Isabelle
A novel by Paul Delgado
Vallinfreda, Italy, 1943
A courageous and resourceful young girl, Isabelle, helps a downed RAF pilot, Captain Mark Llewelyn hide from the German forces occupying her mountain village. Risking her own life and facing terrifying hardship, she decides to lead Capt. Llewelyn past the German lines to the safety of Italian resistance fighters many miles away. Isabelle is a story of courage and fearless defiance in the face of almost insurmountable odds.
Chapter One
October 8th, 1943
RAF Headquarters
638th Reconnaissance Squadron
Foggia, Italy
Captain Mark Llewelyn took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a steady plume of blue smoke into the cool autumn air. Despite the mild evening temperature and being warmly dressed in a sheepskin flight suit, he felt a chill run through his body. It was approaching 2200 hours and the pilots were beginning to make their way to the squadron command bunker for their nightly briefing.
As he looked out at the airfield from atop the wooden steps of the officers’ mess, his wingman Lt. Liam McCloskey, a good natured and athletic kid from Belfast walked up grinning broadly.
“What’s up Liam…you seem quite pleased with yourself”.…asked Llewelyn
“Met a lovely bird in town last night…she was ”bellissima!”.
“I think I might be in love”
Llewelyn replied with a hint of sarcasm as he lit up another cigarette….”Careful there Liam, before you know it you’ll leave a trail of broken hearts from here to Ulster”.
Liam replied …”No worries Mark“
“By the way they say smokes will kill you mate” he said as he reached for one of Mark’s favorite Dunhill Extras…“Don’t mind if I do”….McCloskey laughed.
Mark chuckled and smoked in silence as the rest of the pilots began making their way toward the briefing room.
Quietly extinguishing their cigarettes, they followed a dimly lit trail toward a seagrass covered concrete bunker which served as the squadron command center. As the men walked along the narrow path, tall cypress trees cast moonlit shadows on the white limestone gravel and sorely reminded Mark of his Cheltenham home.
“Seems like a lifetime ago” he thought as a light breeze stirred the silver tipped pines.
When they reached the command center, steel eyed sentries standing post opened the large iron blast doors securing the bunker entrance and allowed the men into the briefing room which was bathed in a low red light.
When all crewmembers were inside, the doors were closed and the overhead lighting system slowly came to life allowing the men time to adjust their eyes to the increasing incandescent brightness.
Circular fans on the bunker roof rattled noisily as Mark and Liam found two empty folding chairs side by side and sat down awaiting the arrival of the senior officers.
Liam coughed and muttered……”I bloody hate smoke filled rooms!”
Mark laughed and smiled at his wingman.
“Easy on mate…”You’ll survive”
To Mark, the room’s bare concrete walls and overhead lamp lights always conveyed a sense of foreboding.
How many briefings had he sat through? “Feels like too many” he thought.
Looking up, Mark found himself staring at the photos of squadron mates who never made it back. Their faces and friendships were indelibly engraved in his mind. But now they were just black and white images set above a cast iron stove ominously reminding him of the life and death game he played every night.
Tonight’s mission would be his twenty third. Only two more and he would rotate home to RAF Duxford and be wonderfully closer to his home in the pastoral countryside of Cheltenham.
“I’m looking forward to that” he thought.” Yet a deep sadness filled him as he imagined his homecoming. “I guess I’m just not looking forward to seeing the old man”.
His father, Commodore Miles Llewelyn, Retired, was a pretentious snob. Commodore Llewelyn was not pleased Mark had joined the RAF. He would have rather preferred his son had joined the Royal Navy as was family tradition and left aerial fighting to the other chaps. Commodore Llewelyn always thought Fly boys to be reckless, common and arrogant.
Mark lit up another Dunhill and shrugged off the image and returned his attention to the upcoming briefing.
A large map of the Italian southern sector covered the wall behind a podium where “management” identified nightly targets and issued mission assignments.
Members of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, or WAAF’s for short, dressed in their blue grey uniforms busily positioned markers on the map while the communication team hurriedly rushed in and out relaying information on the latest enemy movements.
Mark, thought to himself as he waited, “Only two more missions”.
At precisely 2200 Hours, Squadron Commander, Col. Sir Alan Mills strode into the smoke-filled room and the pilots jumped to attention.
“At ease men”
“Please feel free to smoke.”
The men let out a laugh and quickly sat back down, their mood turning deadly serious as all eyes locked on the Colonel.
“Gents…Tonight’s mission will take us further north than we have previously flown.”
“The German 10th Army is setting up a defensive perimeter around Rome and has drawn a line in the sand.
“Monty’s 8th attacking up the southeast coast from Bari and the American 5th is advancing from Salerno. If successful, this pincer strategy should decisively crush the German defensive line and send them packing”.
The room erupted with shouts and applause as the 638th was almost entirely due for their rotation home. “The sooner the better.” thought Mark, as the room quieted down.
The colonel continued on crisply, “Men, we have received credible intelligence from our contacts in the Italian Resistance that a German mechanized infantry division is amassing outside Rome along the SR5 corridor.
“We need to locate them…and locate them immediately.”
“The intel we gather from tonight’s mission will be essential to breaking Jerry’s back and we need to gather it tonight.”
“LLewelyn and McCloskey, you have the SR5 highway mountain pass directly below Vallinfreda”.
“Get some good photos. It’s a clear night with ideal flying conditions and it should go smoothly.”
Liam leaned over to Mark and whispered: “Except for the German Luftwaffe”.
After assigning missions to all crews, Col. Mills ended the briefing as he always did.
“Good hunting lads.”
“Everybody comes home.”
The men were dismissed and the sound of screeching chairs on the concrete floor and loud chatter filled the briefing room. The crews filed out of the bunker and quickly jumped aboard transport lorries waiting to take them to their aircraft.
“What do you think Mark?” asked Liam as they rode out to the flight line.
“Should be routine…but… I’m not one to count my chickens as such.”
“Only two more to go and then it’s home for both of us”.
“Touch wood.”
Liam laughed, “The last mile is always the longest mate”.
Mark smirked as he replied, “Let’s get airborne…it’s business as usual.”
Business as usual he thought…just business as usual….
As they jumped off the green camouflaged transports onto the tarmac, their Spitfire Supermarines were eerily illuminated under the October full moon. Ground crews were performing final mechanical checks and loading .50 calibre ammunition belts into the wing gun magazines as the pilots began their pre-flight checks.
It was now 2300 hours and Capt. Llewelyn approached his aircraft, stopping for a moment to affectionately pat the grey camouflaged wing and quietly whispered “Get us home girl.”
Just then, Sgt. Bill Blackburn, his chief mechanic ran up to him. Bill’s face was smudged with grease and his eyes though exhausted, still sparkled with youth.
Endless hours repairing battered birds after they miraculously returned home in the morning only strengthened the determination of the twenty-year-old Yorkshire mechanic to ready them for flight every night.
As Llewelyn climbed up the portable steel step ladder on to the wing, the Sgt. shouted, “You’re good to go Sir!”
“Thanks Billy….Getting any sleep these days?” asked Llewelyn from the cockpit as he strapped himself in.
Standing on the tarmac, Billy laughed as he shook his head from side to side.
As Mark started to close the canopy… his mechanic offered a caution, “Keep an eye on the oil pressure Sir,”
“There were a few leaks, but I fixed ‘em… they ‘owt be right now”.
