For her throat, Katharina brewed a pot of chamomile tea and a fresh pot of coffee. When all three of her men were at the table, ravenous and tired, she set out the bread and butter. Florian made the sign of the cross, and the boys followed, their gestures as hurried as if they were swatting away flies. Bernd and Manuel fell on the loaf of bread, and the scuffling began, until Florian put an end to it. Katharina waited, as she always did, until everyone had filled their plates.
After they finished, she cleaned up the dishes, and the boys trudged upstairs to rest before they had to pack up for the wood. After the midday meal, they would all set out to lumbering. Meanwhile, Florian settled in with a newspaper in the Stube, and Katharina considered what to make for dinner—something filling—and decided on Knödel with sauerkraut and bacon.
“Been an awful lot of developments since we’ve been on the alp,” Florian said from his chair.
Though the newspaper covered the bottom half of his face, she could hear that he’d stuck the pipe in his mouth but hadn’t lit it.
“Is that so?” Katharina set the blue ceramic mixing bowl on the rough-hewn table. From the pantry, she fetched the linen bag in which she stored the dried breadcrumbs she’d use for the dumplings.
“In Germany there sure has,” Florian said and lowered the paper.
Katharina stiffened. “Oh?”
“Looks like the German League’s taken an interest in Tyrol once more. We never got ahold of that journalist. You know? Michael Innerhofer. But he’s definitely involved in directing attention on the province from across the border.”
“Florian, you know as well as I do, they are just inciting nonsense. What are they going to do? Start a war with Italy over us?”
Florian harrumphed from his seat, turned the page of the newspaper, and read in silence.
She imagined they had a lot of catching up to do. The day they had returned from the alps, that storm had come and the weather had remained uncooperative until today, so the bonfire never took place. Nobody from the valley below had come to visit either. Not Mayor Roeschen, not Dr Hanny or Iris, not even Jutta had come back. Katharina wondered whether she should go to her and apologise for her abrupt and dismissive manner after Annamarie’s letter.
“We really ought to go down to the Post Inn and find out what’s happening,” she suggested.
“You should.” He lowered the paper again and looked sheepish.
“What?”
“I forgot to tell you. They’re all coming here tonight after the lumbering.”
“Who?”
“Everyone. Dr Hanny and Mayor Roeschen have asked us to sit together. Karl Spinner, Martin Noggler, Thomas, and Kaspar and Toni.”
She winced at Toni’s name. Their neighbour had gotten good and drunk at their table the other night. “For what?”
“They’ve got news about the reservoir.”
“Oh no, Florian.” She picked up the sack of breadcrumbs and measured its weight. “I’m going to have to bake extra bread.” There would be no going to the Post Inn after all.
“Florian? Annamarie—”
“Yes, Katharina. I know. We’ll be done with felling the trees by early next week. I’ll go south then.”
Another week. Wearily, she lifted the cellar door and made a list of all the things she would need in order to feed a whole lot of hungry men.
***
T he afternoon was filled with noise. Trees crashing in the hills above, men yelling, chains rattling. The scent of freshly cut wood hung heavy in the air, like someone’s perfume in a closed room long after they had left. It was nearly dark when Dr Hanny’s motorcar came up the road to Arlund.
When Dr Hanny stepped out of the car, Katharina went to meet him, wrapping the wool scarf tight around her neck. It was Mayor Roeschen in the passenger seat and not Iris. Katharina was disappointed. She could have used her friend’s company.
She greeted the men at the door, and soon after her house was filled with the others: Martin Noggler and his eldest, Thomas, followed by Kaspar and Toni. It was Toni’s wife, Patricia, who came to help Katharina in the kitchen. Though the two of them were not close, mostly because of Toni, Katharina was grateful for the company of a woman. She poured Patricia a cup of mulled wine to cut the chill, then filled her own teacup.
After the Ritsches, Hans filled the doorframe, and on his heels came old Karl Spinner, smelling of the outdoors. Each time she saw him, and it wasn’t often, Katharina was reminded of the day she’d found Angelo in the hunter’s cabin.
She went to Hans. “Where’s Jutta? I would have thought she’d come?”
“She’s not feeling well.” He looked at the scarf around her throat. “Looks as if you aren’t either.”
“I will be fine. Will she be all right?”
He nodded and winked. “Just give her a day or two.”
Katharina left him to help Patricia set out the food and mugs of hot wine. Afterwards, she squeezed in around the crowded table, next to Florian.
Dr Hanny thanked all of them for coming and for the Steinhausers for hosting. He’d allowed his beard to grow longer than usual, and if it were not for his suit, he’d have blended right in with the other farmers.
“The reason,” he said, “we wanted to meet with everyone today is because it has come to our attention—mine and Georg’s, that is—that there will be some changes taking place in the appointments of our town’s politicians.”
“Georg’s going to be mayor again?” Toni jested.
Georg Roeschen and Dr Hanny exchanged glances before the latter said, “No, I’m afraid not. It’s going to be Klaus Blech.”
By the
