“Look at you, Katharina,” Lisl said. “The way you’re carrying, you’re going to have a boy. You can be sure of that.”
“He can’t come soon enough then.” Katharina took the mug of tea from her.
Jutta handed Annamarie a couple of spoons to drum with on the empty sugar pot. “So what are you doing down here? What’s in the parcel?”
“Do you remember the doctor tourist from Meran? The one who was here this past summer? He ordered a jewellery box for Christmas. Florian has just finished it. I needed to get some fresh air anyway.” She took another sip of tea. “Speaking of doctors, Dr Hanny is not the only one with a motorcar anymore. Did you see that Klaus Blech has one now? I saw it in his stable. What is he going to do with that thing in the winter? Certainly he won’t be able to drive it around here once the snow really comes.”
“It’s a bit silly, I guess,” Lisl said, “but it’s Frederick who is worrying me. Jutta and I were just talking about how much he’s withdrawn.”
Jutta glanced at her, then back at Katharina. “We don’t think he’s ever really recovered from Fritz’s death. He’s distanced himself from me, which I can understand, I suppose, but from Lisl? She’s his sister, for heaven’s sake. Worst of all, the Blechs have really taken up with the Italians. You know why Klaus has gotten that automobile, don’t you?” She waited, satisfied that she’d be the one to tell her the news. “The Blechs are now called the Foglio family. They changed their names just last week, and now there’s a House Repairs Committee fixing their roof and installing new windows. And they’re not the only ones.” She looked at Lisl.
“You changed your name?” Katharina asked. “Tell me that’s not true.”
Lisl shook her head. “Georg turned the Italians down when they suggested we change it to Russo. When he found out that it meant Russian in Italian, he got very upset.”
“Lisl Russo,” Jutta said, making a face.
“No, thank you. I’ll keep Roeschen.”
“How is Georg?” Katharina asked. “I mean, after Captain Rioba took over as podestà…”
Lisl bent her head over the last tray of biscuits. “Quiet. Georg’s been quiet.”
Jutta patted Katharina’s hand and gave her a don’t ask look. “He’s getting in her way, isn’t he, Lisl? Always underfoot. He needs to find something to do.”
“And what should that be, Jutta?” Lisl asked. “They’ve disbanded the fire brigade. What should he do now?” Lisl picked up a plateful of biscuits and carried them into the pantry.
In conversation these days, Jutta noted, they always referred to the Walscher, the Italians.
“Ever since Emilio Rioba’s taken over as prefect,” she whispered to Katharina, “Georg spends his whole day locked up in his little library. It’s not good. Between him and Frederick, I don’t know what to think. And some of our people keep surprising me how quickly they sell out. There’s a good group of them in the valley getting subsidies in one form or the other, and the rest of us, who are holding on to our dignity, just get trouble from the authorities.”
“Like what, Jutta?”
She looked disgustedly out the window. “Rioba threatened Georg with a fine if he didn’t call him by his Italian title, for example.”
“Podestà? He has to call him podestà or he’ll get fined? That’s ludicrous.”
Lisl came back in and sat down with them. Jutta changed the subject. “Your Opa’s in the Stube, Katharina, with Anton Federspiel. They seem quite serious. Is there something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s about the loan Opa had to take out last year.”
“They’ll figure it out,” Lisl said. “Anton is fair—you know that.”
“He and Hans came to new terms,” Jutta added. “At least Hans has managed to make arrangements that will give him another season.” She handed Annamarie another biscuit from the counter, searching the child’s features for the Italian in her, something that hinted at her real father, but aside from the dark hair and brown eyes, the girl was almost the spitting image of her mother, and with Florian’s dark-brown hair, it was easy to accept that she was his.
Katharina placed her mug on the table. “Jutta, when you’re ready, can I get the package mailed? I still have to get to Klaus before he closes. Our sausages should be ready. Maybe Opa is ready to go too. He could walk back with us.”
More news to share. Jutta slid the package from the counter, saying, “Come with me. I have something to show you.”
In the hallway, they halted between the doors to Jutta’s apartment and that of the new post office.
Katharina pointed at the freshly installed door. “What’s this?”
“I’m no longer the postmistress. That, like everything else around here, has been taken care of by Podestà Rioba.” She opened the door. “Good afternoon, Eric.”
“Enrico. Mi chiamo Enrico,” the postman said.
A hint of garlic wafted in the air, and the postman reminded Jutta of a rat, with a long, thin nose and beady black eyes. His long strands of greasy hair had been arranged to mask the bald patch at the top of his head, but unsuccessfully. Under the green scarf and faded brown pullover, Jutta could still see how scrawny he was. She’d never seen an uglier man, and she had certainly encountered her fair share.
“Katharina, meet Eric. Your new postman.”
“When did this happen?” Katharina asked.
Jutta crossed her arms. “Yesterday. Podestà Rioba had my deed in one hand and the decree in the other. The builders marched right in here, blocked off the door that led from my apartment into the post office, and built the rest of this thing in a day. When they really want to be, those Italian workers can