“Thanks Billy…that’s reassuring.” Mark called back sarcastically.
As Llewelyn completed his pre-flight checklist, he looked across at Liam and gave a thumbs up. The ground crew directed them to the active runway to await takeoff clearance from the tower.
As they turned onto the runway threshold, Mark watched Liam take his position to the left rear and was glad he had the Belfast lad as his wingman….none more courageous….and none a better friend.
Watching the field tower, a green light began flashing, signaling the pilots it was their turn to depart. Pushing their throttles forward, the Spitfires’ 1270 Hp Rolls Royce power plants roared to life. Barreling down the runway in tandem at 120 knots, the aircraft effortlessly lifted off into the moonlight.
After retracting the landing gear, the pair maintained radio silence as they climbed out over the rocky Foggia coastline toward the night’s designated target area.
As they reached their cruising altitude of 20,000 feet, Llewelyn set a heading of 280 degrees northwest, which would take them on a direct path over the Molise province from which the Germans had retreated. From there, they would fly over the mountainous Abruzzo region and begin their mission. If all went well, the total flight time would be four hours.
“Four hours…feels like an eternity sometimes” thought Llewelyn as he adjusted the strap on his oxygen mask and scanned the sky for enemy fighters. “No sign of Jerry aloft….that’s odd…But I’m not going jinx it”. Anyways, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he thought….“the bastards might get me….but not today”.
As they approached the SR5 corridor twenty kilometers from Vallinfreda, Llewelyn broke radio silence and instructed his wingman to follow him and descend to 10,000 Ft.
“Liam, we’ll drop in low and fast…. make a camera run, take our photos and bugger out before Jerry realizes what we’re up to”.
“Follow me in.”
“Roger that,” replied McCloskey as he tightened the straps of his harness.
Dropping the nose slightly and with Liam pulling up three meters from his left tail, the twin aircraft descended as one into the mountain valley below.
As they leveled out and looked below, they spotted a German motorized column stretching for at least five kilometers along the SR5 highway.
“Looks like we hit the Jackpot” radioed Liam.
“An entire mechanized infantry division is on the move!”
With cameras whirring, they made a highspeed pass at 300 knots over the column and then started their climb back to 20,000 feet.
As they climbed out of the steep valley, Liam exclaimed “Well that was bog standard!”
“Not too bad……Let’s head home”…..Mark grunted with quiet urgency.
As they climbed through 10,000 feet, the hair on the back of Llewelyn’s neck began to stand on end. Something was wrong. His aircraft was behaving strangely…An odd vibration shook the airframe and the engine seemed to be losing thrust.
Llewelyn retrieved a small flashlight from a zippered pocket of his flight suit and quickly scanned his instrument panel and found his oil pressure falling into the yellow caution zone.
“Liam, I’m losing oil pressure… I should be able to make it back to Foggia if it doesn’t get any worse”.
“Roger that, Keep the faith mate” replied McCloskey.
Both planes continued their climb when Llewelyn radioed.
“Oil pressure not good……I’m in the red now and losing power…..Can’t maintain this rate of climb….We’ll need to level out”.
“Roger that….I’m right with you” replied McCloskey as he tucked his Spitfire directly below Llewelyn’s left wing.
“Look me over” shouted Mark
Liam replied…”You’re smoking Mark and l don’t mean Dunhills!”
At that moment, Llewelyn’s engine began to sputter and smoke seeped into the cockpit from behind the firewall.
“Liam…..I’m on fire….Smoke’s filling the cockpit…..Bailing out”
Looking down, Liam spotted the small medieval town of Vallinfreda sitting on a mountain peak directly below.
“Bloody hell…the area is crawling with Jerry!” shouted Liam.
“I’m staying with you!”
“Get your Irish arse home”…. Shouted Mark over the intercom.
“Watch yourself mate”…. Liam replied as his stomach knotted up. Peeling away and climbing rapidly out of the valley, he set his radial on a course 100 degrees southeast back to Foggia.
“Bloody hell” McCloskey radioed…”Should have been both of us”
“Godspeed Mark”
“See you in Duxford!” Mark called back, hoping it was more of a promise than a prayer.
Llewelyn’s Spitfire suddenly began to shudder violently and was unresponsive to his command over the spade-stick. He pushed back the plexiglass canopy and a blast of frigid night air engulfed him as he frantically unstrapped himself from his harness. Climbing out of the cockpit, he quickly glanced down at the rugged terrain below and jumped into the darkness.
Chapter Two
October 9th, 1943
Vallinfreda, Italy
The late afternoon sun cast long purple shadows over the small medieval town of Vallinfreda, as Isabelle Bernardini rode her bicycle home from school with her best friend Patrizio. The birch trees were beginning to turn brilliant shades of amber, yellow and gold, while the crisp autumn air was pleasantly cool.
Fourth grade was turning out be more fun than she ever imagined and both she and Patrizio laughed as they recounted the day’s events in class with Professore Monti.
To Isabelle, he was ancient and bumbling, but kindhearted, and he told the best stories of adventure and travel to far off lands.
“Someday Patrizio” Isabelle said as they bumped and rattled along the cobblestone streets….”I will go on an adventure and visit magical and mysterious places. “ I will be the brave heroine and Patrizio you will be the brave hero”.
They both laughed as they peddled up the street dreaming of colorful exotic lands filled with strange and wonderful animals. As they passed a small Pastisseria, they waved at Signora Rosetti who was busy sweeping the sidewalk in front of her small store.
Ciao Signora! They shouted as they rode past her small pastry shop.
Ciao bambini! she shouted…Saluti a tutti famiglia!
Grazie Signora!
Rounding the corner on to the main street, they braked quickly, as they came upon a military roadblock and checkpoint manned by the German soldiers who now occupied the town.
Isabelle and Patrizio had to pass this way everyday on the way home from school. Today the sinister corporal with the small scar near his left eye was on duty. He frightened Isabelle, but Patrizio was with her and she felt safe. Patrizio was tall for his age and most people thought he was much older than he was.
After peering into their small canvas rucksacks the guards pulled back the barbed wire barrier and the children were allowed to go on their way.
Isabelle and Patrizio pedaled as hard as they could as they left the checkpoint.
“I hate the Germans.” Said Isabelle
“Me too” said Patrizio
“I wish they would just go home.”
“Me too…But the Mayor is fascista, a “black shirt” and is happy they are here”.
As they came to the town square, they parted ways…Patrizio climbed the steps to his family’s appartamento and waved good-bye to Isabelle as he walked through the front door.
Isabelle turned the corner to begin her ride up the hill when she spotted Armando, the mayor’s son kicking a soccer ball around with his friends. She was anxious to get home to help her grandmother make her favorite ravioli de zucca and being waylaid by Armando and his pals was the last thing she needed. “Ugh, first the Germans and now Armando,” thought Isabelle.
Armando was thirteen, mean spirited and spoiled. His friends, Romano and Nino, were his toadies and did everything Armando told them to do.
Armando was obsessed with Isabelle. It wasn’t so much that he liked her, but more of a jealous fascination. Everyone loved Isabelle. She was kind to everyone. She would spend time in the afternoons playing Briscola with her Grandfather and his friends in the village piazza. Even Signora Rosetti was under her spell, giving her samples of her freshly baked biscotti. He was jealous of her popularity and it drove him crazy that she wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, she hung out with that beanpole Patrizio.
