Finding Angelo (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 2) by Christa Polkinhorn Page B

the distance, the
ever-present high snow-covered mountains greeted her.
    It became clear to Sofia why
Angelo would choose a remote area such as this to hide. She wondered though how
he would survive. Was he able to make a living here? He knew about growing
grapes and making wine and the Piedmont was a famous wine region but up here in
the mountains? She had passed many vineyards farther down, but at this higher
altitude, cattle and sheep were grazing in the fields. Perhaps he had become a
mountain farmer.
    When she drove around another one
of the many curves, she saw the sign of Bardonico next to the road. It listed
the number of inhabitants at 3000 and an elevation of 1300 meters. Sofia
realized she was low on gas and stopped at a gas station at the entrance of the
town. To Sofia’s relief it was a full-service station and she hoped to be able
to get some information about the town. A young man stepped out of the small
building and filled up her tank. He was tall, lanky, with tousled dark hair and
an engaging smile.
    Sofia got out of the car to
stretch her legs. Now, she was grateful for the thick jacket and the socks. It
was cold, the kind of wintry cold that smelled of snow. She asked the young man
in Italian if he knew the town well. Since her first visit to Italy, she had
taken Italian classes and felt a little more comfortable speaking it. Still,
she was relieved that the young man spoke English. They talked for a while and
he told her that he learned English in school, and they got some English and
American tourists, mainly in the winter for skiing. He liked to practice the
language.
    Encouraged by his friendly manner,
she told him that she was looking for a family member who might have lived in
Bardonico about eleven years before. She pulled out the photo of a younger
Angelo. “It’s an old picture from twenty years ago.”
    He looked at it intensely, then
shook his head. He didn’t know of anyone here that resembled the man in the
picture. “Perhaps my uncle would know something,” he suggested. “He has worked
at this station for about thirty years.” He motioned her to come with him.
    Inside the small gas station
building, an older man who resembled the young guy, sat behind the counter. The
young man explained to his uncle what Sofia had asked him. She pulled out the
photo again and showed it to the older man.
    He narrowed his eyes, then said a
few words in Italian to his nephew. He looked at Sofia. “Is he a friend of
yours?”
    Sofia didn’t want to tell the
whole story, so she just mentioned that he was a family member they had lost
touch with. The last they heard of him was a short letter mailed from this
town.
    Both men looked at the photo again
and exchanged a few words in a local Italian dialect. The younger man, whose
name was Antonio as Sofia heard the uncle call him, turned to Sofia. “My uncle
thinks he looks somewhat familiar, but he does not know him and he is not sure.
The photo is quite old.”
    “I know,” Sofia said. “Unfortunately,
this is all I have of him.”
    “Perhaps you could ask at the municipio, city hall, or at the polizia ,” the uncle said in broken English.
    “Yes, I’ll try,” Sofia said. “Is
there a church in town? Perhaps the priest would know.”
    The two men smiled at Sofia’s
question. “ Certo ,” Antonio said. “Just drive to the center of town and
you will see the church. Don Ambrosio lives in the house right next to the
church. He may know something.”
    Sofia thanked them for their help.
She walked back to the car with Antonio following her. “If you need anything
else, just ask,” he said, then waved as she drove away.
    As Sofia had read, Bardonico was a
ski resort. Surrounded by majestic mountains covered by snow, it was a fairly
small town with a few hotels and restaurants. It had a more “northern” feeling
than the towns and cities Sofia was familiar with in Tuscany.
    She parked her car in a lot next
to the city hall. The church nearby was