“Transfer the kernels to these sacks, and I’ll take them along to the miller.”

At this Carlo sighed. “More polenta. Ugh. I hate polenta.”

“Rosa says we are lucky to have it,” Agnese insisted, ever the serious one. “There are starving children who have far less than we do.”

“Agnese is right,” said Nico, “but I get tired of polenta, too. What if we ask Rosa to put a little cheese on top of yours? How does that sound?”

Carlo was unconvinced. “I’d much rather have a big slice of fresh bread, right out of the oven, with so much jam on top that it drips off the edges and makes all the wasps come flying over.”

“Enough of that,” his brother protested, “or you’ll have Nina and the girls daydreaming of jam and not paying attention to the shelling machine, and then I’ll come back from the fields to discover the girls have accidentally stuffed you through the sheller. There will be kernels of Carlo everywhere, and then we’ll really be in trouble with Rosa. You know how much she hates a mess.”

Nico stood, dusting the dirt from his knees, and then bent to kiss his brother’s head. “I’ll be off. Do watch out for the children’s fingers,” he said, this time to Nina, “and have them collect the scattered kernels. Otherwise the hens will gobble everything up.”

They worked for hours to shell the corn and tidy the cobs, which would be used to fuel the range come winter, into the bins where they would dry out even more. By the time they finished, Nina’s arms were so sore she could barely hold her spoon at supper. The children were worn out, too, Carlo most of all, and it took far longer than usual for him to eat his soup and bread.

When Rosa moved to clear away his bowl, he sighed gustily and looked longingly at the basket where the bread was kept. It hung from a nail in the ceiling beam, far out of the children’s reach—even Nina had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it.

“I’m still hungry.”

Rosa was unmoved. “You had plenty. Have a drink of water if you need to fill your belly.”

“But Paolo and Matteo—”

“Your brothers get more because they do more work than you. Off you go to bed, and no more whining.”

“I’M NOT COMPLAINING,” Nina whispered to Nico that night as they lay, carefully spaced, side by side on their narrow bed. “I’m not. But you work so hard and you have so little to show for it. And I could hear Carlo crying in bed just now, and—”

“He was tired.”

“I don’t see why he and the girls can’t have a little more to eat if they say they’re hungry. Especially when the cantina is full of food.”