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Letter from a Cave
Andreas, a Swiss sculptor and stonemason, lost his wife in an accident three years ago. Still grieving, he seeks solace on long hikes in the Swiss mountains. Overcome by a thunderstorm one evening, he takes shelter in a cave where he finds an old, abandoned backpack underneath rocks and stones. Hidden in it are an Italian passport, a photo of a young woman, and an envelope with a letter inside, written by a Jewish refugee during the Second World War to his young, pregnant wife in Italy.
Now, seventy years later, Andreas is determined to find out what happened to the man, why he hadn’t sent the letter, whether his wife, Bella, or her family in Italy are still alive after all these years. Together with Luisa, his friend and owner of a vineyard in Tuscany, he sets out on a quest through Italy to find any signs of them. During their search, they meet both helpful people and those who try to prevent them, even by force, from digging into a past filled with heroism but also with cruelty and betrayal. Will the quest to find Bella and her family bring closure for them as well as for Andreas, or will it cause more turmoil and heartache?
With a captivating mystery at its core, Letter from a Cave is a suspenseful journey through Switzerland and Italy that will make readers feel a gamut of powerful emotions. Fans of Christa Polkinhorn’s other novels will be delighted to meet a few familiar characters.
Prologue: December 10, 1943
My beloved Bella,
I made it! I arrived. I’m exhausted, full of scrapes and bruises from the climb, but I’m here free and safe. What a relief! I just wish you were with me, my dear Bella. I miss you so much. At the same time, I’m grateful we decided for you not to make this difficult journey. It would have been too strenuous, especially in your present condition. There was a pregnant woman with us, but she had to turn back. It was too hard on her. So, we just have to be patient. Our friend will bring you along as soon as possible. I just hope and pray that this terrible war will be over soon.
Anyway, I’m not going into any detail about our trek just in case this letter gets into the wrong hands, which I don’t think will happen with all the precautions we took, but you never know. So here are just the basics. Aside from the strenuous hike, the weather changed all of a sudden and it began to snow heavily just as we neared the border. It was a terrible storm. I was afraid we’d get lost and end up in an abyss. But Guido, the guide, (not his real name to protect his identity) was fantastic. He brought me safely through the horror of the storm.
Unfortunately, we got delayed because of the bad weather, and when we finally arrived, it was dark. The Swiss guide, who was supposed to bring me to the valley on the Swiss side, was no longer there. Guido assured me that this happened occasionally. He brought me to a cave that he and his fellow guides had set up as a refuge for people who got stranded. It’s quite cozy in here with blankets, water, dry food, and firewood. I’m going to spend the night here and wait for the Swiss guide to come back tomorrow to take me to the village. If for some reason he doesn’t show up, I can make it down to the valley on my own during daytime.
I’m exhausted, but I couldn’t go to sleep without writing to you. I’ll mail this letter from the village, so you know I’m safe. Take care of yourself, my dear Bella, and take care of our little girl or boy. I hope it’s going to be a girl and that she is as beautiful as you are. But as long as you and the baby are safe and healthy, and we’ll soon be together again—that’s all that counts.
I miss you, my love. Molti baci,
Joshua
Chapter 1: Spring 2018
Andreas gasped. He sat up in bed, tightening his fists as his heart hurt with longing. It had been another one of his dreams about Karla, his wife, who had died three years before.
“Where are you now?” he whispered with a sob.
He pushed the comforter back, slid his legs to the edge of the bed, and put his feet on the throw rug. Planting his elbows on his knees, he covered his face with his hands, then brushed the tears away. He got up with a groan, rubbing his lower back. It was one of the mornings he became aware of his seventy-year-old body. He walked to the window, slid the sheer curtains aside, and opened it.
Outside, it was gloomy. Clumps of dark clouds obstructed the view of Piz La Tschera and the other surrounding mountains that were visible on clear days from the village of Andeer in the northeast of Switzerland. The air smelled musty of wet leaves and grass.
Karla had died in a car accident in the south of Switzerland where they lived at the time. She’d been a careful driver, but it had snowed heavily the night before. Andreas hadn’t wanted her to drive, had offered to go to the store himself. She’d waved him off, saying, “I’ll be careful. Go on with your work.” He’d been in the middle of a large sculpting project for an upcoming exhibition and was fully focused on his work. So he let her go. Feelings of guilt still haunted him three years later.
The road toward Locarno, a city in the canton Ticino, had been well plowed, but there were patches of ice. They found her car at the bottom of the hill at the edge of the Maggia River. Her body lay halfway down the hill beside a tree stump. The police surmised she’d been thrown from the car against the stump, snapping her neck.
“It happened fast. She didn’t have time to suffer,” the police had assured him. The memory tightened his throat and new tears flooded his eyes. He’d done the suffering for her.
