She wiped her face with her hem and nodded.
“His name is Chuy.” Max talked fast—about how Chuy buzzed his hair, his little sisters, the water hole, and their fútbol dreams. The memories flooded Max with something rich and sweet, like leche quemada. Then Max remembered what he’d said to Chuy, about being like a stray dog. He wished he could take back those words and hoped Chuy would forgive him. “See, you have Rosalina. But I never had a sister or a brother—someone with almost all the same memories. The closest I have is Chuy.”
“Then why doesn’t he know the secret?” she asked.
Max paused. Why hadn’t he told Chuy? He could trust him not to tell. Why had he wasted time being jealous and angry? “I will tell him when I get home. But I’ll tell you first.”
“Are you running away?” she asked. “Do you live with someone awful who scares you?”
“No! Papá is kind. And so is Buelo. They love me very much. So does Tío. And my aunties. They all love me.”
Isadora looked at him with her big, earnest eyes. “You’re lucky.”
Max felt a pang in his chest, for everything he had that Isadora didn’t. Suddenly, his problems felt small.
“What is the secret?” she asked.
Max hesitated. Should he tell her? Maybe it would make her feel better, knowing his mother was from Abismo, too, and that he had struggles, in spite of all the good things in his life.
“My mother was a hidden one.”
“Like me and Rosalina?”
Max nodded. “She left when I was a baby.” He lifted the compass. “This was hers. Her mother gave it to her.”
“So she would always know the way,” said Isadora.
Max smiled. “Maybe. She lost it and Papá found it after she left. He gave it to me. I want to talk to the guardabarrera to see if she knows how I can find my mother in Mañanaland …”
Once Max started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. He told Isadora the rest—about the papers his mother took and how she stole a piece of Papá’s spirit and that he wanted to know what was to become of him.
Isadora squeezed Max’s hand. “The guardabarrera will know how to find her.”
“Yes,” said Max. “I’m counting on that.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Max pretended to stay focused on the route, but inside he was jittery.
In this remote area, there were no footbridges, and the spans were all connected by roads, which meant trucks and cars could pass. He kept looking for the man in the green truck, trying hard not to let Isadora sense his anxiety.
When they stopped for a short break, he pulled out the map and studied it again, making sure they stayed away from the roads as much as possible. He glanced at Isadora, who was leaning against a tree, eyes closed, her tiny hands petting Churro. How far could she travel today before she was too tired to go on? Or before it grew dark? The weight of what he’d undertaken pressed in on him.
Isadora kept up, stoic and determined. By dusk, they had made it to the resting place marked on the map, beneath the canopy of a giant willow tree near the river.
They settled for their last night, Lola between them, as always. Thick low limbs splayed above them, and thin leafy branches dipped toward the ground like draperies, hiding them from the world.
Isadora examined the tear in her dress. “I could fix it, if I had better light.”
“You can sew?” Max exclaimed. She was so little.
She pulled the wooden box from her pocket and opened it. Inside were a pair of mending scissors, a few needles, thread, a handful of buttons, and a thimble. Her voice was soft. “Mami taught us. My seams aren’t as straight as Rosalina’s yet. But someday I’ll be a good seamstress. At night while we sewed, my papi worked on his carvings and told us stories. I always begged for one more story.”
“No wonder you like stories,” said Max.
“My mother made curtains at the factory and my father fixed the machines. They worked long hours. It was a sad place. Then after … me and Rosalina, we didn’t have any place to go.”
“You mean after your parents died?” asked Max.
“Yes.” At first, Isadora talked slowly, as if the words were steep mountains she had to climb. “The police said we could stay together if we cleaned house for a very important man. He promised to let us go to school. But he never did. I begged every day. He didn’t like that. One day he grabbed my hand to make me stop asking … and twisted it.” She winced. “It broke.”
Max’s stomach turned. Poor Isadora.
