“No,” she whispered.
“No, he won’t. And that’s why I have to do what I can. I’ll be careful. I promise I will. And I won’t go far—just to the villages nearby where I know the men.”
“Surely you have time to rest,” Nina protested. “You can leave in the morning.”
“Better if I travel by night.” Now he looked to his sister. “Would you mind packing me something to eat? I want to talk to Nina.”
She followed him outside, to the stools under the olive tree, but rather than let her sit next to him he drew her onto his lap, and she forgot to protest that she was too big, too round, because all she wanted was for him to hold her close.
“Please don’t worry,” he told her.
“I can’t help it. Not now. Not after finding out that Papà and Mamma are lost to me. It’s too hard.”
“Not for someone as brave and strong as you. Not for my Nina.”
“What if something happens to you? I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt. If they took you away from me.”
“I promise to be careful. But I want you to promise me something in return. If the worst should happen, you must remember what I told you just now. You are brave. You are strong. And you can bear anything.”
Chapter 21
26 September 1944
He didn’t return the next day, or the next, but the news from Monte Grappa, what little they heard, wasn’t especially worrying. Men were still surrendering, but the process was peaceful, no one was being shot on the spot, and the big guns had stopped their pounding of the partisan strongholds.
The weekend passed, and no one at church had any terrible news to share; and so on Tuesday morning, when Paolo asked if he might go into Bassano to buy a spare inner tube for his bicycle, Aldo and Rosa barely looked up from their breakfast.
“It’s been months since anyone has had them for sale,” Paolo explained. “We used our last spare one a while back.”
Rosa waited for her father’s nod before answering. “Yes, but don’t linger. I want you back here by midday.”
So Paolo set off on the wreck of an old bicycle he and his brother shared, and they all got to work, and the morning passed by. When midday came and went, Aldo raised an eyebrow at Paolo’s absence, but said nothing.
“He ought to have been back by now,” Rosa fretted as she served them soup and slices of fried polenta. “What could be taking him so long?”
“He probably ran into some of his friends,” said Matteo between mouthfuls. “I don’t mind doing his chores. Let him have some fun for a change.”
It was late afternoon before Paolo returned. Nina was doing the ironing, and though it was hot work, and tiring, it was soothing and ever so satisfying to pass the big flatiron, its belly full of coals from the hearth, over the crumpled linens and watch them grow glossy and smooth and perfect.
Rosa had killed the oldest of the hens and was busy making a stew from its meat, but her attention was fixed on the open door and the courtyard beyond. They were both listening for the telltale rattle of the boys’ old bicycle, and when they did hear it, and the accompanying skirl of its tires over the patches of gravel close to the road, they looked at one another, relieved but unwilling to give voice to their fears.
There was a crash as Paolo flung the bicycle to the ground, and that alone was enough to send Rosa running. The boys were always so careful with their bicycle.
“What is it?” Rosa asked, her voice rising. “What has happened?”
Nina set the iron on the back of the range and hurried to the door. Paolo was in his sister’s arms, crouching so he might bury his face in the crook of her neck, and he was weeping, his lanky frame racked by great, gasping sobs.
“What is it?” Nina asked, for the stoic Paolo never cried about anything. He’d frowned a bit when Selva had been shot, and he’d stayed up late with her night after night, but he wasn’t the sort of boy to cry.
“I don’t know,” Rosa fretted. “I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“Let’s get him inside and sitting down.”
They propelled Paolo to a chair just inside the kitchen door, the one his father usually occupied. With Nina at his side, rubbing his back, Rosa knelt before him, her hands grasping his. He wept on, his shoulders shaking, and they comforted him as best they could, and waited until the worst of it was past and he could speak again.
“Where is Papà?”
“I’ll find him,” Nina offered. “I think he’s in the stables.”
She ran as fast as she could across the courtyard, which wasn’t very fast at all given how far back she had to lean to balance the weight of her belly. “Aldo! Aldo!”
He was standing near the back, occupied with the latch on the milk cows’ stall. “Yes, Nina? What is it?”
“Something happened to Paolo in Bassano. He needs you.”
Aldo dropped the mallet he’d been holding and ran past her. By the time she made it back to the kitchen Paolo was in his father’s arms.
“You’re home, my boy. Home and safe. Take a deep breath. Yes, that’s good. And another. Good. Do you think you can tell us what happened? Are you in trouble?”
Paolo shook his head, still breathless from his tears.
“Nothing happened with the Germans? With the police?”
“Yes—no. I mean, nothing happened to me. It’s what I saw.” He began to sob again, softly, brokenly. “Oh, Papà . . . I wish I hadn’t gone there today.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was the partisans. The ones from Monte Grappa.”
A hand of ice took hold of Nina’s throat and began to squeeze. She pulled out a chair, its legs stuttering against the tile, and fell into it.
“There were thirty of them at least. The partisans. And I . . . I knew two of them. They were the same age as Matteo. They’d been at school with us here.” He wiped at his face with his sleeve. “The Germans brought them in on a truck.”
“Where were they? Where were you?”
