A Greater Love Page 11

  Sara eyed the bovine. “Will it step on us, do ya think?”

  “No, silly. It’s in that stall. It can’t get out.” He turned to the puppy who’d come from his pursuit of the chickens and was now looking for bigger, less agile prey. “Lucky, leave that cow alone. She might stomp ya.” The puppy yelped as the cow nosed him and Miguel laughed.

  Sara joined in. “Funny dog!”

  They spread the straw in a thick layer, then took more to cover themselves. It was warmer than the wet blanket, if a little scratchy. Both removed their wet shoes and rubbed heat into their cold feet. Miguel’s eyes drooped, and it was all he could do to spread out the blanket to dry before settling in the straw next to Sara.

  She giggled faintly. “I feel like Baby Jesus,” she said. He grunted, and she fell silent. Then, “I’m still cold, Miguel. Do you think Baby Jesus is cold?”

  “Statues don’t get cold.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Miguel sat up and pushed more straw over her. He laid back down and snuggled close. “Now I’m warm,” she said with a sigh. “It smells funny in here, but I like this place—better than our house.”

  With a final bark, Lucky gave up on the cow and settled next to them. His nearness reminded Miguel of the cobbler. Was the man okay? If not for this thought, he would have been completely content. He had shelter, Lucky, and, of course, Sara—everything he needed. Even his stomach was full from the pastry. The last thing Miguel remembered before falling asleep was Sara mumbling her prayers.

  * * * * *

  “What are you children doin’ in my barn!” The loud roar woke Miguel from a sound sleep. “Wake up! Wake up, I say. Or I’ll run you through!” A skinny old man with black hair waved a pitchfork in front of their faces.

  Miguel sat up, heart pounding, eyes wide with fear. Beside him, Sara panted. He scrambled to his feet, pushing her back. The man approached menacingly, and the children retreated until their backs scaped against the side of the barn. “Tryin’ to steal my milk, are ya? Or is it my chickens?” The man’s tiny eyes squinted at his prisoners, his black eyebrows drawing tightly in anger.

  “I’ll call the police, that’s what I’ll do. Or maybe I should just stick ya good. That’ll remember you never to come back. You kids got no respect!” He drew closer, and Miguel edged along the wall, pushing Sara before him. The old man followed. He jabbed Miguel’s sore ribs painfully with the point of the pitchfork.

  The cow mooed, and the farmer looked her way. In that instant, Miguel shot out the door, dragging Sara along. As he dared to glance back, a flying shoe hit painfully where Carlos’ fist had met his eye, but he grabbed at it and the other three the farmer sent flying after. They ran over the wet field on cold bare feet, clutching the shoes. When they reached the main road, Miguel’s feet were numb and bleeding, pierced by the sharp ends of dead plants.

  “Our blanket,” Sara said, sitting on the side of the road to thrust her feet into her worn shoes.

  Miguel frowned. “We’ll get another one, I guess.” He pretended nonchalance to hide the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Don’t worry. Somethin’ else’ll turn up.”

  He looked around. Today the sun was shining, but the air was sharp with cold now that the low covering of clouds was gone. The night would be near freezing, but at least there would be no rain.

  They made their way to the open market to find their breakfast. The market was like many others they’d seen, with mainly gypsy vendors selling everything from vegetables to fish, and playing cards to bright-colored skirts and blouses.

  As Sara begged for coins, Miguel managed to steal some food. When the market closed completely in the early afternoon, he’d eaten enough to stem the gnawing in his stomach. But Miguel worried about Sara. She was still coughing and the light in her eyes had dimmed.

  They tried begging in apartment buildings whose outer doors were broken or left ajar. Some people were kind—one lady even offered them an oversized purple sweater—but some threatened to call the police.

  After a weary afternoon, they sat on the cobblestone sidewalk outside an apartment building to rest. Miguel knew he should think about finding dinner, but he was more worried about where they would sleep, especially since they’d left their blanket at the barn. He wracked his brain for an idea, hands thrust deep in his pockets, brow scrunched. Then he remembered the wallet he’d stolen on the ferry more than a month earlier. According to Senhor Fitas, the wallet’s owner lived in the Cova da Piedade. Was it possible he might help? What if he told the man he’d found the wallet? That he had come such a long way to deliver it? Surely he would let them sleep at his place for one night.

