“It looks like a gang,” Alma said, her face growing pale. “They probably won’t bother us, but you never want to be in their way. Better get a move on.”
Francesca knew exactly what gangs were like. She’d heard about and seen plenty of their handiwork at home. In fact, gangs had the run of the island at home. She knew to steer clear of them, either as a friend or a foe. It was best to be out of their line of sight.
The German families scattered, heading to the other side of the park or leaving entirely.
Soon, the men began shoving each other. They became a writhing mass as a full-scale fight broke out. Some fell to the ground. Others dashed away from the scene.
Francesca’s gaze was drawn to Fritz, who watched the unfolding scene intently.
“Do you know who it is?” Alma asked, quickly packing their remaining things.
“No,” he said, “but we need to move out, fast.”
A man bolted suddenly, his face pinched with fear. Francesca gasped. He ran straight for them.
Several men raced after him, their pistols gleaming in the light of day.
Fritz whipped around. “Ladies, get back. Mama, the children!”
Mrs. Klein screamed and clutched Johanna.
Alma pulled Else into an outcropping of trees behind a large boulder. Greta and the rest of Alma’s siblings joined them, along with the Kleins.
All but Fritz. He leaned on the boulder in front of the families in a protective stance. Mr. Klein joined him, but Robert Brauer, Francesca noticed, remained out of sight.
Johanna shouted at him in German, but Fritz ignored her.
Resisting her instinct to flee, Francesca rushed to his side. She couldn’t let him face the gangsters alone, and she couldn’t bear to see him hurt. He was too good, too…good of a friend.
Alma gasped and called out to her. “Francesca!”
In that instant, a man aimed his pistol at the gangster who fled—and fired.
Screams split the air.
Fritz yanked Francesca to the ground and covered her body with his in one swift motion. The impact of her bones connecting with hard earth took her breath away.
A memory shocked through her then, of her father knocking her to the ground. As she’d lain there, on the gravel path leading to their front door, she’d spat on his shoe, knowing full well it would elicit a swift kick to her ribs. It had been worth it to show him what she thought of him, and that she wasn’t afraid. But her side had ached for days, and the purple-black bruises had frightened Maria and Sister Alberta enough that they’d called a doctor. Her dear papa had broken two of her ribs.
Francesca gulped in air, trying to steady her breathing, her racing heart. She wasn’t at home, she reminded herself. She was in New York, far from her father’s violence. Fritz Brauer had tried to protect her, not hurt her. And though she’d known him a short time, she knew to her very bones he was a good man. This show of protecting his family, and her, only confirmed it.
As the rest of the gangsters scattered and the other families reemerged from their hiding places, Francesca pushed the memory back to where it belonged—in the past. Still, she felt an oily nausea in its wake.
“Are you all right?” Fritz asked, untangling himself from Francesca’s skirts.
“I… Yes.” She nodded, wishing the nausea would subside.
Fritz lightly brushed her hand with his fingertips. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Thank you…for…” For protecting her. For being a gentleman. For looking at her that way, as if her welfare meant something to him. Emotion clogged her throat and she gazed at him speechless, unable to finish her sentence.
“For a minute there, you looked as if you’d seen a ghost,” he said.
If only he knew how right he was. Paolo Ricci was a ghost, a phantom that haunted her despite the time and distance between them. She was still learning how to erase him from her life, her mind, her heart completely. And it was proving difficult. It seemed she would always carry the scars.
“I had a memory,” she said at last.
“A memory?” Concern shone in his eyes.
“An unpleasant one. One I can’t repeat. It is not… It is too… I can’t.”
He studied her face, eyes soft. “It’s all right. You’re safe. Here, let me help you. ” He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she said, reaching for her boater hat, which had tipped sideways in the scuffle and now dangled from loose hairpins.
Fritz cast her a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.”
“I want to go,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady.
“Of course, yes.”
The Brauers and their few remaining friends gathered their things rapidly, complaining about the lack of police and how things were more dangerous now than in their childhood days.
“Are you all right?” Alma asked, rushing over to her. “That was terrifying.”
Francesca kissed her friend’s cheeks. “I’m fine. I’m…tired.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Fritz said, glancing at his pocket watch. “It’s getting late, and we’re finished here anyway.”
“Yes, please let him walk with you,” Alma insisted. “I’ll help carry things home. Will I see you next week? I can visit you, if you prefer.”
“Sì, of course.” Francesca kissed her cheeks. “I enjoy the picnic. Mostly.” She forced a smile. “And you don’t need to worry about me, Fritz. I can walk alone. I’m not afraid.”
“I insist,” Fritz said. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
She felt a fluttering sensation in her stomach. He worried about her welfare? She met his gaze briefly, and for the first time in ages, felt a blush crawl across her cheeks.
“I’m going to escort Miss Ricci home, Mama,” Fritz announced, pulling his derby hat back onto his head.
Mrs. Brauer opened her mouth to protest but seemed to think better of it and nodded curtly. “Fine.”
Francesca took up her basket and made her goodbyes. “Thank you for having me again, Mrs. Brauer. I hope you liked my bread.”
“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Brauer nodded. “And yes, I liked your bread very much, though next time I would have added more yeast so it can rise more.”
Behind Johanna’s back, Alma rolled her eyes.
Francesca hid a smile. “I try that next time.”
Shyly, Else, the youngest Brauer, approached her and held out a flower plucked from the small patch of grass near the fence. “For you.”
Francesca touched her lips in surprise. This lovely little girl had no qualms about welcoming Francesca to their family gatherings. Bending to meet Else at her eye level, she accepted the gift. “Thank you, Else. How you know I love flowers?”
Else shrugged shyly and smiled, showing a gap where she’d lost a tooth. Her large brown eyes, fringed by thick lashes, were unlike the blues eyes of the rest of the family. Perhaps they’d come from a distant relative. Regardless, she would be a beauty one day.
“We’re off,” Fritz said, nodding a goodbye to Helene, whose face fell when she saw whom he was escorting home.