conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Evangelina, Mam, Rancho with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Historical Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Evangelina Takes Flight'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.. End with the sentence ' With nine of us to feed, she's either behind that table, at the sink or in front of the stove most of the day.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Evangelina Takes Flight
  Papá thought I didn't hear him talking to my brother, but I did, because I pressed my ear against the cracks in the barn wall, and now his hushed "Don't-tell-anyone-about-this" voice thunders in my head.
  I make my way to the kitchen on the backside of the house, my front apron pocket bulging with warm eggs.
  Mamá stands behind the massive carved wood table dotted with woven baskets full of peppers, garlic, cilantro and limes. With nine of us to feed, she's either behind that table, at the sink or in front of the stove most of the day.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I trail behind my family as they walk away from the Seneca train station, which is more like a one-room house with a few benches outside covered by a long, angled wooden cover. If the size of the train station is any indication, this must be a tiny town.
  We plod along with only an address as our guide. We don't know the town, so the address is meaningless. We make our way down a wide, tree-lined street. Elsa's hair lays flat against her head, her dress is wrinkled and dusty. She's normally such a neat, clean, proper person, but after everything we've been through, she's past the point of caring. Enrique's soggy shirt clings to his back. His suspenders hang down, one on each side of his hips. Mamá pulls Domingo behind her. The braid piled on top of Mamá's head sits at a precarious angle, like it might slide off.
  She pulls out her handkerchief. Domingo stands still, his chin in the air. He's used to this. Mamá wipes his hands and face a lot. Dirt seems to grow on him. Today, we look, well... sloppy.
  The store comes into view. "SENECA GROCERY & GIFTS." I recognize the word "Seneca." Shelves stacked with cans and boxes stand near the window. A large jar with wrapped candy sits on the counter. A woman in a white dress with a ruffled collar stands behind the counter and smiles at another woman, who turns and steps out the front door, hand in hand with a small light-haired boy about four years old. She stops and looks at us sternly for a moment, spins around, pulls the boy's hand and walks away briskly.
  Mamá, Enrique and Elsa stare at the sign, then at the woman. Her pinched expression infuriates me. A strange sensation of tiny prickles starts at my neck and then flushes my face. Mamá grabs my hand and squeezes it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about Normally, shined.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I trail behind my family as they walk away from the Seneca train station, which is more like a one-room house with a few benches outside covered by a long, angled wooden cover. If the size of the train station is any indication, this must be a tiny town. 
  We plod along with only an address as our guide. We don't know the town, so the address is meaningless. We make our way down a wide, tree-lined street. Elsa's hair lays flat against her head, her dress is wrinkled and dusty. She's normally such a neat, clean, proper person, but after everything we've been through, she's past the point of caring. Enrique's soggy shirt clings to his back. His suspenders hang down, one on each side of his hips. Mamá pulls Domingo behind her. The braid piled on top of Mamá's head sits at a precarious angle, like it might slide off. 
  She pulls out her handkerchief. Domingo stands still, his chin in the air. He's used to this. Mamá wipes his hands and face a lot. Dirt seems to grow on him. Normally, our clothes would be pressed, our shoes would be shined before we went into town, and there wouldn't be a hair out of place, especially for us girls. Today, we look, well... sloppy. 
  The store comes into view. "SENECA GROCERY & GIFTS. " I recognize the word "Seneca. " Shelves stacked with cans and boxes stand near the window. A large jar with wrapped candy sits on the counter. A woman in a white dress with a ruffled collar stands behind the counter and smiles at another woman, who turns and steps out the front door, hand in hand with a small light-haired boy about four years old. She stops and looks at us sternly for a moment, spins around, pulls the boy's hand and walks away briskly. 
  Mamá, Enrique and Elsa stare at the sign, then at the woman. Her pinched expression infuriates me. A strange sensation of tiny prickles starts at my neck and then flushes my face. Mamá grabs my hand and squeezes it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: We hold hands in a circle around the table and bow our heads low. The candles flicker and cast moving shadows on the wall like the uneasy souls of the departed.
  Everyone's gone to bed. The stillness of the house makes it too easy to think and feel. I'm numb. Well, not numb. Angry. Lost. Confused. Relieved?
  Six months ago my answer would have been as certain as the crickets' song on a summer night. My life was in Mexico, on the ranch. Now, the revolution grows, Mexico's future is uncertain, Mariposa is in shambles and the ranch is gone.
  I open the screen door gradually, hoping it won't creak. I sit on the front step with one of Tía's sweaters wrapped tightly around me. The full moon that shines on me, shines on Abuelito, too, providing all the light I need to read his letter.
  I look at the vast and sparkling sky, stretch my arms out and imagine myself lifting off this earthly ground.