The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster by Mary Downing Hahn Page B

were they bulls? Finally under a tall tree I saw a small stone stable, far enough from the road to make me feel sure Orlando wouldn't find us there.
    We climbed over a wall and crept through the damp grass. Ahead I could see more sleeping cattle, but we edged past without disturbing them and slipped into the stable.
    Although its door was gone, it had a roof, and in one corner I saw a pile of burlap sacks. Ignoring their old barnyard odor, we made a nest of them and snuggled down, warmer than we had been before.
    "I hope Phillip doesn't freeze up there," Amy whispered after a while.
    "The rocks will shelter him," I said. "And the bushes."
    Amy was silent, but when I was almost asleep, she turned toward me and asked, "Do you really hope our parents divorce each other?"
    I frowned into the darkness. Much as I hated to admit it, my mother loved Don. She'd been so happy when he asked her to marry him. Uncomfortably, I remembered her telling me I was going to have a real family now, a father, a brother, and a sister. But all I'd wanted was Mom. And my own true father, the one who'd gone away when I was three and married someone else. The one who didn't want me anymore.
    "Well?" Amy asked when I didn't answer her question.
    "What about you?" I stared into the darkness, trying to see her face. I wanted her to answer first, not me. "If they stay together, are you going to live with your mother?"
    Amy shook her head. "I'd never leave my father," she said. "Not even if my mother wanted me to."
    Amy's voice shook a little, and, after a pause, she added, "My father is the one I love, not my mother. After what she did to Daddy, how could I ever trust her?"
    "But your father lives with
my
mother, and that includes me because I'm certainly not going to leave." Like Amy, I hesitated before I added, "My father doesn't need me. He has a new wife and a new baby now. What would he want with me? I'm just his old kid."
    "So I'm stuck with you, is that what you're saying?" Amy asked me.
    "And I'm stuck with you and Phillip."
    There was a little silence. I guess, like me, Amy was thinking about the implications of what we'd just confessed. Then her burlap sacks rustled as she propped herself up to see me better.
    Staring directly at me, she asked, "Do you hate my father?"
    I thought about Don. He was quiet and shy, kind of like Phillip. Not handsome like my real father, not rich, but not really boring. And Mom was happier now that he was around, I couldn't deny that. Maybe by the time we got back home—if we ever did—I'd be used to sharing Mom with him. I sighed and rearranged my burlap sacks.
    "No," I said to Amy, "I don't hate your dad. He's okay most of the time, I guess."
    I paused and looked at her. "How about you? Do you hate my mother?"
    Amy shook her head. "Actually I kind of like
her,
" she said. "Even if she can't cook."
    "It's just
me
you don't like." I was sitting up now, ready to get mad again if I had to.
    "Well, you don't like me," she said. "Or Phillip. So why should I like you?"
    It was a good question but one I didn't want to answer at the moment. In the first place, I'd changed my mind about Phillip. He wasn't so bad after all. And, in the second place, I was even beginning to relent a little about Amy, but she obviously disliked me, so why give myself away? To use her own words, I was a showoff, know-it-all idiot.
    Snuggling up in my burlap sacks, I said, "We better get some sleep."
    I closed my eyes and waited for Amy to say something
else, but all I heard from her was a sigh. As I lay there, trying to ignore the musty reek of the burlap, I realized I was hoping Amy would come up with some excuse for liking me anyway.
    For a few minutes, I thought about telling her I was willing to be friends, but by the time I got the words together it was too late. Amy was sound asleep.

16
    When I woke up, it was barely light. For a moment I was so confused I thought I was still in the cave. Amy was shaking me, her hair tickling my