As she peddled up the hill to the home where she lived with her grandparents, Armando jumped in front of her and grabbed the handlebars of her bicycle. Causing Isabelle to scrape her shin on the one of the peddles.
“Ciao Isabella…where are you going…a dove vai? Are you going to visit your wrinkled old pensionati in the square?”
“Let me go Armando, please leave me alone.”
“Why don’t you want play with us? Or are we not old enough for you?”
Romano and Nino, bent over and began imitating old men walking with sticks. They were just as mean as Armando and if possible, even more dumb.
As Isabelle struggled to wrestle her bicycle away from Armando’s grip, the postman, Signore Lamberto walked by and seeing Isabelle being bothered by the village bullies said “Ciao bella…Como estai?”
“Bene Signore Lamberto…I’m just on my way home as she glared at Armando!
“Isabelle would you be so kind as to take these letters to your grandmother…It will save me many steps!”
“I will be happy to Signore!”
As Isabelle took the letters from the postman, she freed her bicycle from Armando and rode off peddling as hard as she could up the steep incline to her home.
Once inside, she heard the sound of her Nonna singing in the kitchen.
“Ciao Nonna I’m home and ran to embrace her grandmother who was preparing dinner.
“Go wash your hands and then come and tell me all about your day.”
“It was wonderful Nonna.”
“Did you know that the rajas in India ran the silk road caravans!”
“Someday Patrizio and I will go on a great adventure to a far away land and ride elephants!”
Nonna laughed and held her grand daughter close
“Bambina…You have such a beautiful imagination!”
“I hope someday all your dreams come true.”
“But now let’s start dinner.”
“Your grandfather will be home soon.”
Chapter Three
October 9th, 1943
“Probably best to make my way down the mountain and get as far away from here as possible before Jerry wakes up.” Thought Llewelyn as he took stock of his situation.
After crashing amongst the pines in his parachute the night before, Llewelyn had cut himself out of his harness and fallen eight feet to the ground spraining his ankle.
Unable to retrieve the parachute as it was snagged among the branches high above, he hobbled away as fast as possible along a narrow rocky path strewn with pine needles until coming upon an old cemetery containing rows of mausoleums of every shape and size.
In the early morning moonlight, it had the appearance of an abandoned city made of marble.
As he staggered amongst the moss-covered monoliths, he finally stopped and could walk no further. Before him was a large family tomb beautifully carved of travertine marble.
“Surely the Germans spotted my downed plane and have sent out search parties.”
“I’ll need to need hide until I can formulate a plan.” He thought rapidly as he caught his breath.
Hoping no one would think to look for him here and pausing a moment to gather his strength, he climbed the few steps leading up to the crypt.
Pushing open the fragile wrought iron door and flicking his zippo lighter, the flame illuminated the vault revealing smooth white marble walls. Each wall containing the generations of family remains.
Slowly he scanned the names on the tomb… Bernardini…until the most recent inhabitants revealed themselves, Antonio and Maria, 1883. Husband and wife were laid to rest together. Mark had hoped he would eventually be buried next to his bride one day, many years from now. Fifty at least if he was lucky.
Thoroughly exhausted, Mark found a space on the cold marble floor next to a small shrine and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
A few hours later he awoke to the sound of gardeners busily cutting back bushes and noisily chatting with each other. He was momentarily disoriented as to where he was. Then remembered the engine fire forcing him to bail out of his aircraft.
Having slept and with a somewhat clearer head, it was time to reassess his situation.
“What to do now?” thought Llewelyn,
Thirsty and hungry, he stood up to see if he could spot the gardeners, but not before the searing pain from his ankle shot through him like fire and he fell back against the cool marble walls. The pain caused him to sharply inhale and realize his sprained ankle wasn’t his only handicap; he had broken at least a few ribs on his right side.
Looking about him, Mark realized how well maintained the family tomb had been kept and there were fresh candles and flowers. “There must be access to a faucet nearby” he thought.
“I’m not going to get far with a buggered ankle, though. Best wait for the gardeners to finish before going in search of water.”
Chapter Four
Vallinfreda, Italy
October 9th 1943
Hauptman Jurgen Wolf, Commanding Officer of the German 1st Mountain Brigade, sipped his espresso and nibbled on a delicious Biscotti outside Pastisseria Rosetti in the early morning light. The small town was just coming to life and it was the time of the day he enjoyed most before the madness of war became his daily reality.
If not for the misguided ambition of “Der Fuhrer” and that pompous fool Mussolini, he would be home in Freiburg with his son Mathias fishing for trout in the Black forest.
His beautiful wife Heike would be preparing a wonderful lunch and his daughter Ana would be practicing piano. But that was long go.
Hopefully, I will return someday, but I fear things are not going to end well, he thought as he set down his small cup. The Americans and British are advancing with great strength toward Rome and the future is not clear, in fact it is bleak.
The previous week, Wolf received a worrying letter from Heike telling him the factories near Stuttgart had been bombed. She was glad that she and the children were safe in Freiburg, but the constant sound of Allied aircraft flying overhead night and day terrified her.
Lighting a cigarette, Wolf put the thought of his family aside and returned his concentration to the military business at hand.
Only a few hours before, he had been abruptly awakened at 3:00 AM by his adjutant, Lt. Klaus Schertel, informing him that a Spitfire had crashed approximately three kilometers from the town. There was no sign of the pilot, so it must be assumed he was alive.
Finishing his espresso, he decided he would dispatch additional patrols to scour the area. The pilot is probably dead thought Wolf, but nonetheless it would be best to verify. Putting down his cup, he thanked Signora Rosetti, the shop’s proprietor, but despite her polite demeanor he knew he was not welcome.
After walking a short distance up the worn cobblestone street, he entered a two-story building facing the piazza. A large red flag with a black swastika emblazoned on a white background rustled menacingly in the morning breeze. The building had served as the town hall for centuries before it was converted to his headquarters this summer.
As he stepped onto the colorful tile flooring, Hauptman Wolf looked up with disdain at the portrait of the corpulent and obese Sindaco Massimo, the Mayor of Vallinfreda.
His corruption was well known to all, but Massimo was a sympathizer and would have to be tolerated for the moment.
“I will deal with him when the time comes”, thought Wolf as he adjusted his reading glasses and reached for the top sheaf on a mountain of administrative documents.
A few moments later, his adjutant knocked quietly on his door.
“Kommen”
Lt. Schertel entered the room and reported in his usual efficient and competent manner… “Sir, a patrol has found the Spitfire wreckage but there is no sign of the pilot. He most likely bailed out or perhaps his body was thrown out during the crash.”
“Keep looking Klaus”, replied Wolf as he exhaled with frustration at the stack of superfluous documents requiring his signature.
“I’m an infantry officer!” Wolf exclaimed “and these idiots at HQ have made me a clerk!”
His longtime adjutant and confidant chuckled.
“Listen to you”…Schertel replied.....”You have it easy now.…It’s better than trudging around in the mud all night… Ja? Or even still, you could be leading a platoon on the Eastern Front.”
Wolf laughed and replied sarcastically “I can’t believe I have tolerated your insolence all these years Klaus!”
“Now go capture that British pilot or at least bring back his body.”
