Read Online The Captive Heart by Dale Cramer - Free Book Online Page B

Domingo rode with them for protection, and Caleb took Miriam and Micah along to sell the produce.
    â€œShame we have to go so far to market,” John said as the farm wagon trundled through the low country in midday. “A day there, a day back, and a day in the market—three days is a long time to leave the wife and children alone.”
    Caleb nodded. “They told us there would be a new rail line from Arteaga to Paradise Valley pretty soon. I still don’t see any sign of it, though. Things don’t move too quick in Mexico.”

    After traveling all day they camped outside Arteaga for the night, and early the next morning drove on to Saltillo. Stacking produce on a makeshift plank table in the market, Miriam couldn’t help noticing the worry in her father’s eyes when he insisted that Micah stay with her while the men went on to the foundry with the wagon.
    The market street was crowded as usual. Señora Teresa Tomasina was there, and she remembered Miriam from previous visits. It seemed the toothless old woman was always in the market selling something when Miriam came there.
    Again, as she always did, the old woman warned her about the niños. Miriam smiled and nodded respectfully, then explained to Micah about the pickpocket children roaming the streets. She was an old hand by now and had learned to hide her money where little hands could not reach it.
    Micah’s lip curled into a sneer. “Thieves. I’m starting to think Mexicans are born knowing how to steal. Let them try.”
    â€œThey’re just children,” she said. “This country has been at war for a long time. Many of these children have no father to teach them or provide for them. They do whatever they can to survive.”
    â€œWell, stealing is not the way. Someone should tell them you can go to hell for it.”
    â€œPerhaps someone should teach them a better way.”
    He eyed her cautiously. “Is that what your school is about? You’re going to teach these little thieves a better way?”
    â€œStealing is what they do—it’s not who they are.”
    He knifed a hand on the table for emphasis and said, “If you steal, you’re a thief. That’s who you are. And I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for Amish children to be in school all day with thieves.”
    She pondered this for a second and answered calmly, “I was thinking mebbe it would be good for thieves to be in school all day with Amish children. And an Amish teacher.”
    â€œJah, that might be, but it might be that you think too much about the children of the World and not enough about the ones in your own family.”
    She could see from the look in his eyes that his mind was made up about the pickpocket niños, so she let it drop. Micah had not lived in Mexico long enough to really know the people. Perhaps in time he would understand.
    They sold most of their produce during the day. By late afternoon the crowd had thinned and Micah and Miriam had nothing to do. They leaned on their elbows on their rough plank table, getting drowsier by the minute in the summer sun. Señora Teresa Tomasina sat back in a rickety chair by her produce stand, her head thrown back under a floppy shapeless gardening hat, cooling her brown leather neck with a paper fan. The streets of Saltillo were much warmer than the high plateau of Paradise Valley.
    There was a commotion on the far end of the street, and Miriam looked up. She heard wailing and shouting, saw people running. The uproar swelled and spread, rolling toward her like a wave. A young Mexican woman in a long painted skirt ran down the middle of the street, arms waving over her head, black hair flying, screaming something as she ran. Across the street a man stepped out from behind a cart of oranges and suddenly fell to his knees, knocking his sombrero to the ground as he grabbed his head in anguish. Everywhere, people ran this way and that,