Angel in the Rose Garden

By Ivania Pérez Cirigo

Virginia, a young girl living in a remote rural town in Nicaragua, experiences friendship and loss for the first time. She makes a friend in Angelina, a mysterious girl she meets at school, whom she grows to love rather quickly. But life in El Pochote, Nicaragua, is tough! Having to do without (electricity, running water, and food) are commonplace for most. Virginia’s family is fortunate to own land (a farm) and to work and live off the land. But not everyone is as fortunate, including her new friend Angelina.

The cover of this work was painted by the artist:

Olena K. @elenakalashnik

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662456732

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mamá combed my wet hair back into my usual high ponytail as I sat at the kitchen table eating gallo pinto (a mix of rice and beans), a piece of queso blanco (a white stinky cheese I loved), and a day-old corn tortilla. I wore the required uniform: a white button-up collared shirt and a long navy skirt. And on my feet, I wore my yellow jelly sandals with white socks.

My older sister Rebeca was late for breakfast. She tended to linger as she struggled daily to tame her bountiful curly locks. I’ve never cared much about fooling with my hair, which is why Mamá took it upon herself to do my pony.

Papá was out doing his usual morning chores around the farm: feeding the chickens and pigs, as well as giving water to his horses and oxen. He wouldn’t be back before Rebeca and I left for school, but he would be home when we returned at about noon.

"¡Buenos días, hija!" said Mamá as Rebeca stepped into the kitchen.

"¡Buenos días, Mamá!" responded Rebeca, kissed her on the cheek then hugged her belly, which seemed to have grown over night. She struggled to get her arms around all of Mamá.

Rebeca grabbed a tortilla from the stack on the table, took a bite from it, and began to chew through the crunchy exterior. Mamá made fresh tortillas for lunch and dinner every day so the next day, we would eat the leftover ones for breakfast. We didn’t mind. In fact, I enjoyed the chewy texture.

"¡Vámonos, Virginia!" said Rebeca with a mouth full of tortilla.

I didn’t respond. I simply stood up, grabbed my backpack, kissed Mamá on the cheek, and gave her belly a gentle squeeze.

"¡Con cuidado, hijitas!" said Mamá.

The walk to la escuela was not far, close to a mile I would say. Rebeca and I were familiar with a couple of shortcuts we could take. First, we would walk along the barbed wire fence, which enclosed our farm. That was my favorite part because we could admire our farm from the outside, like our neighbors did. One of the things I loved most was Mamá’s lush rose garden, which she had near the front of our house. It was what she loved most; apart from me and Rebeca, of course. She took great pride in keeping it nicely trimmed and free of weeds. It rained so much where we lived, she hardly ever watered it.

The farm was nearly forty acres of lush, fertile land. We planted corn, tomatoes, cabbage, yuca, and even melons. We had many fruit trees: banana, orange, mango, and jocotes (my favorite). Papá always said, "Soy rico pero sin dinero," meaning he was rich, even though he didn’t have any money (in his pockets). Even I, at eight years old, knew how fortunate we were to have such a beautiful farm. Our neighbors were not as fortunate as we.

We walked the gravely road along our fence for a quarter mile. Most days I struggled to keep up with Rebeca’s pace. I sometimes had to run to keep up. She had always been much more athletic and daring than I. She would climb the tallest mango trees on the farm. She would climb much higher than Mamá would have allowed if she knew.

We cut across an open field in the next leg of our trek. It was a well-known shortcut used by the people in el pueblo. There was a clear pathway among the unkempt grassland. The walking trail seemed to be carved into the earth but was very narrow so Rebeca walked in front of me and I behind her. I was certain we could hardly be seen as we walked through that field. There was a peace about it, as if we were being enveloped and protected by the grassland. Coming out of the field, I found myself