Free The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind by Meg Medina Page A

patio, so be sure not to gawk. Last year I even saw the president’s wife exercising her mare in la señora ’s paddock.” She lowered her voice. “She’s a graceless rider. No posture at all. A rancher could do better.”
    “The president’s wife?” Sonia exclaimed. She would write to Pancho at once to tell him.
    Ramona led them along the fieldstone path until it cleaved in two. She straightened her wrinkled skirt and turned to hand Eva a key.
    “Air out our quarters.” She motioned to the path that wound around the back of the house. “Dalia will wait here for the luggage cart; it’s on its way. I’ll let them know we’ve arrived.”
    After the long peal of the doorbell quieted, Sonia craned her neck to see who opened the door. It was an old woman, nearly bent in two with age, with an unpleasant face to match her crooked body. She motioned for Ramona to step inside.
    “ That’s Señora Masón?” she asked.
    “Certainly not!” Eva said. “That’s only Teresa. She runs everything around here.”
    “But she’s so old,” Sonia blurted out.
    “And unfortunately still alive,” Dalia muttered.
    Seeing Sonia’s astonishment, Eva shook her head. “Dalia’s right. You’ll have to keep your eye on that vieja. Teresa is la señora ’s best spy.”
    With that, Eva started down the second path. “Well? Are you coming?”
    The greyhounds dashed past the girls in a blur. It felt good to move after so many hours on a train, especially in a yard of such splendor. The interior garden was magnificent. How her father would love such a place! Bottlebrush trees were heavy with an army of thirsty monarch butterflies; a stone bridge arched over a fishpond carpeted with lily pads; roses of every variety perfumed the air. Around the first bend were the horse stables, and then came a large garage, where bored drivers were buffing long black cars. The young men stopped to wave as the girls passed. Eva pushed out her bosom a little farther.
    They walked on, arm in arm, as though in a park, until all that was left of the main house was the tile rooftop over the trees.
    “What is Señora Masón like?” Sonia asked. “She must be so elegant to live in a grand place like this.”
    “Elegant, yes. Friendly, never,” Eva explained. “But I suppose that’s natural. She learned long ago not to love servants, mi vida. ”
    According to Eva, who had read the story in the old society pages, one of the biggest scandals of the day was the death of Katarina Masón’s nanny. The family dog had bitten the manejadora de niños savagely on the ankle.
    “Imagine it! The nanny survived twenty-nine of her scheduled thirty-one injections before dying rabid — screaming in terror at the sound of running water.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll bet it took a downpour of money to quiet that girl’s family.”
    Sonia looked around cautiously for the greyhounds, but just then Eva stopped and pointed at a charming house up ahead. It overlooked neatly trimmed grass and benches. Flowers of every kind draped opulently from window boxes on the second floor.
    “There. Your new home, mi amor. We call it La Casita.”
    Sonia stood dumbfounded. “For us? This? ” Back home it could have been the mayor’s house.
    “I told you it was marvelous. Come inside.” They ran toward it.
    The doorknob on the carved front door was shiny brass. Eva let Sonia unlock the door and led her inside to the sitting room, where they stood in silence for moment, staring. The space was dark and musty, and the furniture was still covered in sheets.
    “It’s always a bit of a cave at first.” Eva opened the thick drapes and cranked open the front shutters. “It will feel like home soon enough, mi amor. Here.”
    She balled the sheets under her arm and tossed them to Sonia before heading toward the stairs, which she climbed two at a time. Sonia let her fingers trail along the pretty wood of the handrail as she followed in awe. On the landing below, the dogs