Rose reached into the velvet pouch at her neck and pulled out the American penny that she’d worn for more than three decades. Elsa knew every word of the story of this penny, the family lore. Tony had found it in the street in Sicily and picked it up and showed it to Rose. A sign, they’d agreed. The hope for their future. It was the family talisman.

This penny had made the rounds every New Year’s morning as each member of the family held it for a moment and said aloud what their hope for the new year was. They passed it around when they planted crops and on birthdays. On the back of it, curled on either side were beautiful, embossed shafts of wheat. It was little wonder Tony believed it had shown the Martinellis their destiny.

Rose handed the penny to Loreda, who stared solemnly down at it. “Make a wish, cara.”

“I don’t believe in it anymore,” Loreda said, handing the coin back to her grandmother. “It didn’t keep our family together.”

Rose looked stricken; it was a moment before she recovered and managed a smile.

Tony’s music stopped.

Loreda stared at Elsa, teary-eyed. “He promised to teach me to drive when I turned thirteen.”

“Ah…” Elsa said, feeling her daughter’s pain. “I will teach you.”

“It’s not the same,” Loreda said.

There was a short, sharp beat of awkward silence. Then Rose said, “You will believe again. And even if you do not, the coin has its power.”

“I’ll take her wish,” Ant said. “Give me the penny.”

Even Loreda laughed and dashed the tears from her eyes.

Tony played “Happy Birthday” on his fiddle and everyone sang.

* * *

IN THE DAYS AFTER the beautiful rainstorm, Elsa woke early each morning, fueled by hope, and went outside. She inhaled deeply, smelled the fecund scent of wet land, and knelt in the garden to tend her vegetables. She encouraged them to grow as she did her children: with a careful hand and a quiet voice. The ground looked alive again, not parched and dry; here and there, fragile green tips poked up from the dirt, seeking sunshine.

This morning, she saw Tony standing at the edge of the winter- wheat field. Not bothering with a sun hat—it was warm and kind, this sun, like an old friend—she walked past the chicken coop, heard them clucking. Their old rooster strutted along the wire fence, trying to hurry her past his brood. The windmill thunked in the breeze, bringing up water.

Elsa came to the edge of the field and stopped.

“Look at it,” Tony said in a rough voice.

Green.

Rows of new growth, stretching to the horizon in straight rows.

Here was the essence of hope on a farm. The color of the future. Green now, and delicate, but with sunshine and rain, the wheat would become as sturdy as the family, as strong as the land itself, and turn into a sea of waving gold that would sustain them all.

At the very least, there would be grain for the animals. After four years of drought, that alone would be a blessing.

Elsa left Tony standing at the altar of his land, and headed toward the house. She knelt at her special patch of ground, beneath the kitchen window. Her aster was green. “Hey, you,” she said. “I knew you’d come back.”

FOURTEEN

On the day it happened, Elsa told herself it was nothing. They all did.

She woke early, feeling restless. She’d slept badly and didn’t know why. She got out of bed and splashed water on her face and realized suddenly what was wrong: she was hot.

She braided her hair and covered it with a kerchief and went out into the kitchen, where she found Rose standing at the window.

Elsa knew they were both thinking the same thing: It was already hot. And it wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning.

“What’s one hot day?” Elsa said, coming to stand by her mother-in-law.

“I used to love hot days,” Rose said.

Tags: Kristin Hannah Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net