Usually, the bell settled her.
That morning, every note seemed to ask a question.
Sister Esperanza sat at the long kitchen table with Miguel on her lap and Tomás beside her.
Sunlight poured through the high windows, warming the stone walls and turning the steam above a pot of milk into pale ribbons. Sister Lucía stood near the stove, slicing bread while keeping an affectionate eye on the children.
Tomás had decided that his wooden spoon was a horse.
He galloped it across the table, making soft clicking sounds with his tongue.
“No riding near the milk,” Lucía warned.
Tomás stopped immediately.
“Horse thirsty.”
“Then the horse must wait until after breakfast.”
Esperanza smiled and kissed the top of his head.
“He is learning patience.”
“He is learning how to negotiate,” Lucía replied.
Miguel stirred against Esperanza’s shoulder. He was a quiet baby, round-cheeked and content whenever he was held. His fingers curled around a fold in her habit.
