floor near the wall. He pulled a sack out of the hole and handed it to Speranza.
“There are dollars and lire and drachmas. And a pearl. I sell the eggs and save the money for you.”
Speranza found the pearl among the coins. He rolled it between his fingers and held it up to the sliver of light from the half-open door.
“I was told it was valuable,” Emos offered.
“It’s not.”
Emos smiled.
For the first time in a long time, Speranza smiled too. “It’s all yours, Emos.” Speranza gave Emos the sack.
“No, this is the rent. I have lived here for seven years.”
“You took care of the farm.”
“We have all we need. Food. A house. A garden. Our children.”
“A man with children always needs money.”
“I will hold it for you. The bank in the springhouse,” Emos promised. “We will take care of you now.”