Meine Tochter und unsere Kinder.
My daughter. Our children.
His head reeled while he calculated the time gone by. He had not known he was holding his breath. Those five words were surrounded by others, such as der Grund, das Tal, die Bauern, das Leben von allen, der Staudamm. The ground, the valley, the farmers, the lives of all, the dam. A name and address was at the bottom as well, for someone in Munich. The geological society.
It was about the dam.
He balled the letter in his fist and pressed it to his forehead. There was nothing this woman could tell him that he did not already know.
“Damn it.”
Smoothing out the letter again, he rolled the end of it over the edge of his desk and ripped the bottom from the rest of it. They were worried about the dam, and there was only one way to get rid of this chapter in his life once and for all.
Minutes later he was at the desk of the main surveyor, the name of the geologist in Munich in his hand.
“Find the report from them on the Reschen Lake. And if you don’t find one, get them to send it immediately.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“And get it to me translated in Italian. Properly.”
Chapter 6
Arlund, February 1923
F rom the window in the sitting room, Katharina watched Opa hitch up his trousers and wade through the deep snow to the stable. He halted under the eaves and leaned against the wall as if a strong wind had blown him over. From the way he righted himself and from his moving mouth, she knew he was embarrassed. Then the cough gripped him, that cough that had come in on him every year since the winter of twenty. It clung to him like a creeping vine, coating the inside of his lungs and latching itself onto the smallest capillaries. The inhalants Katharina made never seemed to reach that far in, yet Opa insisted he could do all the daily chores. She did not want him to notice how she watched him, so she looked away. When he passed by the window again, he wore his feathered cap and had his hunting rifle in his hand.
She hurried to the door. “Where are you off to?”
“Snow’s stopped. There’ll be animals needing relief. I aim to put one out of its misery and put some meat on the table.”
“Must you?”
“Cold air does my lungs good.”
The sky was as clear blue as a lake, and the air was warmer than it had been in weeks. The unseasonably warm fall had been followed by an unseasonably warm winter, until over the last two weeks the snow had fallen every day, pausing only to take a deep breath before releasing another load upon the valley.
“Then take the horse and sled,” she said. “And Hund. Hund should go with you.”
He gave in to her, and she was surprised, but helped him hitch Pfeffer to the sled and put a lead on Hund. “Just be home before dark, Opa.” She lifted her hand, intent on stroking his wrinkled face, but stopped herself. Instead, she said, “I’d come with you. Like in the old days.”
A tenderness flashed in his eyes, something she’d not seen since the Angelo Grimani resurrection in their home. He looked down at the ground, the snow almost as high as his boots. “Those were good days in bad times,” he said. “You were a brave girl, Katharina. A brave girl. Still are.”
A gust of wind came from the south. Watching Hund and him wade through the snow, the feather in her grandfather’s cap braced against the side, she wanted nothing more than to close the distance between Opa and her. Go with him. She rubbed a hand over her middle. Much had changed. So much, she didn’t know how to go back and make good on her mistakes.
Later, when she put Annamarie down for a nap, Katharina decided she too needed some rest. Each night, her ankles were swollen and she could never get comfortable with the baby so soon on its way. This time, sleep was instant.
It was Hund’s bark that awoke her, a frantic scratching and then the banging of the front door and footsteps up the stairs. Hund. Opa. The dog must be excited about a kill they’d brought. Outside the window, it was dark already. She turned on the lamp just as Florian burst in.
“Listen.” He put his hand up. “Do you hear that?”
Katharina cocked her head towards the window where he gestured. It was not a noise; it was the vibrations of the floor under her feet. Like all the children in the valley, she had learned early on that when the freeze comes too late and the snow doesn’t stop, avalanches are set off like dried timber to a match. You must be able to smell it before you can hear it, feel it before it comes. And then run.
“Where is Opa?” She struggled to get up, the child in her middle weighing her down.
“Hund came back without him. I’m going out. Annamarie’s crying in her crib.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“We haven’t got time to wait.”
But she was up, feeling strong. She wrapped Annamarie in the shawl and tied her to her back, then ran to the rope that led to the bell tower. She tugged and signalled the avalanche to the rest of the valley before hurrying after Florian. It was snowing again, and he was already ahead of her with the dog. The torch in his hand revealed the snow-coated tree branches, the snow-covered barn, and the tops of the fence posts of the corral. She followed him to the woods where she had seen Opa last go. Annamarie made little noises of
