The Garden of Letters by Alyson Richman Page A

to start preparing before winter comes and access becomes too difficult.”
    “And what about men? There aren’t nearly enough of us . . .”
    “We need to think about getting more women involved . . .”
    “Too dangerous!” someone barked back. “Would you want your own sister in the line of fire? Think about what those pigs would do to one of them in a holding cell.”
    Beppe, one of the key organizers, tried to settle the crowd. “Listen, we can’t deny the danger. That is a fact. But we also know the women of Verona are fed up with war.”
    Someone in the background snickered. “They can gladly take their husbands, but not their sons!”
    Beppe smiled. “Well, that’s true. That’s why they’re getting angrier.” He leaned over the crowded table. “But let’s be serious. Our own mothers and sisters have been selfless for years in the name of Italy. But now they are becoming disillusioned. They see their conditions deteriorating. The milk and food for their children being rationed, their shelves nearly bare. Mussolini promised them a strong, united Fatherland, and they are tired of receiving nothing but empty promises for their hardship.”
    “Our own partisan, Jurika, in the mountains now, enlisted with us because her brother was sent to Africa and came back with an amputated leg and no money to provide for his family. He shot himself in the head, just so his mother and sister could get his pension. And the state tried to refuse him even that on the grounds of his suicide.”
    “We have two other women in our room today who want to help!” a voice shouted.
    Elodie and Lena could feel all the eyes of the room suddenly turn to them. Brigitte Lowenthal wasn’t in attendance and the girls were the only females in the room. It was Luca’s voice that had pointed them out.
    “These young girls want to save Italy as much as we do!” His voice was so impassioned, it gave Elodie goose bumps.
    As everyone craned their necks to gain a view of Elodie and Lena, both girls blushed in embarrassment. Then Lena’s strong voice filled the air.
    “It’s true. I would die for Italy! And my friend here saw her own father dragged from his house and beaten by the Fascists.”
    Beppe stood up and clapped his hands to silence the room.
    “We will get the job done. We will get the guns to our men. We will sabotage the rails and intercept deliveries. We will find ways to be more cunning . . . one step ahead of them, even when we have less manpower. Let’s put our heads together, make full use of our talents, and figure out how to stop this bloody regime!”
    The room exploded with applause and cheer.
    “They better quiet themselves down.” Elodie looked at Lena, revealing her apparent alarm. “What if someone hears all the noise and reports it?”
    But Lena wasn’t listening. She appeared to have become completely enraptured by Beppe’s speech.
    “I wish he wouldn’t wear those overalls,” Lena whispered. “Otherwise, that’s a man whom even I could cook pasta for at night.”
    Elodie smiled. The thought of Lena cooking pasta for anyone seemed comical.
    “Maybe you should offer to play your viola for him. I think you’d have more luck winning his heart with your music than with your cooking.”
    Lena shot Elodie a bemused look. “And Luca? Are you going to offer to play your cello?”
    Elodie stared ahead, a thin ribbon of a smile crossing her lips. “I won’t offer anything. But I will do whatever I’m asked.”

    Elodie and Lena found themselves increasingly busy as summer began, even without their classes at the Liceo Musicale. They would go every Wednesday to Luca’s bookstore. Luca would always greet them at his front desk. If there were customers already in the store, he would wait until they had left before taking the girls to the back room.
    “My music girls,” he would say and smile. His smile lingered a bit longer on Elodie. “Too bad all your heart goes into your