Bartolomé by Rachel vanKooij

teach Bartolomé. That was all that mattered.
    As Don Cristobal closed the gate behind Joaquín, he decided he would wait until the first lesson before asking the abbot for permission.

The Secret Plan
    â€˜WE have to do it!’
    Bartolomé had never seen his brother so determined. As confident as his father, bossy even, Joaquín was speaking to Isabel.
    â€˜We can’t tell him. Not yet anyway. He would forbid it,’ Joaquín insisted.
    Bartolomé looked at his mother. Would she agree to keep the secret from his father?
    Isabel felt she was being steamrolled into it. Joaquín, Ana and Bartolomé were all lined up in front of her. She tried to withstand the pleading looks of her children. She couldn’t allow such a thing. Juan was her husband. She must not keep anything from him.
    â€˜Mama.’ Ana came right up to Isabel. ‘Mama, if Bartolomé can read and write, then he has a future.’
    â€˜He can earn his own money that way,’ Joaquín added.
    â€˜Then maybe Papa will be proud of me,’ Bartolomé whispered.
    Isabel had to look into his great, dark eyes. She could sense his longing. It would be wonderful if Bartolomé learnt a profession.
    But Juan would be terribly angry at the deception. No, she could not allow it.
    â€˜Nobody must see him. Your father has forbidden it,’ she said quietly.
    â€˜I know,’ said Joaquín. ‘That’s why I am going to transport him in the laundry basket. Ana will come too and people will think I am helping her with the washing.’
    â€˜We’ve had a trial run. Bartolomé fits, and Joaquín is strong enough to lift up the basket and to carry it. We’ll show you!’
    Ana’s face glowed with enthusiasm. Without waiting for an answer, she led her dwarf brother to the basket and heaved him in. Bartolomé made himself as small as possible. His black mop of hair disappeared beneath the rim of the basket. Ana put a few bits of washing on top of him.
    â€˜While Bartolomé is studying, I’ll wash a few clothes, and everyone will see us coming home with the wet laundry. Nobody will have a clue what is going on,’ Ana assured her mother. ‘There will be no questions asked.’
    Joaquín knelt in front of the laundry basket, slipped his arms into the straps and stood up, wobbling. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead as he walked up and down the room taking little steps.
    â€˜How far is it to the monastery?’ Isabel asked in spite of herself.
    â€˜Not far,’ gasped Joaquín. ‘I can do it.’
    Isabel hesitated. She had never seen her children so set on anything, and if they carried Bartolomé through the streets like this, they would not be breaking Juan’s edict.
    No, that’s not right , thought Isabel. The monk would see Bartolomé. But did a monk count anyway? Was he not pledged to silence? This thought eased Isabel’s conscience.
    â€˜Mama?’ Bartolomé stuck his head over the edge of the basket, like a cuckoo breaking out of the egg. Isabel couldn’t help but laugh.
    â€˜Can I?’ asked Bartolomé.
    Isabel nodded. She couldn’t help herself. Bartolomé’s joy was so great that he would have leapt out of the basket and jumped right into his mother’s arms, if only he had been capable of it.
    HIS knees wobbling from the effort, Joaquín reached the monastery gate. Nobody in the busy streets had taken any notice of them. Nobody could have guessed that the two excited children were hiding a secret in their laundry basket.
    Joaquín knocked at the gate, which Don Cristobal immediately opened. He had been waiting for them.
    â€˜Where is he?’ he asked in surprise when he could see no crippled dwarf.
    â€˜In the basket,’ answered Joaquín, stumbling into the monastery.
    Ana followed him.
    â€˜In the basket?’ Don Cristobal frowned. ‘Does your father not know about this?’
    Ana