Plain Return (The Plain Fame Series Book 4)

by Price, Sarah

  Bless me with your love and strength, she repeated silently. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and headed through the bedroom to the sitting area as Alejandro—or was it Viper?—had instructed her to do.

  An older woman sat on the sofa. She wore a beige suit, and her dark hair was pulled back into a bun similar to Amanda’s. Looking up as Amanda entered the room, she nodded her head once in acknowledgment. The files spread out on the table clearly indicated to Amanda that the woman was there on business. What kind of business, Amanda could not imagine.

  Alejandro stood at the window, in almost the exact spot where she had stood the previous evening. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he did not turn around as Amanda approached.

  She sat on the chair opposite the woman and smiled. “I’m Amanda,” she said when no introduction was given. “And you are . . . ?”

  The woman hesitated, and Amanda wondered whether she spoke English. But after a second or two, she responded with a simple, “Senhora Diaz, it is nice to meet you.” Another pause. “Senhora Maria Fernanda de Sousa.”

  Uncertain of whether she should offer to shake hands with the woman, Amanda waited to see if the gesture would be made toward her first. When it wasn’t, Amanda crossed her legs at her ankles and folded her hands, resting them on her lap. A heavy silence filled the room, and Amanda made no attempt to break it. She merely waited, willing her heart to stop beating so rapidly inside her chest.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alejandro took a deep breath and turned around. He pursed his lips as if deep in thought before he called out something in Spanish, as if to someone in the next room.

  “Amanda,” he then said in a flat, emotionless voice. “There is someone I need for you to meet.”

  Amanda’s eyes flickered in Maria Fernanda’s direction. “You must have been deep in thought, Alejandro. We just introduced ourselves.”

  The noise of the door opening and several people entering the room distracted her. She turned her head and looked in the direction of the sound. Two people had stopped just inside the room: an older man and a child.

  “I must introduce you to Isadora Daniela da Silva.” Alejandro paused for just one moment before he added, “My daughter.”

  Amanda tried to remain poised as she stared at the two strangers. She recognized both of them right away: they had been backstage the previous night. Amanda felt the pressure in her chest increase. She slowly returned her gaze to Alejandro. “Excuse me?” was all that she could say. Words escaped her. She thought she had heard him introduce the little girl as his daughter. Surely she was mistaken.

  “Sí, Amanda,” he affirmed. “Isadora is my daughter.”

  She pressed her lips together. Isadora? Daughter? Her mouth felt dry, and she could barely swallow. “I . . . I don’t quite understand, Alejandro.”

  Across from her, Maria Fernanda began to speak. Her heavy accent made understanding her nearly impossible. Most of what she said went over Amanda’s head; she was still fixated on the word “daughter” that had slipped through Alejandro’s lips as casually as if he were introducing her to a new employee or a reporter. Maria Fernanda didn’t seem to notice, or care, that Amanda wasn’t following what she was saying. She continued to spill out an endless stream of words that blended into one another. However, what Amanda did understand were the words “death,” “father,” and “legal guardian.”

  As Maria Fernanda’s voice faded into a blur of noise, Amanda turned her head slowly so that she could get a good look at the little girl. She wore the same dress as she had the previous night, although the bow in her hair was blue today. Her blue eyes seemed devoid of expression, and she stared at the floor in front of her feet.

  Alejandro remained standing where he was, but his words were clear enough. “Her mother has died, and the grandfather is ill.”

  Amanda felt light-headed as she tried to understand what he was saying. Was he talking about the girl’s mother? Was the old man standing there the grandfather? “I . . . I still do not understand what any of this means . . .”

  Maria Fernanda shoved some papers at her. “You must sign here, Senhora Diaz.”

  “Sign? What am I signing?” As panic overtook her, Amanda stood up and crossed the room to stand before Alejandro. She placed her hand on his arm and stared into his face. “Please,” she whispered. “What is happening, Alejandro? I . . . I don’t understand any of this.”

  He didn’t move when she touched him. “Isadora has no other family to care for her, and the government of Brazil will put her in an orphanage unless she is turned over to our care,” he said, his eyes unwavering as he stared out the window.

  And there it was.

  Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the older man. She saw it now, the pallor of his skin and sunken shadows under his eyes. Most likely he had cancer and, from the looks of it, would not survive the year. Her gaze traveled back to the little girl. Isadora. She had a name, Amanda reminded herself, and was no longer a stranger: she was family.

  There was no resemblance to Alejandro in Isadora’s face. Except for the eyes. Clearly, the blue eyes that peeked at Amanda were Alejandro’s: the color, the shape, the expression in them. Amanda chastised herself for not suspecting the truth the previous night. A blue-eyed Brazilian was as uncommon as a blue-eyed Cuban.

  “When did her mother die?” Amanda asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Almost a year ago.”

  “A year? How?” she demanded.

  “Amanda . . .”

  She turned to look at him, the sharpness of her sudden motion causing him to pause. “I want to know how the mother died. And did you know about this?”

  He shook his head. “I did not know, no.”

  Amanda raised her eyebrows as she waited for the answer to her first question.

