Page 45 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

Il primo amore non si scorda mai.

The first love is never forgotten.

Italian saying

After we left the church, we decided to go for a short drive since the weather was so nice. We pulled into a campground on the lake, but instead of getting out, we chose to get back on the road so we could drive along the lake.

“Can I tell you something else Amelia told me?” Claire asked after she’d been driving for about fifteen minutes.

“Yes, please.”

“It’s from a verse in Psalm 23. I had to memorize that chapter when I was a kid. I never understood the line about how He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. Do you know that verse?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. Well, Amelia said that’s another one of the ancient mysteries of life.

God provides us with everything we need.

He prepares a table for us. And yet our enemies are still right there.

They don’t go away. That’s life. Reality.

Both Gio and Amelia said that wonderful things happen and God is with us.

Horrible things happen and God is with us. ”

I nodded slowly, not quite sure where she was going with this.

“I guess I feel like I’ve been living with my back turned to the table. I’ve only focused on the enemies lined up beyond the table. The world is full of enemies. And it’s full of pilgrims around the table, apparently, because we’ve certainly met a lot of them on this trip.”

I grinned. “True.”

“I don’t know what I think of all this yet, but when we were in the chapel and the lights went out, I thought about what she said and how there is a lot of darkness in the world.”

I was ready for her to express the next part of what I longed for her to see and experience. She was on the brink of a significant breakthrough in her life. An abundance of analogies was at her fingertips. Walls and support beams, the invitation to come to the table, darkness and light.

However, in typical Claire fashion, she changed the subject. “How hungry are you?”

I had to make a shift in my thoughts before saying, “Not very.”

“Would you be open to trying a café a little farther down the road?”

“Do you have one already picked out?” I asked.

“No, I thought you could find one for us. We’re almost back to Switzerland, and I thought it would be fun to have dinner in a different country tonight.”

I searched for restaurants on my phone. I wasn’t as adept as Claire, but I found one that was listed as being small, family owned, and on the lake.

We crossed the border, found the restaurant, and were glad they could seat us without a reservation.

The decor was Swiss Alpine style, and although the menu was in Italian and German, I recognized many of the names of the Italian dishes.

They also provided enough Swiss-inspired options to make Claire slightly giddy.

“?lplermagronen,” she said, putting down her menu. “That’s what I’m having. What about you?”

“I’ll have the same.”

When our plates arrived, I looked at the fancy-sounding dish and then back at Claire. “Macaroni and cheese? With a side of applesauce?”

“It’s a famous blending of the Swiss and Italian influences in this region.” Claire used her fork to move the ingredients around as she identified them. “Macaroni from Italy with Swiss cheese, potatoes, caramelized onions, and bacon.”

I picked up my fork and Claire said, “Do you want to say grace, Grace?” Her question struck her funny bone, and she tried to swallow her laughter but it spilled out.

Just as quickly as her giggle escaped, she composed herself and bowed her head.

“I’m serious,” she said without looking up. “You can pray aloud if you want.”

My prayer was short, sweet, and heartfelt. I loved that she wanted to share in my life rhythm of always bowing and thanking God before I ate. It felt like a small dream come true that I was able to pray out loud at this table with her and she was the one who had invited me to do so.

I took a bite of the melt-in-your-mouth scrumptiousness and gave a proper “Mmm.”

“Now that is Swiss cheese,” Claire said. “Wow.”

We didn’t talk much while we ate. As usual, I had lots of thoughts running around in my mind like tigers escaped from the zoo.

I didn’t want those thoughts to pounce on Claire, but at the same time, I didn’t want to keep silent if there was anything important I should say.

I tried a work-around approach to see if it would lead us back into the conversation I was longing to continue.

“Thanks for telling me about your talk with Amelia and Gio. Was there anything else they said that stuck with you?”

Claire thought for a minute. “Amelia said that when they decided to marry, she still wanted Gio to press charges, but he told her he wasn’t going to do that.

He said he wanted to be remembered for the things he did and not for the things that were done to him.

” Claire pushed her empty plate away. “I thought that was profound.”

“I do too.”

“I think both of them are doing that by the way they live and with their Friday night dinners.”

I nodded, and our discussion ended there.

As we drove back to our hotel, I thought about how I’d told Claire that Jesus was pursuing her.

Now I needed to believe my own words and stop feeling like it was up to me to say something profound the way Gio had or to pelt her with more questions.

What was it that Amelia had said about how God’s kindness led her to repentance?

Maybe the best thing I could do was watch the eternal expert in kindness do what He did best and learn from Him.

The next morning, we started the day early.

We knew we couldn’t leave San Mamete without one last memory-sealing moment on our balcony, slowly drawing in deep breaths and releasing them over the lake.

In that way, we said our farewell to another part of beautiful Italy that had woven itself into our hearts.

As we moved through the hotel lobby one more time with our faithful wheelies, I tried hard not to feel the departure melancholy that had followed me out of Venice and the villa.

It may have helped that our first stop was the little bakery-market across the street that had just opened its doors.

We selected from the assortment of scrumptious-looking pastries as well as some cheese, fresh cherry tomatoes, and a small round loaf of some kind of bread that looked like it was made from rustic grains and had a nice, thick crust. We added a bar of Swiss chocolate and four bottles of our beloved acqua minerale.