Her breathing quickened, and her words spewed. “Rosalina called the doctor. But he couldn’t put a cast on until it wasn’t swollen anymore. He made me a sling from a sweater and asked me how did it happen? The important man did not want me to talk. I told anyway. And he was very angry. He said I was lying.” Her eyes pleaded. “I wasn’t. I promise.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“I believe you,” said Max.
Isadora sat up and leaned forward. “The doctor whispered to us that the man wanted to marry Rosalina when she turned fourteen. That was only in a few weeks! Rosalina started to cry. The doctor said someone would come and help us soon.”
“Did someone come?” asked Max.
“Yes. The next day the cook came from the church and said the priests needed us to sew vestments because they heard we were good with the needle. He said I couldn’t sew, but the cook said I could do hoop work with one hand and it was very important church business. She took us to the house next to the chapel. But I never sewed anything. A guardian came that night to take Rosalina. I begged to go, too, but the doctor wouldn’t let me until he put a cast on my arm. For a month, I couldn’t do much except pick flowers from the garden and arrange them for the church. Every night I cried for Rosalina. But I didn’t make any noise. The cook said it was fine to cry but I had to do it silently so I wouldn’t be found.”
“Did the man ever come looking for you?”
“Two times he came and the cook told him to go away because there was still sewing to do. Then he came again and was very angry. He yelled that he was coming back to get us the next Saturday. He didn’t know Rosalina was already gone. The next night the doctor cut off my cast and took me to a safe place.”
“What was the cook going to say when the man returned?”
“That we disappeared.”
“You must have been so scared,” said Max.
“I wasn’t scared of leaving. I was scared of staying … and of the man.”
Isadora lay down and gazed into the branches. “This is a good tree. We hid in trees.”
Max thought back to the mural on the wall of the tower. “When you were running away?”
She nodded. “People searched for runaways in the forest. The guardian saw them coming so we climbed high in the branches and held on tight. We couldn’t make a sound. The searchers walked right underneath us. I tried not to look down. I didn’t even blink my eyes. After we were safe, though, I couldn’t stop shaking and crying.”
Max’s throat tightened and he choked out his words. “Isadora, you are the bravest person I know,”
The evening grew darker. Isadora yawned. “After the forest, Father Romero came for me.” She pulled the kitten closer. “I found Churro on the way to the beautiful tower. I wish I had scratched my name on the wall next to Rosalina’s. To show I made it that far.”
The leaves shushed above them. River water trickled. Far away, a nightingale sang.
“I will put your name there,” said Max. “I promise.”
Eyes closed, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Max stared into the night, unable to settle. What horrible fate would Isadora face if she was caught and taken back to Abismo? Worry squeezed him. Something fierce and expansive mushroomed inside him—something bigger than his search for his mother—like enormous protective wings, beating with the resolve to deliver Isadora to safety.
No matter what.
The Bridge of a Thousand Mallards was made from the palest
red stones.
Its three arches and their mirror images on the water created a chain of rose-colored globes. In the morning sun, it looked like a passage to a magical land.
The bridge was only about fifteen feet at the keystone, with a bench below the parapet and wide capstones. A deep, lazy channel stretched below it. There was no doubt how it received its name. Rafts of ducks paddled in the water and huddled on the grassy knolls surrounding the banks. Lola dashed back and forth to the river’s edge, whining and begging to retrieve. Max clipped her to the leash, but still the ducks erupted into the air, quacking and rasping.
They’d be safe once they crossed the bridge and hiked a little farther. But Max couldn’t relax. Earlier he’d thought he might have heard a motor, but then the sound disappeared. Had he just imagined it? His eyes dashed from one bank to the other.
He was relieved to finally spot the cove.
Max pointed upstream and across the channel to the far bank on river left. “Look, Isadora! That’s where we’re going.” The bank was overgrown and dense, so it would take a while to reach the inlet. Buelo had said it was only another hour to the secret bridge and the guardabarrera.
