Field of Blackbirds - Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (me reader txt) 📗

He stayed behind to help buy some time for their escape. They reunited two days later at the camp. Last week Ibrahim was arrested in Srebrenica for stealing food and supplies from a local market. They planned to leave the camp behind and get as close to Split as they could. Now Milla and Sofi were simply waiting for Ibrahim’s return. The authorities said he would only stay a few days in jail.
Milla blew out the lantern. Before descending into slumber, she allowed herself another, harmless, reminiscent. She saw him at the far end of the property by the stables. She kicked the horse and raced up to him. He had trouble introducing himself. Milla was flattered by the power she had over him. But before the night was over, it was she who was awed at the man he really was. Lazar was strong, but kindhearted. He was courageous, but wise, respectful to her, but passionate. He was filled with morale conviction, but was intriguing by the way he teased precision and truth. She loved the way he arrived at every one of her acts thirty minutes before stage time. He was the catalyst of her confidence. She loved the way he always looked at her, as though it was the first time he’d seen such beauty. She loved his soft touch. She cherished the way he cared for his mother and sister. She respected how hard he worked for Mr. Nowak at the Time Machine, the fact that he sometimes worked through the night as she fell asleep at the table trying to provide meaningful conversation. He only joined the Yugoslavs People’s Army because he loved his country. Lazar was the most exciting and the most upsetting exploration of Milla’s life.
Milla wondered if she let herself get carried away with her thoughts. What surprised her was that her eyes were still dry. She truly had nothing left to give. All she could muster belonged to Sofi.

************

Milla had only been asleep a short while when she heard the sound of a bottle break against a rock, followed by the babbling of drunken Croatian men. Probably the same ones she had heard earlier. But this time they were right outside her tent. She looked over at Sofi; hoped she wouldn’t wake. She could see their shadows projecting on the tent.
“That Muslim whore is over here somewhere!” One of them blurted.
Milla lay quietly, she didn’t move.
“If she doesn’t scream, we won’t have to kill her!”
Her body began to tremble. She tried to assure herself that this wasn’t happening, but it was too late. A pale sliver of light poked through the tent as a blade parted the fabric.


