by Kathy Macias
Carolyn and Frank Barnes had gone into town on previously scheduled errands, so that left Julia and Ramon to oversee the children. Not a problem, Julia mused. These kids are so well behaved. If my high schoolers back home were half this disciplined, teaching would be a snap.
Three of the girls, including Marina, were busy setting out plates of corn, potatoes, black beans, and baked squash, all fresh from the garden the children had helped to cultivate. They had all pitched in to help with the cooking in Julia’s small kitchen, and then setting the table. None of them knew that Julia had spent the last evening baking them a chocolate cake for dessert, but she imagined they would be pleased when she brought it out later.
Warm sunlight shone on their backs, with only a slight breeze to keep them comfortable. It seemed even the birds and monkeys chimed in to help them celebrate this special occasion.
When all the children were seated, even those who had been carrying the food from the kitchen, Julia realized there were only two seats left, side by side. Her cheeks warmed as she took one of them, aware that the other was reserved for Padre Ramon, who was just now making his way toward them. The children returned his greeting as he sat down in the only empty chair, but not before catching Julia’s eyes and offering a hesitant smile.
Julia hoped her own smile looked more natural than it felt, as they all folded their hands and bowed their heads, waiting for the padre to offer a prayer of thanks. Julia scarcely heard his words, as she concentrated on trying to ignore the man’s closeness. This particular scenario had never occurred to her when she invited him to join them for their meal, but it was only right that he should be here. She realized then that if he hadn’t come, it would have been up to her to offer the blessing. Though she’d sat through enough Thanksgiving prayers in her lifetime to believe she could do so, she was relieved the task hadn’t fallen to her.
Why am I so uncomfortable about anything related to faith? I was raised in it, after all. And I’m getting used to the weekly services here at La Paz. But as soon as it becomes personal, I find myself withdrawing. She frowned. Why is that? It’s not that I don’t believe in God, and yet . . .
Padre Ramon ended his prayer with a hearty amen, echoed by the children, and it was time to eat. Julia chased the thoughts from her mind and began to pass the heaping bowls of food around the table. This might be the most unusual Thanksgiving dinner she’d ever experienced, but she was determined it would also be a joyous one.
MARIE HAD BEEN UP SINCE BEFORE DAYLIGHT, stuffing the twenty-pound turkey and getting it ready to pop into the oven, preparing snacks, and fussing with last-minute decorations and place settings at the table. Tyler and Brittney had arrived the night before and were both upstairs sleeping in.
“You’re going to wear yourself out before dinner,” John warned as he entered the kitchen midmorning. “Take it easy, sweetheart. It’s just our grandkids here for dinner, not the queen of England.”
Marie stopped in the middle of rearranging the napkins one more time. She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. “I’d rather cook for my family than the queen of England any day. I want them to know how special they are and how glad we are that they’re with us, especially now that . . .”
Her voice trailed off as hot tears sprang into her eyes. She saw her husband’s face go soft, and she knew he too was thinking how different Thanksgiving would be this year without their daughter at the table. She blinked the tears away and returned to her task, her head bowed. “It’s bad enough our grandchildren have lost their father, but now their mother has taken off on some wild goose chase, teaching children in the middle of God-knows-where, so it’s up to us to pick up the slack.”
John came to stand behind her and slipped his arms around her ample waist. “I miss her too, and I know it’s going to be like having dinner with the proverbial elephant in the room without her, but what else can we do? Of course we have to make it as easy on the kids as we can, but no amount of fussing or primping is going to erase what they’re feeling today.”
The tears Marie had been holding back spilled over then, and she turned and buried her face in her husband’s chest, glad for the strength he offered as he held her close. If only her daughter were somewhere more civilized and safe, maybe her temporary absence would be easier to accept.
But she wasn’t, and until this awful time was over and Julia came home where she belonged, Marie doubted she would ever be at peace with the situation. She’d prayed and prayed, and tried to turn it over to God countless times, but always her fears came back to haunt her. There were times she was certain she simply couldn’t bear it for another day, but she really had no choice, and so she pressed on.
