Katharina took Florian’s letter and put it into her own pocket. “I should know better. I know how strongly you feel about the Italians but—”
“Listen to me, Katharina. Those who make themselves sheep will be eaten by the wolf. You mark my words.”
The girl studied her. “I am just trying to find my way here, and do my best. You’d do anything to protect those you love, I know that, but what if someone doesn’t need your protection? Remember how you felt when you found out Dr Hanny knew about Fritz all along.” She bit her lip and rushed to Jutta. Her embrace was brief, almost desperate.
She was out the door before Jutta had an answer.
Chapter 4
Arlund, December 1922
O n the way home, Katharina tried to shake off her bad feeling. She did not want to believe that Jutta’s comment had been a threat, but there was something about her that she could no longer understand, and ostracizing Annamarie by revealing who her real father was might not be beyond Jutta.
Jutta was not the only one who was turning spiteful. Resentment towards the Italians was growing all too common. To a certain extent, Katharina could understand. The Italians made their lives miserable, and either they had to work with them or they would have to stand up to them and deal with the repercussions. Yet not all the incoming Italians were bad. There were those who came from the poorer parts of Italy and were simply trying to make their living. Others were sent here by the government, like the postman or the schoolteacher. Miss Bianchi seemed to be a nice woman, and lonely. Besides, the way Jutta and others like her were behaving was really no better than the Italians, who held something against them just because they were Tyrolean. Katharina bit her lip. Calling the kettle black was not going to bring her any further with Jutta either.
Hund loped out of the stable, and Katharina petted her.
“Hi, you old thing.”
She threw her a snow-encrusted stick, which the dog half-heartedly pounced on. The foehn was already coming. By tomorrow, the new snow would be gone. Inside, the house was quiet. She pulled off her wrap and boots and went to the tiled oven. It was still warm, and she rested her hands on its sides. Where was everyone?
On the table was one of Opa’s newspapers, folded so as to frame a story in the middle column. She read the headline: Captain Angelo Grimani Named New Minister of Civil Engineering. She froze.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Opa’s voice made her jump. He was standing at the top of the stairs. She stared at the headline again.
“Angelo Grimani.” His voice was flat. “That was his name, wasn’t it?”
There was no photograph, no sketch. Feeling nauseated, Katharina dropped onto the bench. “Where’s Florian?”
“In the barn with Annamarie.” Opa came down the stairs, stood at the table, and with an index finger, pushed the article towards her.
When she realised that she was reading only to find personal information about Angelo—whether he had a wife or children—she flattened her right palm over the words and stared at the back of her hand. The skin was cracked from the cold.
Opa sat down across from her. His look grazed her, and he pulled the newspaper to him. “He’s a Fascist, Katharina. He’s leading those projects further south where the communities have been uprooted to make room for dams and industry. In Glurns they filed petitions and objections, even hired attorneys, but all those attorneys did was convince each of the folks to sell out. Grimani won’t get that far with us.” He cleared his throat. “Not if you write to him.”
She answered without thinking. “Why would I do that?”
Outside, Hund barked, and she heard Annamarie squealing, followed by Florian’s laugh.
“He’ll be involved if they go ahead with damming up the Reschen and Graun Lakes, Katharina. He’ll be back here, one way or another. And he owes us. He owes you.” His voice softened at the end.
“For what?” She shivered.
“For saving his life, for one.”
“Then Dr Hanny should write to him. He speaks Italian.”
Opa pressed his hand on top of hers. When she glanced up, his eyes bored into her. She looked past him.
“Katharina, it was Fritz Hanny who robbed and beat him. Grimani didn’t come back up here to make trouble when the police arrested Dr Hanny’s brother, but he could have. I doubt he wants to see us as much as you want to see him. Imagine he gets a letter from Dr Hanny with the same last name as the person who nearly killed him. No. You plead to his good sense of honour and making good on something he… On something he got from you.”
A horrible silence followed until, from outside the window, she heard Florian and Annamarie again. With some effort, she pulled her hand out from underneath Opa’s. She looked out to where her husband and her daughter were making snowballs and tossing them for Hund to catch.
“Mr Grimani got nothing from any of us but having his life saved,” she said.
Opa braced himself on the table and leaned towards her, like a schoolmaster willing a schoolgirl to correct herself. She turned away and just as quickly faced him again, but he had dropped his glare.
“If you say so, girl,” he muttered. “If you say so.”
She swallowed a stone.
When he spoke again, he was begging. “I met with Federspiel today.”
“I know.” It took every effort to keep her voice steady. “What did he say?”
“He’ll help us out. But it’s what he didn’t say…”
Katharina jerked her chin at him.
“The new Italian bank owners are demanding repayments on all loans. Federspiel can’t do much more for us here. He’s got little leverage left. Then there’s the threat of
