The Sisterhood by Helen Bryan Page A

librarian gave me an old book nobody wanted and I found it in there. It was privately printed back in 1900 and had someportraits by an artist called Tristan Mendoza, painted in Spain in the sixteenth century. The portraits are all women, dressed up to the eyeballs, no low necks or anything, like in those English portraits of royal mistresses that have their bosoms practically in your face. These ladies have rosaries and prayer books, but then while you’re looking at them, they start to look different—well, sort of hot and come-hither like the bosomy ones. Pornographic; it’s hard to explain. None of my teachers had heard of Tristan Mendoza but they saw what I meant, and said the Spanish court was pretty straitlaced at the time—the Christians had just defeated the Moors and the Moors were puritanical in some ways so the Christians had to out-puritan them to prove they were superior. But you want to hear the most interesting thing?”
    “I’m all ears.” Becky sighed.
    “I got the magnifying glass to take a closer look at the reproductions, and under Tristan Mendoza’s signature he drew a bird! A little swallow exactly the same as the swallow on my medal!”
    “Why?”
    “That’s what I wondered, and from the research I’ve done nobody else seems to know. So—original thesis subject Tristan Mendoza and the swallow. If the swallow meant something to Tristan Mendoza, maybe it meant something to my birth parents. I just have to find out. My dad says they must have been Catholics, and believed it had miraculous powers or something.” Menina’s eyes filled with tears like they always did when she thought about her birth family hoping the medal would save her life. She tried not to think how much she wished they could know the wonderful man she was marrying or see her in her wedding dress. She rubbed them away hastily. “And get this, the Prado is the only museum with any of Tristan Mendoza’s work, so I actually have to go to the Prado! The scholarship even pays for it. I’m thinking I should take the old book the nuns gave me to the Prado. It’s pretty old and justsitting in a drawer in my room. They must have an old manuscript department, or if they don’t they’ll know who does.”
    “Madrid!” Becky reached over and they high-fived. “Fabulous! I hope you find out what you want to know. Now, it’s getting dark, I better go; a guy’s supposed to call me about a project that I hope will get me a summer internship at the
New York Times
.”
    “Oh Becky! I talk too much! Tell me!”
    “OK, remember that local guy, Junior, kind of dumb kid who dropped out of high school, used to work at the gas station and then got the death penalty for killing a couple? Well he’s on death row trying to win an appeal or get a retrial—you know, he had a fuckwit public defender, evidence full of holes, et cetera, miscarriage of justice, and his new lawyer’s keen to get some publicity but till now Junior won’t talk to anybody. But I got in touch with his lawyer and Junior remembered me from when I used to fill up Mama’s car and said since I was the only girl not too snooty to talk to him then he’ll talk to me now. His lawyer’s supposed to call and give me a date to come to the penitentiary.”
    “I bet you haven’t told your mother you’re going to the penitentiary!”
    “Er, no. I’ll surprise her. Gotta hop.”
    They hugged. “
Hasta la vista
, Child of Light,” called Becky as she disappeared over the fence.
    “Becky hasn’t changed,” muttered Sarah-Lynn darkly, closing the door. “What possessed her to stick that thing in her nose? Please tell me she’ll take it out for the wedding. What color dress does she want, the blue or the lavender?”
    “Oh, sorry, Mama, forgot to ask her! We got carried away talking about other stuff. I was telling her about my thesis and—”
    “That thesis again! Honey, it’ll have to wait; there’s a little matter of your wedding dress fitting and we’ve got