“Just behind me in the tin on the shelf.”
She heard him opening the lid behind her as she filled his cup. He stood abreast of her and lit his pipe and waved the match until it went out. “That was very brave of you.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
She trod cautiously. “So you agree with me? About working with the ministry?”
“I did not say that. Don’t you ever say that I said that.” He removed his pipe and held it. Apple-wood smoke wafted around their heads. “Your Stube is filled with disoriented Tyroleans right now,” he said. “But most of us here want to see this part of Tyrol regain its autonomy.”
What was he trying to say? “We all do.”
“Maybe. All. There are two hundred and fifty thousand of us in South Tyrol who could ban together and create problems for the Walscher, with help from up north, of course.” He stuck his pipe back between his teeth, his eyes trained on the table. “We just need to know who’s who, that’s all. Who’s going to get the job done that needs doing.”
He walked back to his seat on the far right of the table and, before sitting down, indicated that she should rejoin them. She quickly filled the other two mugs and handed one each to Toni and Kaspar.
“So, Florian,” Georg was saying, “That’s why we’re here.”
“You want me to go see them?” Her husband looked worried.
“See who?” Katharina asked.
Dr Hanny said, “The German League leaders. Florian’s German citizenship is what gives him the freedom to travel up there faster than any of us. We’d have to wait weeks for permission.”
“But when?” Katharina asked, her throat was raspy. “When should he go?”
Florian looked sheepish. “Next week. They’re meeting next week.”
“But—”
“Katharina.” It was Karl Spinner, his tone a touch reprimanding. “As long as we have Germans and Austrians on our side, we are not going to even consider dealing with the Fascists, with the ministry. We have to know what opportunities lay open to us. You said it yourself. We have to stick together.” He turned to Martin. “We work together. You hear?”
***
T he snow came the next day, just a warning of what would follow in the coming months, but enough for Katharina to put layers on before going out to the stable. Though the ground was just sugarcoated, the peaks and ridges of the surrounding mountains were draped in brilliant virgin white, and the air nipped at her nose and cheeks. She shivered when she saw the boys and Florian splashing their faces vigorously in the fountain, something she would forgo until after breakfast, when the sun was out and the temperatures one or two degrees higher.
The family’s routines were paced to a different rhythm now that they had all come down from the alp. There was the garden to tend to, the chickens, and the hares. The house was bigger, more to clean. The stable had to be scrubbed, fresh straw laid out now that the animals were cooped up indoors. The workload more than doubled compared to when the cows roamed the alps. The noises and smells were different too. Whereas the wind, the streams, the birdsong, and the summer crickets accompanied their work outdoors, now there was the stamping of hooves on the wooden slats, the tinny sound of milk hitting the cans, the stools bumping and jarring as Florian, the boys, and she made their way from one cow to the next. This early in the morning, they also had to turn the lights on, and the bulbs buzzed overhead as the generator hummed behind the wall where she worked.
“There now, Hettie,” Florian murmured, calling the cow by name as Katharina had taught him all those years ago.
He’d come as a carpenter to the valley, had never farmed, having grown up in a city. She watched him stroking a heifer’s flank before placing his stool down, his hand gently sliding down to the teats. Bernd, across from her, was more reticent with the cows. He got down to business with them, expected them to cooperate, and if they did not, could easily get frustrated, and though Florian always credited Katharina with everything he knew about dairy farming, Bernd turned to his father first for guidance.
Next to her, Manuel was humming to his heifer. He was her baby, a dreamer, a sensitive child who preferred the gentler sides of farming—the garden, the orchards—and spent hours building birdhouses or feeders, which she then hung around the Hof. Like her, he too could smell rain coming three days out. He still grew sick at the sight of slaughter, but like she had in so many ways, he would grow used to it, accept it as part of being a farmer. Whereas Bernd worked hard with his muscles and his logic, Manuel worked with his intuition and his heart. He was just eight, and Katharina sometimes believed that nature was his true mother. She’d only given birth to him.
There had been two others before Manuel, now buried at St. Anna’s cemetery. A miscarriage, then Oskar, who’d been sickly from the start and had not made it to his sixth week. Katharina had carried Manuel to term, but with a constant worry that left her nerves racked. She’d been so exhausted by her apprehension that when she went into labour, her fears and her body fought one another for half a day and half a night. When Manuel had come out healthy and fit, she swore to Florian that was going to be the end of childbearing for her. His relief had surprised her, and they had wept together over the tiny boy in her arms. Manuel had been her baby since. And Annamarie’s. Whereas Annamarie always picked quarrels with Bernd, Manuel had been his sister’s pet project from day one, and he adored her.