  Miguel pulled out the address card from the wallet and stopped the next person he saw to ask directions. To his relief, it wasn’t far. When he explained his business to a lady opening the lobby door with her key, she looked at the card and told him to ride the elevator to the top floor.

  “We’ll get ya warm now,” he murmured to Sara. She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her tired eyes.

  They took the elevator up twelve flights, but when Miguel rang the man’s buzzer, there was no answer. “I guess we can sleep in the stairwell,” he said. “It’s warm enough, ain’t it? And nobody’s gonna hike up twelve floors. They’ll leave us alone.”

  They went down a half flight of stairs and settled on the landing. Sara cuddled up to him with a sigh. Lucky cocked his head at them and whined, echoing the hunger in Miguel’s stomach.

  “I wish we coulda stayed at the shack,” Sara mumbled. She coughed, but her shaking had stopped.

  “Me too. But it’ll get better, you’ll see. We just gotta find a place till it gets warm and then we’ll sleep out under the stars every night. It’ll be fun.”

  “I liked Baby Jesus. Can we go see Him again?”

  “Sure. Tomorrow.”

  Sleep settled over them. Soon Sara breathed evenly, except for an intermittent cough, but Miguel’s slumber was restless. Part of him listened for footsteps on the stairs. Several times, he jerked awake at an imagined clatter. When the dreaded sound finally did come, he wondered at first if it was a dream. But the steps drew closer, and he sprang to his feet, staring up into angry black eyes peering at him from a hard face. He tugged on Sara, waking her, and she clung to him, shivering with dread.

  “Who are you?” the man boomed. There was nothing in his voice that leaned toward mercy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days after receiving the letter from the lawyer, Daniel was still in a daze. He nearly stumbled over the children before seeing them. The older one, a boy, sprang to a crouch, pulling at the little girl who gasped and stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. A small dog at their side began yapping.

  “It’s okay, Sara,” the boy said. The girl continued to stare at Daniel.

  Her strange, gold-flecked eyes dominated the thin face and aroused a protective feeling from somewhere in the depths of Daniel’s frozen heart. A bright red scarf draped partly over her head. She wore a mound of sweaters, mostly oversized, making her chest appear much rounder than it really was, judging from her hands and dirt-streaked face.

  “Let’s go.” The boy tugged on the girl’s hand, but she didn’t take a step. A deep cough sounded in her chest, and she bent with the effort. From beneath her red scarf her brown hair fell straight and thick. Thin bands of a lighter color edged the front locks, a perfect blending as only nature could achieve, though the strands matted atrociously as if the child had never seen a comb or brush. Small pieces of yellow straw poked out at all angles. Her appearance sparked a memory Daniel couldn’t place, but surely he had never seen her before.

  For all the appealing beauty and helplessness of the little girl, it was the boy who held Daniel’s attention. In appearance, he closely resembled the girl, but there was no apparent fear in him. He stood in front of his companion, stooping slightly as if ready for flight; but his fists clenched tight, giving Daniel the distinct feeling he would protec
t the little girl—his sister?—at all costs. The child’s left eye was swollen and surrounded by deep purple bruises and dried smears of blood. A jagged scar marked the skin along his right jaw, and other small scars sprinkled over the tanned face. His clothing was tattered, and like the girl he wore several sweaters, though they did nothing to hide his leanness. He was all muscle—ferocious muscle, probably founded upon long years of self-reliance. Daniel almost envied him that air while at the same time pitying the need. The boy also had stripes of a lighter color in his hair, calling to mind again the lost memory.

  “Why are you here?” Daniel’s voice sounded loud now that the puppy had stopped his dreadful barking.

  “It was too far to go home.”

  Daniel couldn’t tell if the boy told the truth. He looked to be perhaps eight or so, older than the girl by a least a few years, but the deep brown eyes glaring out of the dirty face held a peculiar intelligence far older. Even now, he felt the child was sizing him up, preparing to make the best of the situation.

  “We was just restin’.”

  “We were just resting,” Daniel corrected automatically. He heard his father in his own words and it brought him sadness. How many times had his father corrected his verbs when he was growing up? And his brother’s? Now both were dead.

