“That’s the one. No, over there. The one who persuaded him to abandon the priesthood.”

“She’s not much to look at. What was he thinking?”

“I know. All those years of work and study just gone, and for what?”

“Poor thing. Of course, Rosa will carve her into little pieces.”

“That she will. Oh, to be a fly on their wall!”

That’s when Nico turned around. He didn’t say a word, but Nina could feel the weight of his pinioning stare.

Facing forward once again, he bent his head to whisper in Nina’s ear. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. I’m impressed at how quickly you quieted them.”

“It’s one of the first things we learn in the seminary. How to scowl at people who whisper during Mass.” And then he nudged her shoulder, just a little, to show he was joking. Or only mostly joking.

It ought not to hurt. Nico wasn’t really her husband, and he hadn’t truly abandoned anything for her. When the war was over, and she was safely home, they would be free to tell the truth about the fiction they’d concocted, and Nico would continue with his life, seminary or no seminary, on his own.

What hurt rather more was the gossips’ belief that she was incapable of doing her fair share of work on the farm. She’d completed every task Rosa had given her yesterday and she hadn’t complained, not once. She was smart, and strong, and she would fit in.

She would make those gossips eat their words.

“Nina,” Nico whispered. “The bells have stopped. Mass is starting.”

Everyone stood and began to sing, but without a cantor to lead them the resulting chorus wasn’t particularly tuneful. Father Bernardi passed by, followed by a troop of little boys about the same age as Carlo, and the following hour was an unnerving blur of standing and kneeling and sitting and kneeling and moving her lips like a ghost.

When it was time for the Communion part of things she followed Nico to the front and knelt at the altar rail, her heart pounding like mad because surely the other churchgoers would see that she didn’t belong. She did remember to open her mouth, just in time, and Father Bernardi placed a dry little cracker on her tongue, and after she’d swallowed it and traced a cross with her hand she followed Nico back to their pew and knelt until it was time to sit again, the taste of the Communion wafer still bitter on her tongue.

At last the Mass was done. As they waited for their turn to file outside, Nico touched her arm and bent to whisper in her ear. “We’ll stop to say hello to Father. I know he’ll make a show of welcoming you. That will go a long way to quieting the village gossips.”