by Kathy Macias
Her glance fell on the one Mayan child who populated her classroom. Itzel, whose name meant “rainbow goddess,” was one of the shy ones, possibly because even her Spanish was somewhat different from that of the other students due to the influence of her Mayan ancestry. For her, English might almost be considered a third language, Julia thought. More than once she’d caught herself eyeing the sweet-faced seven-year-old and wondering why her family even allowed her to come to their school. Most of the Mayans who wished to preserve what was left of their culture refused to have anything to do with the mission or its teachings.
The timer on her desk alerted them all that testing time was over. Julia watched as the children looked up and folded their papers, ready to pass them forward. It was easy to isolate the students who were confident of their answers, as they smiled when she caught their eyes. Others looked a bit distressed but obediently laid their pencils down. Itzel, on the other hand, while following directions to stop writing and turn in her paper, did so without looking up. Julia could count on one hand the times she’d actually been able to make eye contact with the child.
You’ve only been here two weeks, she reminded herself. Give her time. She’ll come around. Then she marveled at the fact that connecting with Itzel mattered to her so quickly.
All the students. I want to connect with all the students and to help them whatever way I can—though I sometimes wonder at the wisdom or necessity of teaching them English.
She sighed as she collected the papers from the students sitting in the front desks. Itzel, though smaller and younger than most of the children, refused to sit toward the front of the room.
It’s not just me she shies away from; it’s the other students too. She must be very lonely here.
“Señora Bennington?”
The soft voice interrupted Julia’s thoughts as she placed the collected tests on her desk. Turning back toward her students she spotted Marina, a pleasant ten-year old and the youngest child of the compound’s pastor, Ramon Perez, with her hand in the air.
Julia smiled at her and purposely answered in English. “Yes, Marina? What is it?”
The girl struggled, speaking slowly, but obviously determined to answer in her second language. “We have . . . housework . . .?” She paused, frowning before shaking her head and continuing. “No. Homework. We have homework today?”
Julia nodded, pleased at the girl’s progress. “Yes, Marina, we do.” Slowly, in English, she explained the evening’s assignment, then repeated it in Spanish to be sure everyone understood before dismissing them for the day.
“Gracias, Señora Bennington!”
“Adios, señora!”
Excited children, knowing they were excused to enjoy the compound’s playground for nearly an hour before their parents or other guardians came to pick them up, reverted to Spanish as they scrambled into line by the door, waiting patiently until Julia opened it and let them out.
Her eyes followed them. Some skipped or ran, while others walked in pairs or groups, excitedly chattering with their companions. Only Itzel trailed along behind, head bowed, as she made her way to her usual spot on the bench overlooking the playground. Despite Julia’s encouragement to join in with the others, Itzel kept to herself until her grandmother came to get her. Then, silently, the two made their way down the dirt pathway from the campground.
The grandmother is even more closed-mouthed than Itzel. I just can’t imagine why the girl is allowed to come here.
She shrugged and sighed. There were tests to grade and lessons to prepare. Perhaps she’d take the tests out to the playground and sit on the bench with Itzel, grading them there even if the girl didn’t speak to her or look her way. For now, the important thing was to help the child feel comfortable in her presence. Developing a relationship would have to come later.
“PERDONA, SEÑORA, but I saw you sitting with Itzel today. Did she speak to you?”
Julia looked up from where she sat in her chair behind her desk. The children, including Itzel, had gone home, and she’d returned to her classroom to finish the last of her work before heading back to her little cottage next door to the Barneses.
Padre Ramon stood in the open doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. In the two weeks since arriving at the compound, Julia had come to like this humble, kind man, though she couldn’t help but notice the sadness is his dark eyes. Just a few inches taller than her own five-foot-two-inch frame, he had a slight build and yet walked with a strength that she knew came from within.
