One day, when her daughter was older, Alba would tell her stories about witches and curses, for her own protection. The world, after all, was rife with dangers and traps. To explore it was to venture down a path paved with knives. Yet, as the river demonstrated, there were also chances for beauty and quiet. She brushed her hand up the tree’s trunk, feeling the texture of the bark. “Bless me, Tadeo,” she said, for under the shadow of the tree her brother had perished. Two deaths there, side by side, but the spot where his body had fallen was dotted with yellow wildflowers and the land there had
...more
