From up front, Hans greeted someone and reined in the ox. She sat up to look over the edge. It was the Ritsches.
“Servus, Kaspar. Servus, Toni,” she called.
They lifted their palms to her and came to the side of the cart. “Just saw Karl Spinner,” Kaspar said. “He got news from Germany that Hitler’s on trial. Doesn’t look good.”
Toni spit snuff on the ground and scuffed his heel in the gravel. “Mighty disappointing. After that Beer Hall Putsch, we thought he stood a chance.”
She glanced at Hans, but his face gave away nothing. Karl Spinner. Georg. The Ritsches. Even Florian most times. They all talked excitedly about Hitler and his politics, as if it had something to do with them. To her, Hitler seemed to be as much a fanatic as Mussolini. Just because he was German though, Hitler’s politics were acceptable to these men.
Toni jerked his chin at her. “Going down to see Jutta?”
She knelt back in the hay. Actually, it was Iris she was meeting. “Hans is. I have to see to some things in town.”
The Ritsches took their leave, and Hans got the ox going again. Bless him, he never said a thing about Jutta and her. Katharina kept her distance these days. She and Jutta simply did not see eye to eye on things, and she was careful what she shared with her, especially after Jutta’s indiscretion in front of Florian. Most recently, Katharina heard rumours that the reason she was avoiding Jutta was because Katharina was jealous about her owning the inn whilst the Steinhausers were still waiting for the deed to the Thalerhof.
That hurt Katharina more than Jutta’s slip of the tongue.
At the church square, Katharina helped Annamarie down, and Hans told her he’d pick her up in a couple of hours to take them back home. She headed for the Foglios’ butcher shop, where Iris said she would wait after school. Aloud, Katharina was used to calling the butcher family by their Italian name, but in her head, she always thought of them as Blech-Foglio.
She walked in, the little bell ringing on the door, and the scents of smoked meat and garlic were just underneath the smell of the bleach Mrs Blech-Foglio used to keep the shop spotless. Not a drop of blood on that woman’s hands, Jutta used to whisper when they’d walked in together.
Behind the glass case was a tray of dried horse sausages, piled up on one another into an elongated pyramid. There was a hunk of Speck, with thick strips of fat, and another one with more flesh than fat, which was what Katharina preferred. Behind the butcher counter was a pork leg in a wooden contraption that Katharina had never seen before, like a skewer stuck the long way in a vice. The rind held a faded blue stamp, but she could not read it.
From the stairwell that led to her room, Iris called cheerfully, “Come stai, Katharina.” She had Sebastiano by the hand, the Blech-Foglios’ youngest. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s a nice day for a walk. Sebastiano can come with us and play with Annamarie.”
Katharina kissed Iris on the cheeks, then warmly linked her arm with Iris’s. “It may be the only way we can talk about your wedding in peace.”
The children were the same age, but Sebastiano was a little shorter than Annamarie.
Iris reached for Bernd and took him into her arms, smiling and kissing his cheeks. Bernd’s face crumpled and, just as quickly, recovered in an uncertain smile.
They stepped out into the spring air and turned for the lake, but Katharina stopped when she saw Rioba in the square. He was standing over one of his official’s shoulders, who was tacking something onto the wooden announcement board just outside the church.
Iris raised an eyebrow and tipped her head. “It will be in Italian, but I’m here. Let’s go see the news.”
“Let me try and guess what it says,” Katharina said. “I want to see how much I can manage on my own.”
Iris agreed, looking pleased, but Katharina first waited until Rioba had adjusted his fez and returned with the man and the hammer to headquarters. Anything to avoid him cheerfully chucking Bernd under the chin, calling him Benito, or commenting on how beautiful her daughter was, or something about Katharina’s Italian.
Iris walked up first and began reading, and Katharina started with the headline. When she read the words Ministerio il Genio Civile, her eyes flew to the bottom. Angelo Grimani’s name and a neat signature were there in black and white. Her heart pounded so much she was certain Iris could hear it and see it coming out of her chest.
“Katharina, you need my help?”
“No, Iris. No. Let me.” The words swam before her, and she scolded herself for being so affected. It was an announcement for the whole community, not a private message for her from Angelo. She read the sentences and strung the words she knew into something that might make sense. They were going to stop the dam. She felt out of breath. Behind her, she heard Jutta’s voice calling to someone, probably Hans or Alois. “Iris, it’s about our lake. Tell me, are they putting a stop to the reservoir plans here? It says something about the Gleno too.”
Iris had a curious look on her face. “Katharina, you wrote to this man once. I remember.” She pointed to the announcement. “Was it a protest, what you wrote?”
“Tell me what he…what it says.”
Iris switched to German. “It says that, especially because of the Gleno Dam break last year, the ministry is holding back all projects. They have to, come se dice…review? Sì, review safety ways. How to build the dam, capisce?”
They looked back at the tacked-on sheet.
“So,” Katharina said, “nothing is going to happen?”
Iris shrugged. Then a slow smile spread across her face. “You did this?”
“I’m afraid not. It was the