She smiled in return. “I’m afraid not, Padre. I’ve tried, but I doubt I’ve been able to elicit more than a half dozen words from her since I arrived here. And those were all in Spanish, not English. Still, from the way she follows directions, regardless of which language I use, I think she understands at least some English. Am I right?”
The man with thick, wavy salt-and-pepper hair stepped into the room, hesitating until she invited him the rest of the way by indicating the empty chair beside her desk.
“Gracias,” he said, taking a seat. “I believe you are right, though I too have heard her speak very little during the past months since she’s been coming here.”
“So she’s a fairly new student.”
Ramon nodded. “Sí, less than one year. Her abuela (grandmother) showed up with her one day and asked if she could come to school here. The Barneses said yes, and the old woman has been bringing her and picking her up ever since.” He shrugged. “The viejita hasn’t spoken to us since that first day. I wanted to try to find where they live and see if I could speak with the abuela or someone else in the family, but the Barneses asked me not to. They thought it might scare them off completely. Itzel is the only Mayan student we have here. The others avoid us—or worse.”
Julia swallowed. She’d already heard horror stories of people disappearing at the hands of some of the curanderos, or shamans, in the area, the worst story being that of Ramon’s own wife. Though she understood he couldn’t prove that his beloved Rosa had died at the hands of some of the more aggressive or resentful Mayans, it was generally assumed that it had been so. She admired the man’s ability not to hold a grudge or become bitter.
Changing the subject, she smiled. “Marina is a very good student. You must be very proud of her.”
Ramon’s smile was quick and full, bringing out tiny wrinkles around his eyes. Her impression of the man as being humble and kind deepened at that moment. “Sí, señora, I am very proud of all my children. But Marina is my baby, the one most like her mother.”
A hint of sadness flitted across his face, and he dropped his eyes.
Julia resisted the impulse to lay a comforting hand on his, knowing it would be inappropriate. Instead she said, “You still miss her very much, don’t you?”
When he lifted his gaze, tears glistened in his eyes. He nodded. “Sí, señora. But I know she is safe with our Lord. And that helps me very much.”
A bolt of jagged lightning seemed to slice through her heart, as she fought to keep from saying something she would regret. She knew what it was like to miss a beloved spouse, but she couldn’t relate to the rest of his statement so she would once again change the subject.
“Well,” she said, gathering together her papers and books before standing to her feet, “it’s getting late. I’d better get going.”
Ramon rose from his chair. “Will we see you at the service this evening?”
Julia blanched. She’d forgotten about the midweek service that everyone else in the compound attended each Wednesday evening. The Barneses had invited her the last two weeks, not only on Wednesday but Sunday mornings too, and would no doubt do the same tonight. She’d been able to plead weariness until now, but she knew that wouldn’t hold much longer.
She smiled. “We’ll see. Good night, Padre.”
Before he could press her further, she swept past him and out the door.
CHAPTER 7
JULIA KNEW WHO STOOD at her front door, knocking, before she opened it. S
he’d made the short walk across the compound from the school to her cottage more than an hour earlier, determined to put the padre’s invitation out of her mind. Hoping for an Internet connection, she’d spent the next hour trying to send emails to her parents and children, but to no avail. The compound had been quiet, and though she’d never been one to take naps, she found herself growing drowsy as she sat on her tiny patio and tried to read. Within moments she had dozed off.
But now the afternoon sunlight was gone, and she was hungry. She’d prepared a sandwich and fruit in her kitchen and then sat down in the armchair beside her bed to work on the next day’s lessons. That’s when the knock had come. Julia glanced at her watch and realized it had to be Frank and Carolyn Barnes on their way to the evening service. No doubt they had stopped by to try to convince her to join them.
She greeted them now, these two dear people whom she so admired and who now stood gazing at her with smiling faces and hopeful eyes. “We came to invite you to join us at church,” Carolyn offered. “The service starts in a few minutes.”
