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

in Italy.”
Beppe reached his free hand around Marianna’s shoulder.
“Why aren’t you drinking Mi Amor?”
Marianna angled her tummy toward him, thinking that would satisfy his inquiry. But he waited for an answer.
“Well, Beppe,” she batted her eyes at him, “Pregnant girls aren’t supposed to drink.”
“The doctors are always coming up with new things aren’t they? You know your mother drank my wine when she was pregnant with you.”
Marianna laughed, “And look what’s become of me.”
“Oh Marianna, my wine has made you beautiful.”
“I know Beppe. This vineyard, your wine, is the secret ingredient of our family. It has made us all beautiful.”
Beppe took Marianna’s glass and poured it into his own and then repositioned his arm around her.
He gazed at the endless rows that fell into the valley; animation and vitality, still beating inside his aged body; always waiting, always ready to share insight with life’s young legionnaires.
“You know Marianna. This vineyard was supposed to be Mossimo’s. Papa wanted him to have it because he knew he would take the best care of it. Mossimo was the most dedicated of all us boys. He was the hardest working. Papa knew the vineyard would require precision and exactness. The least bit of carelessness, the least bit of gracelessness could poison the whole vineyard. And the lack of love for it, well Marianna, that would destroy all that it ever was.”
Beppe’s voice was very settling. It seemed to come from deep within his chest and warm the space between them.
“When Mossimo died, I tried so hard to show Papa that I was the one to take the vineyard. It wasn’t easy, being the youngest of the six brothers. The others were older, smarter and stronger, but Papa saw that I loved the vineyard and that he could not teach us. Precision and exactness has taken years to perfect. Mossimo raised the bar for me. Your Grandfather was a good man.”
“Thanks Beppe. It really means a lot to hear that.” said Marianna.
“A long time ago, I learned that Isabella couldn’t bare children. It destroyed me. But the time I would have spent raising my children, I put into this vineyard, so the whole family would benefit. I envy you Marianna. Raise that baby with love, always love first. But strive for precision and exactness in your family and you will have a fine product one day to look back on.”
Beppe tipped his head back and emptied his glass. The same raspy gasp followed.
Marianna thought of Marcielli. She was thrilled with Beppe’s challenge. She was ready; ready to be back in Marcielli’s arms, ready for their baby.

