undying love. A lot of young women succumbed to the onslaught, fell in love, capitulated, and delegated the fulfillment of their own dreams to their daughters.
However, it was Soleáâs father, Pedro Abad, who had most encouraged her to fly the nest.
âStudy. Train. Get out into the world.â
He knew from the start that his daughter had itchy feet and had set her sights high. He walked her to school every day, then to the Faculty of Philosophy and Arts, and then he accompanied her to Madrid, for her MA in journalism. They looked for a nice place for her to live, in an old neighborhood with steep narrow streets. They rented a tiny flat, filled it with geraniums, assured themselves that it was a respectable area, and parted with floods of tears.
When Soleá got her first job as staff writer for an arts magazine, Pedro Abad went back to Granada and told everyone. Grandmothers fanned and crossed themselves, but that night, by way of a celebration, the youngest women in El AlbaicÃn doubled the ingredients in their stews.
They never openly admitted it, but Soleáâs success was the success of all the Heredias and the Montoyas, and the Amayas and the Cortéses; it was shared by their daughters and granddaughters. This was perfectly clear to Soleá when she saw the hope shining in their eyes every time she went home. Which is why the prospect of losing her job filled her with such dread. She wasnât worried for herself, because she was young and clever and would surely find another job before long, but she felt bad for those girls who would be angry and hurt. Because, as Soleá was only too aware, drama was a permanent resident of El AlbaicÃn. Joys and sorrows were shouted to the four winds. There were no secrets there. They were carried far and wide.
â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢
â Mamá , Iâve got to tell you a big secret.â
Manuela was in the courtyard of her house in Granada when her phone rang that May Sunday. Soleáâs father was a payo , meaning he wasnât a Gypsy, but the Gypsies thought he was all right. He had been born in Granada and worked his whole life in the fruit business, and made a reasonable living from selling oranges. He had inherited the business and his parentsâ house, and had fallen in love with Manuela when he was a boy, playing chase with her and her cousins through the streets and squares.
âOh, my Soleá!â Manuela replied, covering her face with her hands. âYouâre not pregnant, are you?â
Soleá really hated getting her mother and grandmother involved in Librarte âs business. She had always preferred to keep them at a distance from the life she led in Madrid, from her investigative articles and her desire to write a serious novel one day. However, circumstances had changed, and she knew that ifshe wanted to keep her job, at least for a few months until Berta found a more permanent solution, she had no choice but to tell the two most important women in her life about the idea sheâd been pondering for years.
âDo you remember Granny Remediosâs old chest?â
âThe one where she keeps your grandfatherâs things?â
âThatâs the one.â
âOf course.â
âWell, weâre going to have to open it, Mamá . Itâs a matter of life or death.â
â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢
Wearing her short floral skirt, her close-fitting shirt, and her high-heeled espadrilles, Soleá looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She took a deep breath and crossed herself. She ran out of the house. The others were waiting for her at the office on Calle Mayor, all shaking with fear.
âDid you speak to your mother?â Berta asked as soon as she opened the door.
âSheâs with us,â Soleá replied. âSheâs going to help us.â
Relief spread like wildfire through the other women. The plan was in action. All they had
William Manchester, Paul Reid