above the door with those on the paper in her hand. Hesitantly Rosa reached out and knocked.
When no one answered, she looked left and right. The street had been deserted since she arrived. The heat of the sun beat down on her mercilessly, and for a moment Rosa felt lightheaded. Suddenly she wished she had eaten before she had given away her foodstuffs. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the door frame, then tried the knob. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open.
It took only one glance around the tiny, cluttered room to see that this place called “jail” was unoccupied. A table heaped with loose papers, empty bowls, pens, an inkwell, and a pile of newspapers stood in the middle of the room. In the far corner, what appeared to be a new wood stove stood ready for winter. A safe, much like the one in the bank in Corio, only smaller, was positioned behind the table. Was this place a bank, then? She turned slowly, taking in the entire room, trying to determine the nature of the jail. Four rifles were chained together in a gun rack on the wall near another rack that was obviously for hats, although none hung there now. A broom stood in another corner. It was not until she noticed the sturdy wooden door on the back wall, a door with a small square window protected by bars, that she realized fully what the word “jail” meant.
Was Giovanni a prisoner? Could that fact explain the stationmaster’s odd expression when she asked for her husband? Silently, she closed the outer door and crept toward the cell.
Dio! She swore silently. The little window was at least a head higher than she could stretch, even on tiptoe.
“Giovanni?” Her soft whisper was barely audible. There was no response from inside.
Quickly Rosa set her valise down beside the paper-strewn desk and rolled the chair that stood behind it over to the door. Just as she reached out to brace her hands on the arms of the chair, her hat slid forward over her eyes. Her temper got the best of her, and she fiercely shoved it back into place, unmindful of the damage to her hair until she heard a pin hit the floor. There was little time to waste, so she ignored the cascade of waving hair that brushed against her right cheek as she grasped the chair. She carefully placed one foot on the seat and crouched to maintain her balance before she lifted the other foot.
Too late, she discovered the chair could both swivel and tilt. As she reached up to grasp the bars of the window, the chair began to roll away from the door. As Rosa clung to the bars and fought for balance, she heard the front door open.
The chair continued to roll until Rosa found herself stretched full length, feet on the chair, hands clutching the bars of the cell window. Not until she hung nearly parallel with the floor did she hear the softly spoken words that issued from behind her.
“May I help you?”
The deep voice gave her little indication as to what type of man had entered the room. Still, she had no recourse but to accept his help.
“Take me down.” She tried to swallow. “Per piacere. Please.”
“My pleasure.”
There was no mistaking the note of humor in the man’s tone, nor could she dismiss the masculine strength in the sound of his deep voice. Rosa tried to peer over her shoulder but found her view of him hampered by her oversized hat. She heard him cross the room and stop directly behind her. Two strong hands grasped Rosa about the waist and steadied her on the chair.
“You can let go now.” He spoke softly, gently now, his tone laced with humor.
Rosa released the death grip she held upon the bars and felt the man’s warm hands tighten around her waist. He lifted her down as easily as if she were a child and set her on her feet. Taking a deep breath, Rosa straightened and turned to look up at her rescuer.
He was unlike anyone she’d ever seen before.
From the hint of amusement in his voice, she had expected him to be smiling. Instead, he was
When no one answered, she looked left and right. The street had been deserted since she arrived. The heat of the sun beat down on her mercilessly, and for a moment Rosa felt lightheaded. Suddenly she wished she had eaten before she had given away her foodstuffs. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the door frame, then tried the knob. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open.
It took only one glance around the tiny, cluttered room to see that this place called “jail” was unoccupied. A table heaped with loose papers, empty bowls, pens, an inkwell, and a pile of newspapers stood in the middle of the room. In the far corner, what appeared to be a new wood stove stood ready for winter. A safe, much like the one in the bank in Corio, only smaller, was positioned behind the table. Was this place a bank, then? She turned slowly, taking in the entire room, trying to determine the nature of the jail. Four rifles were chained together in a gun rack on the wall near another rack that was obviously for hats, although none hung there now. A broom stood in another corner. It was not until she noticed the sturdy wooden door on the back wall, a door with a small square window protected by bars, that she realized fully what the word “jail” meant.
Was Giovanni a prisoner? Could that fact explain the stationmaster’s odd expression when she asked for her husband? Silently, she closed the outer door and crept toward the cell.
Dio! She swore silently. The little window was at least a head higher than she could stretch, even on tiptoe.
“Giovanni?” Her soft whisper was barely audible. There was no response from inside.
Quickly Rosa set her valise down beside the paper-strewn desk and rolled the chair that stood behind it over to the door. Just as she reached out to brace her hands on the arms of the chair, her hat slid forward over her eyes. Her temper got the best of her, and she fiercely shoved it back into place, unmindful of the damage to her hair until she heard a pin hit the floor. There was little time to waste, so she ignored the cascade of waving hair that brushed against her right cheek as she grasped the chair. She carefully placed one foot on the seat and crouched to maintain her balance before she lifted the other foot.
Too late, she discovered the chair could both swivel and tilt. As she reached up to grasp the bars of the window, the chair began to roll away from the door. As Rosa clung to the bars and fought for balance, she heard the front door open.
The chair continued to roll until Rosa found herself stretched full length, feet on the chair, hands clutching the bars of the cell window. Not until she hung nearly parallel with the floor did she hear the softly spoken words that issued from behind her.
“May I help you?”
The deep voice gave her little indication as to what type of man had entered the room. Still, she had no recourse but to accept his help.
“Take me down.” She tried to swallow. “Per piacere. Please.”
“My pleasure.”
There was no mistaking the note of humor in the man’s tone, nor could she dismiss the masculine strength in the sound of his deep voice. Rosa tried to peer over her shoulder but found her view of him hampered by her oversized hat. She heard him cross the room and stop directly behind her. Two strong hands grasped Rosa about the waist and steadied her on the chair.
“You can let go now.” He spoke softly, gently now, his tone laced with humor.
Rosa released the death grip she held upon the bars and felt the man’s warm hands tighten around her waist. He lifted her down as easily as if she were a child and set her on her feet. Taking a deep breath, Rosa straightened and turned to look up at her rescuer.
He was unlike anyone she’d ever seen before.
From the hint of amusement in his voice, she had expected him to be smiling. Instead, he was
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