“Antonina?” he asked after five minutes or so.

“Yes?”

“I think it would be safer to change your name, or rather to alter it.”

So she was to lose every part of herself—her home, her family, and now, it seemed, her name. “What do you suggest? Maria? That’s a good Gentile name.” She was being rude, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not in that moment.

“Your father suggested Nina.”

The name Papà alone liked to call her. “I suppose that will do.” She could remember to be Nina. “What will my surname be? My maiden name, that is.” Simply talking about such a thing made her face grow hot.

“How about Marzoli? Not so different from your real name, hmm? We will tell people that you grew up in an orphanage in Padua. St. Anthony’s is the biggest.”

“St. Anthony’s,” she repeated.

“You only came to Venice a year or so ago. To train as a nurse—that makes sense, doesn’t it? Since you’ve been learning medicine from your father.”

“I suppose I could pass as a nursing student. All right. I was Nina Marzoli, an orphan from Padua, and I’d come to do my nurse’s training in Venice.”

“Yes. That should be easy to remember.”

“Where are we going now?”

“To Fondamente Nove.”

“It takes half as long to walk north to Sant’Alvise and take the vaporetto from there to the ferries.”

“I know, but I’ve only enough money for the direct fare to Murano. Do you mind?”

“Not really,” she admitted, for she was in no hurry to leave the city she loved. “Why Murano?”

“My cousin is meeting us there. He’ll take us to the mainland, to Campalto, where he and his wife have a farm. From there, it’s a two-day walk. About sixty kilometers.”

“To where?” she asked tartly. “Or is that meant to be a secret, too?”

“Not at all. We’re going to my father’s farm. It’s on the outskirts of a village called Mezzo Ciel.” He was smiling now. “Hardly more than a dot on the map.”

“I haven’t heard of it.”

“I’d be surprised if you had.”

“Can’t we take the train? It seems very far.”

“We could, but it’s best to do what’s expected. People in Mezzo Ciel would never dream of wasting money on a train ticket if they could walk. Even having the mule and cart with us is a luxury.”

“A mule?”

“Yes. An old fellow, and he doesn’t like to be rushed. But he’ll make the journey easier.”