“I have to sit. Just let me . . . let me sit for a moment.”
Suddenly her bottom was on the ground. She had never fainted in her life, but this was too much to take in. Too much to believe or even quite understand.
Rosa took the cloth before Nina could drop it and crouched at her side. “Bend your head between your knees. And let me put the cloth against your neck. There. Doesn’t it feel good?”
“I’m having a baby. I can’t believe it.”
“How is it that you didn’t realize?”
“I’ve never been pregnant before. I mean . . . it never occurred to me. What do we do?”
“Nothing much. Babies take care of themselves for the most part.”
“What about Dr. Pivetti?”
Rosa laughed disdainfully. “That quack? I wouldn’t trust him to help with a calving. No. We’ll call Romilda when the time comes. She helps with all the births in Mezzo Ciel. She was attending another birth when Carlo was born, otherwise my mother would probably still be alive. She’ll take good care of you and the baby.”
“I’m having a baby,” Nina repeated, still trying to absorb the revelation.
“What did you think would happen?” Rosa teased. “You two are like lovebirds, you know. Forever cooing away at one another. I’m only surprised it took this long.” She stood, then helped Nina to her feet. “Are you all right? Are you ready to walk back?”
Nina nodded, and together they returned to the house, Bello ambling along behind them, and as they walked she did one sum after another in her head, and they all led her to the same conclusion: she was a little more than three months pregnant. Four months, and yet she’d missed all the signs. She had been putting on weight, but she’d assumed it was due to her healthy appetite from all the hard work she’d been doing. Never mind that she’d had to move the buttons on her skirts twice already. How could she have been blind to it?
They were almost at the house when Rosa stopped and gave her a quick hug. “I know it’s for you to tell my brother, so I swear I won’t breathe a word. But will you promise me one thing? Make sure he’s sitting down when you tell him. I don’t want him fainting, too.”
WHEN NICO RETURNED, very late on Wednesday night, only Nina and Rosa were still awake, for the electricity had held up all evening and they’d managed, between them, to finish nearly all of the mending.
He was bone-tired from the long walk home and his days in Zio Beppe’s fields, and without his asking Nina knew what he wanted most was a hot bath. So she and Rosa rolled out the tub and filled the big kettle, and only when the water was ready did Rosa excuse herself with a soft good night and knowing smile.
Though his eyes were half-shut, Nico still noticed. “What’s got my sister looking so pleased with herself?”
Not wishing to share her secret until they were safely in their bedroom, Nina shrugged in what she hoped was a believably carefree fashion. “She’s allowed to be in a good mood, isn’t she? And it was a nice day. That’s all.”
“I suppose,” he said, and then he stood and began to strip off his dusty clothes. Rosa had switched off the overhead light earlier, leaving only the soft glow of the single oil lamp on the table, and even though they were alone, and unlikely to be disturbed, Nina’s face grew warm at the sight of his broad back and muscled limbs.
He groaned softly as he lowered himself into the steaming water. “Thank you. I can’t imagine a better homecoming than your lovely face and this bath.”
“Do you want to shave? I can fetch your things from our room.”
“Not tonight. I’m so tired I’d only cut myself.” Now he glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I would rather be in bed with my beautiful wife.”
“Would you, ah, like me to wash your hair?” she stammered, her heart racing.
“Yes, please,” he answered, and she was ever so relieved. Now she had something to do, apart from ogling him and blushing at his compliments.
She sat on the stool next to the tub, first making sure the sliver of Rosa’s good soap was near to hand, along with the pitcher for rinsing. “Will you wet your hair first?” she asked, and he obligingly leaned forward and used his cupped hands to sluice water over his bent head. Straightening, he leaned back, his head almost in her lap, and she began to wash his hair.
Her heart growing ever lighter, she watched, mesmerized, as he relaxed into her soothing touch, the lines of worry and exhaustion gradually fading from his face. But the water was getting cool, and he needed to sleep, so she reluctantly dipped the pitcher into the bathwater and rinsed the soap from his hair.
And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped from her mouth. “Nico? I have something to tell you.” She had told herself she would wait until they were upstairs and alone, but now, with her heart so achingly full, she could wait no longer.
“All right,” he murmured, already half-asleep. “What is it?” When she didn’t answer straightaway, he opened his eyes and squinted up at her. “Is something wrong? Is it Zwerger?”
He turned in the bath, his abrupt movement splashing water all over the floor, and rose to his knees, his expression troubled.
“It’s a good thing,” she rushed to reassure him. “A wonderful thing.”
Her eyes met his. It was wrong to be shy, she realized, so she steadied herself and, taking his hands in hers, set them on her still-flat stomach. “You’re going to be a father,” she whispered, and she watched as joy eclipsed the worry in his gaze.
“Oh, my darling. My beloved one. Nothing could make me happier.” He bent low to kiss their joined hands. “Do you know when?”
“The autumn, I think. In October.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Only Rosa. She figured it out before I did.”
“I’ve told you before that my sister is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. You haven’t said anything to Father Bernardi?”
“No. I was waiting for you to come home. What do you think he’ll say?”
