Elm Creek Quilts [10] The Quilter's Homecoming Read Online Free Page B

except for the baby. Abuela had not started dinner, working the cornmeal with her hands and frying the tortillas as she usually did at this time of the day. Isabel was hungry. When were they going to eat?
    She went to find her mother but found her grandfather first. “I’m hungry,” she told him, slipping her hand into his.
    He hesitated and looked back at the cabin. Mami was somewhere inside; Isabel heard a door open and close. “We’re almost done,” he said. “Can you wait?”
    Isabel shook her head.
    Her grandfather smiled kindly down at her. “Very well. Let’s see what we can find.”
    Together they went around back to the pair of orange trees that grew side by side a few yards from the cabin. They searched the branches, but found no ripe oranges, only hard, green fruit too bitter to eat. Her grandfather thought for a moment. “We will have to search a little ways from the house,” he told her. “Can you walk that far?”
    Isabel nodded, although she was not sure how far he meant to go.
    Hand in hand they walked up the hill, leaving the cabin behind. Before long Isabel’s legs grew tired, but she did not complain. She was relieved when her grandfather finally halted, but surprised that he had chosen the apricot orchard for their rest. Isabel and her brother were strictly forbidden to play there, lest they accidentally harm the trees.
    The branches were heavy with plump, ripe fruit. Already Papi and the other hired hands had stuck the posts deep into the ground where every year they set up the cutting shed. The harvest would start soon. Even Mami and Abuelo worked the apricot harvest. Someday Isabel would, too.
    “Would you like one?” her grandfather asked, gesturing to the nearest tree.
    “Mami says we aren’t allowed,” Isabel said, though the sight of the fruit made her mouth water. “She says we should never, never take the apricots without permission.”
    “On an ordinary day, I would say that is very good advice,” her grandfather replied. “But today is a special day, and just this once, you may have any apricot you choose.”
    He hoisted her up onto his shoulders and moved so close to the trees that she felt hidden within the branches like a little bird. Giggling, she searched and searched until she found the perfect apricot—rosy and plump, without a single blemish. She plucked it, wiped it on the hem of her dress, and bit into the soft flesh. The sweet juice trickled down her chin, warm from the sun. Sometimes her father brought home the dried, cured apricot slices at the end of harvest, but Isabel rarely tasted the fresh fruit, and never straight from the tree.
    She picked a second apricot for Abuelo, and then one for Mami, Papi, Abuela, and her brother. She took one for the baby, too; she could suck on it even though she didn’t have any teeth. Isabel expected her grandfather to tell her to stop, to warn her that she was taking too many, but he let her continue until she could carry no more. Only then did he lower her to the ground.
    They walked slowly back to the cabin. Isabel held up her hem to make a basket of her skirt, carefully cradling the fruit. Abuelo offered to help, but she insisted upon carrying the apricots herself. She had picked them; she would bring them home to the family.
    “Abuelo?” she asked. “How long are we going away?”
    His dark, graying eyebrows rose. “How long?”
    “When are we coming home?”
    He watched her for a moment, his rich brown eyes full of sympathy. Then he sat down and drew her onto his lap. “Niña,” he said,
    “we aren’t coming back. You know that. Your mami and papi have found a new home for you and your brother and sister.”
    “What about you?”
    “Abuela and I will be right next door.”
    “But I don’t want to go.” She loved the orange trees, the shady front porch, the cozy room she shared with her brother and baby sister. When her parents had taken her to see their new home on the western side of the valley near the