More Than Words: Stories of Courage Page 11

  Daniel frowned slightly as he took the paper.

  “Sure, Zia, I’d be happy to help, but what is it?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. You read it. You’re so smart, I know you’ll understand what it’s about. Now I must get back to the house and prepare our evening meal. Ciao, bello.”

  “Ciao, Zia.”

  He closed the door, and began reading the e-mail as he went back to the kitchen. But halfway there, he stopped. His throat tightened and he felt himself struggling for breath.

  “Dio mio!”

  There was little more to be said. A ghost from the past was staring up at him. Someone was asking about the grave of an American GI—a man by the name of Daniel Louis Morrow.

  His aunt was right about one thing. He was definitely better equipped to answer this e-mail than the hotel manager. He knew for certain that there was a grave for Daniel Morrow. He knew because he was named for the man—the man who had been his grandfather.

  What he had to decide was whether or not to answer the e-mail. If this woman who was asking was family, she might get more than she’d bargained for. He knew she had no idea about his existence. Not even Daniel Morrow had known he had a daughter—Daniel’s mother.

  The infantry that Daniel Morrow belonged to had been bivouacked outside Positano for two days when he’d met Angelina Ricci. He’d been taken with the petite, dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty and a romance had ensued. But he’d died before he knew that Angelina was carrying his child—Daniel’s mother. Daniel had grown up knowing about the GI who was his grandfather, and was proud of the fact. But it remained to be seen what these two American women would think of the truth.

  He took the e-mail with him to the kitchen, reading it again and again as he ate his evening meal.

  Even after he’d gone to bed, it was still on his mind. Whoever this Frances woman was, she seemed genuinely concerned about her elderly friend. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he made a decision. He would tell her of Daniel Morrow’s final resting place. The rest he would leave up to fate.

  Frankie went through the next day on pins and needles, hoping for an answer to her e-mail. But there was an emergency at Just Like Home that evening. One of the elderly gentlemen who’d been living there for more than ten years sat down in his chair to read the paper and died. Of course, Frankie had stayed to help out, mourning his loss along with the others.

  By the time she got home, it was almost midnight. The last thing she thought about was e-mail. She was aching all over and felt shaky and weak. She chalked it up to the trauma of the day, although death was something they dealt with at the home on a regular basis.

  The next morning, she woke up with fever and chills. She sat up on the side of the bed for a few minutes, then got so dizzy she had to lie back down. There was nothing to do but call in sick. Even if she’d felt well enough to drive, it was critically important not to expose the residents to any viruses. So she reached for the phone and dialed the home.

  “Just Like Home. Mavis Tulia speaking.”

  “Mrs. Tulia, it’s me, Frankie.”

  “My stars, dear…what’s wrong with you? You sound terrible.”

  “I feel terrible,” she said. “I felt weird last night when I got home, but blamed it on Mr. Ellard’s death. But this morning I woke up feeling even worse. I have a fever, so I know I’m contagious.”

  “Well, you must stay home, of course. We can’t have anything like this running through the residence if we can prevent it. Take care of yourself, dear, and call if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Frankie said. “I’m really sorry. I had planned some craft activities today, but since I won’t be there to help start them, look in my locker for movies. It’s Perry Monroe’s turn to choose what the group gets to see. He’s partial to World War II movies, which the women hate, but there are three that have love stories in them. Maybe you could offer him a choice between those three and everyone will be happy.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Mrs. Tulia said. “I’ll make sure he chooses one that everybody can enjoy. I’m just sorry you’re so sick. Get better soon. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Frankie said, and hung up the phone.

  After taking a warm shower and changing into a clean nightgown, Frankie made herself some hot tea and took it to bed. Once she’d finished the tea, she crawled beneath the covers.

  Just as she was falling asleep, she remembered Charlotte and the e-mail she’d sent.

  “When I wake up,” she mumbled. “I’ll check it when I wake up.”

  While Frankie was fighting a flu bug, Daniel Sciora was fighting a battle of his own. He revisited the little cemetery where his grandfather was buried, and as he stood at the grave, it occurred to him that not once had he ever considered what Daniel Morrow’s life had been like before he’d come to Italy. All he’d known of Morrow was what his grandmother had told him, and that hadn’t been much.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and read the name on the tombstone, as he’d done a thousand times before.

  Pfc. Daniel Louis Morrow

  Born October 10, 1919

  Died May 8, 1943

  “So, Nonno, you had your own set of secrets, didn’t you?” Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “I wish you were still here. I need someone to tell me what to do.”

  But there were no answers for Daniel, and to his growing dismay, no answer from the woman in America, either.

  Frankie woke up twice during the day, both times to go to the bathroom. She still had a fever, and her throat was dry and scratchy. When she went back to bed, she couldn’t help but wish there was someone special in her life to tuck her in. Most of the time she didn’t give much thought to her solitary state, but there were times, like now, when being alone felt like a failure.

  The next morning was Saturday, and since she didn’t work on the weekend, she was counting on the extra rest to help her feel better. She got up, weak and shaky, but minus the fever, to make some coffee. Once she’d poured herself a cup, she remembered the e-mail and took her coffee with her into the library.

