Mary Peace Finley
Award-winning author of books for young people
© Mary Peace Finley 2012
other adobe houses scattered here and there along a dirt road that wound into the
Taos Plaza, and raised her eyes to the peaceful blue mountains that fringed the Taos
Valley, remembering. Remembering what she'd tried to forget, the fighting when Papá
was home before.
A little black and white sheepdog snapped the tense silence. The dog tore into the yard, yipping
and twisting and flinging itself against Papá's legs. "Chivita!" The sparkle flashed in
Papá's eyes again. "You remember me, eh, Little Goat? At least you are happy to see
me."
"Papá!" A voice shouted. Teresita turned as her brother slid to a stop at the edge of the
yard. He brushed the long strands of blond hair away from his eyes as if he could not
believe what he saw. "Papá?"
For a second Papá didn't move. "Ay, mi hijo! My son!" His voice broke. "You have become a man!"
Her father and brother rushed into each other's arms, Chivita still tugging at Papá's pant legs.
"Every day I was gone, I thought of you. I prayed for you." Papá knuckled the top of Julio's head,
but now he reached up instead of down. Laughing, Julio ducked away. Papá wiped his cheeks with
the palms of his hands, and he looked from Julio to Teresita, then one by one to all the others. "I
prayed for all of you." When he looked at Mamá, his smile stopped. The sparkle faded from his
eyes, and silence clamped over the yard once again.
No! No, no, no! Words of warning raged inside Teresita's head. You can't be this way, Mamá!
