Now it was their only hope.
The storm caught them before they arrived.
The snow obliterated the path. Canela slipped on the ice and almost fell down a slope. Abril lost a boot in a snowdrift, and when Lucía managed to pull her out, the girl’s lips were purple.
“I’m sleepy, Mom.”
Lucía felt real fear.
Mateo had told her that when someone started to fall asleep in the cold, she shouldn’t let them close their eyes.
“Tell me about your birthday,” he ordered as he lifted her onto the mule. “Tell me what kind of cake you want.”
« Chocolate. »
« With strawberries? »
« With lots. »
« Then you’ll have to stay awake to eat it. »
Tizón disappeared behind some rocks.
Lucía called after him, but the wind swallowed her voice.
A minute later, the dog started barking.
They found him digging beside a crack between two stone walls. At that spot, the snow was thinner. A wisp of steam rose from the ground.
Lucía put her hand into the opening.
The air inside wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t freezing either.
They went in.
The passage led to a small ravine protected by cliffs. At the bottom was a stone cavity, mostly dry. Lucía lit a fire near the entrance and watched the smoke.
The column rose, leaned toward a crack in the ceiling, and disappeared.
The cave breathed.
That night, as the storm ravaged the mountain paths, Abril slept by the fire, clutching the jar of sourdough starter to her chest.
Lucía didn’t sleep.
She listened to the wind, tended the flames, and thought of everything that could go wrong.
But at dawn, her daughter was still alive.
For the next two days, Lucía worked until her hands bled. She built a stone wall against the wind, fashioned a raised bed from branches, and used the broken shovel to dig a trench around the cave.
Canela carried stones. Abril gathered firewood. Tizón guarded the entrance.
Then they built an oven.
The first loaf of bread