  When she checked her in-box, she was elated to see there was a response to the e-mail she’d sent to Italy.

  She opened the message and began to read.

  Dear Ms. Drummond,

  I received the request you sent to the Hotel Murat regarding information on the grave of an American soldier named Daniel Louis Morrow.

  There is, indeed, a soldier by that name who is buried in a small cemetery on the outskirts of Positano. If there is anything else I can do for you, please let me know.

  Daniel Sciora

  The news was all that Frankie hoped for and then some. Not only had Daniel Morrow’s final resting place been verified, but the man had offered further help. She wasn’t sure just what that might be, but she was definitely excited.

  She hit Reply, her fingers pausing momentarily on the keys, and then she began to type.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The American woman had responded. Daniel felt a kick of excitement as he opened her message.

  Dear Mr. Sciora,

  Thank you so much for answering so promptly. I would have replied sooner, but I’ve been a bit under the weather. This is the first day I’ve been out of bed in the last thirty-six hours. It feels good to be up and moving around.

  My friend Charlotte is such a dear, but I’m going to have to think about how to tell her what I’ve learned. Her story is quite a sad one, you see, and I don’t want to upset her needlessly. Daniel Morrow was her sweetheart. He asked her to marry him, but for some reason, her father didn’t approve and refused his permission. Charlotte told me that she resented her father for his interference and regretted that she had followed his wishes. As a result, she never married.

  Life is sometimes very sad, isn’t it?

  But then, I’ve never married, either, although not for the same reasons as Charlotte.

  I am twenty-seven to Charlotte’s eighty-seven and, as yet, unwilling to class
ify myself as an old maid.

  I fear I’m rambling, but it’s from joy. I do not yet know how I’m going to use the information you have given me, but I thank you again for taking the time to help me.

  With much appreciation,

  Frankie Drummond

  Daniel was smiling. Her English was sprinkled with idioms he wasn’t familiar with. Under the weather was a new one for him, but after further reading, he guessed it meant she’d been sick.

  The reference to being an “old maid” must have to do with being unmarried, but it still made him laugh. He could almost hear her voice, full of life and laughter, talking about first one subject and then another, with hardly a breath in between.

  His mother had been like that. Always laughing and teasing. His father, Antonio, had been a solemn man, but one who had loved his family dearly. It was a tragedy when he had died of a heart attack at forty-one. Daniel’s mother had never recovered from the grief and had passed away within five years of his death. Sometimes it seemed to Daniel that he’d been alone most of his life.

  This woman who called herself Frankie sounded like someone he would have liked to get to know better. However, distance prevailed. But he could answer her e-mail. It would be the proper thing to do.

  Frankie held her news close to her heart all weekend, wondering if telling Charlotte would be wise. What good would it do for Charlotte to know that Daniel’s grave was, indeed, in the location where she’d been told? Frankie didn’t imagine the older woman had enough money to get there now even if she wanted to.

  Still, Charlotte’s story was so sad. In the grand scheme of life, her wish to visit Daniel’s grave seemed such a small thing.

  By Sunday night, Frankie had pronounced herself well and was making plans to return to work the next day. She was out of the shower and preparing to dry her hair when she heard something from the television in the bedroom that caught her attention. She hurried into the room and sat down on the end of the bed to watch. A slender woman with delicate features and a confident, easygoing manner was being interviewed.

  “So, the purpose of Second Wind Dreams is to grant dreams to the elderly?” the reporter asked.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” the woman replied.

  “Tell me, how does it work?”

  “It’s pretty straightforward. We all have regrets for something we didn’t do. You know…that missed opportunity we turned down. Sometimes it’s the reverse…there was something we wanted to do but were never given the chance. Well, it’s my belief that age should never be the reason for giving up dreams. That’s why I began Second Wind Dreams.

  “Usually, the recipients of the dreams are discovered by someone else. Always, the recipients’ doctors must pronounce them physically fit for whatever it is they dream of doing. Once that’s accomplished, the rest is left up to us at Second Wind Dreams to make the magic happen.”

  “How can people contact you?”

  Frankie’s heart was thumping with excitement as she reached for a pen and paper. She took down the information, then ran to finish drying her hair. What if Charlotte qualified for something like this? What if these people could help Charlotte get to Italy to visit Daniel’s grave? Frankie could hardly contain her excitement.

  By the time she was ready for bed, she had a plan. Tomorrow she would have Second Wind Dreams fax her an information sheet. It might all come to nothing, but she wasn’t going to give up on Charlotte’s dream until someone told her it was impossible.

  It was just past noon the next day when Frankie finished filling out the form that had been faxed to Just Like Home. She hurried into Mavis Tulia’s office and sent it back to Second Wind Dreams, then breathed a sigh of relief. She had followed her heart and could only hope for the best. Whatever happened, it was out of her hands.

  She worked late that night to get caught up after her time away, and when she got home she was so tired she forgot to check her e-mail. The next morning, to her delight, she discovered a message from Daniel Sciora.

