1923 Maria Vittoria is embroidering a sheet for her dowry trunk. Her father has gone to find her a husband. He’s taken his mule, a photograph and a pack of food: home-made sopressa sausage, cold polenta, a little flask of wine-no need to take water-the world is full of water. It’s Springtime, when a betrothal might happen, as sudden as a wild cyclamen from a wet rock, as sweet as a tiny violet fed by melting mountain snow. There are no eligible men in this valley or the next one, but her Father will not let her marry just anyone, and now, despite Maria’s years, she is still healthy. Her betrothed will see all that. He’ll be looking for a woman who can do the work. Maria can do the work. Everyone in the contra says that. And the lord knows Maria will need to be able to work. Fascism blooms as crops ripen, the state craves babies just as the babies cry for food. Maria faces a stoney path, but one she will surely climb to the summit. In sumptuous and elegant novel you will taste the bigoli co l’arna, feel the mulberry leaves cut finer than organdy, hear the silence that enfolds Maria when Achille – that oz of a man – lifts his hand to her, and feel the strain of one woman attempting to keep her family together in the most testing of times.