except for a broken chair and trash.
“Over here,” said Victor. He had noticed that one of the tall windows had a broken pane. He reached through the opening and unlocked the window. “Should we go in?”
“You wait here,” said Maria. She climbed through and went over to the door. Unlocking it, she said to Victor, “Stay close.”
Victor grabbed her hand tightly.
Carefully they went from room to room, hoping to find a clue of some kind. “She had to have been here. We just have to find something that will tell us where she went.” What she didn’t say was that she feared the worst. Something terrible had happened to their mother.
“Where
is
she?” asked Victor, on the verge of tears.
“We’ll find her.” She had to be strong for her brother.
She glanced around the room cautiously. The stark reality of this empty house weighed too heavily on her. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room to another door. And another.
In the back of the house, the two children came to the kitchen. The space for the stove was empty. A hole in the ceiling indicated where the stovepipe had gone. Maria circled the kitchen, touching the surfaces and feeling the dust under her fingers.
Victor wandered in the opposite direction, opening cupboards at random. He was hungry again and hoping to find something. When he came to the butler’s pantry, he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Aaaghh!”
Victor leaped back, waving his arms. “Spiders!” He had stepped into a spider web.
In a flash Maria was beside him, trying to wipe away the sticky threads. While doing this, she glanced into the pantry and suddenly stopped.
“Oh, Victor … Look.” In the middle of the pantry floor lay a lace handkerchief, just like their mother’s favorite one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Retablo
T he evening descended quickly. The shadows from the trees turned to darkness. A monkey’s cry echoed through the quiet neighborhood as if it were a call to the night to be gentle. A black cat strolled down the center of the cobblestone street with a mouse in its mouth. The cat’s yellow eyes were slits cutting through the darkness.
A few minutes later the rattle and creaking of wheels announced a tortilla cart before it turned onto the block. The old woman who pushed the cart was tired and moved slowly. As the woman approached the corner of Lourdes, Maria and Victor tumbled over the wall enclosing the home they had just searched. Maria clutched her mother’s hanky tightly. Even though they had not found her, she knew her mother had been at this house. This knowledge alone had given her hope.
“Who’s there?” called the old woman suspiciously.
“Just a boy on his way home,
abuelita
,” called a voice from the shadows up the street.
Maria put her hand over her brother’s mouth and whispered in his ear, “Shhhh.”
“Do you have any more tortillas?” the boy asked.
“For you, my dear, anything,” the old woman cackled. “They were to be my supper, but I will sell my last dozen to you for twenty centavos.”
The boy put his hand on his heart. “Five centavos.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ten.”
“Deal.” The old woman unwrapped the last of her tortillas and handed them to the boy. Maria strained to hear more. She wasn’t certain, but the boy sounded like Oswaldo.
The boy paid and quickly bit into the first tortilla. “Sleep well,
abuelita
,” he called after the old woman as she pushed her cart on.
“Quick, or we’ll be seen.” Thinking fast, Maria grabbed her brother’s hand and used the old woman’s cart to block the boy’s view as they darted across the street. She pulled Victor behind a stand of magnolia bushes.
“But why can’t we—?” asked Victor.
Maria put her hand over his mouth once more and whispered in his ear, “Because we don’t want Oswaldo to find out and kidnap you again. It’s better that no one sees us.”
The two held their breaths, listening to the boy stroll down the street eating noisily.
The
“Over here,” said Victor. He had noticed that one of the tall windows had a broken pane. He reached through the opening and unlocked the window. “Should we go in?”
“You wait here,” said Maria. She climbed through and went over to the door. Unlocking it, she said to Victor, “Stay close.”
Victor grabbed her hand tightly.
Carefully they went from room to room, hoping to find a clue of some kind. “She had to have been here. We just have to find something that will tell us where she went.” What she didn’t say was that she feared the worst. Something terrible had happened to their mother.
“Where
is
she?” asked Victor, on the verge of tears.
“We’ll find her.” She had to be strong for her brother.
She glanced around the room cautiously. The stark reality of this empty house weighed too heavily on her. Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room to another door. And another.
In the back of the house, the two children came to the kitchen. The space for the stove was empty. A hole in the ceiling indicated where the stovepipe had gone. Maria circled the kitchen, touching the surfaces and feeling the dust under her fingers.
Victor wandered in the opposite direction, opening cupboards at random. He was hungry again and hoping to find something. When he came to the butler’s pantry, he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Aaaghh!”
Victor leaped back, waving his arms. “Spiders!” He had stepped into a spider web.
In a flash Maria was beside him, trying to wipe away the sticky threads. While doing this, she glanced into the pantry and suddenly stopped.
“Oh, Victor … Look.” In the middle of the pantry floor lay a lace handkerchief, just like their mother’s favorite one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Retablo
T he evening descended quickly. The shadows from the trees turned to darkness. A monkey’s cry echoed through the quiet neighborhood as if it were a call to the night to be gentle. A black cat strolled down the center of the cobblestone street with a mouse in its mouth. The cat’s yellow eyes were slits cutting through the darkness.
A few minutes later the rattle and creaking of wheels announced a tortilla cart before it turned onto the block. The old woman who pushed the cart was tired and moved slowly. As the woman approached the corner of Lourdes, Maria and Victor tumbled over the wall enclosing the home they had just searched. Maria clutched her mother’s hanky tightly. Even though they had not found her, she knew her mother had been at this house. This knowledge alone had given her hope.
“Who’s there?” called the old woman suspiciously.
“Just a boy on his way home,
abuelita
,” called a voice from the shadows up the street.
Maria put her hand over her brother’s mouth and whispered in his ear, “Shhhh.”
“Do you have any more tortillas?” the boy asked.
“For you, my dear, anything,” the old woman cackled. “They were to be my supper, but I will sell my last dozen to you for twenty centavos.”
The boy put his hand on his heart. “Five centavos.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ten.”
“Deal.” The old woman unwrapped the last of her tortillas and handed them to the boy. Maria strained to hear more. She wasn’t certain, but the boy sounded like Oswaldo.
The boy paid and quickly bit into the first tortilla. “Sleep well,
abuelita
,” he called after the old woman as she pushed her cart on.
“Quick, or we’ll be seen.” Thinking fast, Maria grabbed her brother’s hand and used the old woman’s cart to block the boy’s view as they darted across the street. She pulled Victor behind a stand of magnolia bushes.
“But why can’t we—?” asked Victor.
Maria put her hand over his mouth once more and whispered in his ear, “Because we don’t want Oswaldo to find out and kidnap you again. It’s better that no one sees us.”
The two held their breaths, listening to the boy stroll down the street eating noisily.
The
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