“On the viale by the city walls. The Germans were blocking the roads. They wouldn’t let any of us leave.”
“So they brought the partisans in?” Aldo prompted.
“Yes, and the Germans put hoods over their heads, and signs around their necks that said ‘bandit,’ and then they . . . they hanged them, one after the other, from the trees along the road. But the trees are hardly taller than me, and their feet were dragging on the ground. It took them so long to die. And one of them, his mother was there, and she screamed and screamed, and she wouldn’t stop. One of the German soldiers came over and said he would slit her throat if she didn’t shut up. I don’t think her boy was even dead, but they had to drag her away. The whole time she fought them, and the look in her eyes was awful. It was . . . it was . . .”
“Oh, my son. My Paolo. I am so sorry you had to see this.”
“I didn’t want to watch, but the Germans wouldn’t let any of us leave. They made us stay there and watch.”
“You are safe now,” Aldo promised. “Safe with us.”
“I’m not, Papà. None of us will be safe until the Germans are gone. As soon as I’m old enough I want to help Nico.”
“That’s very brave of you, but we had better wait until your brother is home again. We’ll talk about it then.”
Rosa brought him some grappa, only a scant mouthful, and he drank it down without flinching. He wiped his eyes, handed her the empty glass, and went back outside. The boy he’d been that morning was gone, and in his place was a man.
SHE WOKE TO the gentle touch of a hand at her brow, smoothing back her hair, one soft caress after another. Just as her father had done when she was little.
“I’m home.”
She opened her eyes to Nico, his dear face just visible by the light of the moon. Thank goodness she hadn’t closed the shutters.
He had to help her to sit up, for the creaking bed made sudden movement all but impossible, and then she was in his arms, and it was hard not to cry eve
n though he was there, with her, alive and unharmed.
“I’m so glad, Nico. So relieved. If only you knew—”
“Papà was still awake when I got back. I think he was waiting up for me.”
“He told you what happened.”
“Yes. It was exactly as I feared. The men—the boys—they murdered in Bassano aren’t the only ones. They shot another fifteen or more at the barracks, and dozens more have vanished. Likely dead already.”
“Were you able to stop anyone from surrendering?”
“A few. Not enough.”
“Come to bed. You must be tired.”
At this he pulled away, just enough that he could look in her eyes. “I can’t. They’re looking for me. They’re accusing me of being a partisan.”
Panic swept over her, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. “But you aren’t. You aren’t part of them at all.” Or was he? She knew so little of what he did when he was away. Perhaps he hadn’t always been helping refugees across the mountains. Perhaps . . .
“I’m not. We relied on help from the partisans—we had to, or risk being shot if they came across us in the mountains. But I never fought alongside them. I never carried a gun. Never killed a man, apart from the two who came to the house.”
“So why are the Germans looking for you? They can’t have figured out—”
“After all this time? No. And does it matter why they want me? Everything I do when I’m away is enough to earn me a death sentence. In their minds, anyone who defies them is a bandit, and deserving of only one end.”
“Was Zwerger involved in this? That you know of? Paolo didn’t mention him.”
“I don’t think Paolo’s ever laid eyes on him. And I don’t know if Zwerger was there in Bassano. I’m not even sure that he’s the one looking for me. If he is, why hasn’t he come here? Why not wait for me to show myself? There’s no one outside—I was careful to check before I came near the house. No one in the village either, or on the roads.”
“Then stay,” she urged.
“I can’t. Not until I know who’s behind this. If it’s Zwerger . . . I’d hoped he would leave us alone. Just leave us be. But he couldn’t get past my desire to remain here and embrace this life, in all its simplicity, and all that comes with it. He couldn’t overlook my having married you. It bothers him. Disturbs him—and I’ve no idea why.”
“He’s jealous. He wants what you have.”
“I doubt that. He all but held his nose when he sat in the kitchen with me.”
“He does envy you. You’re happy, and you are loved, and you’re part of a family for whom you would do anything. You have everything that matters.”
“I never thought to ask him if he had married.”
“So what if he is married? He may even have children, but what sort of father could he be? He shot Selva in front of Carlo and the girls, and for all the care he used when aiming he might have killed one of them. A man like that cannot be much of a father. Certainly he isn’t fit for comparison with my father or yours.”
Simply mentioning her father sent a surge of fresh grief crashing over her, but she forced it back; her own sadness would have to keep. Instead she held Nico close, her head tucked just beneath his chin, and together they listened to the silence, the wonderful silence, for a few minutes more.
“Will you stay for a while? Just until I’m asleep again?”
“Let me take off my boots.”
He helped her to lie down, and when she was comfortable he stretched out in front of her, their faces almost touching. With one hand he played with her hair, gently tugging on her ringlets and letting them bounce back. The other hand he placed on her belly, and together they felt their baby kicking and hiccuping.
“He or she is running out of room in there,” Nina whispered.
“I know it’s still more than a month, but I can’t wait to meet this child of ours. I’m as fidgety as Carlo on the night before Epiphany.”
“Rosa warned me that first babies are never in a hurry to be born. We might have to wait a little longer.”
