"I don't remember Alabama. I was only four. We wanted to get away from the draft, from war. We're Friends -- I mean, Quakers," she said. "My father and my uncle went to prison for refusing to go in the Army. I think that's the only thing my father was bitter about, in his life, being treated like a traitor in his own country, imprisoned for following his beliefs. They didn't want the boys to go through that, they didn't want to support the machine with their taxes, so we moved. Costa Rica doesn't have an army. But you never know what will happen. My mother was pregnant, and there was a flood in the desert, in Mexico, and we were trapped on a hill and she had a stillbirth. We had to leave her in a hospital, and I didn't see her again for six months. I remember screaming when they took me away from her. Then we drove for weeks and weeks."

She didn't remember any of that. When they were near Monteverde they bought horses and the children and women and some of the men rode up the mountain. The rest of the men built a road. It took them three months. They had to winch the big bus and some of the trucks uphill by hand. Later her mother flew down, and her father drove to the capital and brought Nora home. She had hepatitis, from transfusions, but they didn't know that yet. At first she was all right. Everyone worked all the time, including Nora.

"It's hard to explain. Everything is different there. Everything is so simple, and you have to do everything by hand, and it's so much work."

They built a Meeting house and houses and barns. They planted sugar cane and corn and vegetable gardens, and coffee bushes. When all this was in hand they bought milk cows and herded them up the mountain. They cleared forest for pasture. They started a dairy and made cheese every day. In the mornings, the men went out on horseback with big cans hanging from their saddles and brought the milk back, to make the cheese. In the evenings everyone worked indoors by lamplight. When the rain was heavy they stayed inside, but mostly there were clouds and mist and fog moving through; because their land was very high and in the path of the wind from the ocean it was damp all the time from condensation. They learned to ignore the moisture and continue working.

There was little for her to do, except chores and studying and exploring the forest. From the time she started reading about the rest of the world, and especially the United States, she felt that much was missing, that their life was narrow in scope. She couldn't understand why her parents had given up their place in a rich country to come to a poor country, why they had exchanged a broader life for a narrow, cramped one. What kind of idealism abandoned comfort and opportunities that harmed no one, in exchange for a life that was like that of their ancestors? There was nowhere to go except the little villages of Monteverde and Santa Elena, often on foot or horse because the truck was broken for months on end. Only when she was nine did her father acquire an old Land Rover and at last have reliable transportation. By then the hepatitis had become active and Nora was often ill. They didn't know yet what it was. Ada took over the housework. She cooked and cleaned and did the washing. She cared for the horses. She accepted the daily struggle against the mud and the everlasting damp. Her brother Henry had his own chores, and they helped each other. But Ada insisted on tending to her mother alone. And every day she dreamed of another place, of a wider scope, of greater comfort, and above all of acquiring knowledge.

School was several kilometers away and she and Henry rode horses there and back. Occasionally, when he planned to use a horse for the day, their father let Henry drive. After school her mother taught Ada extra lessons. It was as much as Nora could manage, and she usually retreated to bed after an hour, leaving her daughter to carry on alone. Ada was obsessed with books, with study, with learning, and waited for the monthly package of used books sent by the American Friends. She did her chores quickly so she had more time to study.

Ada wanted to go to college in the United States. She wanted this more desperately than she had ever wanted anything. But her father had no money. They'd had little enough to begin with, and they'd spent it to escape to this mountain. She knew her father was simple and good and worked as hard as he could for his family. Most evenings, after dinner, he fell asleep at the table and she had to wake him, or he'd have gone on sleeping there. She did what she could to help, but the need to learn was consuming her. She thought she was being selfish, and was ashamed, but she couldn't stop. She despaired of getting away to where the libraries and universities were.

When she was fifteen her teacher told her about a scholarship for birthright Quakers, and offered to write a letter of recommendation for her, an offer Ada accepted with profound gratitude. She was required to take some tests. Arrangements were made to administer them at a private school in the capital city of San Jose. And she was required to write a personal essay on what she would do with her education. She worked on it for a month.

After the test, she told herself every day that she would not win, that she should not get her hopes up, that she should spend her time preparing, studying as hard as she could so she could do better on the next try, next year, and the year after that. But she found herself accompanying her father whenever he drove into town, and following him into the post office. When he hadn't gone for a week, she would ask whether he didn't need to. Every time, there was no letter. Every time, her father reassured her:

"They haven't forgotten. They can't grade all the tests and read the essays and make their choice right away."

"I can't help it, Father. Waiting is hard."

"I know. Be patient. It will come."

Then, the month her birthday, Renaldo handed a beautiful white envelope to her father, and Ada recognized the return address printed in the corner.

She held it by the edges and looked at it all the way home, re-reading the typed address, inspecting the envelope, weighing it in her hand, holding it up and trying to see through it in the sunlight. At home, she borrowed her brother's pocket knife and slit the envelope open. She read the first paragraph three times. It was brief, a few sentences that congratulated her. The five judges had had little trouble settling on her as their choice. The second paragraph mentioned her high score on the examination, despite the small school, her age, and the few resources available to her. Her mathematics and science had been weaker than her other subjects, but everything else had been exceptional. Her essay had been remarkable; her writing ability far exceeded that of any other candidate. Then came a sentence that stunned her: the committee had been pleased to award her the scholarship not only for academic ability, but because her life spoke for her character. The third paragraph said that within two weeks she would receive a package of materials with all the details, including the financial arrangements and everything that would be expected of her. There would be forms to fill out.

Here she stopped reading and looked up from the page. Her father and brother were staring at her. She handed the letter to her father.

"You won," he said, after a glance, and handed it to Henry. He turned to her and smiled.

"I won," she said. "I won. I don't believe it."