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

They were only two kilometers from Sarajevo when Milla saw a small line of cars forming in the roadway ahead. Sarajevo was still under Bosnia’s control, mostly Muslim Bosnians. It was where they planned on filling up the gas tank and getting something to eat, maybe even resting a night. But when Milla saw the trucks and the soldiers bearing Serbian insignias, terror and panic clashed deep inside her. She wanted to turn around and speed off, but she knew they would start after her. She looked back at Josif and Sofi who were both asleep. Countless ideas fought for a voice in her mind, but the most consequential of all, crowded the others out. Just wait and see what happens, she thought. It took the least effort and there wasn’t time for anything else. She felt helpless. A disquieting feeling of defeat prepared its feast. It was over. She had reached the end of the line.
The Serb soldiers, that were blocking the road, were trying to stop refugees from getting into the city, where they could find help and align with the resistance. Milla feared that they had REFUGEE written all over them.
They were only four cars away. Although most of the cars were being pulled over and the people were being ordered out, some of the cars were being waved through. Why were they being let through, she wondered? There’s got to be a reason. She remembered they were driving a Serbian military jeep. Maybe they could pass as Serbs. Playing noble Muslims would only get them all killed and Josif really was a Serb. But how would she explain the jeep? Time was running out. There was only one car in front of them now and the soldiers had already pointed out the jeep and made eye contact with Milla.
Maybe they would think she stole the jeep. None of them could pass for military, even if they could pass as Serbs. Fear jabbed at her from every angle. She only hoped she didn’t look as frightened as she felt.
Milla took her foot off the brake and rolled forward to the ordered stopping point. Soldiers were poking their heads in the jeep. All were curious at what they found.
Milla had gone too far to give up the fight now. She had already overcome overwhelming odds. She’d promised a life for Sofi. She owed Josif her life, even if he was unaware of what was happening now.
“What are you doing in this jeep?” one of the soldiers shouted, his AK-47 pointed into the car.
There were five of them and more, about twenty meters away. Milla looked at the soldier and was just about to open her mouth; not exactly sure of what was going to come out.
Then, an idea, the first idea that popped into her head earlier, that she so quickly dismissed, made itself available again. And this time it seemed like it would work.
Milla remembered the hospital just at the edge of Sarajevo. It was a sanctuary hospital, whose promise was to care for all sick or wounded. It was even known to take in wounded Serb soldiers.
Hoping it would work, Milla pointed to the back seat, “My husband’s uncle was injured in Zvornik when the resistance bombed his house. Now he has fallen ill. I’m taking him to Kosevo hospital.”
The soldier walked over to Josif and used the barrel of his gun to move the blanket away from his face. “What’s wrong with the hospitals in Zvornik or Srebrenica?”
“They’ve all been destroyed.” answered Milla.
“You never answer my first question. Where did you get this jeep?”
One of the soldiers put his gun over his shoulder and leaned uncomfortably close to Milla.
“How about you come with me?” he said as he reached and twirled some of her blond hair with his fingers.
“Stop it!” yelled Milla. “It’s my husband’s jeep. His name is Corporal Katich. He’s with the Vojsko Srbije, under Lt. Obilic. They’re in Zvornik now.”
The soldier asking the questions seemed to be amused with her answer.
“Private, call HQ in Zvornik and find out if Nikola has a Corporal Katich under his command.”
Milla waited, not sure where it would all lead. She hoped she hadn’t caused any trouble for Lazar, but it was all she could think of. She looked back at Josif and Sofi. Josif appeared to be awake, but he hadn’t opened his eyes. Maybe he knew to play along. Sofi was completely asleep. Milla was thankful for that. She didn’t want her contradicting any of their story.
The time they spent waiting was excruciating. The minutes seemed like hours. At one point, Milla even heard the rattle of machinegun fire. She didn’t dare look around. She didn’t want to know. Milla feared that Sofi would wake any minute. The one thing that offered the slightest bit of relief for Milla was that, three of the five soldiers had departed to the vehicle behind them. They were no longer top priority. But the soldier standing in front of them wasn’t finished. He had a sharp and judicious look on his face.
“Show me your Serbian identification.” he ordered.
Milla was prepared for this question and actually expected it earlier.
“I’m sorry Sir. We were in such a hurry. I didn’t have time to grab it.”
“What about the old man?”
Milla also hoped he would ask this question.
“You can ask him.” She said.
Josif moved a little under the blanket. He had been paying attention, she thought.
“Hey,” the soldier poked him with the barrel of his rifle. “Where is your identification?”
Josif awoke with a horrible sounding cough. It was perfect. Then he pushed his blanket downward in order to get to his coat pocket. The soldier examined the crutch lying next to him. Her story was all falling into place.
“What is this all about?” Josif barked, trying to act disturbed. Then he handed the man his identification.
Right next to his photo was the double-headed Serbian Crest. The soldier handed it back to him.
His questions continued. “Who is the girl?” he demanded.
Milla looked back at Sofi, admiring her innocence. There were still beautiful things worth fighting for; certainly a reason to celebrate. Milla reached back and pulled the blanket tighter up around her neck.
“She’s my daughter.” declared Milla.
The soldier who was ordered to confirm her information was now walking toward them. Milla anticipated the worst.
“She’s telling the truth. His name is Lazar Katich and he is a Corporal under Nikola’s command.”
Milla quietly celebrated this premature victory. She no longer felt the sensation she was going to burst.
“Can we go now?” she asked.
“One more question, Mrs. Katich.” The soldier leaned into the jeep only a few inches from her face. “Why wouldn’t a proud Serbian wife be wearing her wedding ring?”
Milla looked down at her bare ring finger that was gripping the stirring wheel, maybe a little too tightly.
“I told you, Sir, we were in a hurry. I barely had time to get dressed. If you’re done asking