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“Raffaello,” Mr Martinelli said, turning his gaze to his son “Is it true?”

Rafe flinched, unable to quite aze “Yeah”

“Madonnafurther in Italian Angry, that was all Elsa got from it She slapped Rafe on the back of the head, a loud crack of sound, and then began yelling: “Send her away, Antonio Puttana”

Mr Martinelli pulled his wife away from them

“I’m sorry, Rafe,” Elsa said when they were alone Sha her She heard Mrs Martinelli yell, “No,” and then, again: “Puttana”

Aolder than when he’d left He was craggy-looking—his brow thrust out, tufted by sagebrush eyebrows; the bumpy arch of a nose that looked to have been broken more than once; a blunt plate of a chin An old-fashioned cowcatcher mustache covered most of his upper lip Every bit of bad Panhandle Texas weather showed on his deeply tanned face, created wrinkles along his forehead like year rings in a tree trunk “I’m Tony,” he said, and then cocked his head toward his wife, who stood about fifteen feet away “My wife … Rose”

Elsa nodded She kneas one of the ht supplies from her father each season on credit and paid it back after harvest They had s, but not many The Wolcotts didn’t socialize with people like the Martinellis

“Rafe,” he went on, looking at his son “Introduce your girl properly”

Your girl

Not your hussy, your Jezebel

Elsa had never been anyone’s girl And she was too long in the tooth to be a girl anyway

“Papa, this is Elsa Wolcott,” Rafe said in a voice that cracked on the last word

“No No No,” Mrs Martinelli shouted Her hands slae in three days, Tony We’ve paid the deposit Hoe even know this woman is in the family way? It could be a lie A baby—”

“Changes everything,” said Mr Martinelli He added so in Italian, and his words silenced his wife

“You’ll marry her,” Mr Martinelli said to Rafe