As soon as the first carabinieri and their families stepped outside, Toni and the boys snapped into a salute, arms raised stiffly in the air.
“Heil Hitler!”
The cry sent goosebumps up Katharina’s extremities and spine.
Others followed suit, staring the Italian authorities down.
Katharina pressed Manuel to her side. Father Wilhelm came out of the church behind Ghirardelli and Klaus Foglio, the meaty butcher’s face reddening as he looked at the crowd before him. Next to him was his wife, and when she saw the raised salutes, her face fell.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ghirardelli demanded.
Toni stepped forward. “Do you know what Reich means, Ghirardelli?” He glared at the butcher and his wife. “And you? Do you remember anything in German, Klaus? Reich? It also means wealth. We’re going to be wealthy, you arses. By tomorrow, Hitler will be here, and we’ll be German again.” He spit in Klaus’s direction. “And you? What are you going to be?”
There was a whoop, followed by angry cries. The villagers turned into rival packs of dogs, snarling at one another.
“Have you all gone mad?” Father Wilhelm shouted. “Hitler will never reach over the Brenner Line!”
Georg Roeschen pushed out from the crowd behind Toni’s supporters, and Katharina caught her breath. He stepped before Klaus Foglio.
“Just you wait,” he said, eyeing the carabinieri and then Ghirardelli. “Wait until we get our hands on you. You’re finished here, you hear?” He rocked forward and jabbed Klaus in the chest. “By tomorrow you’ll have us to answer to, you traitor!”
Klaus pushed his hands out, not much needed from the big man to rock Georg back on his heels and make him tumble backwards, down the steps of the church. It was all Hitler’s supporters needed. They moved like a unified army. Ghirardelli must have signalled to his policemen, because they also charged forward. Katharina yanked Manuel away just before they could be crushed between the two fronts.
Angry shouts. Cries. A child screeched. Katharina saw Jutta grapple for Hans’s arm, but he shook her off as if she were nothing but a fly and went straight into the crowd of fighting men. Florian was nearby, pulling a farmer off a policeman. Jutta charged in, but her head snapped back. A rock landed on the ground, and Jutta’s headscarf slipped off as she doubled over. Katharina rushed to pull her out of the scuffle and hurried her to the church doors.
Frederick and Iris rushed to them.
“Jutta, you’re bleeding,” Frederick said.
She had a gash on her forehead where the rock had made a deep cut.
“I’ll be fine,” Jutta said, but the blood ran down her face.
Iris removed a handkerchief from her purse and pressed it to Jutta’s head, who held on to it and cast Iris a grateful look.
“You’re lucky,” Frederick said ominously. “Any closer to the temple and you wouldn’t be standing here.”
A cry and loud curses made Katharina turn around. Two carabinieri were picking up Bernd from the ground, and one of them clasped handcuffs on his wrists before dragging him down the road. Katharina pushed through the crowd to go after him, but someone grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. Florian.
“Let him go, Katharina.”
“But—”
“He has to learn.”
What was happening to her husband? With her children? She looked wildly about for Manuel, could not find him, but saw that the carabinieri and Ghirardelli’s men had managed to separate the fighters. Down the road, Klaus Foglio was leading Sebastiano back home, one large, meaty hand on his son’s neck. Bernd’s arrest seemed to have sobered up most of the villagers. Father Wilhelm had not gotten away in time, however. His robes were twisted about him, and he was holding his arm at the elbow. Katharina hurried to him and guided him back to where Frederick was still attending to Jutta’s head.
“Good God in heaven,” Katharina cried. “A seventy-year-old priest in a brawl.”
Iris left to fetch the medical bag. Dr Hanny turned to Father Wilhelm and carefully prodded around his elbow and announced it was broken.
“Jutta, we’ll go to the inn, and I’ll tend to you both,” he told her. He called out to the dispersing crowd. “Anyone need medical attention?”
There were just a few stragglers left in the churchyard, mostly women bending and picking up scattered belongings, comforting bewildered and frightened children. Florian had Manuel by the hand.
Ghirardelli was watching them while talking to two of his men. Several villagers had been led away by the carabinieri, which had come in strong after the first altercations. The prefect made a clucking sound when his eyes fell on Jutta, then on Father Wilhelm.
“Anyone else?” Dr Hanny called again, this time in Italian.
Ghirardelli scanned the crowd, looked back, and shrugged. “Looks like we are finished here.” With a sad grin, he added, “Without firing a shot.”
***
A t the inn, they were all huddled about the radio, Katharina leaning into Florian, Manuel in her lap, just like he used to when he was smaller, before he’d decided he was too old for his mother’s comfort.
“…Italy will abandon the buffer zone on the Austrian borders. Thousands of border guards have been ordered to report to their headquarters in nearby areas.”
“Mussolini’s pulling back, that coward,” Georg said. “I told you the Germans were coming.”
Jutta, head bandaged, waved a hand to shush him. Father Wilhelm also scowled at Georg, his arm in a sling.
“…the Brenner Pass will be patrolled by the NSDP.” The announcer’s voice rose on such a swell of hope that there was no doubt Toni would have found another supporter for his cause.
The announcer signed off, and Jutta sat back, as if matters were settled. “Mussolini should’ve paid more attention. He didn’t take Hitler seriously enough.”
Katharina was
