city blocks gave way to fields and farmhouses, the view changed but was no less disturbing. Even Ann and Marcie, who were wedged into the jeep’s back seat next to Vi, fell into a shocked silence.
Scorched and twisted olive trees stood silent watch over fields marred by craters that were the work of shells and hand grenades. Abandoned farmhouses, roofs gone and doors torn off, spoke of lives lost. Dreams upended. Marcie pinched her nose against the stench of hemp rotting unharvested in the fields. What must the countryside have smelled like after the fighting had first moved on, and plants weren’t the only casualties disintegrating in the heat and sun?
Finally the jeeps entered the town of Caserta, their destination according to their driver. A handful of bone-thin children stopped their play with a makeshift ball to watch them pass. Vi’s heart twisted as she compared their gaunt visages to her last glimpse of Jimmy, his full cheeks rosy with health and vigor. Her chest ached for their parents. How different their dreams for their children’s lives must have been from this.
“Looks like we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Ann said over the jeep engine’s growl and gnashing of gears. “Take a gander at that!”
Vi glanced toward Ann’s side of the street, steeling herself for some new awfulness, and then did a double take. An enormous, ornate, five-story building made of white and gold stone—a palace, really—rose up into the bright-blue sky in a surfeit of splendor. Large enough to cover several city blocks back home, with a vast lawn stretching out in front of it, crisscrossed by paths, it dominated its surroundings.
Beautiful stonework around the windows and along the roof gave it an air of elegance despite the damaged roof and broken glass panes. Three stately arches were embedded into the front facade, each one nearly three stories tall from ground to apex and wide enough to accommodate a horse-drawn carriage or even a small truck.
The number of military vehicles parked out front gave rise to that last thought and also suggested that, whatever it had been in the past, it now served at the pleasure of the Allied army.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen, she thought to herself in a black humor.
Ann tapped the driver on the shoulder. “What building is that?”
Vi leaned forward, curious, too.
Lieutenant Guilford shouted the answer over his shoulder. “The Reggia di Caserta. It was a royal residence in the 1700s, built to rival the Versailles in France. Now it’s the headquarters for the British Armed Forces. Before that it housed the Italian Air Force Academy, which was why it was bombed. Luckily only one shell found its mark, so most of the building is still intact.”
“I don’t suppose we’re staying there?” Vi asked hopefully, seduced by the idea of sleeping within such grandeur. Especially after the cramped conditions aboard the ship.
“No, miss,” Lieutenant Guilford said. “Nor would you want to. There’s no hot water, and all that missing glass means you’d be at the mercy of the mosquitoes. And that’s not a good idea, believe me.”
“Oh,” Vi said, a little sorry to have the building’s grandeur diminished.
“But it does have a gem of a theater,” the lieutenant continued. “Several other units have already performed there and raved about the acoustics.”
“Well, that’s fine, then,” Ann said, sharing a conspiratorial wink with Vi. Vi agreed. Imagine being able to boast once she got back to the States that she had graced the stage of European royalty! It’d be quite the feather in her cap. That is, assuming she did get back.
Her mood slipped.
Marcie nudged Vi in the ribs and gestured toward the other side of the jeep. “Is it just me, or do the natives seem less than happy to see us?”
Tearing her thoughts from Jimmy and Sal and the fate of the club, Vi looked where Marcie was pointing. Several pedestrians had stopped to watch them pass, their vacant, weary faces reminding Vi of her conversation with Luciana. The American jeeps weren’t signs of liberation to these people but merely continuing occupation.
“I suspect they’ve seen things we can’t even begin to imagine,” Vi answered. “Still, I’m glad they aren’t our intended audience.”
“Amen to that,” Marcie said, her tone light. Her expression, however, remained troubled. “I suspect they would be a tough crowd.”
Vi couldn’t disagree. An undertone of weariness and anger seemed to permeate the landscape. Emotions that didn’t go well with a light musical comedy.