Max grabbed Isadora’s hand and they hurried to cross the cobbled deck. But when they reached the center, Lola growled and would not move.
Max looked around. He didn’t see or hear anything. “What is it, girl?”
Lola planted her legs and snarled. That’s when Max saw the green truck from yesterday slowly inching across the end of the bridge, blocking their way. The man parked and climbed from the cab, holding the rifle at his side.
Isadora clung to Max, who could barely contain Lola. She barked wildly and tried to charge.
“Better settle that dog!” called the man.
Max cried out, “Lola, sit!”
The man took a few steps toward them. “I checked with the police. She is one of the missing girls and there’s a hefty reward for her. Anybody heading to Caruso has to cross this bridge, and I knew the ducks would send up an alarm as soon as you set foot on it. Don’t think about running this time. I have someone waiting on the other side.” He nodded toward the end of the bridge.
Max spun around. A police officer stood at the deck’s entrance. Behind him, the bumper of his car showed through the thicket of trees and bushes.
“All we want is the girl,” called the man.
Isadora trembled. “No …”
Max’s body tensed. What could he do? Regret showered him. He should never have pretended he was Papá’s substitute. Father Romero had warned that their lives would be in danger. And yet, he had foolishly undertaken the journey anyway, for his own selfish reasons. How could he ever have thought himself capable of being responsible for another person’s life? How could he possibly hand her over?
Isadora whimpered. “Please don’t let him take me.”
Fear for Isadora gripped him. He managed to put an arm around her and call to the man. “Don’t come any closer. You’re scaring her. Let me … let me tell her goodbye.”
The man nodded. “Make it quick. Then send her over to the truck.”
Max knelt on one knee in front of Isadora so they were eye to eye.
He squeezed his hands into fists so they wouldn’t shake. “I’m sorry, Isadora. I didn’t want it to end like this. Please forgive me.”
Her chest heaved and tears rolled down her cheeks.
It was all Max could do not to cry, too. “I’ll figure something out. I will follow him. I will find you. I promise.” But even as he said it, Max knew that was impossible. The man had a truck, and Max was on foot.
“I d-don’t want to l-leave you,” she stammered.
Max looked at either end of the deck. He couldn’t see a way out.
A guardian had to be ready to improvise at a moment’s notice.
“No matter what,” he whispered. He grabbed her hand. “I have an idea. But you must be the bravest you’ve ever been. Give me Churro and your glasses and your sewing box. And take off the sling.”
Her lips quivered.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Sobbing and hiccupping, she did what he asked.
Max pulled the backpack to the front of his body. He tucked the glasses and the wooden box in the smaller pockets. He stuffed the sling in the bottom of the large pocket, and put the kitten on top. “Leave the bag here. There’s nothing in it we need.”
Isadora looked toward the man at one end of the deck and to the police officer at the other. She choked out her words. “Which … way … should … I go?”
“Neither,” whispered Max. “Just do as I say. We’re going to take a shortcut.”
Max unclipped Lola, ordered her to stay, and stuffed the leash into his pocket. He pulled Isadora up onto the stone bench and then to the capstones. “Don’t look down. Look at me. This is our chance. Do you understand?” He locked eyes with her.
She nodded and bit her lip so hard that blood pearled up.
When the men saw what Max and Isadora meant to do, they ran toward them, waving and yelling. But it was too late.
Max and Isadora jumped.
The plunge was cold and the water churned around them. Through bubbles, Max saw Isadora’s face, her cheeks puffing out as she held her breath. Her dress ballooned. He motioned for her to kick her legs, and they broke the surface at the same time, gasping.
Max opened the flap on the backpack and Churro sprang from it, clawing at Max’s neck and head. He grabbed the kitten by the nape and held him above the water.
The men tried to get close to their jumping-off point, but Lola barked and growled, keeping them back.
