Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 146417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
He was Italian. He was actually a second cousin, but he was so much older she’d always called him uncle. He liked to complain about pretty much all nationalities. For a humanitarian who had worked across the globe, he could be a bit dour. “That’s what you always say. Well, I’m glad I made a double batch of pasta.”
Uncle Francis patted his belly. “You’ve gotten so good at it. What kind of sauce are you making?”
“Bolognese,” she replied, hooking her arm through his as they began to move across the plaza. To her left was St. Anne’s Chapel, a small, deeply peaceful space. She liked to sit there in the afternoons. Somehow no matter how hot it got outside, the chapel always felt cool.
“Ah, Roman’s favorite. Mine as well, though I must admit that I’ve grown fond of your alfredo sauce. Have you been into the shop this week? Anything new I would like?”
Four years before she’d taken another chance and bought a small bookshop that specialized in antique books. Her uncle was always interested in historical texts about his order. “I’ve got a line on the journal of a knight I think you’ll love. Seventeenth century. It was recently found in the archives of a privately held castle in Germany. I managed to snatch it up at auction.”
“Yes, I would like to study it.” He stopped in front of the gates that led from the tourist section of the fort into their residence. It was another one of those places she loved to sit because it was a short tunnel with a couple of stairs that led from the stark, military architecture of the fort into her own personal sanctuary. Well, not merely hers. Ezra lived here, and there were daily workers who kept up the grounds.
“Hey, Mom!”
And then there was the light of her whole life. Her son. He bounded through the gate Ezra opened, his backpack falling to the ground. He looked precious in his school uniform, and her heart clenched as she got to one knee and opened her arms. “Hey, baby.”
She hugged her son and felt that sweetness she always got when she held him pierce through her. He’d started school two years before and every day Ezra walked him to school before either heading to the hospital he served at as a chaplain or coming back to the fort to work with her uncle. Sometimes he spent weeks in Africa with the church on various charities. She always missed him when he was gone. Ezra was good company and a positive influence on her son, who looked more and more like his father as he grew up.
He already had his father’s intelligence.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered.
“Brother, could you take Roman inside and get him his tea?” Ezra asked. “I think Kim made cookies earlier. I smelled something delicious. And I brought some fresh milk in this morning.”
Normally they would all go in and have high tea together. Malta had been owned by the British in the fairly recent past, and the country still held on to some British traditions. She stood up, a little nervous because sending them in alone meant Ezra wanted to talk to her. She ruffled her baby boy’s hair and looked down into Roman’s blue eyes. They were so much like Beck’s staring back at her. “Your uncle is right. There are snickerdoodles waiting for you in the courtyard. I’ve got tea set up there since it’s such a nice day.”
“Well, then yes, I will certainly take him,” her uncle offered because he was never one to turn down a treat. “Come along, young Roman. I will tell you all about my meeting with the pope and you can tell me about your school day. We will speak Italian.”
“Non è l'italiano il problema,” Roman said with a sigh.
“Well, you can’t expect me to help you with Maltese,” Uncle Francis said as they began to walk toward the domicile. “Such an odd language. Better to speak Italian. Tutti capiscono l'italiano.”
Ezra shook his head as he watched them disappear behind the gate. “Not everyone understands Italian, and honestly, Roman’s Maltese is getting better. He’s the single smartest kid I’ve ever met. I talked to his teacher and they want to give him more challenging work. They’re not talking about promoting him early, but they don’t want him to get bored. He was working on an algebra problem earlier today and didn’t want to be bothered with physical activities.”
She frowned his way. “Whose fault is that?”
Ezra grinned, a youthful expression. “Math is fun. And you’re the one who had him reading at the age of three.”
“Like I could stop him.” Her son was a force of nature. “Is that why you wanted to talk?”
He moved to a bench among the gorgeous beds of Sicilian marigolds the gardeners had planted earlier in the season. They were in full bloom now, a lovely sea of yellow blossoms. Roman had been out here during his school break, helping the workers plant and learning all he could. He was a sponge, and living with two men dedicated to study hadn’t hurt either.