Lapis Lazuli

Sicily | 1943

The two hour bicycle ride from Canicatti to The Church of Saint Agatha was far more difficult than Rosalie had originally projected. The four bicycles they were able salvage were old, rusted, and weathered from years of neglect, but they were the only four that had usable tires.

Garret quickly found a portable air pump, and filled everyone’s tires. One of the bikes was missing a seat, so Garret insisted on claiming it as his own and creatively fastened a plank of smooth, flat wood to the exposed end of pipe rising out of the frame.

Considering the condition of the bikes, they could not handle any off-road terrain, so they were forced to stick to the main roads. The problem they kept running into was having to hide within the woods along the edge of the roam anytime a vehicle of any kind would pass by. It was early in the morning, which meant there were a lot of vehicles -especially military transports.

The allies were beginning their advance through Sicily, pushing their way to Pallermo, and Messina, which turned the quiet country roads of Sicily’s wild countryside into bustling, war zone expressways.

After nearly getting spotted by three separate spotters in the passing military convoys, they finally arrived in Caltanissetta.

Luckily for them, the town was not yet entirely occupied by the allied soldiers. Which made it easy for them to slip into the town without having to pass through any checkpoints.

Once they were safely within the town’s inner limits, they ditched the bicycles, and continued on foot. Amastan took the lead, claiming to know the safest routes, and led them to The Church of Saint Agatha without any delays. A few curious citizens gave the odd group momentary glances of suspicion, but they became nothing more. Seeing a Berber in this region of Sicily was odd, but not odd enough to rouse any real attention.

Once they arrived at the church, Aida checked the time on her wristwatch, and realized that they were running thirty minutes behind schedule.

During their journey, Amasatan had no radio communications with clement. She was a little concerned, but pushed her suspicions aside and chalked it up to Clement simply being on the move. Most likely he was already here, waiting for them inside of the church’s holy chambers.

At least that’s what she hoped.

Rich with history, and faith, The Church of Saint Agatha was the pillar of the Jesuit community. Constructed in the ladder years of the sixteenth century, shaped to resemble a Greek cross, the giant stucco and marble facade is a religious anchor for all. Beyond the crossed staircase that provides the looker with a tremendous view of the town, and the Corinthian columns that flanked the main entrance, the jaw-dropping interior drowns the visitor into a beautiful universe of Sicilian baroque. Large marble columns, tattooed with angelic floral patterns are carved into the walls - propping up the massive marble arches adorned with paintings and white-marble sculptures. Polychrome marble inlays, decorated with Lapis Lazuli, and other precious stones shimmered in the church lights. While a monstrous pipe organ kept a close watch on all comings and goings.

Garret was in awe at the church’s impressive display of Sicilian baroque. He had never seen so much marble in his entire life, and gawked at how human hands were capable of constructing such timeless beauty. The churches he grew up going to in Boston were spectacular in their own right, but The Church of Saint Agatha was in a league of its own. He wished he could stay here for days, to admire every inch of the masterpiece, but his attention was needed elsewhere.

“Lapis Lazuli,” Rosalie said, from behind his spine which was bent forward to allow him to admire the blue gemstones glinting within one of the marble inlays.

He subtly faltered from having his intense gaze severed by Rosalie’s soft voice. He straightened his spine, then spun around to meet her eyes. She was smiling.

“The soothing stone,” she said, “It’s my favorite too. My father used to bring me them every time he would return home from one of his work trips. They are known for their healing properties. Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well. It is said that they help enhance self-awareness, release stress, strengthen clarity and communication, boost intuition, and help the wearer to discover and face their truth.”

She reached her hands to her neck, and exposed the gold-linked chain hiding beneath her clothes. Resting against the exposed skin of her upper chest, Garret studied the roughly cut, blue gemstone dangling from the center of the chain.

“My father brought this one home from Afghanistan last summer,” Rosalie said softly, as she clutched the stone in her hand, “It helped to realign my soul with purpose after we lost Miceli. It allowed me to transcend the accident, and overcome my depression. It helped me to accept being at peace with his death. And now…”

Rosalie’s heart fluttered as she tried to find the right words without breaking down in a wave of tears, “Corrado never believed in this kind of stuff,” she said, trying to laugh through the pain.

