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

hop off the bed and bring a cup to Belén. I sit beside her, prop her against me, and hold the cup to her lips. She sips it slowly. With her leaning on me, my face is right next to her head and I can’t help but smell the dried blood and rock dust still caked in her hair. It makes my stomach turn, but I don’t move or say anything. It’s not her fault that she was injured there. It’s Francisco’s. And I suppose, in some ways, it’s mine. I should never have let her stay.

“How do you feel?” I ask again.

“My head still hurts, but the broth is nice,” she says.

She’s barely touched it. I smooth her hair away from her face.

“What happened?” she asks. “After I hit my head, I mean. I don’t remember anything after that.”

I take a deep breath. “Well, it’s complicated. A lot happened after that, actually.” I’m glad she’s sitting in front of me. It’s easier to talk to the back of her head than it would be to talk face-to-face. Quickly, I catch her up on the rest of the night after she was knocked out.

“Ay!” Belén exclaims. “You were so brave!” Then, after a pause, “Did they manage to take anything? Is the damage very bad?”

I hesitate. “Maybe?”

In my arms, Belén starts to cry.

“Oh, sweetie!” I give her shoulders a squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s our fault,” she whispers.

“No, you can’t think that way,” I tell her.

“No, but it is. It’s part of being a guarda. It was our job to keep the mine safe. If they managed to take anything, then we owe the mining cooperative the money to replace it. If the mine got wrecked, we have to pay to repair it.”

My comfort dies in my throat. She’s right. Whoever’s working as guarda, it’s their debt if something gets taken. A feeling in my chest tightens like a winch.

“Maybe I can get a job as a guarda too”—Belén sniffs—“at one of the other mines.”

“What?” I ask, having been lost in my thoughts. “No way. You’re eight!”

“We have to do something.” She chews on her lower lip, thinking out loud. “Maybe if I leave school, I can get a job as a palliri . . .” She trails off miserably.

I know that no one will ever hire an eight-year-old as a guarda. Plus, especially after tonight, César would never let his little girl do such a thing. Hell, after tonight, Mami and César may not even let me keep doing the job. I remember, more than a month ago, when I first heard Belén’s little-girl dream of becoming a doctor. It had made me laugh. Now I feel like crying. There was never any chance that she would make it. But was it too much to ask that she get just a few more years of hoping for it before this mountain crushed her too? In her sincerity I see a reflection of myself pausing my own dreams because we needed the money. Under my fingers, the dried blood flakes out of Belén’s hair and lands on my sweatpants, as brown and dry as the llama bloodstains on the lintels of the mine. From the next room, I hear César coughing.

Sacrifices, I think. All of us, sacrifices to the devil of these mines.

I shake my head to clear it from the useless thoughts. Though I wish I had a time machine, I can’t go back and change the choices I already made. The only thing I can control is what I do now. I refuse to let Belén give up on her dreams like I had to. I refuse to allow her to become just more grit to be ground between this mountain’s molars.

“Belén, listen to me,” I whisper to her. My voice is fierce. “You will never be a guarda.”

“But . . .”

“No. Not now when you’re eight. Not when you’re older. Never. You are going to stay in school.” I close my eyes for a moment, unsure what price I will have to pay to purchase the promise I just made. “Go to sleep now.” I gently disentangle myself, laying her flat. “I’ve got this.”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“First, I’m going to give César some of this broth. Then I’ll take care of things. Don’t worry.”

I tuck her in and drop a quick kiss on her forehead, then I bring the rest of the broth to César. When I enter his bedroom, he’s sprawled across the bed. He’s in a T-shirt again, sweat standing out on his forehead from the effort it takes to breathe. I feel awkward. I’m used to seeing César fully dressed and in public; in charge of men, working. I hate seeing him sick and weak.

“Ana,” he gasps.

I hold out a cup.

“I made some broth for Belén, but she’s done with it now. I thought that maybe you’d like some more to help with the cough.” César’s eyebrows shoot up and I answer his question before he has to ask it. “Belén woke up a little while ago. She doesn’t remember much of what happened. Her head hurts, but she was able to take a little broth and she makes sense when she talks. I think she’s going to be okay.”

César sighs with relief, and when he does, something rattles again.

“I’ve been praying,” he whispers.

I flinch guiltily. It hadn’t occurred to me to pray.

“Are you okay for now?” I ask him.

And though he’s far from okay, César nods. I close the door to the bedroom behind me softly and start preparing dinner. I pull a handful of peeled chuños from the bucket and salt the water.

I know we won’t be having steak.

It’s past dark when Abuelita gets home from working as a palliri. She must have worked till the absolute last shred of daylight left the sky. Mami still isn’t home, but that doesn’t surprise me too much. I don’t see the flashlight. My guess is that she’ll stay out as long as she can, even though she