She worked hours on the secret pocket, made from a scrap of her First Communion dress. She sewed the little pouch into the left cup of her brassiere.
As the family slept, dreaming of America, she rose before the sun. Took keys from her grandfather's trousers and tiptoed to the cabinet in the kitchen. She opened the lock with shaking hands and lifted the small box from the top shelf. With the deftness of the smuggler she was about to become, she emptied the treasure into the secret pocket. Assurance of her family's survival in the new country.
As she dressed for the voyage, her heart pounded. With each beat, she felt the little pocket against her breast.
She arrived undetected and thankful to the Blessed Virgin for tired customs officials. And now to find the nearest church to make her confession. She must not start her new life in America with unforgiven sins.
The priest was quick and to the point — three Hail Marys and make restitution. Such a wealthy country, she thought. I have no money. Only the treasure here above my heart.
In the light of flickering candles, she reached into her bosom and placed three tomato seeds upon the altar.