Garret wanted nothing more than to hold her as hard and long as he could. He was deeply confused about his feelings for Rosalie, and knew that it was inappropriate to introduce them to her during her time of grievance. Still, he wanted her in his arms. To protect her. To console her. To let her know that she didn’t have to go through this alone.

As he toiled with his devoted heart and loud mind, Aida quietly inserted herself between him and her blushing daughter.

“Are you sure he can be trusted?” Garret asked.

Aida looked back as the man in the blue headdress quietly paced back and forth through the shadows near the church’s entrance, “I don’t know,” she said as she craned her neck back to Garret, “He clearly knows more than what he’s revealed, which is fair reason to remain suspicious, but he did save my life, as well as Clement’s. Our fate was to die in Malta, but Amastan intervened. I do not yet know why, although I am confident that time will reveal all truths. I will also not hesitate to kill him if his intentions have been disguised as a ruse. No further harm will come to my daughter. I will do what I must to keep her safe.”

Garret appreciated Aida’s confidence in the man, but it was her resolve and dedication to her family that eased his worry. Aida had already lost two out of her three children. God help whoever tried to take away the third.

The shuffling sound of shifting robes and sandals on marble alerted the group to someone’s arrival.

Thick with years of delivering Sicilian sermons and singing alongside multiple generations of choir groups, the old man’s voice enveloped them in a relaxing bath of warm water, “That is a fine stone you have, my dear.”

His penetrating eyes were a mixture of hazel and blue, and were set back within their terribly wrinkled, and exhausted sockets. An old pair of rectangle glasses rested on the bridge of his crooked nose, and stubbly remnants of a gray beard crept along the edges of his jaw, within the deep creases of his cheeks, and beneath the sagging skin of his chin. His thin, bony fingers were interlocked in front of his stomach, and his aged spine was slightly hunched towards the floor - making him appear years older than he actually was. Yet his eyes were fixated on Rosalie’s necklace.

“Thank you,” Rosalie said, apprehensively. After the betrayal of Burgio, she found it hard to trust another priest. She knew it was a foolish fear, especially considering the age and fragility of this new priest, but she justified it with the fact that her brother was dead because of what Father Burgio did.

“A gift from your father?” The old man asked.

Dumbfounded by the man’s question, they nearly all blurted out their confusion at the same time. Rosalie, controlling the conversation, won that race, “How did you know this was from my father?”

The elderly priest smiled, “It is good to finally meet you, Rosalie. I have been waiting a long time. Please, we have much to discuss.”

He turned three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, then began walking towards a brass door that led into the sacristy.

“How do you know Clement? Is he here?”Aida barked, sternly, “Who are you?”

The priest stopped, which appeared to take more effort than ease, then turned his body sideways to allow them to hear his whispered words.

“Cabbrieli Bova. Monsignor of Sant’ Agata.”

Hearing the priest introduce himself shocked Rosalie into a catatonic state of bewilderment. Aida was also shocked at the peculiar revelation.

Bova? Was that possible? The only other Bova Rosalie knew had been brutally murdered inside of his own music shop in Canicatti. He was Corrado’s employer, and mentor. She had met him numerous times, as had Aida, yet neither of them seemed to recognize the man looming before them.

Were they related? Was it mere coincidence? Hundreds of thousands of questions rattled around inside of Rosalie’s brain as she watched the elderly man limp away from them with a clear, painful gait.

Before Aida could make a decision, Rosalie took off down the nave behind the Monsignor. There was no stopping her. She closed into Garret's personal space, and latched onto his forearm with the pressure of a vice grip, “Stay with her. I will be right behind you.”

Garret nodded, then took off in a polite jog after Rosalie. Aida met Amastan’s eyes with anticipation, yet only received a look of disappointment. Clement had still not checked in, and it was almost an hour past their designated rendezvous time. Hundreds of thousands of questions now rattled around her brain as she felt the holy walls around her close in.

Reluctantly informing Amastan of their new plan, he immediately began patrolling the entire perimeter of the church, sticking to the confines of the shadows, while Aida joined Rosalie, Garret, and the Monsignor inside of his sacred chambers.