When the Wind Blows Read Free

one of the many things that Edna Amber would not admit.
    “We’re here,” Bill said. Christie, seeming to come out of her daze, gazed up at him.
    “Where?” she asked.
    “At the Ambers’. They’re going to take care of you.”
    “You mean they’re going to adopt me?” Christie asked.
    “Well, I don’t know.” Bill wondered how to explain to the little girl that it was not at all certain how long she was going to be staying with the Ambers, and that almost surely she was not going to be adopted by them.
    Christie fidgeted, her fingers twisting at the hem of her dress. She could only vaguely remember her father introducing her to the Ambers. Then she thought of the statue in the square.
    “Isn’t Mr. Amber the man in the park?”
    “That’s right. But the ones you’re going to stay with are his wife and his daughter.”
    Christie tried to make sense out of it all, but too much had happened. All she knew was that her father was dead and that she was going to live with strangers. She began to cry.
    As Bill looked helplessly on, Esperanza gathered the child into her arms and cradled her against her ample bosom.
    “Pobrecita,” she murmured. “Is all right, baby.” She looked up at Bill Henry. “I tell them,” she said suddenly. “I tell them, but they don’t listen to me.”
    “Told them what?” Bill asked. He glanced at Esperanza, but the woman was staring into the distance, toward the mine.
    “The children,” Esperanza said. “I tell them not to bother the children, but they don’t listen. See what happened.”
    Dimly, Bill remembered a story he’d heard when he was a boy. He looked across Christie, then reached out to touch Esperanza. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What children?”
    She jerked away from his fingers as if she’d been burned. “The lost children,” Esperanza replied, her voice low. “You can hear them when the wind blows. When the wind blows, they cry. And it was blowing today.”
    It didn’t make any sense to Bill. So what if the wind had been blowing? In this part of the country it wasn’t that unusual. On many days the wind came sweeping down out of the mountains, whispering among the aspens and caressing the tall grasses that grew on the floor of the valley.
    “I don’t understand, Esperanza,” he said. “What children are you talking about?”
    Esperanza looked at him pityingly. “The ones who are waiting,” she said. “The ones who are waiting to be born again.” Then she opened the car door and got out. Christie, who seemed not to have heard the conversation, slid reluctantly out after her.
    She looked up at the house and wished she could go somewhere else. It was too big, and too frightening. She slipped her hand into Esperanza’a. As though she had read her thoughts, Esperanza leaned down to whisper in Christie’s ear.
    “Is all right, little one. I will look out for you. You see? Up there?” She pointed off into the distance, where Christie could just make out the shape of a cabin crouching on the side of the mountain. “I live there. You need me, you come up there. Okay?”
    Christie nodded, then let go of Esperanza’s hand and followed Bill as he led her up the steps toward the front door of the Amber house.
    Diana Amber opened the door and, seeing who was there, immediately dropped to her knees. She took Christie in her arms and hugged her close.
    At fifty, Diana wore the remnants of her prettiness well. Her blue eyes were soft, and there was a sadness in them that touched nearly everyone who had ever met her. As she gazed at Christie Lyons she smiled gently. Looking on, Bill realized that, in a way, Diana reminded him of a rabbit—warm and soft, easily startled. She held Christie for a moment, then stood up and led the little girl into the house. Bill Henry and Esperanza Rodriguez followed.
    Diana took them to the parlor, where Edna Amber sat working on a piece of needlepoint. Unlike her daughter, Edna had bright hard eyes that