The Butterfly’s Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Luz said, alarmed by her urgency. “Tell me what’s going on. Why must we go now? What’s the hurry?”
    Abuela adjusted her seat and her eyes appeared troubled. “I have my reasons, Luz,” she said, turning her head and lifting her chin in a gesture of hurt pride. “I am not some old woman losing my mind.”
    Luz reached out to lay her hand over Abuela’s. It was small but firm, her fingers bent from a lifetime of labor. When she was young, Esperanza had raised two children alone on a farm in rural Mexico while her husband toiled in the United States. Years later she traveled alone to Milwaukee and worked as a cook in a restaurant to provide a home for her granddaughter. These strong, beautiful hands had created the only home Luz had ever known.
    â€œI know that, Abuelita,” Luz said, her heart pumping with love as she bent to kiss her knuckles.
    Abuela’s face relaxed into a smile and she turned her wrist to hold Luz’s hands. “ Mi preciosa, it will be a good thing for us to take this journey together. It will give us time to talk. I thought long about this. First, we will go to San Antonio. But then, together, we will go to Mexico. It is time for you to learn where you are from.”
    Luz pulled away and folded her hands under her arms. “I’m not from Mexico. I was born here, in Milwaukee. I’m American.”
    â€œMexico is where your family is from. And . . .” Abuela took a breath. “You must meet your family,” she said firmly.
    â€œFamily? There’s always been only you and me.”
    â€œWhy do you say that? There is Tía Maria and her children—your cousins—in San Antonio. And your tío Manolo in Mexico. And others . . .”
    â€œI don’t even know them.” Luz frowned and stared at the murky coffee in her cup. How could Abuela expect her to care about relatives she’d never met or who never cared enough to come visit?
    Abuela had two children by her first marriage. Her elder daughter, Maria, lived in San Antonio with her two children, cousins who never wrote or called. Abuela’s only son, Manolo, had returned to Mexico to take over the family store. They were all strangers to her. Luz wouldn’t recognize them if she passed them in the street.
    â€œBesides, what would we talk about? I can barely even speak Spanish.”
    â€œ Sí, I know,” Abuela said with a sorry shake of her head. “This is my fault. You do not want me to talk to you in Spanish. Only English.” She sighed. “You can be so stubborn.”
    â€œIt’s no one’s fault, Abuela,” she said, looking away. “I just don’t see the point. I don’t speak German either. Or know my father’s family.”
    â€œ Him. ” Abuela’s lip curled. “He is nothing to us. We do not even know his family name. I will never forgive him for abandoning your mother.”
    Luz’s voice was soft. “Maybe he didn’t abandon her . Maybe he just didn’t want me .”
    â€œAh, no, querida ! Who wouldn’t want you? You are the only thing that is good from that union.”
    Luz looked at her short, unkempt nails, feeling unsure.
    â€œYour family— tu familia —comes through your mother. Through me, ” she said in a tremulous voice, bringing her clenched fist to her heart. “ Mi niña, have I taught you nothing? Have I given you nothing? ¡Mira! Look around you. These colors, the food you eat, and the music you hear—all these things are Mexican. Thestories I tell you are so you know who I am. And who you are.” She bent her head and said more softly, “And who your mother is.” She looked up, renewed conviction ringing in her voice. “Mexico is in your blood. You should be proud of your heritage.”
    Luz glanced under lowered lids at Abuela sitting across the heavy wood table, idly fingering the thick braid that fell like a