The Four Winds

A miracle.

She turned away from Mrs. Martinelli and began the long walk down the driveway. She heard each of her footsteps, and the cottonwoods chattering in the breeze.

“Wait!”

Elsa stopped. Turned back.

Mrs. Martinelli stood directly behind her, hands fisted, mouth set in a hard line of disapproval. She was so small a good breeze might topple her, and yet the force emanating from her was unmistakable. “Where are you going?”

“What do you care? Away.”

“Your parents will accept you back, ruined?”

“Hardly.”

“So…”

“I’m sorry,” Elsa said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your son’s life. Or dash your hopes for him. I just … it doesn’t matter now.”

Elsa felt like a giraffe looming over this petite, exotic-looking woman.

“So that’s it? You just leave?”

“Isn’t that what you want me to do?”

Mrs. Martinelli stepped closer, looked up, studying Elsa intently. Long, uncomfortable moments passed. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Mrs. Martinelli did not look pleased by that. “Will you convert to Catholicism?”

It took Elsa a moment to understand what was happening. They were negotiating.

Catholic.

Her parents would be mortified. Her family would disown her.

They already had. You’re no daughter of mine.

“Yes,” Elsa said. Her child would need the comfort of a faith and the Martinellis would be her only family.

Mrs. Martinelli nodded crisply. “Good. Then—”

“Will you love this child?” Elsa asked. “As you would have loved one borne by Gia?”

Mrs. Martinelli looked surprised.

“Or will you just put up with this puttana’s child?” Elsa didn’t know what the word meant, but she knew it wasn’t kind. “Because I know about growing up in a household where love is withheld. I won’t do that to my child.”

“When you are a mother, you will know how I feel right now,” Mrs. Martinelli said at last. “The dreams for your children are so … so…” She stopped, looked away as tears filled her eyes, then went on. “You cannot imagine the sacrifices we made so that Raffaello could have a better life than we’ve had.”

Elsa realized the pain she’d caused this woman, and her shame intensified. It was all s

he could do not to apologize again.

“The baby, I will love,” Mrs. Martinelli said into the silence. “My first grandchild.”

Elsa heard the unvoiced remainder loud and clear: You, I will not, but just that word, love, was enough to steady Elsa’s heart and shore up her fragile resolve.