You will have to tell her soon, Amato said, bounding behind us. We are getting closer.
“I know,” I said.
Soon.
She took us to the west once we reached las bajadas, arcing away from las granjas and from Jorge’s home.
The guardians were panting by the time we reached it: la huerta, the long grove of árboles that stretched up and out from the earth, rows and rows of them in even order. All of them paloverdes, all of them twisting out of the earth, casting thorny shadows. “This is where I camped with mi papá and his men for a while,” she said, hopping off the horse and moving off toward los árboles. “Papi was a monster, but he was clever. He knew this would keep us in the shade and that there’d be a source of water nearby, enough to keep us alive until we found the next place to go.” She smiled. “I met Chavela the week after that. Did I ever tell you what I did?”
I shook my head as she helped me down.
“It was a test,” she said. “Papi wasn’t paying attention to me, so I took the horse I had been on, and I rode to the lights in the distance. I didn’t know what it was; I had never even heard of Obregán. That’s how I met Chavela. I left una poema here, not long after that. Chavela … she inspired me.”
She knelt on the ground near the edge of la huerta, and then she dug into the soil with both hands, flipping it to the side. The guardians gathered and watched her, silent, their eyes glowing bright in the growing evening. The leader looked to me, interest in their eyes, but they said nothing.
Emilia came to me, her hands outstretched, her gift in her palms.
A leather pouch.
How could I not sense this one? Was my connection fading? Or did it not matter anymore?
I hurriedly opened the little pouch as Emilia stood next to me, her hand on my leg, pushing warmth into me.
It was in my hands.
It was real.
She is real.
I read it aloud:
Mi esperanza es un pájaro
que vuela sobre la tierra
Y en la distancia
tú brillas más brillante que
las estrellas
más brilliante que el sol
Te seguiré solo si
me sigues.
My hope is a bird
that flies over the land
And in the distance
you shine brighter than
the stars
brighter than the sun
I will follow you only if you
follow me.
“I didn’t know what Obregán was that first night,” she said. “It was just this glowing light in the distance, and … I don’t know.” She ran her hand up and down my leg. “I imagined it was a sign, from Solís. Meeting Chavela. Discovering Obregán. So before we left, I wrote that.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and my throat ached, the tightness threatening to set loose my tears.
“But a sign wasn’t enough,” she said, grasping my leg tighter. “I was so tired, Xochitl. So tired of hoping for a better future. I wanted to believe in Solís, but … well, I also wanted Solís to believe in me.”
“‘I will follow you only if you follow me,’” I repeated.
She nodded. “I hope it helps,” she said.
“Gracias,” I said. “For stopping.”
I ran my hands over the drawstring pouch. Was this how love began? Is this what it felt like? Eliazar woke in me; whatever was left of him recognized what was surging through my body, and I saw him, hand in hand with Alegría, sitting around the fire, his face full of joy.
Emilia helped me up on the horse first, and then she claimed her spot in front of me. “I think we can make it over the next pass tonight,” she said, “especially with the guardians protecting us.”
We took off at a brisk gait, and their leader was astride, keeping pace. She is an interesting one, they said. She surprises us.
“She surprises me,” I said.
Then you must tell her.
“Not now,” I said. “She can’t know now, not after that.”
The hum hit me, and it dislodged the stories in my stomach. I winced and held back a cry, waited for the pain to pass.
“Hold on, Xochitl,” said Emilia. “We’re so close.”
Tell her.
Soon. I would tell her soon.
We passed by Obregán that evening. We did not pass through it. We joined the few traders and merchants who were leaving or entering la ciudad that late, and they gave us a wide berth as we passed. They nodded their heads, a sign of respect for the guardians, and then they went along with their travels.
I wanted to stop. To come back. To visit El Mercado, to tell Soledad about her son Eduardo, to taste all the foods I had never tried before. I wanted Emilia there at my side, and I wanted—
No, I couldn’t. I sucked air deep into my lungs. One more pass. One more climb. We would probably make it home by morning.
I did as I had imagined Amato had done so earlier. I tasted the word “home,” rolled it around in my mouth, and I wasn’t sure I would be welcomed, that I would be wanted, that I could find a place there. My daydream from earlier twisted in my mind. What if Raúl thought I was a monster? What if Papá believed that I had become corrupted? What if Mamá resented me for what I had done?
I had kept my first story in Empalme, and in the span of those days, a change took place, like the cocoons that sometimes hung from our doorways or on the ceiling, bursting one day to reveal some new creature, one unrecognizable from what it used to be. That is what waited for me: a transformation. I did not have to be what others wanted me to be. I could be free.
Soy libre.
I am free.
I knew as we began our climb, that final rise, that I could
