Free The Maldonado Miracle by Theodore Taylor Page B

casting a peaceful glow on it. He prayed soundlessly to the Virgin Mary to help him. In a few moments, he dozed off.
    Blood, seeping slowly through his jacket and shirt from the small puncture, dropped down through the wide crack in the flooring. It splattered the ancient Indian-crafted statue of Christ on the Cross, which stood in the nave on a simple wooden box about twenty-five feet inside the church directly below the loft and against the left wall.
    Drops rolled slowly down the gold-inscribed I.N.R.I., which was on the top of the cross. The letters stood for: "Jesus of Nazareth, King of The Jews." A thin rivulet landed on the shoulder; then ebbed slowly down His chest.
    In a few minutes, with Jose resting quietly, the wound stopped bleeding.

2
    T HREE HOURS LATER, the light that had begun spreading softly down over the Gabilan Mountains to the east was chalky and pale gray. Josefa Espinosa, a woman of sixty-four, dressed entirely in black and wearing crumbling shoes, stalked down the middle of the Real. She was built like a stubby water tank.
    At one point she mumbled to herself, "
Manolo me esta agotando la paciencia.
" She continually lost patience with Manuel, her husband. Mainly, she was annoyed because he wouldn't walk the four miles to the mission with her each morning.
    Josefa worked as a housekeeper for a Swiss-American family near San Ardo and took the first bus there each day after devotions. She had long ago given up hope that Manuel would provide luxury, but she had faith someday something would happen to lift the Espinosas to a life of ease.
    She did a flanking left turn at the church steps. The door banged shut, and her heavy footsteps thudded down the aisle. Her head was covered with a thin, black shawl. She looked neither left nor right as she bore down on the altar.
    Jose awakened at the noise, but it took a few seconds for him to realize where he was. He saw that Sanchez was already up—alert, and looking down. Sitting up, he felt stiff, and his shoulder throbbed.
    He held his hand toward Sanchez to keep him quiet and crossed the loft in a crouch, hunkering down to peer over the solid wooden railing. He saw the old woman and heard her prayer, which was being delivered in little less than a shout, rapid-fire. More or less, it was the same request of years.
    "
...un buen esposo para mi hija Dorotea ... una casa chica para Manolo y mi ... una pequeña pensión para dos an-cianos que lo merecen...
"
    Jose got most of it: "I am not a selfish woman, so only ask for a good husband for my daughter Dorothy ... a small house for Manuel and me ... a small pension for two old and worthy people..."
    Finally, Josefa strained herself up, made the sign of the cross over her great bosom, and began to pad back down the aisle toward the church entrance.
    Jose moved with her retreating footsteps, wanting to make sure she'd left the church. A floorboard creaked, and he stopped, almost at the top of the stairs.
    Down below, the statue of Christ on the Cross had caught Josefa's eye. There was something different about it in the soft candle shine this morning. Reaching for her gold-rimmed glasses, she put them on her nose and stared at the statue. Both wonder and alarm passed over her face. She breathed out, "Mother of God. Oh, Mary, Mother of God."
    Mouth open, she backed across the nave until her heavy buttocks were squarely against the confessional booth, and there was no more room to move. She stayed against it, murmuring, "Oh, oh..."
    Jose heard the faint sounds and frowned down at the timbered floor, wondering what she was doing. Then he heard the front door burst open. Her yell of "
Milagro
" cut through the dawn like an axe.
    He stared down. "Miracle?" Had the old woman lost her mind? He stayed poised at the head of the steps a moment longer, then whispered to Sanchez, "Come on." He crossed the loft, grabbed his suitcase, and left the church, skirting around Josefa's sprawled body on the adobe stoop. Overcome,