“He’ll want to be sure of my intentions. That’s for certain. And he may well feel the need to lecture me. The man is a priest, after all—but he’s also a romantic at heart.”
“Will he disapprove?”
“Because we aren’t legally married? Or because you’re a Jew?”
“Both?” she quavered, her elation fading.
Nico smiled. “He may be a little grouchy on the first point. On the second, I think you can set aside any fears. Many would disapprove, but not Giulio Bernardi. Of that I have no doubt.”
Standing, he drew Nina to her feet, but frowned when he saw how much water was on the floor. “I’ve got the front of your dress all wet. We’d better dry ourselves off and see what we can do to clean up this mess. But only if it doesn’t take too long. I can’t wait to fall asleep with you in my arms.”
THEY SHARED THEIR news with everyone the next morning, and then, rather than settle into a long day of chores, they all set off for church. It was the Feast of the Ascension, the significance of which Nico had explained to Nina at dawn, but which still eluded her. The Mass didn’t seem to differ in any noticeable way, and after they’d returned home and had their usual midday meal the men went out to the fields, the children were sent to weed the vegetable garden, and Rosa and Nina got started on preparation for a modest party in honor of the holy day and the news of the coming baby.
“Usually there’s a big to-do in the piazza,” Rosa explained, “but of course it’s been banned. Have to wonder why they let the riel go ahead at Epiphany but said no to this. So I told Papà we should have our own festa here.”
“What if someone finds out?”
“Paolo hates dancing, so I told him he could go fishing with his friends on Saturday if he keeps watch tonight. Besides, we’re only going to have our supper outside and dance to whatever music they’re playing on the radio. It’s not as if we’ve a shed full of fireworks ready to shoot off.”
She’d never danced with Nico before. There were so
many things they hadn’t yet had the chance to do. One day, once the war was done, they would go to the pictures, and they would eat in a restaurant, and they would dance for hours under the stars. One day.
But first she had to help Rosa get ready for their little party. “So the table’s to come outside?” she asked.
“Yes, but we’ll get the boys to do that for us. Why don’t you bring out the chairs for now? And then we’ll get started on the dough for the crostoli. Nico loves them.”
They ate their supper outside at the big table, and when the sky began to darken they set lanterns in the windows, and hung one in the olive tree, and Matteo moved the radio to a stool by the kitchen door and, after much adjusting of dials, found a program playing American-style dance music.
“Not too loud,” Aldo cautioned. “We don’t want any uninvited guests coming to join us.”
And then they danced: Aldo and Nina, Nico and Rosa, and Matteo even agreed to partner Agnese and then Angela. Not to be left out, Carlo begged for a dance with Nina, and they shuffled in a slow circle as he stood on her shoes, his sweet little face alight with happiness.
A new song came on, and as soon as its melody became clear Nico reached for Nina, promising his brother they both would dance with him again. “I love this song,” he explained, “and I want to dance to it with my wife.”
He took Nina in his arms and led her a little ways away, to the edge of their makeshift ballroom, and the music rose and swirled around them.
“Do you recognize it?” he asked.
“‘Polvere di Stelle’?” she guessed.
“Yes. It’s nicer in English, though.”
“You speak English?”
“Only a little. This version of the song, the Italian one, tells of a sweet dream of love. A golden star of a girl with blue eyes. But everyone knows the most beautiful girls have dark hair that curls just so, and hazel eyes, not blue.”
She smiled up at him, enchanted by his romantic words and his effortless dancing and the delightful knowledge that he was hers.
“The English lyrics are far better,” he continued. “Like poetry, even,” and he began to sing to her, first in English, and then, so she might understand, in Italian.
“‘The stars are bright, and you are in my arms,’” he sang softly and so sweetly. And then, in a whisper for her alone, “No matter where I am, my Nina, near or far, you are the one who brightens my dreams. You are the one who paints the sky with stardust.”
“Is all of that from the song?” she asked, for surely the English lyrics hadn’t included her name.
“Only the beginning. The rest is from my heart. For you to remember me by when I am gone.”
Chapter 19
7 August 1944
If only she hadn’t let herself fall asleep under the olive tree.
Her back had been bothering her, and her feet were swollen, and though she’d insisted she was well enough to help Rosa and the children in the vegetable garden, she’d been overruled. “Better you stay here and work through the mending,” Rosa had insisted in her no-nonsense voice that made argument impossible.
She’d felt guilty at first, for she was comfortable in her spot under the tree’s silvery shade, sitting on a kitchen chair the girls had dragged out for her, a cushion at her back, her feet propped up on a round of firewood that Carlo had unearthed. She had a glass of cool water at her elbow, and the light was fine and bright, and now and again a cool breeze tickled the curls at her nape.
She was comfortable, and happy, and counting the hours until Nico returned, for yesterday she had felt the baby moving for the first time. A real movement, a proper kick that got her attention, although as the kicks and bumps and little hiccups continued over the hours that followed, Nina realized that he or she had been trying to get her notice for some time.
Today the baby was sleepy, likely because it was warm, and likely because Nina was sleepy, too. It would be heavenly to simply close her eyes and rest. A few minutes, no longer, otherwise she’d never finish up the mending.