  The child looked at Daniel blankly. His sister coughed again, and the boy put a hand on her back. For the first time, Daniel perceived an insecurity in the boy.

  “Is this your sister?” he asked.

  “Yes. We’re waitin’ for someone, but he ain’t home yet.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “The man in twelve B.”

  Daniel felt his eyes narrow. “What do you want him for?”

  “We found his wallet, that’s all.”

  “Let me see it.”

  A sullen look covered the face. “No. We’re gonna give it over ourselves.”

  “Miguel—”

  “Sh,” the boy told his sister. “Not now.”

  Miguel, thought Daniel, so that’s the tough little guy’s name. It suits him. Aloud he said, “I live in twelve B.”

  Miguel peered at him in dismay and perhaps a faint glimmer of recognition. “You? But—”

  “I tried to tell ya it was him.” The girl—Sara, Daniel remembered the boy had called her—pulled something from the pocket in her skirt. His identity card.

  Daniel snatched it from her but noticed the fear he had seen in her eyes had disappeared. The boy pulled out the wallet and tossed it to Daniel. He opened it and found that his driver’s license and credit cards were all there. The money, of course, was gone.

  “Found it on the ferry,” Miguel muttered sullenly. “More than a month ago. Thought ya might miss it.”

  “I did.” Daniel wondered if the boy stole it himself or if he really had found it. “Thank you.” He felt in his pocket for a few small bills. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a reward. And that’s only fair, seeing as you came from . . . the other side of the river?”

  Miguel grunted in agreement but didn’t take the bills. His calculating eyes made Daniel feel nervous. “We come a long ways to give it to ya,” he said. “It’s late and we ain’t gonna make it back tonight.”

  “We aren’t going to make it back,” Daniel corrected. The child shrugged. Daniel waved the money at them. “Look, I can’t offer you more than this.”

  “Come on, Sara.” Miguel pocketed the money. He picked up the puppy and started in a wide circle around Daniel. “We’ll go somewhere else to sleep.” The little girl sighed and obeyed, her step dragging. She kept wary eyes on Daniel, and he noticed her lips trembled with cold.

  “You haven’t anywhere to go,” Daniel accused.

  “Do so.” The boy’s eyes challenged, but in Sara’s tears, Daniel read the truth.

  “Wait.” Daniel couldn’t believe what he was doing. Why didn’t he simply let them go? He studied the children, especially Miguel. Why was he so interested in this ragged youth? They had nothing in common—or did they? Weren’t they both alone in the world? An unwanted kinship sprang up in his heart, and with it a desire to help. At least Daniel would not face the empty apartment alone.

  “Come with me,” he said, his voice clipped. Miguel watched him for a moment before nodding his acceptance. They followed Daniel up the rest of the steps and through the door. At his apartment, Daniel brought out his keys, opened the lock, and motioned them inside. The boy hesitated.

  “Go on,” he urged. “I won’t hurt you. We’ll just have something to eat, and I’ll give you some blankets to sleep in. Tomorrow you can be on your way. That’s all. I’m no pervert. If you want, I’ll call your family and let them know you’re all right.”

  “Don’t got no phone.”

  “Any phone.”

  “No we don’t,” the boy insisted, picking up his dog.

  “I have a car. I can take you there.”

  “No.”

  Daniel smiled grimly to himself. It was as he suspected; they had no family, or at least no one they wanted to see tonight.

  Miguel and Sara walked onto the wood floor in the large square entryway, eyes widening, and Daniel knew he would have to watch them closely or lose some of his possessions. But did he really care? Things meant nothing without Cristina to share them.

  Frowning, he placed his briefcase by the door. “Kitchen’s this way,” he said, turning left.

  The children followed him into the kitchen, shoes scuffing softly on the white tile. “Sit here.” He pointed to the two chairs next to the table before backtracking across the entryway to the dining room for an extra chair.

  He hadn’t been in the luxurious room since Cristina had left. Dust coated the table and the elegant china cabinet, brimming with antiques that had been in his and Cristina’s families for many years. The room exuded wealth and their high position in society; it was no place for children. The curtains over the elongated window were drawn tight, making the room feel confining. He grabbed a chair and left quickly.

