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Anita wails, “I should have had the old thing fixed. It’s all my fault. Now I will never forgive myself!”
    Mama cries harder and I hug her waist, trying to comfort her. “Hail Mary, Mother of God,” she says over and over.
    â€œOld woman!” shouts Don Juan, “I found him on a small ledge. He is very muddy and I cannot tell if he is hurt. Now, hold tight, for I am coming up with him.”
    â€œThanks to the Lord!” Anita crosses herself. The rope seems to strain under their weight. Anita holds as tight as she can. Her bad eye is flicking at such a fast pace that my eyes start to flick too.
    Suddenly, she lets go of the rope and jumps into the truck which she quickly cranks up. The truck moves into reverse as it slowly pulls them up.
    The top of Don Juan’s head appears first. He is very red in the face and seems to gasp for breath, but he manages to throw the flashlight out. He has Pablito tucked inside his shirt with his belt securely knotted around the baby’s waist. Pablito has fainted and is as pale as Anita’s powders.
    Mama runs to help him. I gasp as I watch her stretch herself out over the well in order to take Pablito.
    â€œNo!” commands Don Juan. “Take the rope and pull us in.”
    Mama pulls at the end of the rope and Don Juan, in one great lunge, lands with his feet on the ground, then falls onto his back. He sits up and unties the baby, then hands him to Mama, who rushes him inside the house. Anita hurries after her.
    Don Juan sits with his legs crossed upon the ground. He rubs the sweat off his forehead. I rush to hug him. “Thank you, Don Juan. You saved my little brother.”
    â€œI would have given my life for that boy.”
    I kiss him on the cheek and he turns very red. I help him to his feet and watch as he slowly puts his hat upon his head. Then, he glances up and his eyes open wide.
    â€œOh, no!” he gasps. “What have I done to Anita’s little garden? She will never forgive me.”
    I take his hand and kiss his palm. “Yes, she will forgive you, because you saved Pablito.”
    He smiles down at me. “Maybe you’re right, child. I hope so, or she will never cook for me again,” he says, shaking the dirt from his white pants.
    That night Anita fixes a special treat in celebration of Mama’s return and Pablito’s rescue. I lick my lips, watching her as she fries tortillas and coats them heavily with sugar.
    My days at the ranchito are simple. I do the same chores day after day and each night I fall into bed exhausted from the toil. Pablito follows me, adding to my misery. If I am feeding the chickens, he is chasing them away. If I am watering the garden, he knocks the water bucket over, and if I am picking tomatoes, he picks the ones that are not ripe. I yell at him, but he does not mind me.
    Anita and I sweat beneath our clothes, but we talk as we hoe the garden or cook our simple meals. We have become close friends as she teaches me aboutherbs and healing and her strong faith. I have seen her heal snake bites, bee stings, even broken legs on a dog that wandered into the ranchito. She is indeed a healer.
    Mama announces one weekend that she has found a place for us to live in town. As she describes the room with its own tiny bathroom, tears come to Anita’s eyes. I will miss Anita greatly, but for me the work at the ranchito never ends. I see few rewards in working myself so hard.
    â€œAnita,” I suggest, “why don’t you sell this place and come with us to town?”
    She dries her tears on the corner of her apron. “This is my home. It has been in my family for years and I cannot sell it. My father would turn in his grave at the thought.”
    â€œBut Anita, what will become of the place once you are gone?”
    â€œI will worry about that later. Besides, what would I do all day in town? Gossip here and gossip there? Where will I find my herbs? No, I cannot