He picked up her photo from the chest of drawers. It slipped out of his hand, dropped on the hardwood floor, and the frame cracked. His jaw clenched as he carefully pulled the photo out and slammed the broken frame into the wastebasket. He let out a harsh breath, trying to squelch the rage rising from the pit of his stomach. An angry sob escaped. The picture could be fixed but not her life. It was so unfair.
He stepped into the bathroom, and took a hot shower, letting the water soothe his stiff shoulders, then shaved for the first time in days. Back in the bedroom, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved green cotton shirt.
As he walked out of the bedroom, he heard the sound of the coffee grinder downstairs. Karla? A flash of irritation cursed through him. “Of course not, who the hell …?”. He hesitated, then walked downstairs, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans wafting toward him. His anger faded when he stepped into the kitchen and saw his son, Tonio, putting a cup under the spout of the espresso machine.
“What are you doing here?” Andreas asked.
“Well, hello to you too, Papa.” Tonio scrutinized him, lifted an eyebrow, then turned back to the coffee machine.
Andreas gave a quick smile. “Just surprised. I didn’t expect you.” He put his hand on Tonio’s shoulder.
Tonio pressed the button on the espresso maker. The scent of coffee intensified in the kitchen. He handed his father a cup, then put an empty one under the spout.
“Thanks.” Andreas took a sip and observed his handsome son, the finely chiseled face, the dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, the shiny black hair with natural reddish-blond highlights that showed a few solitary gray streaks. Tonio was forty-two years old but looked younger.
The slightly bitter, full-bodied coffee woke Andreas’ senses. “So, what’s going on with you? I thought you were in Milano.” Tonio and his boyfriend, Mario, owned two fashion boutiques, one in Lugano in the south of Switzerland and the other one in Milano, Italy. They lived in Lugano but spent a lot of time in Italy at their other business.
“I just got back yesterday. I reserved our rooms in Tuscany.” Tonio put a colorful brochure on the kitchen table. It showed an estate with several vineyards, meadows full of poppies, houses and farm buildings in a town called Vignaverde in Tuscany. They were going to spend two weeks of vacation there. It was a present from Andreas to his youngest daughter, Emilia, who had completed her studies as a veterinarian. Andreas had first refused to go with them, saying he would be bad company. Emilia’s siblings—Laura, his older daughter, and Tonio—had convinced him, however, that Emilia would be very disappointed if her father didn’t go along, so he finally relented.
Andreas picked up the brochure and paged through it. “Looks nice. I still feel you’d have more fun without your old father.”
Tonio rolled his eyes. “You’re not that old and it will be good for you to get out and do something fun for a change instead of moping around the house and missing Mother.”
“You’re probably right.” Andreas forced a smile.
Tonio looked around the living room. He walked over to the rustic fireplace and touched the granite mantel. “How do you like your new place?”
“I like it a lot, and I enjoy being near Emilia.”
“Good.” Tonio checked his watch, then picked up the rest of the vacation brochures. “Is Emilia home or is she at work? How is she doing by the way? I haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“She’s at the practice. She loves her work. She keeps bringing home pictures of dogs and cats for me.” Andreas chuckled. “She feels I should have a four-legged companion.”
“Not a bad idea,” Tonio said. “You could use some companionship. I mean it won’t replace Mother, but still.”
“I’ll think about it. It would be nice to have someone to take along on my walks.”
“Talk about walks. You’re still going on extended hikes?” Tonio peered at him. “Staying out overnight?”
“Yes, I still go on long hikes. No, I try not to stay out at night.”
“I heard otherwise,” Tonio grumbled.
Andreas gave a snort. “Emilia worries too much, but I’ve been trying to call her when I’m out for longer hikes.”
“See that you do. It’s not fair to make her worry. Laura and I worry too.”
“All right. All right. I got the point.” Andreas tried not to sound irritated. He knew his children meant well, but he felt they treated him like an old man or a child. He wasn’t senile yet. He pointed at the brochures. “You can leave these here. I can give them to Emilia.”
“Okay, I’ll call her from home.” Tonio checked his watch again, an elegant and expensive one, as Andreas could see. His son loved fashion and beautiful things in general.
“I need to scoot.” Tonio picked up the empty coffee cups and put them into the kitchen sink, then gave his father a quick hug. “Take care of yourself and read the vacation material. That’ll cheer you up.”
“Thanks, Son.” Andreas walked Tonio to the door, watched him saunter to his sports car and drive away, giving a small wave. Andreas smiled. “Fast cars, every young … or middle-aged man’s dream.”
He pulled the local newspaper out of the mailbox, stepped inside, and sat in the rocking chair in the den next to the living room. He paged quickly through the paper, then put it down and looked around his home. He loved the rustic style of his house: the hardwood floors, the exposed beams on the ceiling, the carvings along the wooden staircase that led to the upper floor. He had furnished the place in the typical style of the area with rustic furniture made of Swiss stone pine wood, a chest of drawers with carvings, wooden tables with slate tops, and chairs with carved backs. There was always the scent of wood in the house, which he liked.
He sighed. Karla would’ve liked it too.