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

I believe César’s promise for about two hours. Then I wake up in the middle of the night and I hear him and Mami whispering about Daniel.

“. . . you’re sure your cousin can take him?” Mami is saying.

“I called her from the hospital phone,” César’s low rumble answers her. “It’s all set up. She can’t catch the bus until Friday, but then she’ll take him with her right away. He’ll only have to be here tomorrow night.”

Their conversation continues, but I have trouble hearing them over the rushing of blood in my ears. I’m furious. I feel betrayed. We’ve only just gotten Daniel back, and now they’re sending him away? César said my family would be safe here, and then the first thing he does is kick Daniel out of his house? Why? And why is Mami going along with it? Is César abusive, like Papi was? Does she feel like she has no choice? Rage is a fire inside me, and long after their voices settle out into even breathing, I lie awake, hating the world.

Next morning, Mami and César leave before dawn so that they will get to the hospital as soon as it opens. I pretended to be asleep until after they had gone. I’m too angry to talk to either of them.

Standing by the cook fire, I find myself staring over the mountain in the dawn light, thinking back to that morning, which seems like forever ago now, when I joked with Abuelita about God’s view. Though His view hasn’t changed, mine certainly has. Before, our house sat alone on a barren crag by a used-up mine shaft. Now it’s in a long row of miners’ houses just a fifteen-minute walk from El Rosario. Before, there was total silence unless I decided to break it. Now there is a cheery bustle of half a dozen families starting their day. Before, I lived with my old family. Now I live with my new one. In some ways, it’s as exciting as getting new shoes. But just like getting new shoes, it doesn’t fit yet. I wonder how long it will take to break me in to this new reality.

I turn when I hear a clatter of rocks. Belén comes up beside me. She’s still rumpled from sleep and rubbing her eyes. I remember the first day I met the little unicorn who dreamed so big and wanted to be so helpful when I was crying outside of school. I realize it must be a lot for her to take in too: a few days ago it was just her and César in the house. Now, suddenly, there are all these extra people filling her world, demanding to be a part of it.

“Hi,” I say. Brilliant. Super friendly. I paste on a smile and try harder. “I hear we’re sisters now.”

“Yeah,” she says, seeming a little unsure of herself. Her eyes meet mine. “Are you okay?”

My smile freezes. Is it obvious, even to an eight-year-old, that it’s hard for me to be here?

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I stall.

“You were trapped in the mine. You were lost. Everyone thought you were dead.”

Oh. That makes sense. “Yeah, I’m okay now, thanks.”

Belén squats down on her haunches beside me, and for a few minutes we just look over the horizon together.

I decide to change the subject. “Come on,” I say, taking her hand and pulling her toward the house, “show me where everything is, and then you need to get ready for school.”

Luckily, that’s all the invitation Belén needs to start zipping around like a hummingbird, telling me all about my new home. On our second lap, I lift the pot off the cookstove and bring it in with us, plonking it on the table.

I let Belén chatter while I set the table with bowls and spoons because it’s easier than finding the words inside myself to grapple with all of this. I’m happy that my mother has found a safer, bigger place to live. I’m glad there will be enough money so that Abuelita won’t skip meals so I can eat. I’m so relieved that Daniel has been found. And yet . . . Daniel is injured, and they’re sending him away. I can’t quite see this place as my home, and it’s just too strange to think of calling César “Papi.” All my feelings, the good and the bad, mix inside me until I don’t know what I feel anymore.

I wonder whether Mami’s smiles are real or whether she feels mixed-up inside too. It’s hard to tell. She’s always had a thick shell covering whatever’s underneath that I’ve rarely been able to see through. I’ll have to ask her later, when we’re alone.

When I lift the lid and take a sniff, I discover it’s a salty broth with potatoes and carrots. It smells amazing, but even as my mouth waters, a frown knots my eyebrows as I ladle it into three bowls. Is César so much richer than we were that he can have more than coca tea in the mornings?

With a pang, I remember the huge breakfast at the posada. But thinking of the posada is dangerous in all directions: think forward, and I remember Victor and feel guilty for leaving him, hopeless and alone in that hovel; think back, and I remember Daniel and how I failed to find him in the mine before he was injured; stay put on the memory of the posada, and I wish I were there in that warm kitchen filled with familiar strangers instead of in this kitchen filled with strange family. No matter what direction my thoughts go, they lead to guilt.

“Good morning, Abuelita.” I wake her.

“Ah, good morning, Ana.” She pats my hand with her wrinkly one and fixes me with her knowing eyes. “Are you feeling better today?”

My smile curdles on my face. “Maybe I will after breakfast,” I manage, and turn again to the table. You’re just going to have