Delta Girls by Gayle Brandeis Read Free Book Online Page B

eating tonight.”
    Behind the cows, women in traditional Portuguese outfits—colorful patterned scarves around their heads, equally colorful shawls over their white blouses, and wide colorful skirts—carried huge baskets of rolls. They tossed the bread to the crowd. I caught one—light and airy—and gave it to Quinn.
    “The bread was blessed, too,” he said.
    Quinn took a big bite, scattering crumbs down her shirt. “It just tastes like normal bread,” she said, disappointed, as if blessed bread should taste like magic.
Eat it all up
, I wanted to tell her.
We need all the blessings we can get
.
    A group of girls were next, ranging in age from about five to seventeen, wearing poofy, sparkly dresses, velvet capes, and tiaras.
    “Beauty pageant?” I asked.
    “Different kind of queen,” he said.
    The girls, it turns out, represented Queen Isabel; in the fourteenth century, she would sneak food to the poor, against the wishes of her husband, King Diniz. One day, Diniz came upon her when she had her apron full of rolls and demanded to know what she was carrying. “Roses,” she said, which made him suspicious—roses were not in bloom that time of year—but when he yanked at her apron, a flood of white flowers came tumbling out.
    “It’s kind of sad,” he said, “how much money the families pour into this. Some have the capes hand-beaded in Portugal, thousands of dollars. The
festa
is supposed to be about giving to the community, but these dresses have become a competitive sport.”
    The girls passed us and Quinn got very excited, waving and waving. An elaborately beaded saint beamed from the back of one teen’s purple velvet cape. A little girl’s pink satin cape featured a huge chalice and crown embroidered in metallic thread. A huge dove made of countless tiny seed pearls spread its wings across the red velvet backing of another. Some of the dresses had hoop skirts that made the girls look like they were floating down the dirt path.
    I found myself worrying about the girls forced to wear these fancy things, their faces fluorescent with makeup; I worried about what they must have endured at home, their mothers coming at them with curling irons and mascara wands, expressions and expectation equally intense. The girls all looked proud and happy to be queens, though. None of them seemed to resent the crown.
    When they reached the community center, a young girl walked toward them, holding a dove in a cage festooned with red ribbons. She handed the cage to the smallest queen, who opened its metal door. At first, the dove didn’t want to fly out, but the little queen shook the cage until the bird flopped out and flew listlessly into a nearby jacaranda tree.
    “It’s supposed to be the Holy Spirit,” said Ben.
    “Doesn’t look so spirited to me,” I said. Mrs. Vieira threw me an offended look, but Ben laughed, and we finally made eye contact. Just for a split second, but it made something zap in my blood.
    “I have to help my parents unload the jam,” he said. “Why don’t you two go check out the fair before the
sopa
starts?”
    THE SNACKS AT the booths were unlike any fair food I had seen before. Fried sardines. Dark red octopus stew. A dish made with pork and clams. Lupini beans. Salt cod. Chestnuts. Quinn looked appalled by most of the offerings, but the sweets caught her eye. Spiced cookies. Fragrant rice pudding. Lemony doughnuts dusted with powdered sugar.
    “You should probably have dinner first,” I said, but finally relented and let her have one of the doughnuts.
    “Save room for the
sopa
.” The woman smiled as she handed me the warm pastry. “You might want to go line up now.” A line was beginning to snake out the community center door. I handed Quinn the doughnut and powdered sugar immediately spilled down her front. She didn’t mind, so I tried not to, either.
    On our way toward the line, a guy sidled up to us, the air around him heavy with cologne. “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t