Under the Surface

By Nell Jones and Penny Stewart

A small walled village on a mountain top in Italy gives a surface picture of pastoral, peaceful, bucolic monotony; yet underneath that surface lies a world of emotions and a sea of changes. Quickly one discovers what Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. called the interrelated structure of reality. From kidnappings to murder; from teenage angst to mature passion; from prejudice to understanding; from greed to benevolence; from festivals to funerals--this small village reveals that what affects one, affects all.

Come stroll through the lives of the complex inhabitants of this village in Italy,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514418772

Nell Jones

Nell Jones received her B.A. in Texas, her M.A. in New Mexico, and the rest of her education from traveling the world. Writer and teacher (kindergarten through university) for fifty years, she calls New Mexico home. Her teaching is now focused on student teacher education at Eastern New Mexico University. Along with Penny Stewart, she co-founded the High Plains Writing Project, a site of the National Writing Project. She enjoys writing, reading, teaching, playing the organ, traveling nationally and internationally--all a celebration of the rich possibilities of life. Penny Stewart received her PhD from the University of Southern Mississippi in Linguistics. Prior to that she taught four years in Brazil. Then she taught higher education in Mississippi for fifteen years and in New Mexico for twenty-two years. She, with Nell Jones, co-founded the High Plains Writing Project, a site of the National Writing Project. After retiring from teaching, she relocated to Texas and then to South Carolina where she hardly remembers the meaning of schedules. She certainly enjoys her time with friends and family.

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Copyright © 2015 by Nell Jones/Penny Stewart.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/20/2015

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1   Alessandra’s House

Chapter 2   House of Love

Chapter 3   Twilight Memories

Chapter 4   Discovery of a New World

Chapter 5   Pasticceria

Chapter 6   Morning Coffee

Chapter 7   Sent Away

Chapter 8   Festa

Chapter 9   Love Redux

Chapter 10   Sister Trouble

Chapter 11   And the Conversation Goes On

Chapter 12   The Past Intrudes

Chapter 13   Teenager Alessandra

Chapter 14   Joy of Second Chances

Chapter 15   Luisa’s Wreck

Chapter 16   The Tool Shed

Chapter 17   Sardinian Cousins

Chapter 18   Consider the Source

Chapter 19   Coffee in Big Town

Chapter 20   Credit Card Trouble

Chapter 21   Paranoia

Chapter 22   Road Trip

Chapter 23   Rejuvenation

Chapter 24   Family Business

Chapter 25   The Banker and the Teenager

Chapter 26   Rivals

Chapter 27   A Red Cell Phone

Chapter 28   Voices of the Village Men

Chapter 29   Old Argument

Chapter 30   The First Burial Urn

Chapter 31   Guilt Trip

Chapter 32   Gypsy Aunt

Chapter 33   Bumblers Visit Claudia

Chapter 34   No Cure

Chapter 35   Just Desserts

Chapter 36   Gossipy Women

Chapter 37   Federico’s Funeral

Chapter 38   The Mayor Said No

Chapter 39   Possibilities

Chapter 40   The Rescue

Chapter 41   Lia and Sergio Reunite

Chapter 42   No Money Today

Chapter 43   Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 44   Never Too Late

Chapter 45   Epilogue—Reformed?

DEDICATION

T HIS BOOK IS dedicated to Jane Pope, our friend, writing colleague, and muse. She always found the energy to motivate and lead us to developing our stories. We will forever admire Jane’s enthusiasm for writing and leading a creative life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I T IS TRUE that no piece of creativity is formed in isolation. This book took many family members and friends, who, though often put on hold, encouraged us every step of the way, including the cousin who said, Hurry and finish the book so I can find out what happens.

My special gratitude goes to the following:

Scott Jones, finder of lost words

Carolyn Sandefur, reader extraordinaire

Millibeth Currie, intermediary par excellence

Janet Birkey, discusser of symptoms and treatment of depression

The Italian waitress who gave me the line I am really good at two things: cooking and revenge.

Our families who never lost faith in our adventure

PROLOGUE

H IDDEN BEHIND THE bushes that lined the unlit street and two houses down from Sergio and Lia’s house, two men whispered.

Shush, here she comes, Sgarbato elbowed GeGe in the ribs. And put out that cigarette!

Say, she’s a pretty one. Look at that party dress she has on. No wonder Claudia is so jealous.

As Lia pulled her key from the lock on the front door, she thought she heard something and turned her head toward the faint sound.

