fed Spruzzo bits of sausage as Ciro shoveled. He layered the ground evenly, until the surface on top was smooth and level with the other graves. When he was done, Enza helped him move the limestone rocks off to the side.
When they were done, Enza replaced the spray over the fresh grave until barely any earth showed through the quilt of green juniper and pine that the ladies of the church had gathered. Enza lifted long, fresh green branches of myrtle from a stack she had gathered that morning and made an edge around the grave, framing the grave in deepest green. She stood back; it looked lovely, she thought.
Ciro gathered the shovel and pick as Enza folded the holy cloth carefully.
“I have to return that to the priest,” Ciro said.
“I know.” Enza tucked it under her arm. “They use it at every funeral.”
“Do you press the linens?” Ciro asked.
“Sometimes. The ladies of the village alternate between the linens and tending to meals for the priest.”
“No nuns in Schilpario?”
“Just the one who runs the orphanage. And she’s too busy to do extra chores.”
Enza led Ciro out of the cemetery. Spruzzo followed behind, wagging his tail as he went.
“I can take it from here,” Ciro said to her. “Unless . . . you want to show me the way.” He smiled to invite her along.
“The rectory is behind the church,” Enza said. “Like it is in every village in every province in Italy.”
“You don’t have to tell me about churches.”
“Are you studying to be a priest?” Enza assumed he might be because he wore the clothes of the poor, and many entered the religious life because it was a good alternative to a life in the mines, or other hard-labor jobs on the mountain like stonecutting.
“Do I look like a priest?” Ciro asked her.
“I don’t know. Priests look like everyone else.”
“Well, let’s just say I will never be a priest.”
“So you’re a grave digger?”
“This is my first, and hopefully my last, time.” He realized how that sounded, so he said, “I’m sorry.”
“I understand. It’s not a pleasant job.” Enza smiled. “I’m Enza.”
“I’m Ciro.”
“Where are you from?”
“Vilminore.”
“We go there during the feast. Do you live in the village or on a farm?”
“I live in the convent.” It surprised him that he so readily admitted where he lived. Usually, when talking to girls, he was reluctant to tell them about San Nicola and how he had grown up.
“Are you an orphan?” Enza asked.
“My mother left us there.”
“Us? You have brothers and sisters?”
“One brother, Eduardo,” he said. “Not like you. What’s that like, to be from a big family?” he asked.
“Noisy.” She smiled.
“Like the convent.”
“I thought the nuns were quiet.”
“Me too. Until I lived with them.”
“So none of the piety rubbed off on you?”
“Not much.” Ciro smiled. “But that’s not their fault. It’s just that I don’t think prayers are answered very often, if at all.”
“But that’s why you need faith.”
“The nuns keep telling me I need it, but where am I supposed to find it?”
“In your heart, I guess.”
“There are other things in my heart.”
“Like what?” Enza asked.
“Maybe you’ll find out someday,” Ciro said shyly. Enza picked up a stick and tossed it up the road, and Spruzzo ran to fetch it.
They walked up the road and into town. Enza noticed that their strides were similar as they walked together. She didn’t find herself skipping to keep up with him, even though he was bigger and taller than she.
“Was your mother ill?” Enza asked.
“No. My father died, and she couldn’t take care of us anymore.”
“How sad for her,” Enza said.
In all these years, Ciro had never thought about his mother’s feelings. Enza’s observation opened up his heart to think about what his mother had gone through. Maybe she missed her sons as much as they longed for her.
“How did you come to dig my sister’s grave?” Enza asked.
“Iggy Farino sent me. He’s the caretaker at San Nicola. I work for him.” Throughout the long day, Ciro had wondered what had caused Stella’s death. Even though he overheard conversations, little was said when it came to the death of children. “I don’t mean to cause you any further sadness. But I’d like to know what happened to your sister.”
“A fever. And she had terrible bruises. It happened so fast. By the time I carried her from the waterfall back to our house, the fever had consumed her. I kept hoping the doctor could help,” Enza said. “But he couldn’t. We’ll never know.”
“Maybe that’s for