  “The mother . . .” he started but stopped. Amanda wondered why it was difficult for him to speak of the child’s mother, his former lover from a one-night stand during his wild days. There had been no discussion between Alejandro and Amanda about this child. He had made just one mention of her, and that had been done in such a casual manner, back when Amanda first met him, that, frankly, Amanda had forgotten about the existence of his illegitimate daughter.

  “Tell me.” She needed to know. The initial anger and hurt that she felt was countered only by her feelings of guilt. Why had she never inquired more about the child? How had she not known anything about that tryst? Why hadn’t he prepared her for the fact that the mother and child lived in Brazil? At least then she wouldn’t have been completely blindsided by this news.

  “Drugs,” he finally admitted.

  Drugs. Amanda took a deep breath. “I see,” she said, mustering the strength to remain calm. While what she imagined about the situation caused her considerable pain, she knew the truth was probably worse than anything she could envision.

  Amanda shifted her body so that she faced the man and the child. Quickly, she assessed the situation, knowing that she could not question God’s will and that there was no sense in arguing with Alejandro. The child existed and needed help. Amanda could never live with herself if she knew that she was the reason a child had been sent to live in an orphanage. She hadn’t even thought that such places existed anymore, having never really considered that they were anything more than an unpleasant element of a fairy tale. Amish children always had relatives to care for them if anything tragic happened to a parent.

  Love and strength, she repeated to herself.

  Without another second’s hesitation, Amanda walked across the room and stood before the man and the child. She stretched out her hand, which, apprehensively, the man shook. His grip was weak, and there was sorrow etched in his face. Amanda then knelt down before the child and looked into her face. She was a pretty little girl, and those blue eyes stared right back at her.

  Amanda held out her h
and and gave a slight smile. “It is nice to meet you, Isadora,” she said softly.

  The child startled at the sound of her name and looked up at her grandfather.

  “She does not speak English,” Maria Fernanda said.

  Amanda kept the smile on her face and continued to look at Isadora as she processed this new information. No English? Reaching out her hand, Amanda touched the girl’s shoulder and gently slid her hand down the length of her arm until her fingers touched Isadora’s hand. The girl looked back at her, a frightened expression on her cherubic face. Amanda couldn’t help but wonder what Isadora knew about the man who stood by the window, his back to the rest of the room.

  Amanda walked back to the chair. She sat down and leaned forward, her attention on Maria Fernanda. “What is it that I must sign?” she asked. “And what should we know about Isadora?”

  For the next thirty minutes, Amanda listened to Maria Fernanda, trying her best to comprehend what she was saying, despite the heavy accent and mispronounced words. The woman explained the different papers that granted legal guardianship under Brazilian law. When she finished, Maria Fernanda slid the papers across the coffee table in Amanda’s direction for her to sign. Amanda noticed that Alejandro had already signed them; the date next to his name reflected that he had met with the woman the previous day. Most likely, Amanda thought, after the show.

  She wasn’t certain whether to be upset that Alejandro had not consulted her before signing. On the one hand, he accepted his responsibility. He could have never mentioned the situation to Amanda and merely sent Isadora to the orphanage. On the other hand, the fact that he had agreed to such a life-changing commitment without asking Amanda’s opinion concerned her. What would have happened if she had refused to sign the papers? It dawned on her that, as the stepmother, she had no legal responsibility for Alejandro’s daughter. If she hadn’t signed, Isadora would still be his responsibility and turned over to his care.

  Once Amanda finished signing the paperwork, all of which she could not read because it was written in Portuguese, she handed it back to Maria Fernanda, who shuffled the papers into a neat pile and slid it into her briefcase. She stood up and looked down at Amanda for a moment before she turned to Alejandro and said something in Spanish. He replied and nodded. Whatever had transpired between them, this was the end of Maria Fernanda’s business with Isadora. She departed from the room, barely pausing to bid farewell to the grandfather and the child.

  “Amanda . . .”

  She shut her eyes and lifted her hand, a gesture that made him pause. She needed time to digest what had just occurred. And she certainly needed more time before she could speak to him with any trace of calmness in her voice. What she needed was time alone and time to pray. In just a matter of minutes, she had become a mother to a child who did not speak her language and was born out of a past love affair between her husband and a woman she did not know. Nor did he, she reminded herself.

  “I need some coffee,” she said and walked away from Alejandro.

  In a room behind the sitting area was a kitchenette. A carafe of coffee and a tray of bread and fruit had been placed on the counter. Amanda did not ask Alejandro if he wanted anything. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and, with her back turned toward him, tried to steady her nerves as she sipped it.

  A child. A five-year-old child. How was she to mother another woman’s daughter? The bittersweet irony that Amanda had hoped for her own baby was not lost on her. God had answered her desire for a child, but not in the way Amanda had expected. For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. She finished her coffee and set the cup back on the counter. She thought of the future and hope. This was all part of God’s plan, and she knew better than to question it.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. Despite the rapid-fire manner in which Maria Fernanda had presented the paperwork, Amanda had signed willingly, knowing that, like Alejandro, she was accepting responsibility for the little girl. And while she did not appreciate being ambushed by Alejandro, Amanda knew that it wasn’t Isadora’s fault.