“Have you thought of names?” he asked.
She had, but she wanted to hear his suggestions first. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Anna Maria. But my favorite name is Lucia. A reminder, I suppose, that we must look for light in the darkness. If the baby is a boy, though . . . do you have any thoughts?”
“My mother’s father was called Daniele. What do you think of that?”
“I like it. I do.”
She didn’t want to fall asleep. Wanted, instead, to watch his beautiful face all night. “When will you come home to me?”
“I don’t know. As soon as I can. Their interest in me will fade. I’m sure it will.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Even then it won’t be long. The Allies are moving north every day. Once they’re here we’ll be safe.”
“Won’t you go to Switzerland?” she pleaded, even though she knew how he would answer. “You must know people there. People who would shelter you.”
“And miss the arrival of our child? Never.”
She was almost asleep when he spoke again, his voice the softest of whispers. “I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago. They didn’t seem possible in such a world. But then I met your mother. This war brought me to her, and if that isn’t a miracle I don’t know what is. Sleep well, my darling. Take care of your mamma. And know that I love you both.”
Chapter 22
1 October 1944
Nico had been gone for almost a week, and Nina had grown used to his absence. He would be gone for a long time, she told herself in her rare moments of rest. Only then, when her hands were still, did she worry. Only when she was falling asleep, or waking at dawn, or alone with her thoughts did she worry, but reason always followed, along with the memory of his promises. He would be gone for a long while, he had said, but the war would be over soon, and he would come home to her, and they would both be safe. That he had promised her.
It was Sunday morning, Mass had just ended, and since the day was fine and the sun was shining, nearly everyone was lingering in the piazza to catch up on a week’s worth of news and gossip. Nina had found it difficult to stay awake during the service, for the church had been warm and she hadn’t slept much the night before.
She confessed as much to the other women, most of them Nico’s cousins and second cousins, and all of them mothers several times over.
“It’s practice for when the baby comes,” one now assured her.
“You’ll be up at all hours nursing him,” another agreed.
“Why do you say ‘him’? From the way she’s carrying it’s sure to be a girl.” This was from an aunt, or was she one of the older cousins?
Rosa had vanished, likely gone in search of Carlo, and Nina felt a little lost without her. She knew nothing of the art of discerning a child’s gender from the appearance of the mother’s belly, though she imagined her father would have dismissed such speculation out of hand. She knew nothing of babies either, but Rosa had promised to help, and the girls were eager to care for their new niece or nephew, and Nina was confident she would learn.
She was happy, standing there in the autumn sunshine, surrounded by Nico’s family, until the moment a convoy of vehicles rolled into the piazza along the via Santa Lucia. German kübelwagens, four of them, and in their wake was Zwerger’s Mercedes and its sinister SS pennant.
Nina held her breath as the cars circled the perimeter of the piazza, passed by the carabinieri station, and drew to a halt a bare meter from the edge of the gathered crowd. The door of the Mercedes opened and Zwerger, flanked by his soldiers, marched toward the church. The crowd parted, as it might for a plague of scorpions, and he ascended to the top of the church steps.
But Father Bernardi was there already, still in his vestments, and was holding up his hands in protest. “What is this? You cannot use my church as your pulpit.”
“How do you pla
n to stop me?”
Zwerger gestured at one of his soldiers, an odd sort of whisking motion with his hand, and the man leaped forward, took hold of Father Bernardi by the back of his robes, and dragged him down the steps.
“Stay,” Zwerger ordered, and the assembled congregation gasped at the shock of their own priest being treated like a dog.
Nina was trapped in the middle of the crowd, at least five meters away from the steps, with Aldo to her right and Matteo to her left. She couldn’t see the children anywhere, nor Rosa. Surely they knew to keep their distance from Zwerger and the soldiers. Surely they would hide within the crowd.
Zwerger stood at the center of the steps, the church’s open doors yawning wide behind him. He waited until the crowd had fallen silent, or something close to it, before he spoke again.
“Can any of you guess why I am here today? No? In that case I shall enlighten you. I am here because I have learned that you, the people of Mezzo Ciel, are harboring a criminal.” He paused, waited again, and then raised one hand. In it he now held his pistol. “That criminal is the bandit Niccolò Gerardi.”
Nina’s knees buckled, but Aldo caught her just in time. “Our Nico is far from here,” he assured her. “That swine is posturing. No more.”
“For years,” Zwerger continued, “the bandit Gerardi has helped fugitive criminals to cross the border into Switzerland, every one of them an enemy of your republic and my Reich. Escaped prisoners of war. Communist agitators. Enemy aliens. Jews. And he did so in collusion with the same lawless brigands who continue to terrorize this region. That is why—”
Rosa burst from the crowd and ran up the steps. “My brother is innocent! Everyone here knows it—including you!” Emboldened by her fury, oblivious to the danger she faced, she spat in Zwerger’s face.
He didn’t react at first. Simply let the spittle run down his cheek. Calmly took out a folded handkerchief from a pocket in his uniform tunic, wiped his face, and tucked it away.
Our Darkest Night Page 18