Julia opened her mouth to decline their invitation, hoping to excuse herself by explaining she had lessons to prepare. But she knew how weak and transparent her excuse would sound. She’d had all afternoon to work on the lessons, and there truly wasn’t that much to prepare in the first place.
She offered a thin-lipped smile. “Sure. Just let me grab a light shawl. I noticed it got a bit cool when I was sitting outside last night after the sun went down.”
“Absolutely,” Carolyn agreed. “This time of year the temperature drops quickly after dark.”
Within moments the three of them were walking the hundred yards or so from Julia’s place to the church building, a small one-room edifice with a thatched roof and the words La Iglesia de la Paz—the Church of Peace—handpainted over the front door. Padre Ramon’s living quarters were attached at the back. Frank Barnes walked silently to his wife’s left, while Carolyn chatted nearly nonstop, her arm linked in Julia’s.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” she said. “It will give you a chance to meet the locals who come to our services. There aren’t many, but we’re growing. Padre Ramon is such a godly man, and we have all benefited from his teaching and leadership.”
Julia nodded. She hadn’t heard the man’s teachings yet, but she didn’t doubt that he was indeed a godly man, though she sometimes wondered exactly what such a definition entailed. But her few brief meetings with him since arriving at La Paz assured her that he was sincere.
Sounds of singing in Spanish, combined with an accompanying guitar, greeted them as they approached. Once inside Julia saw that it was Padre Ramon himself who sat on a tall, three-legged stool at the front, strumming his guitar and leading the fifteen or twenty parishioners in song. His simple white cotton shirt and pants were the same he’d worn when she’d seen him earlier. He dresses like his flock—simple and unassuming. I like that.
Ramon glanced up and caught her eye as she and the Barneses settled into folding chairs toward the back of the room. A slight smile and nod confirmed that he’d seen them. She returned the smile as he glanced back down at his guitar and continued to sing.
Not the best voice in the world, she thought, but pleasant and gentle—like him.
As much as she was able with songs she’d not heard before, she joined in singing with the others.
IT WAS THURSDAY MORNING, and Hernando was encouraged. They’d spotted a tourist couple who seemed to be loners, always breaking away from the tour-bus crowd. Best of all, he and his compadres had watched them closely all morning and concluded they had money, as they flashed it around each time they made a purchase. That meant they most likely had family at home who would be willing and able to pull together a decent ransom to have them set free. All Hernando and his cohorts had to do was find a way to kidnap and whisk them away without being caught.
The four men broke up into pairs, taking turns keeping an eye on the couple. By evening they knew exactly what hotel they were in, including which room. Once the tour group was safely settled in for the night, the men would make their move. If all went well, the unsuspecting middle-aged couple would soon be hidden away in a safe place, their lives dependent on their loved ones meeting their kidnappers’ demands.
Hernando grinned as he watched the sun begin its descent toward the area’s many mountains and trees. The tourist group was out celebrating at a local cantina this evening; by morning they would be astonished to learn that two of their number had disappeared. The thought excited him. And didn’t he deserve a little excitement in his life? He was used to the bright lights and exotic nightlife of the big city, but he’d been banished to the middle of nowhere. Not only did he have to prove himself to those in charge, he also had to make his own entertainment as well. It appeared he would soon be successful at both.
“SEÑORA BENNINGTON?”
The familiar voice stopped Julia as she left the school building on Thursday afternoon, heading for home. She turned to see Padre Ramon’s daughter, Marina, trailing behind her.
“Hello, Marina,” she said, stopping to wait for the girl. “Do you need something?”
Marina’s delicate features took on a hesitant appearance as she slowed her steps. She nodded, her long black braids hanging thickly over the back of her shoulders. Her dark eyes were round and clear.
“Yo quiero . . .” She began in Spanish but quickly switched to English. “I want to know if . . . if I am doing well in my studies. My brother and sister will be coming home to visit soon, and I want them to be proud of me.”
