The Four Winds

“No,” Tony said. “That’s not what we mean. We aren’t going to California.”

“I don’t … understand. I said we needed to leave and you agreed.”

“

And you do need to go,” Tony said. “The government has offered to pay us not to grow anything. They have forgiven mortgage payments for a while. So we don’t have to worry about losing any more of the land. For now, at least.”

“You said there was no good news after the meeting,” Elsa said, feeling a rush of panic. “You lied to me?”

“This is not good news,” he said softly. “Not when I know you must go for Ant’s sake.”

“They want us to plow differently,” Rose said. “Who understands it? But they need the farmers to work together. How can we not try to save our land?”

“Ant … can’t stay,” Elsa said.

“We know that. And we can’t go,” Tony said. “Go. Save my grandchildren.” His voice broke on that.

Tony curled his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her gently toward him, touched his forehead to hers; this was a man of the old world, a man who shut up and moved on and never stopped working. He poured all of his passion and love into the land. For his family. This touch was how he said, I love you.

And goodbye.

“Rosalba,” Tony said. “The penny.”

Rose took off the thin, black-ribboned necklace that held a velvet pouch.

Solemnly, she handed the pouch to Tony. He opened it, withdrew the American penny.

“You are our hope now,” he said to Elsa, and then put the penny back in the pouch and pressed the necklace into the palm of her hand, forced her fingers to curl around it. He turned and walked back into the house, scuffling through the ankle-deep sand.

Elsa felt as if she were breaking apart. “You know I can’t do this alone, Rose. Please…”

Rose laid a callused hand on Elsa’s cheek. “You are everything those children need, Elsa Martinelli. You always have been.”

“I’m not brave enough to do this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“But you’ll need money. We took all the food—”

“We kept some for ourselves. And our land will provide.”

Elsa couldn’t speak. The last thing in the world she wanted was to drive across the country—over mountains and across vast deserts—with too little money and hungry children and no one to help her.

No.

The thing she couldn’t bear would be to watch her son struggle to breathe again.

And there it was: the truth Rose had already come to.

“Tony put money in the glove box,” Rose said “The tank is full of gas. Write to us.”

Elsa slipped the necklace over her head, then reached for Rose’s hand, afraid for a moment that once she touched this woman she loved, she wouldn’t be able to let go, that she’d be too weak to leave.

“I can prove the penny’s luck. It brought you to us,” Rose said. Elsa wet her dry, dry lips.

“You are the daughter I always wanted,” Rose said. “Ti amo.”

“And you are my mother,” Elsa said. “You saved me, you know.”