Our plan was to have a breakfast picnic along the way before getting to Lugano, where we had to turn in our rental car and take the train to the Milan airport.

Claire turned into the campground. “This could be a good place for our picnic. What do you think?”

“Great.”

The grounds manager was kind to us because it was a weekday and family vacation season hadn’t fully begun yet.

The campground didn’t offer an entrance pass for day use, but he let us come in for our breakfast picnic at half the overnight rate.

Parking was close to a large grassy area on the lake that was dotted with lovely shade trees as well as benches.

Only three other people were out enjoying the view from the green area.

Two of them were feeding the ducks that waddled up from the water.

I felt as if we had slipped into a painting.

The bench we went to was perfect for quiet observation.

“This is picturesque,” Claire observed. “I wish we had time for me to draw it.”

We gazed together at the placid lake and bit into our pastries.

A man who had gone for a quick dip emerged from the water, reached for his towel, and wrapped it around his shoulders.

I imagined the water was colder than our first swim at the villa.

Even so, I found it exhilarating to imagine how refreshing an early morning swim would feel.

From behind us, we could hear cheerful voices that were louder than they probably should have been.

The laughter from one of the girls seemed especially boisterous.

We glanced over our shoulders at the group of teenagers gathering on the grass about ten feet from where we were sitting. Both of us laughed.

“Of course it’s the youth choir,” Claire said. “God sure likes to get His point across.”

The director’s wife recognized us and came over with a couple of towels over her arm. “Hello!”

“Good morning. Planning a morning swim?” I asked.

“Two students want to be baptized.”

“Here?” Claire asked. “Now?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to come over and join us if you’d like.” She caught her husband’s wave and trotted over to their little flock.

“Were you ever baptized?” Claire asked me.

“Nathan and I both were, soon after we met.”

“What is it supposed to mean?”

“For us, after we both surrendered our lives to the Lord, we knew that baptism is the outward expression of what happens on the inside. So we wanted to publicly make that declaration.”

She kept looking at the students. “Those kids are so respectful and focused. My experience was nothing like theirs.”

“Fresh starts,” I said. “The next generation walking in the footsteps of Christ. It’s so beautiful.”

We watched as the first student, a petite girl with curly hair, stepped into the chilly lake water along with the director and his wife.

We could hear their muffled “Eeees!” as they waded out to about waist deep.

The leaders asked the girl something. She replied, plugged her nose, leaned back, and the two leaders gently dipped her all the way under. She came up giggling.

The group erupted into cheers and applause, and I felt tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t help it. I always cried at baptisms. This moment was so pristine in its simplicity and yet so ancient and universal.

Once again, God was revealing the elemental essentials of the Christian faith, as we had heard and seen since arriving.

This living demonstration of denouncing the old, dead life and being reborn into eternal life felt as sacred to me as the enactment around the table of the wedding feast of the Lamb seemed to feel to Gio.

I had become so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn’t catch something Claire said.

My focus was fixed on the next student, a tall boy, who received a round of cheers before he even stepped into the water.

He called out something to his friends, and I recognized “Jesus” in his tumble of words.

I choked up even more. Hearing a teenager shout the name of Jesus was powerful.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said.

I turned to look at her, not understanding what she would be apologizing to me for in such a moment as this. Her eyes were closed and tears streamed down her face.

“I was wrong, Father God. I blamed You and my parents and that horrible man. But I don’t want to look at my enemies any longer. Please set a place for me at Your table. Please forgive me. I want You. I want to forgive those who hurt me.”

“Yes,” I murmured under my breath. “Yes and amen.”

All of a sudden, Claire stood up.

I held my breath as she walked toward the group.

Jumping up, I instinctively grabbed our bags and joined her as the teen boy popped up from the water and shook his long hair. The droplets scattered like crystals in the streaming light of the new day. Again, the group burst into cheerful applause.

Claire kept walking.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t look at me. Her gaze was fixed on the couple whose kindness had been one of many pieces that led Claire to repentance. When they saw her, they stopped. Claire slipped out of her shoes and took nimble steps to the water’s edge.

The group fell silent. I walked closer to the shore, my heart pounding wildly. My hand rose to cover my mouth. This was Claire’s moment. Her declaration. Here. Now.

The wife held out her hands to welcome Claire farther out into the waist-high water. I could hear the choir director asking her name, then he said, “Claire, do you believe Jesus is the Christ, the only Son of God?”

“Yes.”

“Do you promise to love God and walk with Him the rest of your life?”

“I do.”

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I baptize you.”

Claire closed her eyes, leaned back, and was submerged in the clear water. She rose like the morning sun, her smile radiant, her eyes blinking.

The wife hugged her, and the three of them quickly exited the shimmering water. That was when I noticed that the applause of the group was as welcoming and jubilant as it had been for the others.

Claire was beaming as she scurried up to me with her arms crossed and shivering from the chill. I wished I had a towel for her. Instead, I hugged her and held her, letting her joy soak into me along with the lake water. Together we wept and laughed and wept and laughed some more.

Then the most extraordinary sound rose as the youth choir began to sing an ancient, sacred hymn in four-part harmony. The world around us seemed to stand still as the notes floated in the air, covering us and blessing us, before scattering out across the lake like a benediction.