Loreda rolled her eyes—so put out—and then leapt to her feet and started doing a crazy version of the Charleston that was completely out of step with the music.
Everyone laughed.
Elsa couldn’t remember the last time this house had filled with her children’s laughter. It was a gift from God, just like the good weather.
Things would be better now; she could feel it. A new year. A new spring.
They would have sun—but not too much—and rain—but not too little—and those tender green plants would grow tall. Golden wheat stalks would rise and stretch toward the sun.
“Dance with me,” Rose said, appearing in front of Elsa, who laughed.
“I haven’t danced in … forever.”
“None of us has.” Rose placed her left hand on the small of Elsa’s back and grasped her right hand, pulled her close.
“It was a long winter,” Rose said.
“Not as long as the summer.”
Rose smiled. “Sì, You’re right about that.”
Beside them, Ant and Loreda spun and danced and laughed.
Elsa was surprised by how comfortable she felt dancing with her mother-in-law. Almost light on her feet. She’d always felt so clumsy in Rafe’s arms. Now she moved easily, let her hips sway in time to the music.
“You are thinking about my son. I see your sadness.”
“Yes.”
“If he comes back, I will hit him with a shovel,” Rose said. “He is too stupid to be my son. And too cruel.”
“Do yah hear that?” Ant said.
Tony stopped playing.
Elsa heard the plunk-plunk-plunk of rain hitting the roof.
Ant ran for the front door and swung it open.
They all ran out to the porch. A charcoal-gray cloud hovered overhead, another muscled its way across the sky.
Raindrops fell lightly, pattering the house, leaving starburst blotches on the dry ground.
Rain.
Big, fat droplets splattered the steps, gritty with dirt. More drops fell. The patter became a roar. A downpour.
They ran into the yard, all of them together, and turned their faces to the cool, sweet rain.
It doused them, drenched them, turned the ground to mud at their feet.
“We’re saved, Rosalba,” Tony said.
Elsa pulled her children into her arms and held them tightly, water running down their faces, sliding down their backs in cool, cold streaks. “We’re saved.”
* * *
THAT NIGHT, THEY SPLURGED on the evening meal, ate homemade fettuccine with bits of browned pancetta in a rich and creamy sauce. Afterward, while Tony played his fiddle in the sitting room amid the percussive beat of the rain, Elsa carried the ricotta cassata out to the family. The cake’s golden top, covered with shiny preserved peaches, held a single burning candle.