“But you recognize why I am asking.”
“I will come at once,” Paloma said, and the line went dead.
Mother Caridad lowered the receiver slowly.
Outside, a bell rang to mark the morning hour. Its familiar sound moved through the convent with measured grace, calling the sisters toward their duties.
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.”
