“Oh. How old are ya?”
Madam Hen answered Violet’s question with a string of Spanish that sounded like a hissing cat. Violet jumped in her seat, and desperately looked to Linus for translation. Linus chuckled, chin in hand. “You don’t ask a lady how old she is.”
“Bien. Gracías, mi amor.”
Hernando returned carrying a wooden platter with plates of food. Violet’s nose tingled with spices that she had never smelled before. On her tin plate were three hot pieces of flat, round bread, a small pile of shredded meat dipped in sauce, and eggs in the same. In the center was a heaping helping of stove cooked beans and brown rice, all mixed together. Her mouth watered just looking at it all, but before digging in, she picked up one of the bread circles and examined it. It looked like a hotcake that