Chapter Five
October 10th
Vallinfreda
Wearing her favorite Sunday dress, Isabelle knocked on the door of her friend Patrizio’s apartment. She had a basket of flowers in her hand and a modest lunch of cheese and fruit in her knapsack. Her neatly braided hair was golden in the morning sun.
Today she and Patrizio would go to the cemetery to tend to his grandparents’ graves.
Every Sunday after Mass, the families of Vallinfreda would attend to their family crypts, but yesterday, Patrizio’s parents received a call informing them that his uncle Mauro had become gravely ill.
As his parents left to take the bus to Roma, they asked Patrizio to make sure the family crypt would be tidied and replace the wilted flowers in the vases.
“Si...Papa…replied Patrizio…Isabelle and I will take flowers and take care of the tomb.”
“Saluti a Zio Mauro.”
Patrizio opened the weathered wooden door of his family’s apartment. He was dressed in a hand-me-down grey suit and thin black tie. The waist of his trousers still fit; however, he had grown two inches over the summer and the trouser legs were now too short with no extra material left to let out the hem. He had polished his well-worn shoes as best he could and hoped they still had a few more months left in them.
“Ciao Isabelle!”
“Andiamo!”
Isabelle loved the time she spent with Patrizio. He was her best friend and there was nothing they wouldn’t do for each other or any secret they wouldn’t share.
Climbing onto their bicycles they rode past the little church of San Michele Arcangelo toward the cemetery…Mass had ended and Padre Marino was standing on the little patio in front of the church. He waved at the children as they passed and shouted affectionately…”Attento!”
As they wound their way down the steep mountain road, they braked at the wooden statue of Santo Giuseppe, the patron Saint of Vallinfreda, which overlooked the valley. Reaching into her rucksack for a small bottle of water, she took a sip while Patrizio stretched his back…After blessing themselves and leaving flowers at the little shrine for their families, they rumbled down the small path to the ancient cemetery nestled amongst the pines.
Reaching their destination, they jumped off their bikes at the old stone fountain and refreshed themselves with the cold spring water that flowed from the brass spigot.
Running ahead toward his family crypt, Patrizio shouted
“I will sweep….then we’ll have lunch…I’m hungry!… We can place flowers in the vase later and then go home.”
“Bene!” Isabelle shouted as she lay a small woven blanket on the lush grass that covered the ground. While unpacking the lunch her grandmother had prepared, she heard Patrizio shouting…..“Isabelle…I can’t find the broom…It’s always here…Maybe one of the gardeners used it”
Isabelle shouted back…”Don’t worry…I’ll go to my family’s and we can use ours!”
She made her way through the graveyard monuments until she came upon her family’s tomb. She pushed open the rusted iron gate open and entered the Bernardini family crypt. She was greeted by the fragrant smell of candle wax and roses her grandmother had left a few days before.
Her great-grandparents and even her great-great grandparents were interred here and she was always happy when her grandmother asked her to accompany her to pay her respects. She enjoyed tidying up the house of her ancestors.
Quickly glancing in the direction of the small altar, she made the sign of the cross before looking around the crypt for the broom. When she turned to face the corner near the statue of the Blessed Mother, she heard a moaning sound.
Terrified, she looked back toward the altar and in the dim light she saw a man propped up against the mausoleum wall.
He was dressed in leather sheepskins and was visibly hurt.
“Help me. Please….I’m very thirsty.”
“My name is Captain Mark Llewelyn. I am a British pilot in the Royal Air Force and I am hurt.”
“Please stay quiet”...she whispered…. I will help you… I will fetch you some water.”
Quickly glancing about, Isabelle spotted the small broom in the corner of the mausoleum and snatched it up. “I will be back.”
Breathlessly Isabelle ran over to the Rinaldi family tomb. She found Patrizio picking out long twigs of pine that had blown into the wire mesh of the crypt door. “Grazie. What took you so long?” Asked Patrizio.
“Nothing, I was just lost in thought.”
“Ok, well it won’t take me long. Meet you in a minute for our picnic.”
Isabelle ran back to the picnic blanket and snatched up her rucksack. She raced to the fountain and filled her small glass bottle with water and quickly returned to the man in the crypt.
As he brought the bottle to his lips, she asked…..”What are you doing here?”
“My plane had engine trouble and I had to bail out.”
He took several gulps before asking, “Who are you little one?”
I am Isabelle.
Chapter Six
October 10th, 1943
Jurgen Wolf rubbed his eyes, fatigued from a long day at his desk dealing with the mundane administrative duties assigned to him by 10th Army command.
“This is not how I envisioned serving my country,” he thought, tossing aside his pen.
Putting down his reading glasses and leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and dreamed of his beautiful wife Heike, with her smooth blonde hair and green cat-like eyes. He thought of his children Mathias and Ana and wondered how much they would have changed by the time the war was over and he was finally able to return home. If he returned home.
For a brief moment the war seemed far away as he savored the memory of his family.
“Someday Heike,” he thought “Someday.”
Suddenly the roaring sound of motorcycles and staff cars jolted him from his reverie.
Looking through his office window at the Piazza, Wolf was filled with dread when he saw the feared regional Gestapo commander, Colonel Roland Stresser stepping from car. He was surrounded by his elite and deadly squad of zealots and heading toward the operations command.
Wolf rose slowly from his desk and stood at attention, bracing himself for a most unpleasant visit.
He adjusted the Iron Cross around his neck and smoothed the creases from his tunic from where he had been sitting. Straightening the campaign battle ribbons on his chest, he drew a deep breath to calm and center himself. A few moments later, the door to his office burst open and the Gestapo commander strode in.
“Heil Hitler!” barked Stresser as he raised a stiff-armed salute.
Wolf returned the salute in the traditional military way.
“You do not salute the Fuhrer?” remarked Stresser. “This will be noted!”
Wolf met the diminutive Gestapo Commander’s threat with an unflinching and silent stare.
To Wolf, Stresser was a cruel and sad reminder of what his country had become. He hated the Nazis and everything they stood for. He was a professional soldier who had sworn his allegiance to the Fatherland. He futilely hoped that someday reason would replace the frenzied madness that had swept the nation.
“There have been reports that an Allied Reconnaissance aircraft has crashed in the area. There is no sign of the pilot.” said Stresser as he slowly paced about the small office.
Momentarily he stopped and stared at the photo of Wolf’s family upon the desk, and slowly questioned…
” What are you doing about it Wolf?…Where is the pilot?…I understand the camera is missing…did you know that?”
Summoning every ounce of restraint to keep himself from jumping over the desk and strangling the pale little man….Wolf calmly replied… “I have ordered the mobilization of additional patrols.”
“Find him now!” snarled Stresser.
“Ja vol…Herr Colonel.” Wolf replied wearily.
Abruptly turning on his heels the Colonel strode out of the office and the sound of his boots echoed down the hallway and down the steps to his waiting staff car. He slammed the car door shut and left with the same fury as he arrived.
Wolf breathed a sigh of relief as the roaring sounds of the motorcade faded into the distance.
A moment later, Lt. Schertel quietly tapped on the office door and entered offering an open package of cigarettes.
“Nein, danke Klaus.”
“What have we become?” he quietly remarked to his adjutant as he sank into the leather of his well-worn chair.
And with a hint of despair, he whispered “I fear we will never see our families again.”
