Hard Red Spring by Kelly Kerney

carefully through the meal. As did Evie. Mother’s moods sprang from a more mysterious source than Father’s. He merely toiled for a harvest, feeling happy when it worked and frustrated when it didn’t. Mother’s ambitions, however, depended on things like manners, civilization, propriety. Shifting principles, shifting every day, like the plates in the ground Father had told Evie about. So, understanding only this, both Evie and Father ate the miserable meal without hunger, without question, but for the first question:
    â€œMattie, where’s Ixna?”
    â€œHer mother’s sick, so she’ll be in Xela for the week.”
    Evie shoved burned bread into her mouth. Two lies now, between them. The difference being when Father lied, he looked right at Mother. But Mother did not see Father once, all evening. Nor had she seen Evie, not even when she picked the floury lumps out of her soup with her fingers. Mother didn’t eat any of the dinner she had tried so hard to cook, but stood on the porch, clutching a towel to her stomach like it hurt.
    â€œEvie,” Father asked, in a whisper, “did you tell her about our visit to Ubico? What did you say? Did you get confused and say something?”
    She had said nothing at all, she insisted, insulted.
    â€œDid Ixna tell you another scary story?”
    The cookies, baked by Ixna the day before, were fantastic. Evie snuck them from the kitchen and she and Father ate them secretly, ravenously. They finished a whole dozen, licking the crumbs. Which reminded Evie. She could not believe she’d almost forgotten.
    â€œFather, I got an Indian to eat a cookie today! I was right, cinnamon worked! Though Tomás is a Mestizo. Does he count?”
    But he didn’t seem to hear, or to understand the importance of this feat. “Did you use that word with Mother today? Mestizo? Is that why she’s upset?”
    â€œI think Mother just has a stomachache.”
    After dinner, Mother put Evie to bed, though it was only seven o’clock. She piled blankets on, not hearing her protests that it was still hot out, it was still light.
    â€œBut I have to tell Father that I got Tomás to eat a cookie! I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. Tomás is an Indian, isn’t he? Does he count as an Indian?”
    â€œYes, he certainly does. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him all about it.”
    ~~~~~
    Two things happened while Evie slept. First, Father worked the men until morning and, miraculously, they were ready to harvest the cochineal. But it took at least a week to get a cochineal harvest in, and they had only a day before the men were taken for the draft. But Father seemed to believe in his own pronouncement that Ubico might help him and Evie began to wonder if she had misunderstood the entire conversation between the government man and her father. Maybe the bribe had worked.
    The second thing that happened woke Evie up. Ixna had gone to Xela for the night, but now she was back.
    â€œGo back home!” Evie, lying in bed, heard Mother pleading.
    Evie shuffled into the piano room to see Ixna on the porch, standing next to the massive pile of ash-blackened clothes still awaiting the wash.
    â€œGo home! We don’t need you! I’m giving you the whole week! It’s called a vacation, I’m paying you!”
    But Ixna merely set down her square basket and began to gather their clothing in her arms, ready to work again.
    Whenever Ixna went back to her home in Xela, she’d return with her hair braided in an elaborate crown, with her costume scrubbed and smelling like lemony flowers, earrings glinting on either side of where her smile would be, if she smiled. It seemed all her family and neighbors came together to fix her up and make her beautiful, and this time was no different. Cousins made jewelry, friends braided her hair. Even her father contributed to the effort, weaving her new skirts with thin, multicolored