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

keep me safe overnight. A five-course meal for my family. A miracle cure for miner’s lungs. Enough money to be safe forever.

“No. Thank you.”

“Very well. See you first thing in the morning.”

“Good night,” I say. It’s odd saying it knowing I’m about to start work, not end it.

“Good night,” he says. And with that, I’m truly alone.

For the first half hour I distract myself by walking around the mine, checking behind the coils of rope, piles of slag, and wheeled metal bins. When I’m positive that there are no monsters lurking in any of the shadows, I walk over to the tin-roofed adobe shed. Looking through the iron bars on the window, I see the mining equipment—spikes, cables, rolled-up air hoses, the air compressor, a single, precious pneumatic drill, parts of broken track, plastic jugs filled with I’m not sure what, and all kinds of other stuff I can’t even identify. I test the bolt on the door. It holds.

Satisfied, I hunt for a good place to spend the rest of the night. I want it to be comfortable enough, but not so comfortable that I fall asleep—not that there’s much danger of that. The sun has only just gone down and already my fingers and toes are numb with the cold. I also want somewhere that I have a good view of the things I need to guard and the surrounding area, but where no one can sneak up on me. I eventually settle on an outcropping of stone about a man’s height above the ground to the right of the mouth of the mine. I’m next to the mouth and facing the shed, and with the cliff behind me, I’ll feel safe enough.

Pleased with my choice, I haul myself onto the little ledge and open the bundle Mami made for me. I fold one of the blankets as many times as I can and put it on the ground. Then, sitting on it, I wrap the other one around me. I pull a small handful of coca leaves out of the bag and tuck them into my cheek. I lay the sticks of dynamite on the ground beside me, within easy reach. The helmet I’m not sure what to do with, so I wind my braids around my head like I used to when I worked with Papi in the mines, and put it on, belting the acetylene around my waist.

I decide that I should turn on the lamp, just to make sure it works if I need it. Rubbing my fingers along the band, I find the lighter tucked in there and flick it a few times with my thumb, letting the tiny flame steal my night vision. I smile sadly, remembering when Abuelita gave the helmet to me to light a dung fire so I could make dinner, for no reason other than to stop me from crying. Back in the days when wet matches felt like something worth crying over. In that moment, I miss my old life so badly it hurts.

I tip my head and stare at the stars until the dry wind pulls the tears from my eyes, never letting them fall.

A shadow flits by the mine entrance and I jump to my feet, brandishing a stick of dynamite, ready to repel a robber. But when I look more closely at the intruder, I see that it’s nothing but a stray dog, sniffing around, hoping for something to eat. I know how you feel, I think, and relax again.

For a while I distract myself by staring down at the city of Potosí, a lake of lights at the base of the mountain. It still represents everything I want from life. The solid houses made of brick and painted concrete; the roads paved and cobbled. The shops full of things to buy; people bustling around purposefully. Most everyone wearing clothes that fit them and all the schoolkids in clean, matching uniforms.

Shivering on my rock ledge, I let myself imagine living down in the city, wearing clothes that are warm and stylish, laughing with a group of friends. I imagine myself in a secondary school, learning math and science, and reading about all the wonders of the world. With my fancy education I’ll have a job waiting for me, and my family and I—since I’m dreaming, I go ahead and put Daniel in my new house too, relaxing in a comfortable chair and laughing at me with bright eyes and normal lungs—live in the city and are happy for the rest of our lives, not a speck of rock dust anywhere. I hesitate for a moment when I remember Papi and Belén and César, but everything in my dream world is free, so I make Papi alive again and toss them all in too, filling the imagined world below me with wonders for us all.

As lovely as the wish is, though, I find that I quickly wear it threadbare with too much touching. Besides, I know there’s nothing left for me in the city now, not even the hope of working at the posada. Not after I’ve stolen from one of their employees.

I’m just shifting my position to get more comfortable when a shadow approaches along the road that is definitely not a dog. I jump to my feet, grip a stick of dynamite, and call out.

“Who’s there?”

The figure puts both of its hands up and continues to shuffle toward me. I keep an eye on it, my heart pounding. I light the acetylene lamp on my forehead in case I need the dynamite in a hurry. When the shadow is a few meters away, it finally speaks.

“Ana, dear, put down the dynamite.”

“Abuelita?” I’m stunned, but I do as she says. I jog over to where my grandmother is standing in the entry lot and take her cold, knobby hand in one of mine. She’s wearing a knit hat pulled low over her ears and has a bundle tied to her back that made her