Chapter Seven
Patrizio was intently sweeping the fallen leaves and broken twigs that had blown into the family crypt. He had already removed the wilted flowers in the tiny vase that sat beside his grandmother Aurelia’s tomb. “Isabelle…. I’m almost finished … Ho fame! I’m hungry!” Patrizio called out from his family’s crypt in the distance. It seemed he was always hungry these days.
Leaning against the marble walls of the Bernadini family tomb for support, Mark went rigid with panic, “Who is here with you?”
“Oh, that’s just my friend Patrizio.” replied Isabelle dismissively.
“You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t have time.” I gave him the broom and I came right back.”
“Isabelle, listen to me very carefully. You cannot tell anyone I am here. Not your parents, not your friends, and not Patrizio. No one must know that you have found me.”
Isabelle looked painfully confused. “But Patrizio is my best friend. We tell each other everything. We do not keep secrets from each other.”
“Isabelle, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.”
“Capitano Magellan,” started Isabelle.
“Llewelyn.” Mark cut in.
“Capitano Loo…Loo..” sputtered Isabelle
Exhausted, Mark conceded, “Look, just call me Mark, or Capitan Mark if you want.”
Indignantly Isabelle lifted her chin. “I shall call you Capitano Mark and I understand lots of things and I know Patrizio will keep your secret.”
Changing tack, Mark asked, “Have you heard of La Resistenza?”
Eagerly Isabelle nodded her head, yes.
“Well, do you think La Resistenza goes around telling all of their friends and family that they are in the Resistance?”
Isabelle shook her head no.
“Ok then. This is like that. Think of this as your mission. You are like an operative in La Resistenza. This is important Isabelle. I mean it. You cannot tell a soul you have seen me, let alone helped me.”
Sheepishly Isabelle gave in and promised she would keep Capitano Mark a secret.
Mark offered his hand so they may shake on it. “Deal?”
What is a deal?
“It means we trust each other and we will not betray one another…capisce?”
“Capisco…Deal.” She replied.
Isabelle firmly took hold of Mark’s hand and gave it one shake signifying the solemn oath she had made. She would never reveal she had befriended an RAF pilot in her family’s tomb to anyone. This was a secret so big, that she could not even confide in Patrizio and release the burden of her story. She had made a promise and she would not tell her best friend.
“Isabelle, cose fai?” Shouted Patrizio.
“I must go.” She told LLewlyn.
“I will give you some of our lunch. I will come back tomorrow to see you.”
Neatly folding her sweater, she handed it to Llewelyn. “Here is my sweater, use it for a pillow. I am afraid the marble floor is hard and cold.”
“Please keep the bottle, there is a fountain near the entrance of the cemetery where you will find fresh water.”
Before the Capitan could say thank you, she was gone.
Chapter Eight
Dr. Vittorio Bernardini opened the door to his home and removed his hat. He was very tired after a long day at the clinic. These past weeks had been exceptionally stressful given the recent influx of elderly influenza patients. The Italian Army had re-directed the supply of Penicillin to its military forces and the civilian population was suffering from its scarcity.
Zio Umberto and Zia Marta had just arrived and Nonna Paolina’s older sister, Marta was Isabelle’s favorite. They lived on a small farm outside of the village and would lunch together with the family on Sundays.
Today her uncle had brought rabbit from yesterday’s hunt and this afternoon her grandmother would make Coniglio Cacciatore while the family enjoyed a small bottle of Vino Frascati.
To Isabelle, her Nonna Paolina was a magician in the kitchen. She was able to make the most delicious of meals from even the most meager of ingredients.
She loved Sundays, but today she was filled with a sense of foreboding…”What to do about the Capitano?”
Zia Marta was in the kitchen with her sister preparing the pasta and her grandfather and uncle were outside enjoying an aperitivo catching up with the news of the week.
Later as they sat on the terrace enjoying the brisk fall weather and having lunch, her grandfather spoke with worry about the recent rumors of a downed British fighter plane and a missing pilot in the area. There was a German troop buildup in the valley, and he was especially worried of the Gestapo presence in the village.
“This pilot must be very important if the Gestapo commander himself has taken charge of the search.” said Dr. Bernardini as he poured a small glass of wine for himself and Umberto.
“Stresser is a dangerous man”…remarked his brother-in-law.
“He was responsible for the murder of innocent villagers last week in San Pietro because they were rumored to have aided La Resistenza.”
“That corrupt divalo Sindaco passes information to the Germans… I saw his car parked next to Stresser’s on my way here and they were talking. “
“His son Armando is not very nice either” said Isabelle as she sipped on a small glass of limonata.
“You’ve been very quiet all afternoon Passarota” said her grandmother.
“Is everything alright?”
“Si Nonna…”
“Isabelle, you are shivering; where is your cardigan?” her grandmother asked.
“I’m sorry Nonna, I left it at the cemetery, but I will go early tomorrow and pick it up on my way to school.”
“Here bambina” she said as she lovingly wrapped her own sweater over her granddaughter’s shoulders.
Zio Umberto changed the subject of the Gestapo as Paolina and Marta brought out the pasta and began talking about the farm. He mentioned that the young man who cared for their barn had abruptly left for Bari and didn’t know when he would be back.
“Now I need to find someone to care for the livestock and feed the chickens.
I am in the vineyard all day and Tino would help me in the barn, but now that he has left it will make my day even longer. He sighed.
Isabelle brightly said…”Zio, I would like the job!”
“Are you sure Isabelle?”
“But what about your school work?”
“I want to help and school is going wonderfully well.”
“And the farm is not too far… I would be happy to take care of the animals.”
“We cannot pay you much.” Replied her uncle.
“Eggs and milk will be fine.”
“Vittorio, Paolina…is this okay with you?”
“If she wishes”… replied her grandmother.
“Isabelle is a strong willed girl and I’m not sure we could dissuade her”…she said with a warm smile.
“Are you sure Passarota?”...asked her grandmother.
“Si Nonna…I want to help.”
“Very well we shall see you tomorrow.” Replied her uncle.
Chapter Nine
Isabelle awoke at dawn and quickly dressed for school. Normally she would go straight to Patrizio’s apartment and they would ride to school together, but today was different. She decided she would figure out later how to explain why she couldn’t go with him. For now she must go to the cemetery and help the Capitano.
Taking a small blanket from her closet, she fashioned a shawl around her shoulders and fastened it with a clothes pin to keep her arms free to grip the handlebars of her bike.
Quietly walking into the kitchen, she opened the small refrigerator and packed some of the leftover rabbit and pasta along with an apple. She spied the nearly empty bottle of vino Frascati with the cork sitting next to it. She quickly recorked the bottle and tucked it away in her knapsack with the leftovers.
Silently she let herself out of the house, softly shutting the heavy front door behind her. Jumping on her bicycle, she rode down the steep hill toward the cemetery at the edge of the small town.
Chapter Ten
The sun was beginning to rise over the mountains casting a golden glow over the countryside. The crispness of fall was beginning to set in. Arriving at the cemetery, she walked her bicycle to toward the family crypt.
Propping her bike against the one of the stone walls, she ran to the front gate and as she entered, she called out…”Capitano Mark?” But heard no answer.
She looked around the empty crypt and began to panic. Suddenly, Llewelyn appeared in the doorway.
“I went to look around the cemetery…but my ankle is in rather bad shape and I’m in quite a bit of pain, so I didn’t get far…I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
“No Capitano…but please sit down… I have brought you some food.”