  Back in the kitchen, he began pulling things out of the refrigerator and off shelves—cheese, salami, ham, bread, milk, oranges, apples, left-over rice, cookies, crackers. Cristina had normally done the grocery shopping, but in the weeks since her departure, he’d learned to do it for himself. Had it been more than four weeks? It seemed like forever.

  “Eat whatever you like,” he said. He started a pot of herbal tea, his favorite blend. Cristina had always taken lemon.

  Miguel and Sara immediately dug in. They ignored the knives and forks he had given them, and simply used their dirty fingers and teeth. Too late, Daniel thought about making them wash their hands. Sara grabbed the chunk of cheese in her grubby hand and took a huge bite. Seeing his stare, she held it up to him, but he shook his head, trying to hide his disgust. The sooner the urchins were out of his hair, the better. Sara handed the cheese to her brother, who accepted it with a smile. Under the table, Lucky gobbled anything thrown his way.

  When his tea was ready, Daniel drank it fast, without his usual sugar. The children finished as he did, leaving nothing on the table but wrappers and a few crumbs. Miguel swept up the crumbs even as Daniel watched and threw them into his mouth. “Would you like some more?” Daniel asked, though they couldn’t possibly still be hungry.

  “Guess not,” Miguel offered.

  “Thanks,” Sara added politely. “I ain’t never ate so much in my life. It was good.”

  “I’m glad.” To Daniel’s surprise, he meant it. “Now for some blankets.” He went into the entryway and the children followed him. The dog stayed in the kitchen, chewing on his few remaining scraps.

  “Do ya got a mom?” Sara asked, stifling a cough.

  He stopped and stared down at her. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Does she live here?”

  “No, she has a house of her own.”

  “Then you’re all alone.”

  He felt irritated. “I have a wife.”

  “Where is she?”
/>   “Not here,” he grated.

  Sara dropped her gaze to the floor, making Daniel feel like a heel for his quick anger. She was only trying to make conversation.

  “Man, you kids sure are dirty,” he said into the silence. They smelled too, like a mixture of camp smoke and sweat. “Look, you have to clean up before I let you sleep in my blankets. I don’t have a dryer, and I can’t be washing the blankets after you leave. They take too long to dry this time of year. Follow me.” He took them into the main bathroom and began filling the tub.

  The children gazed around in amazement. “Is it warm water?” Sara asked as steam covered the mirror.

  “Of course it’s warm. It’s too cold to take a bath in cold water.”

  “We never take baths when it’s cold,” Sara said. That much Daniel had already guessed, but Miguel nudged her.

  “What’s that?” Sara asked, pointing with a tiny finger.

  “A toilet. It’s to go to the bathroom in.” Pity rose inside, stamping out the former irritation. “This paper is to wipe yourself after you go. Then you flush the water away like this and wash your hands really good with this soap.” He made the motions as he spoke.

  “Why do ya need two toilets?” she asked.

  Daniel saw that she meant the bidet. “Oh, no,” he told her. “That isn’t to use as a toilet. That’s to sit in and wash just part of yourself. When you don’t have time to take a whole bath. Don’t pee in it.”

  “Oh.” Sara looked amazed.

  “You use this soap to wash your body,” he continued. “And this to wash your hair. You have to scrub hard so all the dirt comes off, even on your scalp. And don’t put your clothes back on,” he added, eyeing their soiled rags. “I’ll find something for you both to wear until we can wash your clothes.”

  He’d been speaking mostly to Sara, but saw Miguel soaking up his words. While Sara asked questions, Miguel apparently learned by observation and study. Daniel had faith that the child knew what to do, or would come fairly close. Obviously, he had taken care of Sara for a long time.

  “In fact, give me your shoes, too,” Daniel said. “I’ll put them by the door in the entryway. Come on, now.” Sara immediately fell to the ground and pulled off her black shoes. They were worn and badly needing resoling. She wore no socks, and her toenails were long and full of grime. Miguel reluctantly handed over his shoes, and Daniel noticed he was as bad off. Small calluses grew on the knuckles of his toes, as if he had long worn shoes that were too small for him, though these appeared to fit well enough.