  Taking a white plate from the small stack on the counter, Amanda placed several pieces of fruit and bread on it. It was still early, and surely the little girl was in need of food. The universal language of hunger and satiation might begin the formation of a bond between them. She walked to the glass table and set the plate down before turning to look over at Isadora.

  “Isadora,” she said gently. When the girl looked up, Amanda smiled, gesturing with her hand. “Come.”

  Isadora made no attempt to move, although her eyes shifted to the plate of food.

  Smiling, Amanda walked across the room and knelt down once again. “Venga a comer,” she said in Spanish. There were very few words and phrases that she knew in Alejandro’s language, but she certainly had heard Señora Perez call them to eat enough times. She only hoped that the phrase was similar enough in Portuguese for the girl to understand her.

  Isadora looked up at her grandfather and waited. He nodded his head, and hesitantly, Isadora stepped forward. Amanda grasped her hand and led her to the table. Gently, she helped the child into the chair and touched her shoulder.

  “She doesn’t speak Spanish,” Alejandro said from where he still stood.

  Amanda had already guessed that. She felt a tightness in her chest, realizing that she had just adopted a child with whom neither she nor Alejandro could communicate. On the inside, Amanda wanted to cry, but she managed to maintain her composure. All of her life, her mother had taught her and Anna that questioning God’s will was the same thing as admitting a lack of faith in him. Whatever God had planned for her and Alejandro with the arrival of this child . . . well, Amanda knew that she needed to remain calm as she accepted Isadora with an open mind and heart.

  Ignoring Alejandro, she continued to sooth Isadora in both Spanish and English. She hoped that the calm and reassuring sound of her voice might relax the child. After all, Amish children often did not speak English at home, learning it only when they started school at around the same age Isadora was now. And they often did not know the High German used by the preachers and bishop during worship service. It was the tone of voice, the comfort of sound that helped to instill the message of love and devotion, both in the home and at the worship service.

  To her relief, her approach worked well enough for Isadora to reach out and take a piece of pineapple. While her small hands were clean, the dirt under her fingernails told a different story. Her grandfather had to the best of his ability prepared his granddaughter to be presented to her new parents: a reckless man who hadn’t known the child’s mother well and the man’s young wife, who hadn’t known her at all.

  Amanda wondered if he spoke Spanish and, if so, what type of exchange he’d had with Alejandro.

  The click of a door shutting caused Amanda to look back toward the front door. The grandfather was gone. A small suitcase was all that remained of Isadora da Silva’s past in Brazil. Amanda felt her heart rate increase. How could he leave without even saying good-bye? Looking back at the little girl, Amanda fought the tightness in her chest. Fortunately, Isadora hadn’t noticed her grandfather’s departure. Nor did she realize that, most likely, in several years, she would forget most of her experiences living in Brazil. She might even lose the ability to speak Portuguese. The death of her mother would become a faint memory, something that just happened when she was a child. The imprint of her past would remain deeply embedded but not remembered.

  With the departure of the grandfather who’d left only a dirty suitcase behind for the child, Amanda knew that Isadora’s future had been changed forever.

  She hadn’t heard him approach her. But when she felt Alejandro’s hand on her back, Amanda startled. Using every ounce of her strength to remain calm and respectful, she lifted her eyes and stared at him.

  “
I’m sorry,” he said.

  From the expression on his face, she knew that he meant it. I’m sorry. Two simple words that said so much. Oh, she could see that he felt forlorn. He didn’t need to use any additional words. But she wasn’t certain how to respond. After all, a year ago, she hadn’t even known that this world existed. Now, she was fully immersed in it, standing in a foreign country with the man she loved and a stepchild she did not know. To say that she felt shocked by these events would have been putting it mildly.

  Of course, she knew that this development had come as a shock to him, too. As she replayed the events from the previous night, she suspected that he might have learned about the unexpected arrival of the old man and five-year-old girl right before the show. Now she understood his request that she perform earlier and leave for the hotel right away, for he knew that he would have much to discuss with the social worker, the grandfather, and probably Geoffrey as well. The presence of a child on the tour and in their lives would affect everyone on both a personal and professional level.

  I’m sorry.

  These two words said a lot about how Alejandro was certainly feeling, but words could not erase his past mistakes. Amanda wished she could tell him that there was nothing to be sorry about, but the words would not form on her lips. She knew that his mother had raised him to respect God, but he had chosen a different path, one that was as far from godly and righteous as a path could be. The consequences of his actions, actions she chose not to hear discussed but could certainly imagine, could not be ignored.

  “You must believe me when I say I had no idea.” He looked at Isadora and shook his head. “No idea at all.”

  His daughter, Amanda thought as she watched him. With his reserved manners and stoic front, he might have been staring at a complete stranger and not his daughter. A daughter from a woman he never really knew, she reminded herself and immediately felt a chill in her heart. She remembered him telling her about this daughter, and how he’d said that he didn’t know her but took care of her by sending money. A money transfer into a bank account was all that Isadora had been to him. Now, she sat at the table devouring the pineapple that Amanda had set before her.