Mark quickly devoured the leftover rabbit and pasta and savored the bit of wine she had brought with her.
“Let me see your ankle.” she said.
“My Grandfather is a doctor and sometimes on Saturdays I help him in the clinic… Someday I will be a doctor just like my grandfather.” She said as she examined his sprained limb.
Mark’s ankle was badly swollen, and the skin abrasions had become infected.
“You will need penicillin to keep this infection from spreading.”
“I will bring you some…But for now Capitano, you need to stay off your feet.”
“You sound quite the little doctor…but I will follow your advice Doctora Isabelle!” He laughed and Isabelle joined in.
Suddenly Mark brought his finger to his mouth, signaling Isabelle to be quiet with a low…shush. “Listen!”
The sound of soldiers’ voices and barking dogs filled the air. The Germans were searching the cemetery.
Terrified they waited in silence as the soldiers’ footsteps came closer to the crypt.
“Isabelle, go now…do not worry about me!”
“No, I will stay here with you Capitano.” She said stubbornly.
Suddenly, the old metal gate squeaked opened and Isabelle urgently whispered…“Capitano hide now!.”
Throwing her blanket over him and propping her rucksack against the lumpy form of Llewelyn hidden behind the small altar, she quickly grabbed the broom. She began sweeping and singing her grandmother’s favorite song when a soldier entered the dimly lit crypt.
Surprised at seeing the little girl, he shined his flashlight on her face.
“Who are you?”…He brusquely demanded.
“I am Isabelle Bernardini and this is my ancestors’ house.”
“What are you doing here?” she replied.
“I could ask the same of you little girl.”
“We are looking for a British Pilot…Have you seen him?”
“Why would there be a British pilot in my family crypt?” she answered boldly continuing to sweep.
Her knees felt like rubber as she tried to contain the terror in her heart.
As the corporal started to enter the crypt, Isabelle looked down at his muddy boots and quickly said… ”What are you doing? You cannot come in here…I have spent all morning cleaning and you will track in mud…Please stay outside!”
He laughed at her as she stood in front of him with her broom defiantly held across her chest. She was gripping it so tightly she thought she might break it in two.
“Please do not come in or I will hit you!”
He continued to laugh as he quickly shined his flashlight around the crypt… Shaking his head and laughing, he strode away and shouted to his sergeant, “There is nothing here.”
The sounds of the soldiers began to fade away, Mark lifted the blanket and climbed out from behind the small marble altar and said…“That was a very brave thing you did Isabelle…Thank you.”
“Capitano, I must go now or I will be late for school.”
“We must leave this place as the Germans will be back again. I heard my grandfather saying the Gestapo is in Vallinfreda and they are looking for you.”
“How can ever I thank you enough for helping me?“
“Don’t worry Capitano Mark…I will be back tomorrow morning; I have an idea.”
As she lifted her rucksack over her shoulders, she said “Capitano please keep the blanket” and handed him her makeshift shawl… “This will keep you warm. It is supposed to be colder tonight. My Nonna was asking about my missing cardigan.”
“Isabelle wait ….Thank you” he whispered as she darted out toward the entrance of the cemetery. Jumping on her bike and peddling up the steep grade toward the village. She hoped she would not be late for school.
Chapter Eleven
“Isabelle where have you been?” asked Patrizio.
“I have been so busy”…she answered.
“I have a job with my Zio Umberto.”
“Tonino, his worker had to return to his home in the south and help the family, so I go early every morning to tend to the animals and then bring them back to the barn in the afternoon.”
“I miss riding with you Isabelle…but I am glad about your new job!” replied Patrizio.
“Maybe I can come with you and help, so you will have more time to play.”
Heartbroken, Isabelle lied, “Grazie, Patrizio, but I want my Uncle to know I am serious about the job and not bring my friends to play with the animals.” Upset she could not confide in her best friend she nervously shifted her seat on the cart.
When she saw the crestfallen look on Patrizio’s face, she quickly added, “But once he sees how efficient I am, I think I will be able to invite you along.” She forced the biggest grin she could manage as not to hurt her best friend’s feelings.
Suddenly Isabelle had an idea and with a genuine smile said, “Patrizio, let’s bike to the waterfall on Saturday and we can have a picnic! I will ask my Nonna to make a special lunch for us and we can buy freshly baked biscotti from Signora Rosetti with the money I have earned at the farm!”
With this promise of adventure, Patrizio nodded his head emphatically and shouted “arrivedela!” and rode off toward home.
Isabelle waved good-bye and watched until he had rounded the corner and was out of sight. Getting back on her bicycle, she quickly rode to the clinic where her grandfather had practiced medicine since he graduated from Sapienza University many years ago.
Rather than accept a position in Roma at a prestigious hospital, Dr. Bernardini decided as a young man that he preferred caring for the families in the region and opened a small clinic.
As Isabelle entered her grandfather’s clinic, his assistant Giovanna smiled and greeted her warmly.
“Ciao Isabelle…Como Estai?”
“Bene Singnora Giovanna, grazie….Is my Grandfather here…I wanted to say hello.”
“No, he is at the hospital in the valley this afternoon.”
With kindness in her eyes, Giovanna began, “I hear you are doing well in school Isabelle. Your grandfather is very proud of you.”
Giovanna, was one of the gentlest people Isabelle had ever met. She had a kind face with dark eyes that sparkled when she smiled. She took great interest in Isabelle and would often bring sweets for Dr. Bernadini to take home for her. No one seemed to know how old Giovanna was, or where she came from, but she must be old like her grandfather as she had been his assistant for long as anyone could remember. She was a spinster and Isabelle had often wondered why she had never married.
“Your grandfather says that someday you will be a doctor like him.” finished Giovanna.
“Grazie, Signora Giovanna…I would like that very much.”
Isabelle quickly changing the subject asked… “Signora, may I use the toilet?”
“Si, bella….you know where it is.”
The telephone suddenly rang and answering the call, Giovanna became engaged in a serious conversation regarding a patient who needed immediate transport to the hospital.
Taking advantage of Giovanna’s distraction, Isabelle quickly walked down the hall checking to see if anyone else was in the clinic. Seeing no one, she quietly stepped into the small supply room and opened a tiny refrigerator which contained antibiotics and other medicines requiring temperature control.
Finding what she had come for, she took two syringes of penicillin and placed them in her rucksack. Pausing for a moment and hearing Giovanna still on the telephone, she opened a small drawer and took additional bandages and ointments.
Slipping them into her rucksack. Isabelle smoothed her cotton dress and walked down the hall to the reception area.
Giovanna was busily chatting away on the phone and waved to Isabelle as she walked out the door. Once the door had closed behind her, Isabelle let out her breath with relief.
Hopping on her bike, she pedaled as hard as she could toward the cemetery when suddenly Armando and his two lackeys, Nino and Romano, appeared out of nowhere. She skidded to a stop and Armando pushed her off her bike. Laughing as she fell onto the street, he and his pals began mocking her and calling her names. She scrambled to retrieve her rucksack which had slipped off her back and a few of the medical supplies spilled out onto the cobblestones.
Armado’s face quickly grew serious. ”So what are these?….Are you a doctor now?…I think my father needs to hear about this.” Isabelle quickly tried to gather the supplies scattered around her but not before Armando was able to grab some of the bandages and medicine. The mirth on his face made Isabelle want to scream.