BRITTNEY AWOKE AHEAD OF TYLER and managed to get showered and dressed before he started banging on the guest bathroom door.
“You going to stay in there forever?” he hollered.
She smiled, taking just an extra minute for a final few tweaks to her makeup. This reminded her of their growing-up years, when they shared a bathroom and Tyler never stopped complaining that she took more than her share of time in there.
“I might,” she answered, grinning at herself in the mirror. Her red-gold locks were still wet and clipped on top of her head. Should she make him wait longer while she styled them? She shook her head. No sense torturing the poor guy.
She opened the door, leaving the light on. “It’s all yours, bro.”
He brushed past her, closed the door, and flipped the lock, seemingly all in one motion. Chuckling, she headed for the stairs, her mouth already salivating at the pumpkin and spice smells making their way up toward her. It wouldn’t be long until the delectable aroma of roasting turkey would join in, making the wait nearly unbearable.
Grandma always has snacks to tide us over, and she’ll no doubt want to stop what she’s doing and fix us breakfast, but I’m going to stick with coffee and save my appetite for dinner.
She smiled at the thought that she made that resolution every year, but the minute she spotted all the goodies her grandmother had set out for everyone to munch on, her resolve when down the drain.
Just give up and dive in. You know you’re going to anyway. Brittney could hear her mother’s voice, urging her on, and the memory sent a jagged pain slicing through her heart.
Mom’s not here. First Dad, and now Mom. Aren’t families supposed to grow through the years? Ours is just getting smaller.
Before the sadness that still washed over her since her father’s death could once again grab hold of her and ruin her day, she took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and headed for the kitchen to see what she could do to help.
CHAPTER 15
ITZEL THOUGHT THE HOLIDAY called Thanksgiving was a very good one indeed, though she said nothing about it to her abuela. The young girl of Mayan ancestry knew her grandmother took a great chance in defying the old ways and allowing her granddaughter to attend school at the compound. None of her friends were so blessed, and Itzel was indeed happy for the opportunity.
Still, she knew her place and knew not to cross certain lines with her abuela. The old woman had cared for her since her parents died, so long ago the girl could not remember them. The few times she had dared to ask her abuela how her parents had died, the woman had silenced her with a look. As much as Itzel loved her abuela, she also feared her, though the woman had never harmed her in any way.
“It is dangerous to cross the old ways,” she had once whispered to her granddaughter, sending shivers down the girl’s spine. “We must be very careful.”
And yet, when Señor and Señora Barnes had come to their neighborhood that one time and knocked on doors to invite the children to come to school, Abuela had dared to accept the invitation, being careful to walk Itzel to and from the compound, cautioning her never to do so on her own.
She sat outside now, in the dirt yard in front of the one-room, thatched-roof home she shared with her grandmother. Chickens scratched around her, even as the girl made her own marks in
the dirt, using a stick to practice the letters she was learning at school. There was no school today, as Señora Bennington had explained that Thanksgiving was a holiday in the place faraway where she and the Barneses were from. Itzel missed being at school, but practicing her letters in the dirt, with the warm noonday sunshine overhead, was a pleasant way to pass the day.
“Itzel, come here.”
Her abuela’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She laid down her stick, stood up and brushed the dirt from her hands, and hurried inside.
“Take a shawl,” Abuela instructed, already wrapped in her own and carrying the colorful shopping bag she used when they went to the outdoor food market to barter or trade. “I need some chipilin to spice up our dinner, so we will take potatoes and corn from the garden to trade.”
The girl grabbed her worn blue shawl and threw it over her shoulders as she turned and skipped out the door ahead of her abuela. A trip to the market was always an interesting adventure. Perhaps her abuela would even find a way to get her a piece of candied fruit, though it wouldn’t be nearly as good as the chocolate cake she’d had the day before.
