Date Published: March 8, 2021
Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers
A promise keeps them apart until WWII threatens to destroy their love forever
Fonzaso Italy, between two wars
Nina Argenta doesn’t want the traditional life of a rural Italian woman. The daughter of a strong-willed midwife, she is determined to define her own destiny. But when her brother emigrates to America, she promises her mother to never leave.
When childhood friend Pietro Pante briefly returns to their mountain town, passion between them ignites while Mussolini forces political tensions to rise. Just as their romance deepens, Pietro must leave again for work in the coal mines of America. Nina is torn between joining him and her commitment to Italy and her mother.
As Mussolini’s fascists throw the country into chaos and Hitler’s Nazis terrorise their town, each day becomes a struggle to survive greater atrocities. A future with Pietro seems impossible when they lose contact and Nina’s dreams of a life together are threatened by Nazi occupation and an enemy she must face alone…
A gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story and heartbreaking real events.
Spanning over two decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic, emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.
On the day of the Festa dell’Uva the weather was blustery, and the tents of the
merchants whipped and shook. No one wanted to cancel, but the conditions were
less than ideal. It seemed it would rain any moment. Nina looked out the
window, cursing her luck. The door to the house opened, and Corrado entered
along with a gust of wind.
“Bundle up! The festa
is still on. Even if we have to huddle under blankets, we won’t be cancelling!”
he announced. Everyone let out a cheer and grabbed their scarves and coats.
Nina tied her chignon tight to avoid the wind making a mess of her hair. Vante,
Aurora, Evira, and little Luigia tied blankets over their shoulders like capes
as they marched to the piazza where the festivities would begin.
In the Piazza
Primo Novembre, the Fonzasini huddled next to each other on either
side, leaving space for the parade. Nina scanned the crowd for her friends and
Pietro. To her surprise, Onorina grabbed her arm and shouted at her, “Come with
me!”
Nina allowed herself
to be pulled across the piazza towards a section of the crowd where Onorina’s
friends stood, anticipating the celebration, next to a row of young men in
linen pants and wool caps. To Nina’s nervous pleasure, Pietro was with them.
“Squeeze in!” yelled
Toni Bianchi, a wilful and brawny young man who had spent time abroad in
Canada, come back to fight in the Great War and returned to find his father had
died of the Spanish flu. He pulled the two girls next to him with Onorina on
his side, forcing Nina between her sister and Pietro.
“Hello there,” Pietro
said, jostling as the crowd pushed and pulled to get the best view of the
parade. The wind tossed his curls. “You weren’t at the festa in
Frassenè!” he nearly shouted, and she didn’t have time to respond to him as the
crowd cheered. Each cart rolling by celebrated winemaking and depicted a
different step in the process. The first cart came through the crowd, adorned
with twisted grapevines covering every surface, and one of Onorina’s old
classmates, Bettina Napoli, waved from the carriage with a wreath of vines on her
head. She was supposed to wear a Roman goddess costume, but with the cold and
wind, whatever she wore was hidden beneath a coat. The girl held tight to her
crown to keep it from blowing away.
The crowd shoved
forward and tightened, pushing Nina against Pietro on the right and her sister
on her left. To her secret delight, the pressure of the crowd on Onorina’s side
was rising, and she had the distinct impression Toni was instigating it,
pushing closer to her sister, and forcing her into Pietro. She could feel
Pietro’s warm body under many layers, and they laughed, cheering as each cart
went past. Pietro’s hand brushed against hers, sending an electric current
through her belly. As the carriage drove by with old men and small children
stomping on grapes in a vat, the skies opened, and a light rain fell, flying
about in the wind. Someone lifted a large blanket behind and above the group
and Nina found herself squeezed underneath it, protected from the rain with
Pietro. It was oddly intimate despite the entire population of Fonzaso and
surrounding villages gathered around them. They laughed and shook their heads,
unable to hear anything through the shouting crowd, accordion music, and
roaring wind. They cheered along, laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation
and the thrill of being close until someone released a corner of the blanket
and the wind ripped it away. The group screamed in surprise as
the rain drenched them.
Pietro’s hair was
soaked, his damp curls stuck to his forehead as chaos started around them,
everyone running for cover from the storm. Nina imagined her hair must look
wild, most of her chignon loose. The organisers announced the Alpini
band would play in the Corsos’ barn.
“Are you coming?”
Pietro shouted to Onorina and Nina over the madness in the piazza and the
intensifying rain.
“We’ll see you
there!” Onorina called in response, pulling Nina again with her.
“What was that
about?” asked Nina when they found cover under an umbrella someone handed them.
“What was what about?
It’s a festa! Have fun, sorellina!
Your life is too serious!” Her
sister was in an exceptionally good mood, even though her waves were damp and
would soon frizz. They were the first into the Corso barn as the Alpini band started, and the accordions hummed.
The exhilaration of
the cold and the extraordinary situation of the festival took away any
inhibition Nina had of being first to dance, and she and Onorina bounced to the
music as soon as they entered. Onorina was an excellent dancer, and they both
swung their hips, dipping and spinning with the music. Nina finally felt free.
She twirled under the timber roof, giving in to an abandon she hadn’t felt
since childhood, since before the awful days of the war took it away.