A short distance away, Hauptmann Wolf had just closed the door to his office headquarters and began the walk up the steep cobblestone street to his small apartment when he saw the young girl on the ground and Armando, the mayor’s son laughing at her.
Wolf quickly strode over to the group. “What is this!” He shouted.
The boys stopped laughing and Armando sneered… ”She’s just a stupid girl who doesn’t know how to ride a bicycle!”
Enraged, Wolf gave Armando a swift kick in the pants as his pals Romano and Nino burst into laughter at the spectacle of their friend squealing and holding his backside.
Armando screamed at Wolf “Who do you think you are? My father is the mayor!”
“Don’t push me”…thought Wolf, wanting to slap the smirk off the young bully’s face.
Armando shouted back to Isabelle as he and his lackeys ran off.
“You’ll regret this Isabelle Bernardini!”
Hauptmann Wolf’s eyes were filled with compassion as he looked down at the young girl sprawled on the street. Gently reaching down he helped Isabelle up from the cobblestones and picked up her rucksack when he noticed the medical supplies.
“What are these?” He asked.
Confidently, she composed herself and answered calmly, “I am Isabelle. My grandfather is Dr. Vittorio Bernardini and I am to take these to a family who is sick in the valley.”
“Are you hurt Isabelle?”
“I am fine, thank you for helping me.”
“But I must be on my way.”
“It is getting late and my grandparents will be worried if I am not home in time for dinner.”
Concerned, Wolf helped her onto her bike and smiled at the fearless girl as she rode away, thinking how much she reminded him of his own daughter Ana.
Years of experience as soldier and a father caused him to pause. It was that small voice of suspicion that made him think, “She is most likely telling the truth, but it may be worth verifying her story.”
Chapter Twelve
The sun was beginning to set, and the October sun was casting long shadows over the valley as Isabelle rode to her Uncle’s farm to bring the animals back in from the fields into the barn for the night. When Isabelle visited the farm earlier in the day, Zia Marta had given her some salami and a small loaf of freshly baked bread to take to school for her lunch.
Wrapped in a crisp white linen napkin, Isabelle had tucked the small feast away behind a few bales of hay along with a book she had borrowed from her Grandfather’s library for later. Isabelle had taken a small jar of honey from the farm stores which she added to the picnic to share with the Capitano.
After completing her afternoon chores, Isabelle added her cache to the medical supplies in her rucksack. She knew she would need to move Capitano Mark to her Uncle’s barn soon. He would be safer and far more comfortable in a warm barn than the cold marble crypt.
The Germans had searched the area relentlessly over the past few days and it was unlikely they would return anytime soon. They would have a better chance of escaping the cemetery unseen in the next couple of days, but she would need move quickly as the night temperatures were beginning to drop and the fields would soon be covered with morning frost.
Isabelle was still shaken from the afternoon’s encounter with Armando and Hauptmann Wolf when she arrived at the family crypt.
“Ciao Capitano! I am sorry I am later, I had to stop by my Uncle’s farm to bring in the animals.”
“Hello Isabelle, I am very happy to see you.” Mark was visibly exhausted but greeted Isabelle with a genuine smile. He had spent the day hobbling about the fringes of the cemetery looking for a branch suitable for a cane. By the time he had found a few scraps of timber to fashion a splint for his ankle, he was completely drained.
Grinning from ear-to-ear, Isabelle started to unpack her rucksack. “I have brought you some medical supplies, a feast fit for a king and a surprise.”
Holding the book with her outstretched hand, she said with enthusiasm, “You will like this book Capitano. It is called the Count of Monte Cristo.”
He laughed as he took the book from her and held the worn book in his hands.
“This is one of my favorites!” He exclaimed as his eyes widened. Although a small thing, it had been a long time since he had received such a pleasant surprise.
“I love Alexandre Dumas!”
“Alexandre who?”…asked Isabelle perplexed.
“The author!” He laughed.
As he unfolded the napkin which held the salami, and with exhaustion in his voice he said…”Is there anything you can’t do “Doctora?”
“I am glad you like this book Capitano…I have not read it myself…but I will someday.”
“My Grandfather loves it and has told me of the adventure of Edmund Dantes. How he was wronged and survived great hardship to later become a Count and defeat his enemies. He marries his beloved Mercedes and lived happily ever after!” Excitedly recounting the story. The joy of youth filled her countenance.
“Perhaps you will be a count someday Capitano.” She said brightly.
Llewelyn turned away and smiled sadly.
Not to be distracted from her duty, Isabelle began to unpack the rest of her supplies then with a smile said, “Va bene, now let me take a look at your ankle.”
Isabelle removed the improvised splint and washed Mark’s ankle. She wrapped his ankle very neatly and tight, just as she had seen Signora Giovanna do it when Patrizio had fallen from the tree last summer and sprained his ankle.
“Now Capitano, I need to give you a shot and I need for you to bend over.”
Not many things embarrassed Llewelyn, but he was not going to drop his drawers in front of a ten-year-old girl, no matter how much medical training she claimed to have.
“I think I better do that.” claimed Llewelyn as he reached for the vial containing the penicillin.
Relieved, Isabelle handed over the syringe. She was not quite ready to embark on that part of her medical training.
“Capitano, I must be going now, I cannot be late for dinner. I will be back tomorrow, and we can talk more about the book if you like.”
As she left the tomb, she looked over her shoulder and called out,
“Remember Capitano….If you need anything at all…just call my name…Isabelle.”
And then she was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
It was early morning and the wind was icy as she helped LLewelyn onto the horse cart she had driven to the cemetery. She knew she had to move quickly while her uncle and Aunt were in town. After hitching up the cart to the old farm horse a couple of hours before, she made her way to the cemetery and was glad no one, especially a neighbor noticed her or worse had questioned her.
Upon arriving at the crypt, she handed Llewelyn another shot of penicillin for later and cleaned the wound on his ankle before helping him to the cart.
“Lean on my shoulder Capitano.”
“I will help you.”
Climbing aboard the wooden horse cart, she covered him with a blanket and began to drive the cart back toward the farm.
“Please be still,” she said
“It is not far to my Uncle’s farm”
The cart creaked and groaned as she moved along the stone pathway beneath the ancient pines. The wind began to pick up and whistle through the branches.
She shivered as she shook the reigns encouraging the old mare to pick up her step.
Not much farther she thought when Patrizio appeared!
Ciao!! Isabelle!
Sorpresa!
“I went to the farm and didn’t find you and was walking back home when I heard the cart.”
“I am happy!”
“I’ve missed you!”
“Patrizio” Isabelle replied in a deadly serious voice…”You must leave immediately”
“I can’t explain” she said as her voice choked up.
“You must leave now!”
Patrizio stood in the early dawn with tears in his eyes.
“Why?” He asked
“I thought we were friends”
“Please don’t ask.”
“You must leave now.”
“Do not tell anyone you saw me.”
“Patrizio, you must trust me…You cannot tell anyone you saw me…please!”..she implored.
With tears streaming down his face, Patrizio turned away and began the steep climb back to the town.
Isabelle dared not look back at her best friend and sharply snapped the reigns and continued down the path. After what seemed an eternity, she pulled up to her uncle’s barn.
Helping the captain down from the cart to a stall filled with fresh straw, she covered him with the coarse woolen blanket and leaving some food by his side she closed the wooden doors to the stall.
