Ave María

In the half dark of twilight, Ana crept up the moonlit garden path of the Santa María Manuela Catholic Girls School.

She hid in the shadows, her dark hair an extension of the night while her deep brown eyes were bright and wide with fear. There was no turning back now, she had to find what was taken from them, no matter what the church thought of her family.

She snaked all the way to a broad arched window, adorned with delicate stained glass at the pinnacle and a loose latch at the base. She looked at the rusted frame, the uncertainty just beyond. She took one steadying breath and gently pushed the casement window in. Now, open just enough for her to hoist her slight frame into the ornate chapel, she slipped in.

Just a few steps now and she could reclaim her mamá’s book. The nuns here had taken it, so long ago.

Before.

Ana took one cautious step, then another. She reached behind the dais, it was here, she saw it just a few days ago. Suddenly, she heard the shuffle of alarm, and a frail voice shouted,

“¡Alto, ladrón! ¡Agárrenlo!”

Ana felt her prize, she ran.