  Dear Frankie,

  I must say that I like Frankie better than Frances. I like a very happy woman. I think you must also be a selfless woman. Not everyone cares for the older generation. You are to be commended for the life you have chosen to live.

  I think your Charlotte is a very lucky woman to have you for a friend. As for being an “old maid,” I take it that means an unmarried woman of a certain age. That makes me laugh. Twenty-seven is not old. At least I certainly hope not. I am thirty-six and to the disappointment of my large family, unmarried, as well. We could probably exchange amusing stories about what you Americans call “blind dates.”

  I wish you the best in giving your Charlotte the news of her sweetheart’s final resting place. If it matters, please assure her that the grave site is well cared for and often bears fresh flowers. If you have need to call me for any further details, my phone number is posted in the address of this message.

  Ciao,

  Daniel

  Frankie sighed. Unlike Daniel, she didn’t have amusing blind date stories. In fact, since she didn’t date, there were no stories at all.

  She reread the message, smiling to herself as she pictured him trying to figure out idioms of the English language.

  He sounded nice.

  She stared at the phone number.

  She knew it didn’t mean anything that he’d given her his number, but it was a generous offer of further contact. She wanted to tell someone about contacting Second Wind Dreams about Charlotte, but if it all came to nothing, then there would have to be explanations about why not. Still, she could call him without mentioning what she’d done.

  Before she had time to change her mind, she grabbed the phone and punched in the numbers, hoping that it would already be morning in Italy.

  Daniel was on his way out the door when the phone rang. He started to let it go, then changed his mind and ran back inside to answer.

  “Ciao?”

  “Hello, this is Frankie Drummond. Is this Daniel?”

  Daniel’s heartbeat stopped.

  It was her!

  The woman from America!

  She sounded so young and happy. He shifted mental gears into English and took a deep breath.

  “Yes, this is Daniel Sciora. It is a pleasure and a surprise to speak to you. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes, everything is fine. I just read your e-mail, and since you were kind enough to give me your phone number…well…I was just curious enough to call.”

  Daniel laughed. Her honesty was refreshing.

  “Then I am happy you were curious. It is, indeed, good to hear your voice, as well. And how is your friend, Charlotte? Have you told her anything yet?”

  Frankie sighed, and the sound made Daniel smile.

  “No, I haven’t. But I’m working on something that might prove to be exciting for her.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going to say anything just yet for fear of jinxing it. If it happens, you’ll be one of the first to know.”

  “Jinxing? What is this jinxing?”

  Frankie laughed.

  “Sorry. Your English is so good I forgot myself. A jinx is like having bad luck.”

  “Ah…that I understand,” he said. “But your call is definitely not bad luck for me. It is good to hear your voice. Now all I need is a picture of you.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and Daniel wondered if he’d pushed too far with such a request.

  “That I can furnish,” she said at last. “I’ll scan one into an e-mail to you, but don’t expect a glamour girl.”

  Daniel heard a change in the timbre of her voice, but thought nothing of it.

  “I will send one to you, as well. As for glamour girls, that phrase I understand. Just so you know, Frankie Drummond, glamour girls are usually all glitter and no substance.”

  “I’ll look forward to your picture.”

  “And I will look forward to yours,” Daniel echoed.

  �
�Yes, well, goodbye, then,” Frankie said.

  “Since I don’t want to say goodbye, I will just say ciao,” Daniel told her. “And I hope there will be a next time.”

  Even after the dial tone was buzzing in her ear, Frankie still listened, hoping for just one more word. Finally, she had no option but to hang up.

  “Well,” she said, and then grinned. She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  She was acting silly and she knew it, but she didn’t care. This was the most excitement she’d had in years. So much was happening. Even though she knew Daniel was nothing more than an e-mail pen pal, it made her very dull personal life suddenly interesting. She didn’t know what the outcome of her request to Second Wind Dreams would be, but she would never regret the inquiry she’d sent to Positano.

  Eight days later: Just Like Home

  Mavis Tulia stepped outside the office, searching the lobby for Frankie. She saw her in a corner, playing checkers with Al Janey. Al was their eldest resident and fancied himself quite a checker player, even though he often cheated by claiming he got the colors mixed up. As usual, Frankie was letting him win.

  The manager glanced at the clock. It was almost time for lunch, so she didn’t mind disturbing their game.

  “Frankie! Frankie!” she called.

  Frankie looked up, saw her boss waving at her from the office, and breathed a sigh of relief. Al had drifted off to sleep twice since they’d begun their game. Waiting for him to wake up each time was definitely an exercise in patience.

  Frankie put her hand on Al’s arm so that he would know she was talking. She suspected he’d turned his hearing aid off earlier and had forgotten to turn it back on.

  “Al! Al! Mrs. Tulia is calling me. I have to go, okay?”

  Al frowned. “I won, right?”

  Frankie grinned.

  “You sure did. Fair and square.”

  Al nodded.

  “See you later,” Frankie said.

  Al was already setting up the checkerboard again just in case someone else came by and offered to play.

  Frankie hurried over to the office.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Mavis smiled. “I think this is yours.”