Once outside, she started toward her bicycle, and suddenly thought of Patrizio and broke down in tears sobbing. She had deeply hurt her best friend but knew he could not be involved. This risk was hers and hers alone. She quickly composed herself and began the steep bicycle ride back to her home.
“Tomorrow is another day” She thought. “I must bring the Capitano some more food. I hope Nonna doesn’t notice the extra things I have been taking from the icebox.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dr. Bernardini was exhausted. It had been a long day at the hospital and for a moment he enjoyed the quiet and as he looked out the window of his small office, he remembered the happy days before the war.
“How did we ever get to this point of madness” he thought.
As he lit his favorite briarwood pipe, he sat back in his worn leather office chair and began reviewing a recent patient’s history. Contended that he had decided on the appropriate treatment, he closed his eyes for a moment, when suddenly, he was startled by a firm knock on the clinic’s heavy wooden door.
It was late and he hoped that it would not be another emergency.
Rising slowly from his desk, he walked down the narrow hallway to the small reception office.
As Dr. Bernardini opened the creaking wooden door, a rush of cold air greeted him and looking up, he saw a tall and distinguished German officer, wrapped in a military great coat. It was Herr Hauptmann Jurgen Wolf.
“May I come in” asked Wolf
“Yes of course”
“How may I help you Herr Hauptmann”
“Dr. Bernardini…Three of my soldiers have been injured in an accident and I need your help. I will have the medics bring them here for treatment if you agree.”
“Don’t you have your own Doctors Herr Hauptmann?”
“Yes, but they have been dealing with the severely wounded and asked me to take these men to a local doctor.”
“What is their condition?” asked Dr. Bernardini
“These three idiots crashed their truck after too many schnapps!”
“An embarrassment…no doubt” remarked Wolf.
“But….men are men…especially with schnapps!”
Vittorio Bernardini chuckled and said..”I will help….men are men…Si?”
“Danke Signor Doctore”..I appreciate your candor and your kindness.”
“I will have the medics bring those three morons up here from the valley in the morning.”
“I will deal with them later.”
“The medics say they may have fractured arms and the bones need to be set.”
“I will do what I can Herr Hauptmann.”
“Danke”:
“Please come into my office Herr Hauptmann.”
“I will prepare some paperwork allowing me to treat your soldiers.”
“That will not be necessary” replied Wolf
“I insist…I do not want the Gestapo to accuse me of intentionally trying to harm a German soldier…Your Gestapo commander Stresser is frightening and cruel.””
“Sadly he is Herr Doktor.”
As Wolf entered Dr. Bernardini’s office…he felt a tinge of nostalgia as he saw booklined walls and family photos. The scent of pipe tobacco and a crackling fire was a welcome reminder of his own life many years ago. Looking at the photographs he recognized the young girl he had helped earlier that day… Isabelle.
“Is that your grand daughter?”
“Si…Isabelle..e bellissima.”
“We love her so much”
“She has great potential and I am sure someday she will be a doctor!”
“Sadly, her father, my son Trento, is a POW in the UK.”
“I am sorry” replied Wolf”
“Please…Herr Hauptmann”
Dr Bernardini motioned to a leather club chair near the fireplace.
“Danke…please call me Jurgen.”
“Grazie… I am Vittorio.”
As they sat down Dr. Bernardini said
“Would you care for an aperitivo?”
“Danke Ja…grazie Doctore… Vittorio”
Quietly the two men sat by the fire and sipped on their wine.
“May I smoke”…asked Wolf
“Si..of course Herr Hauptmann…Jurgen.”
Pulling out a silver cigarette case, Wolf offered one of his favorite Turkish blends to Dr. Bernardini.
“Grazie no…I prefer my pipe…yet the Turkish cigarette blend is always a winner…Si?”
“Ja”
They both laughed.
“These days are tragic…I just wish to go home to my family” said Wolf sullenly.
“It appears that the Allies are advancing toward Roma and things are bleak.”
“Yet in a way I am relieved.”
“This is a war that should never have happened.”
“Sadly you are right.” Remarked Dr. Bernardini
“Mussolini, the arrogant fool has plunged our nation into darkness.”
The men sat quietly as the logs in the fireplace crackled.
Wolf look toward the bookshelves again in the small office and saw a small chess set.
“Do you play…Vittorio?”
“Si…Jurgen.”
“A game perhaps?”
“Si…we shall play…it has been a long time since I have had a challenging adversary.”
“Ja… I would like that very much Danke Doctore.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was dark when Isabelle rode her bike back home from the farm. She had left the Capitano milk and bread and eggs. He unfortunately would have to eat the eggs raw but they would help him. She even brought him another book she borrowed from her grandfather’s study…Robinson Crusoe…That book was her favorite…she often dreamed at night of being on a desert island and of mystical far way lands.
As she turned onto the street to her house, she stared in horror as a new checkpoint had been set up and many soldiers including Gestapo stood around a bonfire they had set in steel barrel.
Quickly turning her bicycle around, she began to take another route home, when two soldiers blocked her way.
“What are you doing…I’m on my way home” she shouted at the grey clad men.
“You are under arrest Isabelle Bernardini.”
In a horrifying instant, the soldiers roughly grabbed her off her bike and escorted her to the town jail which recently had become Stresser’s Gestapo HQ.
Walking toward the small stone jailhouse and holding back her tears, she stared silently as she was brusquely put in the cell.
“Armando and his pig father il Sindaco did this!” She thought.
The door to the cell slammed shut and Isabelle sat in the corner on the cold stone floor with her knees to her chest and stared silently in the dim light.
Chapter Sixteen
“Jurgen…Wake up!”
Wolf heard the pounding on the door of his small apartment.
Looking at the clock..it was 2AM
What is this…Jumping out of bed…the pounding was even stronger
Ja Ja…I’m coming…what is this!!
Jurgen…It’s Klaus..please open the door
“This is madness!!” shouted Wolf when he heard his adjutant recount the arrest of a little girl.
“A little girl!” Madness!!
“Who is she Klaus”
“Her name is Isabelle Bernardini.”
“She is ten years old and lives with her grandparents…Her Grandfather is a doctor.
“They are an old family here in Vallinfreda.”
Wolf immediately remembered the little girl in the Piazza…his daughter Ana would be about the same age and his body shook with rage…
“Stresser has locked up a child.”
“Stresser is a cruel fanatic” replied Schertel.
“Her grandparents are also being questioned Herr Hauptmann…but seems they have not seen her and are frightened for her.”
“This is madness…pure madness!!” Shouted Wolf
“Where is she now?”
“Stresser has her under guard in a small cell in the town jailhouse.”
“I will go and see what can be done…She must be released immediately.”
“Be careful Jurgen…remarked his adjutant with a sigh…these are dangerous times.”
“I am still the commanding officer of this region and won’t be intimidated by that Gestapo pimp.”
As he dressed, he told his loyal adjutant….Klaus, we have become part of this craziness…I will no longer tolerate it. Holstering his pistol, he strode out of the office. Upon reaching the door, he stopped and looked back at his loyal adjutant.
“Danke Klaus..Thank you for everything.”
“There is a letter on my desk…please see that it gets to Heike.”
“I may not be coming back.”
“Ja Vol” Herr Hauptmann
As he watched Wolf stride out of the building toward the jail where the little girl was being held, tears welled up in his eyes.
“Goodbye old friend.” He said quietly into the cold night air.
