Prologue
PROLOGUE
EYES OF A SOLDIER
Montevino, April 12, 1945
I tossed and turned under the starlit sky, a cold, harsh moon watching us as we hid in the cabin in the High Woods. In the shadow of the mountain’s gray granite boulders I prayed the soldiers would not come all the way up here, or that they’d march past, in too much of a rush to notice we were here. Maybe these soldiers had already fulfilled their tribute of blood. With my kin, my people.
Below us Montevino was on fire. Shots rang through the night – each bullet destined for a woman, a child, or a man too old or too sick to fight. They were all who remained now. All the young men had gone already.
I don’t know how I fell asleep amid such horror, hugging the rifle I barely knew how to use, my cheek against the barrel’s cold metal, but I did. It was a sick, feverish sleep that brought with it a sort of delirium. A memory from a time so close and yet so far, when Leo and I were together; a time when everything that happened after was just unthinkable.
In my dream-memory, Leo and I lay together in a field not far from my home, with the sky so blue, dotted with soft white clouds. Sunlight played in the leaves of the poplar trees, rippling all around us like bunting at a village fair, and his hand, rough and used to manual work, was holding mine. Was it always meant to be, between Leo and me? Or would we dance around each other for years, with him offering his love and me forever running, forever having other plans?
I’d known him since I was a child, this man with eyes so perfectly black they reflected my soul, the man with a passion for vineyards, the motherless boy who’d spent evenings at our home basking in the warmth of our family. He had a strong mind and a kind heart.
Leo Bordet was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, before the war came and tore everything apart.
He kissed me under the spring sky, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe for happiness. In my dream, my family had gathered for us. I could hear them in the distance, not far away.
“Will you marry me?” he said, and his words echoed in my mind like I’d heard them a million times before. Like it was always meant to be, only it had taken me years of growing up before realizing it was so.
“Yes. Yes. Of course, I will. I will,” I said, and let his eyes and mouth pull me to him.
My family’s voices rose to the sky as they surrounded us, their hands full of daisies and poppies and buttercups, teasing us, calling for another kiss. In the glare of the sun I thought I could see Papa rising out of his chair and standing tall, and Mamma was young and beautiful again, like she was before childbirth, before years of hard work, before grief. My Zia Costanza was there, her dark hair beautifully curled, a sweet, somehow other-worldly smile on her lips, her beloved rosary wrapped around her wrist. And Pietro! My little brother Pietro was there as well, wearing his soldier’s uniform. Oh, Pietro!
Tears began to fall down my cheeks. Why was I crying when everyone was with me again, alive and well, and I was surrounded by love?
Because a part of me, even while asleep, knew it wasn’t real.
It was then that my family began to fade, starting with my little brother. He waved his hand and slowly disappeared.
“Don’t go. Don’t go!” I cried, as the light of the sunset in his eyes passed by and died. And then Leo, too, began to dissolve right in front of me.
“No! Don’t go!”
He held me against him, one hand on the back of my head, the other around my waist, and whispered in my ear: “I’ll never leave your side.”
I screamed Leo’s name as strong hands grabbed my arm and pulled me up, my rifle falling useless on the ground.
An eternity later, dawn found me alive, wide-eyed and shaking against the mossy stone wall of the cabin. I staggered through the High Woods in the light of dawn, towards the smoking remains of Montevino. My mind flew into action, as it had been trained to do. The dead needed to be buried – but not everyone was dead. As soon as I saw the wounded, all those familiar faces covered in blood and ashes, women and children calling for help, I remembered: I wasn’t just a broken, bleeding woman. I was a doctor, and I was needed.