A flood of people
soon joined, swaying, and waltzing around them. Nina’s cheeks hurt from
smiling, and she danced with everyone. The temperature rose in the barn, making
the air muggy with the earthy smell of rain and hay. Where was Pietro? The men
passed bottles of wine and raised them to allow the liquid down their throats,
swigging, and handing it on. Her father appeared and lifted her around, then
swung her sister. Vante and her little sisters stamped past, clapping their
hands, and twirling as the music played. It reminded her of the weddings she’d
attended when she was small before the war. Everyone wanted to dance with her
then, and she never wanted to leave the floor. Women swished their skirts, men
slapped their thighs and when the Alpini band played ‘Quel Mazzolin di Fiori’,
a cheer went up for the favourite song. Nina spotted Pietro through the
boisterous crowd, but as he was about to break through, a young man with red
hair swung her away. “Hey, Pampo!” someone shouted at him and gave him a wink
as he swung Nina on the dance floor. She wanted to get away, annoyed at his
awful dancing and even worse timing. She watched as Pietro found Onorina and
gave her a twirl, both of them swaying to the music. Nina tried to move away
from the redhead, but the barn was too packed with bodies, and he swung her
again. This time, she lost her balance and, with two steps, trying to catch her
footing, fell into the crowd.
“Whoa there,” a low
voice hummed in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her, catching her from
her fall.
“I remember you
telling me you could dance,” Pietro said, smirking at her in a kidding manner
while he pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t blame me. A
girl has to have the right partner,” she quipped back, surprised by her own
words and immediately taking in the heady scent of his cologne: wood and spice
mellowed by dried rain.
‘La Monella’ played, and Pietro put his hand on Nina’s lower
back, guiding her in an easy waltz to the quick tune. No one had ever held her
in such a way; his palm was firm on her lower back, possessive, as though
sending a message to everyone in the room. He was smooth on his feet,
confident. They spun around in the packed space until the other dancers parted
enough to allow them to travel. As the pace of the song picked up, Pietro became
animated; he raised his eyebrows dipping her, and teasing with
his movements. Nina liked how he moved. He was smooth but didn’t take himself
seriously, and it was exhilarating to be twirled around in his arms. His hair
had dried into a wild flop covering his left eye. She resisted the urge to push
it back for him.
“Did you learn to
dance like this in America?” she asked, as he spun her and then pulled her back
close to him.
“I’ve learnt a lot of
things in America.” He leaned towards her and changed the subject. “Do you ever
go to the movies?” he asked. When he spoke to her, he had to get close to her
ear so she could hear him over the band. She felt the heat from his breath on
her neck.
“Sì. In Feltre and we’re meant to get a small
picture house behind the church soon. I especially love American films!”
Pietro grinned at
her, searching her face as if memorising her features. “Why weren’t you at the
last festa? I saw everyone else
in your family but not you. Onorina was the star of the night.”
“I’m sure she was,”
Nina frowned, a chill going through her at the mention of her sister. “I had to
help my mother. Babies don’t plan around events,” she said, breathless
and annoyed the conversation had headed again in Onorina’s direction. How many
times had men tried to get information about her sister through her? Was Pietro
the same?
“You want to be a
midwife, too?” It was a serious question to ask in the middle of a dance floor,
but his brown eyes made her want to share her thoughts with him.
“I want to matter to
the world,” she admitted. “My mother has figured out how to do that.” He spun
her again, then looked at her seriously.
“You do and you
will,” he said. Un colpo di fulmine. The lightning bolt returned as his
words sunk into her like she had been waiting to hear them all her life.
The song changed
again and, this time, Corrado appeared, took Nina in his arms, and spun her
around the barn. Losing sight of Pietro, she was tossed away again as Corrado
seized her mother for a rare dance. She kept moving to the music as Pampo came
up once more; this time she shook her head at him, unwilling to let him have
her hand. He stayed nearby anyway, gesticulating towards her. For a moment, she
thought she saw Pietro frowning on the other side of the barn as the annoying ragazzo
danced at her. Nina smiled
awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable, not wanting to be rude but miserable about
the change in circumstances. Pampo grabbed her wrist and twisted her roughly
again. This time, she stepped with intention away from him and inched into a
corner of the barn where observers sat on stacks of hay. She searched the space
until a flash of burgundy drew her attention. On the other side of the barn,
there was Onorina, again in the arms of Pietro. He had her sister’s scarf tied
around his neck and was making the same animated faces at Onorina he had made
at her. Nina felt the blood drain from her face, and her urge to dance died,
replaced by the desire to escape. Her siren of a sister could enchant any man;
and why shouldn’t he fall in love with her? Hours before, it seemed like
Onorina was steering Pietro her way, but, as she batted her eyes and grasped
onto the ends of her scarf around his neck, it was clear she was interested,
too. Nina wove her way through the crowd to the exit, pushing away tears with
the palms of her hands, and ran up the moonlit stones of the Via Calzen and
home to her bed.
About the Author
In 2006, after the birth of her daughter, Jennifer suffered a life-threatening post-partum cardiomyopathy, and soon after, her Italian grandmother died. This tumultuous year strengthened her desire to capture the stories of her female Italian ancestors.
In 2012, she moved with her family to Milan, Italy and Chicago Parent Magazine published her article, It’s In the Journey, chronicling the benefits of travelling the world with children. Later, she moved to London where she has held leadership positions in brand marketing with companies including ABInbev, Revlon, Shiseido and Tory Burch.
Jennifer is a graduate of Illinois State University where she was a Chi Omega and holds a master’s degree from DePaul University in Chicago.
Under the Light of the Italian Moon is her first novel, based on the lives of her Italian grandmother and great grandmothers during the rise of fascism and World War II.
Review the book at Amazon.com, Goodreads, and Bookbub
Connect with Jennifer on Instagram @boldwomanwriting
Connect with Jennifer on Facebook @jenniferantonauthorpage
Join her mailing list at www.boldwomanwriting.com
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