Julia’s heart melted. She hadn’t yet met Padre Ramon’s two older children, twins named Cristina and Antonio. They were quite a bit older than their little sister and had been sent to live with relatives in Mexico City, where they were attending their first year of college. Julia admired their father’s tenacity at making sure his children got whatever education possible to give them a chance at a better future, but right now she was touched by Ramon’s youngest child’s desire to please her older siblings.
“You are doing very well, Marina. Your work is some of the best in the class. Your brother and sister will be very proud of you.” She smiled and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I am proud of you too.”
Marina’s face lit up, all vestiges of hesitation having vanished. “You are?” She stepped forward and threw her arms around Julia’s waist. “Oh, gracias, Señora Bennington! Gracias.”
Overwhelmed by the child’s impulsive display of gratitude, Julia found herself at a loss for words as unbidden tears stung her eyes. Another thread wove itself around her heart, deepening her connection to the people of La Paz.
CHAPTER 8
THE TERRIFIED PAIR SAT STIFFLY, blindfolded, bound, and gagged, back-to-back in hard wooden chairs. Darkness enveloped them, and they had no way of knowing if it was day or night. It was exactly as Hernando had planned it.
The woman moaned, and Hernando watched her, imagining she had once been attractive, but no more. Too many years and too much rich life had taken their toll. It was too bad. He would have liked to enjoy himself with her for a while before releasing her—or killing her, if the ransom didn’t arrive.
Her moaning and whimpering, though muffled through her gag, continued, causing Bruno the pit bull to growl in response. The dog was trained to guard whatever prey it was assigned, in this case the kidnapped tourists. Hernando trusted Bruno to a point but wouldn’t want to turn his back on the beast. He imagined his captives were nearly as terrified of the animal as they were of their situation in general.
Snatching them from their motel room had been a walk in the park. The gang members had silently jimmied the lock on their door, slipped inside, and gagged them before they could make a sound. Now, more than twenty-four hours later, they understood they were being held for ransom. Though they’d argued that their families in Canada didn’t have the kind of money the men were demanding, Hernando had made it clear that they’d better hope their
families found a way to come up with it if they wanted to get out alive.
A synchronized rap on the door brought Bruno to full attention. The growls resumed as he awaited direction.
Hernando recognized the signal and opened the door.
“I brought breakfast,” the man said, handing Hernando a thermos of coffee and several large burritos. “You ready for a break?”
Technically it was still Hernando’s shift for another hour, but since his compadre had offered, he decided to take him up on it.
“Sure.” He took the food and motioned with his head for the man to come inside. “They slept a little, but not much. The woman cries a lot, but otherwise everything is quiet. Let’s give them a quick break to relieve themselves and eat something while we’re both here. Then we’ll tie them back up and I’ll go back to the house for a few minutes.”
With four of them plus Bruno to guard their captives, Hernando wasn’t at all concerned about the couple making an escape. The house was mere steps away from the old outbuilding where they were being held, and even that was well hidden among the trees in the backyard. One of them stayed with the couple at all times.
He set the food down and helped his partner untie the pair. He figured they’d be back in their chairs in fifteen minutes, tops, and then he could eat his own breakfast and get some sleep. He’d be glad when this business was finished. He just hoped it ended well, with the man and his wife on their way home and a big chunk of money in the gang’s possession. There was an alternate plan, of course, but it certainly wasn’t one that any of them preferred.
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED DAMP AND GRAY, with a heavy fog lying over the compound and as far out into the forest as Julia could see. She’d grown accustomed to having her morning coffee on her little patio, enjoying the sun and listening to the forest come to life. But today was too cold. With no classes in the offing, she sat in the comfortable armchair beside her bed, wrapped in a blanket and ingesting her caffeine. One thing she’d learned about Mexican coffee—it was hot, black, and strong, and it was starting to grow on her. She’d have a difficult time readjusting to frothy lattes and cappuccinos when she went back home.