Lu was going to have a hard time with the Gaspari family; there was no use in pretending otherwise. All of New Haven knew that the mother was a virtuous woman, but cold as ice. She would agree that her son had to marry Lu, even if it ruined all her hopes for him, and she'd bear the blow God had sent her like a good martyr. She'd be polite to her unwanted daughter-in-law. She'd never raise her voice or spit out the accusations in her heart. But her coldness would hurt more than a beating. As for Ricky's father, people gossiped all the time about how ambitious he was. A girl whose father had been a grocer and whose mother still spoke English with an Italian accent—a girl whose people came from the wrong part of the old country—would not be the bride he wanted for one of his sons. He was going to hate the idea of this marriage. And if the rumors about him were true, he wouldn't be quiet about it.

But worst of all was the boy, Ricky. Right now, he was embarrassed and guilty, so he was trying to tell himself he wanted to marry Lu. But anyone could see he didn't. How long would it be before he started to resent the girl who had trapped him—even if she didn't mean to do it? Mifalda had a vision of Lu standing as straight and as tall as she could make herself, full of spirit, her eyes shining with happiness. How many years of living with Ricky's mother and her silent blame was it going to take to break that spirit? How many years of the angry father and the resentful husband would it take to dim the light in those eyes for good?

Mifalda gave herself a little shake. None of that mattered now. There was a baby on the way and it must have two parents and a home. A respectable home. There would be no more bastards in Mifalda's family. No more orphans. And if Lu had to pay the price—so be it. She had brought this on herself. Mifalda put the lavender silk back in the closet so it wouldn't get wrinkled, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

She stopped at the doorway. Lu was sitting at the kitchen table. She was hunched over as if her stomach hurt—which it probably did after all the morning sickness she'd been having. Something rose up inside Mifalda as she stood in the doorway looking at the girl—something deeper than anger.