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Rosa blushed. Concetta’s words had moved her, and most of all, she felt less alone.
The two cousins said goodbye, not before casting a smiling glance at Zi Duca, who, throughout their chat, had not stopped singing and playing. Christmas was approaching, and the old man finally started singing Pastureddi3.
Concetta, on her way back home, on the notes and words of that pastoral that were gradually fading away, thought of her brother and wondered if he would have come back at least for Christmas!
Two days after the start of the Novena, a letter from Ture arrived at Zi Strino’s shop. He had sent it by post, fearing that it would fall into dangerous hands and not trusting it to be delivered through some shepherd crossing the mountain from one side to the other.
Ture reassured everyone about his condition and how Lord Solima treated him like a son, but he also wrote that he would certainly not be returning for the holidays, unfortunately.
Many other young men hid in Solima’s house, he was able to draw cheap labour from them, and the boys could put the war aside for a while. It suited everyone. The fascist militia had discovered and denounced this practice, and the feud was controlled on sight. Those who stayed there only had to work and could not leave until the municipal messenger arrived. The generosity of the Lord had perhaps been too much, the war was taking an ugly turn, and every man of military age, skilled or not, was now suitable to the cause.