“No, he won’t. And that’s why I have to do what I can. I’ll be careful. I promise I will. And I won’t go far—just to the villages nearby where I know the men.”

“Surely you have time to rest,” Nina protested. “You can leave in the morning.”

“Better if I travel by night.” Now he looked to his sister. “Would you mind packing me something to eat? I want to talk to Nina.”

She followed him outside, to the stools under the olive tree, but rather than let her sit next to him he drew her onto his lap, and she forgot to protest that she was too big, too round, because all she wanted was for him to hold her close.

“Please don’t worry,” he told her.

“I can’t help it. Not now. Not after finding out that Papà and Mamma are lost to me. It’s too hard.”

“Not for someone as brave and strong as you. Not for my Nina.”

“What if something happens to you? I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt. If they took you away from me.”

“I promise to be careful. But I want you to promise me something in return. If the worst should happen, you must remember what I told you just now. You are brave. You are strong. And you can bear anything.”

Chapter 21

26 September 1944

He didn’t return the next day, or the next, but the news from Monte Grappa, what little they heard, wasn’t especially worrying. Men were still surrendering, but the process was peaceful, no one was being shot on the spot, and the big guns had stopped their pounding of the partisan strongholds.

The weekend passed, and no one at church had any terrible news to share; and so on Tuesday morning, when Paolo asked if he might go into Bassano to buy a spare inner tube for his bicycle, Aldo and Rosa barely looked up from their breakfast.

“It’s been months since anyone has had them for sale,” Paolo explained. “We used our last spare one a while back.”

Rosa waited for her father’s nod before answering. “Yes, but don’t linger. I want you back here by midday.”

So Paolo set off on the wreck of an old bicycle he and his brother shared, and they all got to work, and the morning passed by. When midday came and went, Aldo raised an eyebrow at Paolo’s absence, but said nothing.

“He ought to have been back by now,” Rosa fretted as she served them soup and slices of fried polenta. “What could be taking him so long?”

“He probably ran into some of his friends,” said Matteo between mouthfuls. “I don’t mind doing his chores. Let him have some fun for a change.”