to Rome is in an hour and fifteen minutes. We timed your escape to make the train. If we miss it, we’ll have to hide overnight.”
“Okay.” Sandro got the message. They had to make the train. It was life or death.
“I don’t think the Nazis from Fossoli will be sent to Modena. They can’t spare men.”
“There could be Nazis in Modena.”
“I know. I have false papers for you. Your new name is Giovanni Longhi.”
“After Professoressa Longhi.” Sandro remembered the math teacher, a lifetime ago.
“I have a change of clothes for you, too. When we get to the train station, we split up. Act like we don’t know each other. You and Elisabetta will go together. You’ll be a couple.”
Elisabetta looked over at Sandro. “We are a couple.”
Marco was barely panting. “I’ll keep an eye on you two, but you’re on your own.”
“Will the Nazis at Modena know there was an escape?”
“Yes, I assume so. My hope is they’ll expect us to hide around Fossoli rather than try to run to Modena. So we have surprise going for us, again. If we just keep traveling south across the fields, we’ll be fine.”
Elisabetta squeezed Sandro’s hand. “This is all Marco’s plan. How to get you out of the camp, everything.”
“Not true.” Marco looked over. “Elisabetta makes great pasta.”
“What?” Sandro asked breathlessly. “Marco, thank you. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Take care of her, that’s how.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO
Elisabetta
18 October 1943
Elisabetta held Sandro’s hand, and they walked through the cobblestone streets of Modena toward the train station. Marco was a block ahead of them, and men and women passed them. She had shaken the dirt from her shoes, and Sandro had changed into Marco’s white shirt and dark pants, cinched by a belt. He looked fine except for the welt on his right cheek, from a Nazi blow.
Elisabetta felt terrible about leaving Massimo behind, and Sandro was somber. Ahead, Marco joined the people heading into the station, a long, square building with a series of arches at its entrance. She realized that he would have a hard time finding their platform, since he couldn’t read train schedules. She hoped he would figure it out or ask someone.
Elisabetta and Sandro crossed the street and entered the train station. The ceiling was vaulted, and it was a large space, with doors on the far side that led to the platforms and tracks. There were only a handful of travelers, carrying valises and newspapers. Luckily, there were no Nazis in sight.
“Giovanni, let’s check the track number,” Elisabetta said, using Sandro’s false name, in case anyone overheard. He pursed his lips, and she could tell he was nervous, so she squeezed his hand.
Sandro eyed the schedule. “Our train will be here any minute, on track seven. We’re right on time.”
“Good.” Elisabetta glanced over to see Marco passing through the door to the platforms. “Let’s wait outside, shall we? It’s a nice night, and I’m sure we can pay on the train.”
“Good idea.” Sandro forced a smile, and they headed outside. They crossed to the platform for track seven. Their train approached, its round light rumbling toward them. The travelers perked up and formed a rough line.
Elisabetta’s heart filled with happiness. All she and Sandro had to do was board and act like a couple in love, which they were. They were almost home.
Suddenly two Nazis emerged from the train station, smoking cigarettes. She spotted them out of the corner of her eye, but kept her smile in place. Sandro must have seen them, too. He stiffened, turning away.
Elisabetta worried about him. On impulse, she kissed him. He kissed her back, surprised at first, then she felt him catch fire. She pressed herself against him, feeling all the love she had for him.
“I love you,” Sandro murmured, when he released her.
“I love you, too,” she told him.
The train pulled into the station, its engine grinding and wheels slowing rhythmically. The other travelers to Rome lined up to board, flowing around them. She kept Marco in her sight, and he lingered to the side and behind them, pretending to read a newspaper. She knew he had seen the two Nazis and wouldn’t board until after she and Sandro did, making sure they were safe.
The Nazis walked toward the platform, apparently to board the train. They chatted and smoked in a relaxed manner, but Sandro stared straight ahead, his back ramrod straight. Elisabetta felt alarm at Sandro’s reaction and glanced at Marco. Their eyes connected, and she