Treasure of the World Tara Sullivan (inspirational books for women TXT) 📖

We sit side by side for a few more minutes, not saying anything. I try to think of something about being in the mines that was good to ask him about.

“Did you meet up with Victor? Or have you made other friends?”

Daniel shrugs. “Victor works with his papi. And most of the other boys who work there are older than me. I don’t really have any friends.”

“Are the men nice to you?” I ask, remembering Guillermo and Francisco.

Another shrug. “César’s okay. A couple of the others too.”

“Seems like you didn’t get sick today.” I’m scrambling for positives. “Do you feel okay?”

“Do you hear any coughing?” Daniel snaps. “I’m fine.”

And with that, I’ve run out of good things to ask about.

“Um . . . so, what zone did you work in today?”

Daniel closes his eyes. “You can stop,” he says. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better or something, but it’s not working.”

I stare down at my hands.

“It’s just . . . today was really bad,” Daniel finally admits.

“Hard work?”

“Yeah, and not even just that. Half the miners are mad that you were there at all. And the other half—Papi included—think you were a better worker than I am. It’s like, they’re mad at me if I’m sick and they’re mad at me if I’m not.”

I blink at him.

“Papi thinks I was a good worker?” He never said that to me.

Daniel snorts. “Yup. Apparently, I’m a weakling that can’t keep up with a girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he mumbles. But I can’t tell if he means it.

“Give it some time,” I say finally.

“I don’t know if I have time, Ana,” he says bitterly. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

“You planning to run away to a green valley or a sparkling city?” I say, trying to make a joke of it. Trying to get that defeated, frightened look off my brother’s face.

But Daniel doesn’t laugh.

I’ve almost made it to school the next morning when it all hits me—my conversation last night with Daniel, feeling bad that he’s not going to be able to come to school anymore, how angry and mean Papi was this morning, my own mixed feelings about coming to school. I can see the big blue metal gates, but my feet freeze on the path, not able to move forward. I duck off the path and hide behind a large boulder, trying to find the courage to go in.

“Are you okay?” chirps a voice at my elbow.

I startle.

A pretty little girl is staring at me, her face scrunched up in concern. She has round, bright eyes, cheeks chapped red by the mountain wind, and crooked braids down to her shoulders tied off with pink plastic clips. She’s vaguely familiar: she’s one of the little kids from this side of the mountain that go to my school. I think she’s with the seven-year-olds. Or maybe the eight-year-olds. Try as I might, I can’t come up with her name.

“Are you hurt?” she asks.

Nowhere anyone can see. I shake my head, trying to even out my breathing before I try talking.

“Because if you are hurt,” she goes on seriously, “I can try to help. I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up.”

That pulls a small smile from me. We all had big dreams when we were little. Daniel had wanted to be an army man when he was her age. My friend Susana wanted to be a movie star. I’ve never really been sure what I wanted to be, so I said I’d do Susana’s hair and makeup. But a doctor? This little girl’s imagination has carried her away for sure. I’ve heard of some men and women from the mountain getting jobs down in the city—mechanics, construction workers, hairdressers, beauticians, preschool teachers. But no one I know of from the mountain has ever become a doctor. Might as well plan to grow up to be a unicorn.

She considers. “Should I go get a teacher?”

“No . . .” I manage. “Thanks. I’m okay.”

Over the rocks, the first scratchy boom echoes: Don Marcelino’s speakers beginning the national anthem. The little girl holds out a hand.

“Come on,” she says. “We’ll be late.”

And folding my hand into her much smaller one, I let myself be led into school by the tiny dreamer.

“Where have you been?” asks Susana as I slip into my place in line.

I’m not sure whether she means being late or having missed the last month of school, but the answer is the same either way.

“I’ll tell you later,” I say. Don Marcelino is just starting his daily talk. Today it’s about Community. You can hear the capital C every time he says the word. I glance to my left. The little girl waves at me with an encouraging smile. I lift my hand a tiny fraction in response. The unicorn beams.

“What’s that girl’s name?” I ask Susana.

Susana follows my gaze, her face creasing with thought.

“César’s daughter? Hmm. Belén, I think?”

“She’s César’s daughter? César the shift supervisor at El Rosario?” I look at the little girl with more interest.

“Pretty sure,” says Susana. “What about her?”

I could tell her I can see reflections of César’s kindness in Belén, but that would raise questions about my time in the mine. I could tell her the girl comforted me on the path when I couldn’t handle my feelings over Daniel. But I don’t want to answer those questions either.

“She wants to be a doctor,” I say softly.

Susana snorts. “Little kids and their crazy ideas. She’ll end up a miner’s wife, like all of us.”

I don’t say anything to that because, really, what is there to say? Little Belén won’t think she can grow up to be a doctor for very much longer. She probably only has a year or so left before she permanently pauses her dreams and accepts that what she sees around her is all she’ll ever get a chance to be. Girls like her don’t get good choices, I remind myself.

Suddenly, Don Marcelino is interrupted by the