Rosa was holding a small doll with large embroidered eyes, a long thick braid of black yarn, and a bright green skirt with orange zigzag trim along the bottom. “I’m going to make her a rebozo to wrap around her and place a small basket of flowers on her arm,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement. She had recovered quickly from her own ordeal and was clearly refreshed from her night’s sleep. “Lupe says we can help her this week and even at the mercado if we want.”
“How is your shoulder this morning?” Lupe asked, setting down a pair of large blue eyeglasses and beckoning me to stand beside her. Though I had yet to see her smile, there was a softer tone to her voice.
“It’s just a little sore,” I said, moving my arm in a circle as I stepped forward.
She ran her hands over my shoulder, then said, “Just a minute,” and disappeared.
I scanned the shelves and ran my fingers over a stack of folded fabrics: thin stripes, thick stripes, flowers, dots, and diamond shapes in every color imaginable. I picked up a miniature drawstring purse to find a collection of worry dolls inside. Change purses, eyeglass cases, tasseled bookmarks—and then my eyes spotted on the far-right shelf, a stack of fabric-covered books.
I reached up gingerly, waiting for that jolt in my shoulder, but it didn’t flinch until I gathered the books and lifted them down. Even then, its complaint was mild, a lameness that would pass in a few days.
When I opened the books and found they contained blank pages, I was disappointed at first, but then the thought of keeping a written account of our travels began to excite me. I shuffled through the books, admiring each combination of color or intricate design. Some were covered simply in solid or striped fabrics. Others were pieced like patchwork with different fabrics and fine stitching. And still others were decorated with hand-embroidered designs. It was this last stack that I was drawn to, three in particular because they were all worked on a deep blue cloth.
The first was a sailboat gliding over a blue sea. Beneath that was one with a white seagull soaring across a blue sky. And then the third took my breath away. It was simply a white calla lily against a backdrop of blue. Just like my little box of stars. My fingers traced the curve of the white flower. Una flor delicada.
Lupe’s voice startled me. “Outside. Out, out. Go see to the animals. ¡Vámonos!” I glanced up just in time to see Manuel disappear from the doorway. Had he been watching me?
Lupe entered the room shaking a brown bottle vigorously in her hand. “Take off the blouse,” she commanded.
I quickly placed the books back up on the shelf, glanced self-consciously at the doorway, and slowly unbuttoned my white blouse. I blushed as she said, “Bra too,” for even my mother hadn’t seen me naked in a while. But Lupe’s matter of fact manner left me with little choice and also strangely put me at ease, and so I obeyed, though I shyly covered my breasts with my blouse. The truth was, I was glad to take off my bra. It was so small that my breasts were bursting out the sides and top, leaving creases on my skin.
Shortly after she opened the bottle, both Rosa and I began coughing. The sharp smell permeated the room. “Sit,” she said nodding toward her chair before the loom. As I did, I sheepishly looked up at Rosa, who stifled a laugh.
Then Lupe began to rub the sticky white lotion into, around, and under my shoulder. I could feel the heat penetrate deep into the injured joint. As her rough hands massaged, she said to Rosa, “Now watch closely. You will do this morning and night for one week.” Rosa’s eyes widened and when they met mine, I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
And for the first time, Lupe smiled, saying, “Yes, you will both stink. ‘Look out,’ everyone will say. ‘Here come those stinky sisters! ¡Cuidado!’”
The next few days, Manuel tended the animals and fetched water, while Rosa and I helped Lupe with her crafts. The stitching was all done by hand, something Rosa had enjoyed doing at home, so she was able to produce a couple of dolls in one day, while I found pride in three simple eyeglass cases. But it was soothing, sitting on the sofa or on a bench outside, slowly stitching pieces together, then turning them right side out and seeing a neat finished product. I wondered who would buy them and where they would journey. Lupe said many American tourists had bought her goods. She was a woman of few words, working quickly and quietly, never resting for a moment. Her gray braid always hung over one shoulder, and while she worked, she wore those oversized blue glasses that slid down her nose from their weight. I liked that she firmly told me what was expected, quietly corrected me if I was wrong, and then responded with a simple “Good,” when I finished. Lupe was calm and reassuring, unlike my mother, who was always barking like a small dog. I wondered what it would have been like to have a mother like Lupe.
When we finished a full day’s sewing, we helped Lupe with dinner. Each evening, when I heard the truck coming in, I felt an excitement similar to that I used to feel when Papá came home from el norte. I vaguely remembered Mamá preparing tamales days ahead and cleaning the house like it was up for inspection. What I didn’t know— and wondered with great sadness—was how Mamá reacted when he came in the door. Was she beaming with love? Was she timid because they had been apart so long?
I didn’t know because all I
