The Daughters of Winston Barnett

by Dara Girard

  The Daughters

  Of

  Winston Barnett

  by

  Dara Girard

  Published by: ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-160-7

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2011 Sadé Odubiyi. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Published by: ePublishing Works!

  Cover Design: Kimberly Van Meter

  Digital Illustration: Marion Odubiyi

  Photographs: Dreamstime/iStockphoto

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  To my parents

  Acknowledgements

  First I would like to thank Jane Austen and Sholem Aleichem for creating stories that have inspired, entertained, united and delighted generations. I also want to acknowledge and thank Sheldon Harnick and Jerry Brock whose music and lyrics from the musical Fiddler on the Roof continues to resonant in the hearts and minds of millions. Lastly, my dearest appreciation goes to the numerous individuals who have helped me along this journey. Your support and belief in me is a treasure I will never forget. Without your guidance, generosity and encouragement I would never have been able to follow my dreams.

  "Life is a dream for the wise, a game for the fool, a comedy for the rich, a tragedy for the poor."

  Sholem Aleichem

  ~

  "One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."

  Jane Austen

  ~

  "Many rivers to cross."

  Jimmy Cliff

  Chapter 1

  She should have burned the letter.

  Janet Barnett stared at the white paper clutched in her father's large brown fist and sighed. If she had the chance to do it all over again, she would have read Valerie's letter, memorized its contents, and then tossed it in the fireplace. Instead, she'd left it on the desk in her bedroom where one of her four sisters had found it.

  Now she sat before her father, a tall, lean figure with a voice that could shake the rafters (although a gentle breeze could also produce the same effect because the old house was in desperate need of repair), listening to how she'd disappointed them. Her father loomed above her as though she was part of his congregation and he was standing at the pulpit leading a sermon. As one of the deacons in their evangelical church, he was well-versed in that task.

  "Do you want to break your mother's heart?" he asked.

  Janet glanced at the quiet figure sitting in the chair beside him with eyes that could be both innocent and shrewd but now looked near tears. It was a rhetorical question so Janet knew it wise not to answer. Her mother's heart was a delicate organ she'd damaged many times before. She'd bruised it when she'd announced she wanted to be an artist, she'd cracked it when she'd said she wanted to study at the university and now at twenty-two she threatened to shatter it completely.

  Her father tossed the paper on the side table. "Do I not provide for you? Is my home not grand enough? Didn't I work two jobs so that you can live this way?" He raised his hands, his palms held out for her to see the calluses marring the surface. "To think the day would come that a dawta of mine would insult mi this way," he said, his Jamaican accent growing thick as his anger grew.

  "It's not like that," Janet said.

  "Then why do you want to leave me?" He looked at her as though she'd threatened to remove a vital organ. She belonged to him and the thought of her moving out was a violation, a shame he could not bear. She could imagine the gossip that would spread like a dense fog throughout Hamsford. Hamsford was a small city with a large Jamaican community nestled so close to the tip of Southern Maryland, it could fall into the Atlantic Ocean. But although it was small in size, the gossip was always big.

  "Did you hear about Brother Barnett's daughter?" Sister So-and-So would say. Mr. Barnett was never called Deacon because he was averse to titles that put him above others. "She want to leave."

  "Why would she do dat?" Sister Busybody would reply.

  "Dem let her go to university. It's given her funny ideas."

  Sister Busybody would lift her chin in disdain. "I never let mine do dat."

  "Yes, that was their first big mistake."

  "No, not their first. Dem have five daughters you know. A sensible couple wouldda had at least one boy."

  "Yes, you're right. But I blame de girl too. You'd think she'd have more sense after the scandal."

  "Janet!" Her father's words cut through her thoughts. "Are you listening to me?"

  "Yes," she said with a little more force than she meant to. She cleared her throat with a tinge of guilt. "Of course I'm listening."

  He made a sweeping gesture of the room as though it were a grand palace, instead of a cramped space. "Why do you want to leave the safety of your home?"

  But Janet knew the silent question he'd never ask: Why do you want to leave me? And she didn't know how to answer him because her emotions were so mixed. She admired and resented him; loved and despised him, or rather his control over her life. He was both her protector and her jailor, but she could not make him understand that. She'd wanted to escape his rule since she was seven. At seven she'd imagined a tornado had swept her family away, at twelve she'd been adopted by another family, and now she knew that if she didn't move out they would drive her mad.

  A smug smile touched his lips. "Just as I thought. You cannot find an answer."

  "That's not it."

  "How can you even think about leaving this house after what happened?"