Yeah! Yeah? But I mean it! Don’t talk! We don’t care what she has on. Stick to business. You have the chloroform and cotton? Sgarbato whispered through gritted teeth

GeGe nodded as he lifted them to show Sgarbato.

Good, I’ll go in front and get her attention. Like I told you, you circle around behind her with the chloroform and cotton and put it to her nose. I’ll take care of tying her up.

But where are we going to take her?

Never mind! I know where we’re going.

She wasn’t to be taken so easily. She kicked and twisted violently. Neither man knew she would fight so viciously. GeGe screamed, Sgarbato, is this what you planned? She is bruising my legs with her kicking. At last, he managed to get the cotton over her nose, and the chloroform subdued her. She crumpled to the ground. Neither kidnapper saw her cell phone fall out of her hand and over into the bushes at the side of the street.

GeGe had had no idea what the chloroform would do to Lisa, and so he was shocked when he saw her fall to the ground. Make her get up, Sgarbato! Is she dead? asked GeGe, tears in his voice. Oh, I can’t stand this! Help her!

Their plans had been rehearsed only vaguely, the skinnier Sardinian, Sgarbato, in charge. He unintentionally called attention to his bald spot by combing the sparse, greasy, longer hair from one side to the other. Being the older of the two, Sgarbato, with carnival intellect and shady training in petty theft gained in his native Sardinia, assumed command of the situation. He growled, Stop that weeping! I don’t mean maybe. She’s not dead, but we have to pick her up. Help me drag her to the van. Seeing GeGe wobbling back and forth, he yelled, Hey, what is the matter with you?

Ooh, the chloroform is making me dizzy! GeGe pretended to swoon.

Quit it! Come on! Help me! Sgarbato had Lia by the shoulders. Come on! Pick up her feet.

I can’t, GeGe gasped. I think I am going to faint, he cried weakly. Everything is spinning. Theatrically, he placed his hand, palm turned out, on his forehead.

Oh, will you shut up. No more of your nonsense. Help me! Now! One, two three, lift!

I can’t breathe, GeGe whimpered.

You have to help me, Sgarbato commanded. We won’t get paid if we don’t get her somewhere so we can kill her.

The curly-haired companion shook his head. But—but—but. The argument mushroomed into a lopsided tug-of-war. And all the while, GeGe continued his parody of feminine weaknesses and declared, I can’t do anything else until I do some yoga breathing.

"Dio! All we need to do is get this woman in the van. Then you can do your yoga!"

But I have to get my bearings. GeGe’s voice cracked again. He sniffled and wiped the back of one hand under his nose. All right. I think I can do what you want me to do. Here goes.

’Bout time! Ready?

Deep breath. One, two, three, go! squeaked GeGe. For the first time, they worked together to get Lia dragged over to the van.

Sgarbato grunted loudly, Wait! I have to climb in backward first, and then I can pull her shoulders in.

Trouble at the back end. GeGe tried to push Lia into the back of the van past the mound of greasy tools piled underneath the small window. But her limp body didn’t manage well.

She won’t go!

All right. Just hold up a minute. Sgarbato climbed over the woman and the clutter to get out. When they let go of her, she fell to the roadside.

GeGe moaned, Now what will we do?

Let’s move her over to the side. Maybe we can use that little wall to stand on and get her in the van.

The two manhandled Lia’s dead weight as far as the edge of the dirt tract and draped her over the handy low wall bordering the street. Just leave her there for now. I have to rest a minute.

Oh no. She might fall over, GeGe whined. It’s a long way down the hill. Do something, Sgarbato.

You do something! I’m tired of your whining, GeGe. In disgust, Sgarbato climbed into the driver’s seat and gunned the motor; and with gravel flying, he spun off.

GeGe stared in disbelief. Wait for me! Then as the van began to disappear, he cried out again, Wait for meeeeeee!

Remembering the promised money for kidnapping and murdering Lia, Sgarbato braked enough to wheel the rusty van around, gunned the motor again, and made the truck slide to a stop near GeGe and Lia. In desperation, he threw his hands up. "Dio! How can I make this dumbass do the right thing? Tumbling out of the van, he almost lost his balance. Recovering quickly, he commanded, Pay attention now! Let’s try again. He was remembering a ramshackle shed across the valley and up beyond an olive grove that they had passed earlier in the day as they searched for a place to take Lia. Let’s put her in that shed over beyond the valley. Come on, now. We can do this."

