After Papa told us the news, we all went to the señora’s house to see the plans and talk to her. She was so excited, she was hurrying around, barely leaning on her cane. Her face was so bright and happy, she almost looked like a little girl instead of an old lady. She couldn’t wait to show us everything.
There was plenty of hammering and thumping going on in the rooms as beds were moved out and new ones moved in, shelves were built, and new sinks were added to bathrooms. I couldn’t believe the noise! Lucero covered her ears.
“The bedrooms on the top two floors are being turned into dormitories,” she explained, “some for girls and some for boys. We can take up to 18 children.”
“We have fifteen who have been coming to classes,” said Mama. “And maybe a few more who will want to come if they learn about this.”
I wondered what we would do if too many children tried to get in? How could we ever help enough of them?
“Mama,” I whispered, “we will still feed the other children at the bakery, even though we’re here? Even the ones not taking classes?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, smiling down at me. “We will not abandon them.”
We went to look at our new apartment, too. It was bright with sunlight and had two big bedrooms. Mama had moved some of our things over, making it feel a bit like home; but there was already plenty of nice furniture and dishes there, and pretty curtains at the windows. It had been cleaned and smelled of the fresh flowers on the kitchen table.
“Look, Lucero, there is lots of room for all our things in this room!” I cried. We bounced on the soft mattresses and opened the drawers of our pale wooden dressers. Mama had hung mi abuela Rosa’s crucifix on the wall over my bed. All my life, I remembered it hanging in her room—now it was in mine. It made me feel like a part of her was moving with us into this new adventure.