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me. We can ride the roofless sightseeing buses and see the jellyfish at the aquarium.”
    â€œYou’ve been reading your guidebook.” Gabriella laughed. “I visited La Seu many times on school trips; we always complained how long it took to reach the cathedral, but when we arrived the mosaics were spectacular. I’d love to come but it’s my day off and I have to run some errands.”
    â€œOf course.” Juliet’s cheeks turned red and she felt suddenly foolish. “Perhaps another time.”
    â€œYou can come with me,” Gabriella blurted out. “I’m delivering vegetables from our garden to my grandmother’s hacienda in Fornalutx. She always insists I stay and eat pumpkin soup and potato empanadas. It’s a long walk but the air is crisp and you can see the whole coastline.”
    â€œI thought your grandparents were dead.” Juliet frowned.
    â€œLydia is my father’s mother.” Gabriella grinned, picking up her basket. “She’ll ask you a million questions but she bottles her own wine and makes pistachio ice cream.”
    *   *   *
    They took the tram to Sóller and hiked a steep path flanked by pine trees. They passed sheep grazing and women selling baskets of lemons. Juliet looked up and saw a village perched at the foot of the mountain. It had cobblestoned streets and narrow houses with lacquered window boxes.
    â€œIt’s gorgeous,” Juliet breathed, gazing at the lush palm trees. She saw cafés with striped awnings and an outdoor market selling bottles of olive oil. She turned around and saw the wide sweep of bay and emerald ocean.
    â€œFornalutx was named the most picturesque village in Spain and now it’s full of tourists with Nikon cameras,” Gabriella explained. “Lydia has lived here for fifty years, since it was nothing but orange groves and olive trees. She grumbles that she can’t leave her house without someone asking directions, but she loves the mountain air and the night sky filled with stars.”
    They climbed a winding alley and Juliet saw a three-story house with a slanted roof.
    â€œDoes your grandmother live alone?” Juliet asked, admiring the double wood front doors.
    â€œShe owned a farm but it was too difficult to take care of so my father convinced her to sell it and move to the village.” Gabriella knocked on the door. “He wanted her to move to Puerto de Sóller but she said she belongs in the mountains. She’s sixty-nine and still hikes two miles every day and collects her own eggs.”
    The door opened and a woman with silvery hair stood in the foyer. She had green eyes and smooth cheekbones. She wore a white cotton shirt and slacks and white loafers.
    â€œGabriella!” she exclaimed, ushering them into the entry.
    â€œThis is my friend Juliet,” Gabriella said in English. “We hiked from Sóller and I promised her a plate of potato empanadas.”
    â€œIt’s too hot to eat anything except bread and cheeses,” Lydia replied. “I set the table outside, we’ll have a green salad and a bottle of sangria.”
    Juliet gazed around the room and saw a tile floor and wooden bookshelves. There was a red sofa and stone fireplace. Oak tables were covered with picture frames and vases of yellow sunflowers.
    â€œWhat a beautiful house,” Juliet said, admiring the plaster walls and geometric rug.
    â€œI miss the farm, the goats and sheep made better conversation than some of the shopkeepers.” Lydia led them into the garden. “But I love being able to walk to the patisserie and buy a frothy cappuccino. Majorcans make the best paella but terrible coffee.”
    â€œYou speak wonderful English,” Juliet commented, sitting at the round table. A wooden bowl was filled with spinach leaves and heirloom tomatoes. Juliet saw a loaf of bread and a platter of cheeses.
    â€œWhen I was young I had the