"Congratulations. Let's show that to your mother."

Upstairs, they gathered around Nora and gave her the letter.

"I think we should give thanks," she said when she had read it. They joined hands and shared a minute of silence.

Then she said, "Now you should show Mrs. Scattergood. She's the one who told you about the scholarship."

The teacher's house was next to the school. Her father said she should ride her horse and not hurry home. "There will be a lot to talk about," he said. "Stay as long as you like. Don't worry about your chores."

When she gave the letter to Mrs. Scattergood, the woman said, "I know how much this means to you. You deserved to win. This is a great joy for you. For me, too. You know how highly I think of you, and how proud I am. You're the best student I've ever seen." She offered coffee, and they sat at the table, and she said, "But you need to prepare yourself. You've grown up here, and it's very small. It's bigger there. Everything will be different. What you've taken for granted here won't be true there. You will meet many kinds of people, and see things you've never seen, and hear things you never expected to hear. Some of it will shock you. Everything will be different, even the bread, and the buildings, and the weather, and the sunlight. You'll be homesick and lonely."

She brought American news magazines to the table. Ada had seen them at school, too, and had asked questions, but not many, because she didn't want to reveal her ignorance. Now Mrs. Scattergood began to talk. She explained to Ada that some of the pages were advertisements, because Ada didn't recognize the goods and services being sold. She had never seen anything in the photographs -- the makes of cars, the alcohol and cigarette brands. There were pictures of aircraft carriers and satellites. The clothes, and the people wearing them, were impossibly beautiful. The political news was full of conflict and violence, and disturbed her. Even the way people wore their hair was strange.

She was afraid that she would fail, not because of the course work, but because she was unprepared to live in such a complicated and dangerous place.

Her teacher said, "You'll adjust. Find some help. Make a friend and ask questions. Find a guide."

On her ride home Ada worried how she would manage -- whether she would know what to do and how to act, and whether she would have enough money. She did not know how to open an account at a bank. She had no idea where she would live. She wasn't sure what kind of clothes she would need. She had never used a washing machine, or a clothes dryer. She confided her fears in her mother. Nora was too tired to do more than reassure her that her intelligence and perseverance would win through, that the foundation would provide details, and that the University would help her. Then Nora closed her eyes.

Two days later Thomas woke, spoke to his wife, and got no reply. Her skin was cold and pale. He told his children that now their mother's suffering had ended, and theirs would begin, but that was as it must and should be, and they should feel no regret. Her pain was over at last.

They buried her the next day in the little cemetery, already overgrown with the vegetation that was impossible to keep at bay in the never-ending rain and mist. Hers was the third grave. Thomas accepted the condolences of his friends, went home, and collapsed. He stayed in bed four days, rising only to attend to the most insistent bodily functions, indifferent to the cows and their need to be milked. Ada and Henry took over their father's chores in addition to their own. There was school in the morning, and it was a busy time of year, so Henry had to skimp on some of the work from fatigue and lack of time. On the fifth day Thomas got out of bed at sunrise and resumed his daily round as if nothing had happened.

After her mother's death, Ada was free to set her own course. She thought that perhaps this had been her mother's last gift to her, that Nora had waited to have her daughter's future settled before letting go and dying, removing herself so Ada could attend college without any guilt for not staying and tending to her.

Until it was time to go she rode her horse everywhere, saying goodbye to the places and people she had grown up with. She didn't know when she would return, and she wanted to remember. Now that she was leaving, as she had always aspired to, she understood how much she loved everyone around her, and could not comprehend how she had failed to notice the strength of that love. She was filled with hopeless longing. She wanted to take them with her.

The day came and her father and brother drove her down to San Jose. It had been years since they'd emigrated here and though the roads were still bad, at least they didn't have to be rebuilt after the rainy season, as had been necessary in the beginning. Instead of two days, the trip now took one. They stayed overnight with a Quaker family in the city.

Early the next morning they went to the airport. It was small and shabby, not what she'd expected. She had expected it to be large and gleaming and full of stainless steel. They checked her bag and walked together to the gate. She hugged her father and brother and turned so they wouldn't see the water in her eyes, and so she wouldn't lose her resolve.

From the moment she stepped on the airplane everything changed. She found her seat and fumbled with the safety belt until the flight attendant showed her how it worked, and then she looked out the window, which reminded her of the pictures she had seen of portholes on oceangoing ships. The propellors spun, at first reluctantly, then so fast they blurred. The airplane roared and moved backwards, then paused and turned and moved in the other direction. It taxied out to the long cement strip and waited. The roaring grew even louder, and the body of the aircraft vibrated in place. Then it drifted forward, released, faster, the acceleration gathering her into itself, unexpected and thrilling. At the other end of the runway, when she thought it was too late and they would never fly, there was a brief thud and the cord binding them to the earth was broken and they rose, though the tilting sensation was unfamiliar and at first she didn't know understand what was happening. She noticed the trees lowering and saw the city from above, receding below, the plane drilling forward and up, up until finally it levelled off. She was enthralled at the land spread out underneath, and the clouds whipping past in shreds. The scope of her existence widened like the view from the airplane window. She was entering her new life.

All the arrangements had been made carefully, and everything had been explained to her, and she had no trouble transferring from one flight to the next. She had to overcome her shyness, and she asked for help when she needed it. She stayed overnight in a hotel, and wondered at first what "room service" was. She pressed the knob on the television, then finally pulled out on it, and heard a popping noise, and saw a point of light that grew and became a picture. The flickering, moving photograph seemed like a sort of alien artifact. Was that all? This famous entertainment she had read so much about?

"The next morning I got my last flight, then I got a bus into town. Then I took another bus to Lawrence. I was very proud. I didn't make any mistakes."