Chapter 7 - the key to the west wing
Roman stared at Grace for a long, heavy moment. He looked at little Mia, who was peeking out from behind her mother's apron, her pale-blue ribbon loose in her brown hair. He remembered how brave the six-year-old had been, pushing a heavy vacuum to help her mother, and pointing out the crying lady in the wall.
If Grace were a spy, she would have reported the hidden room years ago.
"Get up," Roman said quietly, his tone softening slightly.
Grace wiped her tears, holding baby Lily tight. "Where are we going?"
"Upstairs," Roman replied. "There is someone you need to meet."
Ten minutes later, Roman, Grace, and the two girls stood inside the hidden stone corridor behind the bookcase. Roman unlocked the steel door with his brass key, swinging the heavy frame wide open.
Sophia Duca stood up from her armchair, looking at the young mother and her children with wide, emotional eyes.
"Grace?" Sophia whispered, her voice trembling.
Grace stepped forward, staring at the older woman in shock. "Mrs. Duca? You... you're alive?"
Sophia walked slowly toward Grace, extending her thin hands to touch Grace's soft brown hair. "You look so much like your mother, Margaret. She was my dearest friend in New York before the war began."
Roman looked between his mother and Grace in complete bewilderment. "You two know each other?"
"Margaret helped me hide the night of the car bombing twenty-three years ago, Roman," Sophia revealed, tears streaming down her face. "She gave me her own clothes so I could escape the city. When your father locked me in this bunker for protection, Margaret was the only person who sent me medicine through the secret chute in the pantry."
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Grace gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "My mother... my mother used to make me carry packages to the Boston estate when I was a little girl... she told me it was for a charity trust!"
"It was for me," Sophia smiled gently, looking down at little Mia. "And this sweet girl... she heard me crying tonight because my water pitcher had run dry."