I don’t think I can lift her up.

Oh, will you be quiet and help me! We’ve got to do this. I don’t want to get caught. Not now.

The tug-of-war renewed itself. Hearing a car on the next street over, they realized they were about to get caught; so more frightened than ever, they began to work together.

Once again, they struggled to handle Lia’s inert body. The push-pull force finally successful, the truck bounced and bumped all the way across the far valley and up the side of the hill. Sgarbato had not remembered how far from the rough trail the shed was, so when they got there, once again, they struggled to get the woman to the shed. They half carried, half dragged her still-limp body up the hill toward the shed, not noticing she had lost a shoe somewhere along the way. After the half-rotten door gave way, they got her inside the broken-down shed, as it was, and propped her against a wooden crate. She began to stir and moan. GeGe, quick, give her some more chloroform.

I can’t. It’s in the van.

Well, go get it and hurry!

Getting her settled again, they looked around the shed. GeGe squealed in fright, Mi fa paura! GeGe was a handsome man with long curly dark hair, beautiful eyes like a dark bottomless lake, and a love for heavy gold bracelets so heavy they never clanked together. He shook his hands now in mock fright. He often displayed his own version of feminine mannerisms to gain attention.

Sgarbato disgustedly stormed, Of what? What are you scared of now?

That box! Look at that box! It has a skull and crossbones on it!

Oh, that’s just an old ammo box. It’s probably empty. Besides, it’s old, probably left here during the war.

"The war? O Dio mio. It’s live ammo. It might explode! Oh! Oh! Oh!" He, in his fright, danced up and down in one place.

GeGe! Shut up! Stop it! Any ammunition left around here during the war—that was at least fifty, sixty years ago. Probably some kid was playing around with it.

I know my history. I do! But we can’t be sure it won’t blow up. Crossing himself several times, he whispered, O Madre Maria, per favore proteggimi.

"You don’t need protection from the ammo, but if you don’t help me, you may need protection from me. Don’t think about it! Don’t think! Now go back to the van and get the tape and another rope, and let’s tie her up before she comes to. I’ll use my handkerchief as a gag while you’re gone. Hurry up! It’s getting dark, and I don’t want anyone seeing our flashlight.

Finding an old chair by the door outside of this tool shed that had once served as a retreat from the noonday sun for the grove manager, they bound Lia in it against the far wall.

By the time the bumbling pair had gotten Lia tied up, it was too late to go back into Firenze to talk to Claudia. Sgarbato pulled the van up as close as possible to the shed and out of sight from the road because they had no place to spend the night out in this isolated farmland. The men settled down in the van—mostly arguing about how to kill her. Although neither would admit it to the other, the prospect was troubling to both.

Neither slept well that night.

CHAPTER

1

ALESSANDRA’S HOUSE

K IDNAPPINGS WERE THE last thing on the mind of Alessandra di Marccini Rizzuti. She woke with the sun streaming in her bedroom window and jumped out of bed. So many things to do. Looks like it will be a gorgeous day! Even though she was in a hurry to get on with the day’s tasks, Alessandra carefully spread her bed just as her mother had taught her nearly fifty years ago. She quickly brushed her shoulder-length dark blonde hair and sketched makeup around her black eyes. Her mind flooded with the plans for the festa . It’s really too bad that Sergio has to go to Rome for ASSITOL, the managers’ marketing discussions, and miss the festa. The phone ringing in the downstairs office reminded her that she had some paperwork to finish so that Lia Ungareti, her office manager, could get it typed and send it in the mail. Singing in her off-key way, she hurried down the marble stairs that dissected the house. As she descended the stairs from her living quarters, she began to think of the things she wanted Lia to work on this morning.

Lia called out to her with her hand held over the mouthpiece, Telephone, Alessandra. It is for you. It’s Sergio on his way to Rome, and I am not talking to him.

Alessandra raised her eyebrows as she took the call in her office. Sergio Borgioli, her plant manager, was double-checking the prices on the harvest that Alessandra expected him to negotiate the sale at the markets in Rome.

After the call, Alessandra called to Lia, Is there anything you need to tell me?

Not right now, perhaps later when we stop for the day.