  Janet felt her insides grow cold. "That was over a year ago."

  "Do you think shame goes away? Do you think despair disappears? I don't care if twenty years pass. You'll leave this house under only one condition."

  She shook her head wanting to scream, but she kept her voice low. "Daddy, it's time that I—"

  Her father lifted a finger and waved it at her and she inwardly groaned knowing the words that would come next. "There's only one time to leave this house," he said, his Jamaican patois punctuating his otherwise perfect English dialect. "And that's when you are married. A dawta should move from her fadda's house into the house of her husband's. That is God's will. And in my house we will serve the Lord."

  "But—"

  "I am not an inflexible man." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I have considered your need for independence. I'm not an unreasonable man, am I?"

  Janet waited recognizing another question that sought no answer.

  "Didn't I allow you to live in the dormitory at the university? Didn't I?" he repeated demanding a response.

/>   "Yes."

  "Exactly. I gave you your wish. You wanted to live on your own with your friend. And you promised that you would be good. And you promised that you would be safe."

  "I was."

  "Yet after a year you were back at home and your friend was—"

  "Yes," Janet cut in. "I know." She looked away no longer able to face him or the truth of his words. He was right. She'd been allowed to go out into the world, but had come home under a cloud of disgrace. Although she couldn't forget the incident she still remembered the sweet taste of freedom. But she hadn't known how short it would last. How one phone call would be the beginning of the end.

  Chapter 2

  "Janet, please come and get me."

  "Ramani! Where have you been?" Janet glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes after midnight. She'd been unable to study wondering where her friend and roommate was. "I've been up all night worried and I have an exam tomorrow."

  "Just come and get me."

  Janet's anger was quickly replaced with fear. "Where are you?"

  Ramani told her the location then quickly hung up before Janet could ask more questions. Such as How had she ended up so far off campus? Why did she need a ride home? What had kept her out so late? These questions assaulted her as she changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt. They'd only been in the dorm eight weeks and Janet was still getting used to the pace. But she loved it. Her dorm room was everything she'd hoped it would be and it included a large window and a view of the trees and manicured lawn. Ramani wasn't the neatest of roommates, but Janet didn't mind how her books littered the floor or that her bed was usually left unmade. For the first time in her life Janet was able to hang a picture on the wall—a Mondrian—and have a small sculpture of a dancer on her side table. In her father's house such things were considered idols and false gods. Ramani listened to music she couldn't listen to at home. They both had fun filling their tiny fridge with ice cream and frozen dinners. When they'd first tasted nachos, they'd giggled like children. There were no rules or restrictions. They'd been able to eat what they wanted, when they wanted. Janet could study late at the library and return home without answering to anyone. Her father's shadow didn't loom over her.

  But Janet was already beginning to wonder if the freedom was too much as she sped down fraternity row. She turned down an empty street unsure if she'd gotten the directions right. Janet parked and looked around, but didn't see anyone. She started her car again then saw a figure illuminated under a flickering streetlight. Janet turned off her car and walked across the street, hoping the person wouldn't be too drunk to give directions. "Excuse me," she called out then halted when the figure lifted its head. It was Ramani.

  But not the Ramani she knew. This Ramani had one eye swollen shut, her long dark hair hung in disarray, her dress torn and one shoe missing. Janet ran over to her.

  "What happened?"

  Ramani limped towards her. "Just take me away from here."

  Janet grabbed her friend's arm then let go when she winced. "You're hurt. We have to go to the campus police," she said, surveying the damage the muggers had done.

  "No."

  Janet gently took Ramani's hand and guided her to the car. She smelled of booze and cigarettes, but Janet knew her friend didn't indulge in either. "Then I'm taking you to the hospital."

  "No, I just want to go to sleep."

  "But Ramani."

  "I said no. Take me home." Ramani edged her way into the car with a grimace then slammed the door closed.

  Janet looked at her feeling helpless then got into the driver's seat. "We'll report this in the morning," she said as she started the ignition. "You know it's not safe to leave a party this late. At least you still have your handbag so the thief didn't get what he wanted."

  "Yes, he did."

  "He took your wallet?"

  Ramani laughed bitterly. "Janet, I wasn't robbed. I was raped."

  Janet nearly swerved into the sidewalk. She quickly got control of the steering wheel then looked at her friend outraged. "Then you have to go to the police. You—"

  "And let this get back to my parents? No. Just take me home. I'll be okay. I need you to do this for me. Please."