Chapter 22 – The Window, the Po, and the Answer


Marianna wished she could capture the moment in a painting. She tried to imagine the bright colors an artist might use to portray the glow she felt. It was the life she always wanted for herself and recently it seemed so far out of reach. But it was kissing her on the nose now and it was more than she could ever ask for. Marcielli moved his hand up and down Marianna’s back. She felt the warmth in each stroke. Then Marcielli motioned her to stop as he reached down into the baby carriage. He carefully picked up the baby and curled it into his chest. The infant almost disappeared into the loving arms of its captor.
“Thank you Marianna. Thank you for this baby.” he told her.
Marianna thought she would melt. Instead she just stared as Marcielli nearly mirrored perfection. Seeing him as a father was only the final touch. Marcielli carried the baby as Marianna pushed the empty stroller through a tunnel of trees that stood witness to their happiness.
As the two walked and laughed and tempted to catch up on times lost, Marianna noticed the leaves on the trees begin to flicker. She caught a light chill as the wind made its way through the park. The birds lost interest in song. The bright colors that once had wisped around them seemed to fall flat. Day was transforming into night with no reasonable explanation. The clouds seemed to embolden one another as they came together to caress the tree-tops. Fog settled in the park.
Marianna was confused at the sudden change in weather. “Let’s get the baby to the car!” warned Marcielli as he placed the baby back into the carriage. Just short of a jog, they both hurried to get back to the car. Something terrified Marianna. She felt an energy moving with them. She thought if she looked back, they would be swallowed up by it. What was she feeling? It was silly. Her emotions were only playing out a scene she’d watched over and over in the movies. But she fight this one off. Then she heard footsteps, out of sync from their own and a voice rang out . . . . . . . “Marcielli!”
The shrill voice strangled her thoughts. Nothing seemed right, thought Marianna. They turned around. Two men stood only five feet from them. They were wearing long trench coats and their hats were tilted so you couldn’t easily see their faces. One of them said, “We have a message for you.” And the other opened his coat and raised a shotgun.
Marianna saw the flash and heard the horrifying noise that followed. The blast hit Marcielli in the chest and threw backward over the baby carriage. As Marcielli and the baby crashed to the ground, Marianna screamed and leaped for them both.
As she leaped, everything turned black. Everything was silent. She could feel the dryness of her throat as the air rushed in and out. The cool breeze was back. When Marianna sat up, she was met with the familiar bulge and tightness of her tummy. The curtains over the window waved as a banner of relief, assuring her it was all just a dream.
Marianna got out of bed and reached past the curtains out into the cold night. She grabbed the windows edges and pulled them inward, evicting the chill that had filled the room. It wasn’t the first time she had a dream like this one. She crawled back into bed, pulled the covers around her body. As she looked over at all the extra space next to her, she was reminded of how lonely she really was. She reached her arm into the space that Marcielli once occupied and began to weep.
Marianna never remembered falling asleep after waking up in the middle of the night. She stood in her side of the closet, contemplating the weather and how she should dress. She settled for more of a traditional look with her long black jacket, scarf and hat to match. She glanced at the pink shoebox, bearing the ‘Fiesso’ label. Though she promised herself she wouldn’t, she reached for it anyway. She brought the shoebox over to the foot of her bed.
Marianna removed both the letters; the one she received when she and Marcielli were dating and the one she recently got at her Grandmother’s house. Marianna grew weary with her sorrows and she became angry. She was angry that someone else had this kind of dominion and power over her, power to control her thoughts, feelings and fears. Rico and Dmitri; who were they? Didn’t it matter to them that she and Marcielli were only a young couple in love? Marcielli was nothing like his father. Couldn’t they see that? Perhaps the most difficult weight for Marianna to carry was that Marcielli wouldn’t run from them. He wouldn’t live his life in hiding. She wondered what kind of fate this might bring them.
She thought about burning the letters, but couldn’t ever bring herself to do it. Marianna read them quietly and then again. She let the fear take hold of her again as she thought of Marcielli, her unborn baby and the joy of family. If these things were hers, then why were they just out of arm’s reach? She felt like someone was smothering her with her own hand-woven blanket of dreams and ambitions. She felt powerless and it was too much for her to watch as life continued to circle the drain.
Why did she keep the letters? Why did she keep them when they were so infectious? Why? Marianna asked herself and then an image raced through her mind. Why? She knew why she kept the letters. Marianna’s thoughts began to play out on a stage of enlightenment. She felt as though she stumbled across a beautiful song that was being heard for the very first time. Excitement and strength moved through her body. But hesitancy followed. Marianna knew what she had to do. She only needed more time to think about it, time to build the courage.
She didn’t know where she was going, but it really didn’t seem to matter. It was Friday. On Monday the new semester would be starting. She knew she had to surrender her worries before she went back to school in order to bring her grades up. She wanted Marcielli to know she worked hard while he was gone. Marianna didn’t ride her moped today. She thought it might give her away. She decided to pay a visit to the kiosk on the corner, just outside the base, for a bus ticket. She and Marcielli’s elderly friend, Don Carlo, worked there. Don Carlo was the classic reminiscent of an aging Italian man; half his original size, bearing the four seasons of every year of his life in the quality of his skin, white hair, revealing itself under an artisan style cap, dark brown eyes, begging for attention, yet, a thinly trimmed mustache, confirming the look of the once, self-made Casanova of his time.
“Ciou Marianna!”
“Ciou Don Carlo!”
“Marianna, as the Alps mark the map of Italy, so your beauty marks my heart.” Don Carlo kissed Marianna’s hand before he placed the bus ticket in it.
“Don Carlo, a man your age shouldn’t have such things on his mind. What would Isabella have to say?”
“Isabella keeps threatening to leave me.”
The humor was a small band-aid for the way Marianna had been feeling.
“I’ll make you a