Max took a few strokes away from the bridge. “Lola, come!”
She leaped from the capstones. As she splashed into the river, every duck on the water lifted into the air. Lola paddled toward Max and Isadora.
Isadora bobbed lower, her eyes filled with fear. “Churro!” she screamed.
Max quickly pushed Churro toward Lola. The kitten swam frantically until Lola grasped him by the nape, like a mother cat.
Max yelled, “He’s safe. Isadora, kick your legs!”
She rose higher in the water and swam toward Max.
He grabbed her hand. Together they moved themselves through the river until Isadora could reach Lola’s collar. She hung on, with Max sidestroking next to her.
By the time the men reached the middle of the deck and leaned over the capstones, Lola was already ferrying the little brigade up the middle of the river, making fast time in the glassy water. Max knew they wouldn’t shoot. They couldn’t risk hitting Isadora. To claim the reward, they had to bring her back alive.
Max surveyed the land on the other side. Thankfully, there were no roads anywhere that he could see, and the bank was far too overgrown for any vehicle to pass. But when he glanced back, he spotted the men hiking down the bridge’s revetment toward the riverbank, on the same side of the river to which Max and Isadora were headed.
They slogged out of the water onto the narrow beach. The men were no longer in sight, but they couldn’t be far behind.
Isadora shook uncontrollably, her teeth chattering. Max put Churro in her arms and her eyeglasses on her face.
“You did it, Isadora! I’m so proud of you. But we need to keep going a little farther.” Max held her arm as they walked north, leading her through dense shrubbery to keep out of sight.
“Are they c-coming?” asked Isadora.
“We are a good distance ahead of them, but we have to walk as fast as we can until we reach the cove.”
Within the leafy bushes, Max could no longer see the shore. They pressed on but still couldn’t find the inlet. From the bridge, it had been easy to spot, but now Max was disoriented. Had they gone too far and missed it?
“Isadora, stop. We need to find the river. Listen for the trickling.”
Isadora’s eyes filled with anxiety. “Are we lost?”
Lola whined and Max shushed her.
“I just n
eed to get my bearings. We need to go north. That I know for sure.” Max slipped the compass from his neck. He placed it in the palm of his hand until the needle swept toward the N.
“Okay, follow me. It can’t be much farther.” He hoped he was right. What if he’d gone too far and missed the cove entirely? If he didn’t find it today, they’d have to hide, then try to double back tomorrow. Max could see Isadora was tired but he had to keep them moving.
When she slowed, he took her hand and gently pulled her forward. “We can’t give up now, Isadora. Come on … you can do it.”
Lola suddenly bounded forward into the bushes and disappeared.
“Lola!” Max called, groaning. He called her again. When she didn’t return, he pushed aside the thick foliage and found himself on a narrow beach where the shore curved. The cove!
They caught up to Lola and saw what looked like a dead end. But at the back of the curve, vines and willows arched across the water, creating a thick veil. Max shoved aside branches to find the unmistakable stonework of the secret bridge.
He inched toward the center, separating the tangle until he found an opening. They ducked into the bridge’s shadowy underbelly and followed a narrow stone walkway that hugged the tunnel wall. If you weren’t searching for this, you would never find it, thought Max.
They came to a wooden door with a black iron knocker—a peregrine with a ring in its talons.
Max lifted the ring and rapped the plate four times.
“I hear footsteps,” Isadora whispered.
Someone called out, “Who stands before me?”
Max tried to slow his breathing. “A pilgrim, true of heart.”
The door popped open.
A woman much taller than Papá or Buelo faced them. She was broad shouldered with rosy cheeks and a wide smile. Her long silver hair was tied in a tail that draped over her shoulder. She wore a plaid blouse and a printed apron over a skirt that came to the tops of her large, incompatible boots, one blue, and the other yellow. If people were to see her imposing figure lumbering along the banks at night, Max understood why they might think she was a troll. Or a river witch.
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