The horribly familiar sound of car tires on gravel woke her. The unwelcome sight of a German officer’s Mercedes, hissing to a stop mere meters from her feet, was the first thing she saw.
Zwerger had returned. After months of silence he had come back, and she was alone, without even Selva at her side. She had promised Nico she would hide, but then she had fallen asleep and it was too late, now, to run inside and shut the door.
She stood, not as gracefully as she’d have liked, and smoothed down her skirt and the long shirt, formerly one of Matteo’s, that Rosa had helped her to alter so there’d be room for her expanding waistline. She waited, her shaking hands folded atop the gentle swell of her belly, as the wretched man got out of his car and marched toward her.
“It has been a long time since your last visit, Obersturmführer Zwerger.”
“Yes.”
“How may I help you?” she asked, silently cursing him for his curiosity—and herself for stupidly falling asleep. “Nico is in the fields with the other men,” she lied. Now she had to pray he wouldn’t insist on her fetching him. He wasn’t far, only in San Zenone for a few days, helping his widowed aunt with the haying on her farm. She ought to have told Zwerger the truth, for what if he—
“Would you believe it is you I’ve come to see? Only a friendly visit, I swear. Merely to see how you are settling in to life in this rustic place. It must be quite a change for a Venetian like yourself.”
“I’m from Padua. I only moved to Venice for my schooling.”
“Why Venice? There is a school of nursing in Padua, is there not?”
What should she say? This wasn’t a topic she and Nico had ever discussed. “Yes, but I . . . I started late in the year and there were no places left, and in Venice there was a place for me. At the hospital. And I was able to . . . to start right away.”
He nodded, his expression blandly agreeable, as if this all made perfect sense to him. “What was the urgency?”
“I . . . I needed to go to work,” she stammered. “I had stayed on at the orphanage for too long. I had to . . . to find my own way.” Lies piling upon lies—how would she ever keep them straight?”
“I see. That was very enterprising of you. Leaving the only home you had ever known.”
“What else was I to do?”
This question he ignored. Instead he examined the immaculate material of his uniform, flicking away imaginary specks of lint, and when that was done he turned in a slow circle, his eyes squinting even beneath the shade of his cap, his mouth pursed tight.
Presently he returned his attention to Nina. “What was your maiden name? I meant to ask the last time I was here.”
“Marzoli.”
“Not a common name in this part of Italy.”
“My parents were from Rome, or near to Rome. At least that’s what I was told. I never knew them.” Lies upon lies.
“And the name of the orphanage where you grew up?”
“Why do you need to know such a thing?” It was stupid to question him, but the words flew out of her mouth like starlings from the stable loft.
“Idle curiosity, no more. I often come across children whose parents have died or fled. It’s worth knowing of a safe haven for such innocents.”
“St. Anthony’s.”
“Of course. Yes. I remember it from my time in Padua.” His cold eyes swept over her once more. “You appear well. Am I correct in thinking you are in the family way?”
“Yes.”
“My felicitations. Your husband must be delighted.”
“He is.” When would this torturous conversation come to an end?
“And yet he does not stay close to home for your sake?”
“He does. He is only up in the fields. I can show you the way if you wish to see him. Only . . . it was raining yesterday. Your boots will get muddy.” That ought to be a deterrent. He wasn’t the sort of man to dirty his feet if he could help it.
“He leave
s no one here at the farm to help you? Protect you?”
“Rosa and the children aren’t far.”
“There’s no sign of them now.” He took a step closer.
“I stayed behind to work on the mending. The heat of the day . . . I wasn’t feeling well.”
“So we are alone.” Another step.
“Apart from your men.” Would he care that the soldiers would witness whatever he meant to do?
He took another step, near enough now that he might reach out and touch her if he chose, but she held her ground. He would not see her cower. She would not beg him to leave her be.
“I mean no disrespect, Signora Gerardi, but I fail to see the attraction.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why did he cast everything aside for you? It’s not as if you’re some great beauty. You have no family, hardly any education, certainly no money of your own. What made him turn his face on his future? On his true vocation?”
“Perhaps he decided I was his future.”
Zwerger didn’t bother to hide his disdain. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it was a more . . . carnal sort of attraction.”
“You disgrace yourself with such talk.”
He was so close that she could see the beads of sweat that clung to his upper lip. Could see the red line where his too-tight collar dug into the soft skin of his neck.
“My family is returning,” she said, though she could hear nothing above the roar of her terrorized heart. “Do you have any more questions for me?”
Still he stared and stared, more drops of sweat rolling down his temples to vanish into the wan brown of his manicured sideburns. Only when Rosa and the children came around the corner of the house did he step back.
For an instant no one said anything. The children’s happy chatter vanished, as if it had been swept up and bottled, and Rosa simply stared, openmouthed, at Zwerger and his car and the hovering soldiers.
But Selva was all too aware of the danger, and before Rosa could catch hold of her collar she rushed forward, her snarls building like thunder, and pushed herself between Nina and Zwerger.
Our Darkest Night Page 16