  It was the pleading that silenced her. Ramani was her oldest and dearest friend. She would do anything for her and she knew Ramani would do the same. They'd become fast friends in elementary school and by middle school they'd been inseparable. Most of Janet's friends were kids of immigrants or immigrants themselves. Her friend Sarah Chou's father never spoke English. Vajra always swapped her roti and beans for Janet's fried plantain. But no matter which country they came from they had this in common—the fathers ruled the house and the mothers ruled the kitchen. Daughters were to get married while sons achieved and made money.

  Whether Asian, African or Indian another rule was universal—honor your parents and obey and live by the rules of the 'old country'. The consequence of disobedience was real. They'd had a friend who'd been blinded by acid when she'd flirted with a married man; another whose brother had been disowned because he wouldn't take over his father's business.

  However, Ramani was different. She straddled both worlds with skill, showing one face to her parents and another to her friends. She was the only daughter of three children and was confident and beautiful. Her parents owned a stand in the downtown marketplace and another fruitful office supply business. Many of the East Indians mingled with the West Indians and the Maliks were popular with everyone. They invited Janet into their lives as if she were family. Although she could never spend the night, Janet used to watch Mrs. Malik make samosas and remembered the smell of spices like turmeric, cinnamon and curry. In turn, Ramani would visit her and help in the garden.

  After high school, several of their friends went in different directions. Vajra entered into an arranged marriage and now lived in Colorado. Sarah moved away to attend a college on the West Coast because she had family there ready to support her.

  But Ramani and Janet knew their parents would never allow them to travel far from home, so they both were thrilled to be admitted to the nearby university, which was an hour away. Following a year of commuting, they convinced their parents to let them live in the dorm during their sophomore year. Both fathers inspected the surroundings and once they learned that it was an all female dorm with no alcohol allowed, they gave their permission. Janet immediately dove into her studies and now that she lived on campus attended sports events, plays and theatrical programs. Ramani explored the night life. Janet warned her friend to be careful, but Ramani reminded her that Janet didn't need to worry because there were no rules to break.

  For the first time, their life without rules scared Janet. She felt lost. She led her friend to their dorm room wishing she knew someone who could tell her what to do.

  "I need a shower," Ramani said kicking off her remaining shoe. She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Janet waited to hear the water running then picked up the phone. She began to dial then disconnected. Ramani was right. If she got the police involved then her parents would find out and they wouldn't be sympathetic. They'd see her as damaged goods. They would ask why she was out so late. They would blame her. But they didn't need to know. She could take Ramani to the health center on campus or the ER and because she was of legal age no one needed to be called. But Janet knew she couldn't force her friend to do anything. She set the phone down and began to clear up Ramani's side of the room, putting the books in a pile on her desk and folding back her bed sheets. When Ramani emerged from the bathroom and saw what Janet had done she smiled. "Thanks for coming to get me."

  "Any time."

  Ramani got into bed and buried herself under the covers. Janet sat on a chair unable to sleep. She stared at her notes but saw nothing.

  "Janet?"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

  But she wasn't. Soon Ramani was disappearing for days and Janet didn't feel like she had a roommate.
When Ramani did show up she smelled of beer.

  "School is suppose to be fun," she said when Janet chided her and told her to focus on her studies. "This is our freedom."

  "You can be too free."

  "Really? I don't think so. Freedom is my right. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness and I'm happy."

  "But your parents—."

  "I'm an American. If they'd wanted me to be Indian then they should have had me there. Besides, what they don't know won't hurt them. Now what do you think of my skirt?"

  "It's too short."

  "For an artist you're such a fucking prude."

  Janet winced not used to her friend swearing. "You never thought so before."

  In high school Ramani understood why Janet had to wear shorts or skirts past her knees and never show bare arms or feet. But she hadn't felt out of place with her friends like Sasha who always kept her head covered or Virginia who could never wear shorts or a swimsuit because a woman showing her thighs was considered indecent. They all agreed Ramani was the luckiest because she could wear anything and show off her midriff when she wore a sari.

  Ramani shrugged. "Things change."

  "They can't change this much. You never attend mosque. You eat meat all the time, even though you promised your father you'd at least eat three vegetarian meals a week. And your clothes—"

  "Who are you? My mom? We came here to escape all that. What about you? You're looking at nude drawings and drawing naked people all the time."

  "For school."

  "I heard you listening to a reggae song the other day that would have your father screaming and—"

  Janet held up her hands. In her father's house she was allowed to listen to classical, gospel, opera, some easy listening and country (country music mentioned God enough to please her father) but absolutely no rock, pop or reggae. "Okay I admit that I'm not perfect but I'm not throwing away all that I've been taught. Ramani, you have to have limits. We promised to look out for each other."