Hmm, that’s strange. Wonder what the trouble is. Settling in to work, Alessandra glanced up at the print of her DNA that she had had framed in Florence. She had ordered it for her birthday present to herself. The unique colorful pattern of her own double helix, she thought, epitomized her peculiar but unique outlook on life. If I am the sum of my DNA, I wonder what the DNA for our little village of Montefirenze would look like. I suppose it’s one huge double helix, the sum of each person living here. Wonder how it would change with the addition of outsiders. She scolded herself, Alessandra, quit your woolgathering and get to work! With that thought, Alessandra was ready to start her business day.

The morning passed quickly as she and Lia planned correspondence and made lists in preparation for the festa tonight. Her position as owner of il Boschetto di Barzini, the largest olive grove in Tuscany, and her newly profitable vineyards necessitated that she host the annual festa, and most of the time it was a pleasant task. Lia, I am going upstairs to the rooftop garden. I need a little think time. Call me if you need me.

As she gazed out over the valley below, she could see the red-roofed houses peeking up over the groves of olives and the vineyards that seemed to stretch on and on. Beyond were the hills and mountains that bordered the valley, the scene framed by the puffy white clouds of the early afternoon.

This is peace. I am in the place I’ve longed for all my life. If only Vittorio were a part of this world of mine. His e-mails only make me want to see him more. If only Papa had not sent him away all those years ago. So glad Lia set up that web page for the business, and he responded. She laughed at herself. Here I am, soon to be sixty years old, and like a teenager in love for the first time, I am daydreaming of an old boyfriend. Santa Maria, I’ve got too many other things I should be thinking about.

Reluctant to leave the peaceful scene but true to her responsibilities, she went back downstairs to her office and sat down. She spread her planning lists in front of her on a small table. A sudden change of mood overcame her. That dark shadow—what could it mean? Never before at the feast of the first cold press of olives had she felt such gloom and never had she hesitated to plan and schedule the event.

For seventeen years, she had organized this traditional feast with no problems. It had almost organized itself. Never a scintilla of doubt about the celebration of first press because it always produced a happy time for the whole hilltop that the village of Montefirenze occupied.

After all, I learned from the best organizer in the world. What an effective on-the-job training. Grandmother said it was a simple matter: announce the date and the entire village and countryside would come.

However, today the dark shadow hovered over every list. She knew what it meant (she had inherited this psychic ability from her great-grandmother Ines). She had grown accustomed to shadows and auras that she could see but that no one else saw. It had happened so frequently in Alessandra’s lifetime that she was not surprised. (She had experienced it vividly the day her husband Dante Rizzuti was killed, but she hadn’t warned him, much to her grief ever after.) And because of these experiences, she had discovered that any effort to ignore the meaning of auras was futile. She suspected it had to do with Sergio and Lia, because each time she read their names, the shadow grew darker.

At least, the food was ready. Lia and Berenice had helped prepare the lasagna noodles and the bread yesterday. Thirty loaves would certainly be adequate since the villagers would be bringing food also. (Of course, dipping that good bread in that sweet, fresh olive oil mixed with toasted garlic bits made all the food so delicious that everyone would eat more than usual. No, the food can’t be the problem.) She shook her head as if to rid herself of the headache that always came with the auras.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong?

Seeing the auras today made her wary. She knew that sometimes she made judgments too quickly and not always accurately. Experience had taught her she should exercise caution, but she didn’t always listen to that voice of experience. Today, the auras simply frightened her. She wanted nothing to go wrong at the festa.

Alessandra, I am ready to go home. Lia’s quiet voice interrupted. "Before I go, I’d like to tell you what happened between Sergio and me. I am so sorry it happened but this morning …

Lia! came the exasperated yell from the upstairs toilet. Lia, must you use my razor? And if you are going to use it, couldn’t you at least clean it before you put it away?

Uh oh, Lia cringed. Better get this coffee made in a hurry! Aloud, she raised her voice.

"Sorry, caro mi, yesterday I couldn’t find a new blade, and my razor was so dull. Besides I was in a hurry."

And so it was OK to use my razor and make me cut my face! Really, Lia, you make me so angry sometimes! She could see him in his underwear at the top of the stairs waving his razor in the air. I’ve got to get to the train in Florence. My train to Rome leaves there at twelve forty-four. I don’t need this sort of problem today on top of Claudia’s problem.

I heard the phone ringing. Was it Claudia?

Yes, she says she needs more money. She has to go to a specialist that isn’t covered with the state health system. As usual, she threw such a screaming fit that I hung up on her, and now I wonder if she actually has a serious problem.

"So now you feel guilty, and you’re taking it out on me. Well, I’ve got to get to work. You can just prepare your own