Mary Peace Finley
Award-winning author of books for young people
"But I have to see him. He knows I’m coming."
Red’s eyebrows knotted slightly. "Well, you can talk to me. What do you need?"
"I’m Julio Montoya." Julio watched Red’s eyes, but there was no look of
recognition. "Enrique’s son." Still no look of understanding. "I’m Julio Montoya," he said
again. "I’m the son of Enrique Montoya, the adobe maker from Taos."
"Enrique?" Red’s eyebrows lurched, and once again he studied Julio from top to toe. The look on his
face changed from disbelief to uncertainty. "You’re Enrique’s son?"
"Yes."
"Well, er, ummm." Red glanced toward the traderoom door, then over his shoulder toward the
second floor, hesitating. "Well, I don’t know," he said. "Follow me. I’ll see."
Julio followed Red across the courtyard toward a split log stairway that led to the second-floor
catwalk.
"Ven! Come!" Julio urged Chivita up the stairs, then followed Red toward a little
house that looked to Julio like Mamá’s tiny adobe casita in Taos, except it sat on a
flat roof instead of on the ground beside a stream.
A few yards from the casita Red stopped. "Wait here," he said. He approached the
door, paused, and cautiously stepped inside.
© Mary Peace Finley 2012