HERNANDO WAS GROWING TIRED of the constant pressure to deliver more ransom money. Hadn’t he explained that it would be easier if they’d left him in Guadalajara or at least sent him to some other good-sized city where the tourists were more plentiful? Of course he had, but his words had fallen on deaf ears. The orders to prove himself once again were now couched in threats, and he knew he was running out of time.
The first couple had been easy, but he hadn’t come across anyone quite so vulnerable since then. If they would be more patient, no doubt he would locate his next victims and be able to obtain more money. But he couldn’t snatch just anyone, could he? He needed to be reasonably certain the person had relatives with money who cared enough to pay it.
Annoyed with his compadres, he decided to take a little trip into San Juan Chamula. He’d driven through it a time or two, but he’d never had time to hang around the tourist areas and check out the possibilities. This sunny Thursday afternoon seemed exactly the right time to do that.
He hopped into the beat-up white Chevy Blazer that had become his only ride since his foolish indiscretion had cost him nearly everything but his life—and even that could be snatched away at any time. He drove the short distance from San Cristobal to Chamula in well under thirty minutes, despite being delayed behind an overpacked bus full of an almost equal number of animals and people. But no one worth any money, he thought, as he watched the weary riders disembark in front of the San Juan Chamula bus station.
Driving a bit farther he found himself close enough to the outdoor market to park his Blazer and go the rest of the way on foot.
Stupid people stink worse than the animals, he thought, as he pushed his way through the crowds. Women bartered for food, while children clung to their long skirts. Buying a warm tamale, which he was told contained armadillo meat but was convinced was really from a dog, he munched on it as he made his way up one aisle and down the next, only to return to his vehicle empty-handed.
Disgusted, he cursed and threw the empty banana leaf from his tamale on the ground. He glared at a little girl who stared at him, wide-eyed, then climbed into his car and took off, kicking up dust on all who stood in his wake.
ITZEL WAS PLEASED that her abuela had been able to trade her vegetables for the spices she needed as well as a slice of candied mango. The girl sucked on it, wanting it to last as long as possible as they prepared to leave the market and head home.
The sun was starting to ease its way down now, and the air grew cool. Itzel managed to cling to the corners of her shawl as she savored her tasty treat. She and her abuela hadn’t gone far when Itzel heard a man utter a word she didn’t understand, but she could tell from the anger in his voice that it was not a nice word. Still clutching her shawl and her mango slice, she looked up in time to see a mean-looking man throw a tamale wrapper on the ground. Her eyes went wide when he caught her looking at him just before he climbed into his vehicle, and she moved closer to her abuela, averting her gaze.
She heard the vehicle’s door slam and the engine roar to life before the man drove down the dirt road, spraying dust into her eyes and onto her mango. Itzel looked up from her damaged treat at the white vehicle and watched it disappear around a corner. She wasn’t sure if the tears she felt stinging her eyes were from the dust she’d gotten in them or because the man had ruined her mango.
“It is all right, little one.” Her abuela’s voice was hushed as she patted Itzel’s shoulder. “We will wash your fruit in the water bucket when we get home.”
Itzel lifted her head, surprised at her abuela’s kind words. The woman spoke very little, and her rare assurance warmed the young girl’s heart. She smiled up at her, but Abuela didn’t see. Her eyes were straight ahead as they walked, looking in the direction where the mean man in the white vehicle had disappeared. Suddenly the little girl wanted nothing more than to get back to the safety of their home and hide away there with their chickens and their garden.
CHAPTER 16
JULIA HAD HOPED to be able to connect with her parents and children on Thanksgiving Day via the Internet, but it hadn’t worked out. Instead she’d spent the evening writing long letters to each of them after having a small but enjoyable Thanksgiving meal with the Barneses and Padre Ramon. But as nice as the meal and fellowship had been, it didn’t compare to her warm memories of the early Thanksgiving celebration she’d shared with Ramon and the children.
She smiled at the memory, comparing it to the many family-filled Thanksgivings of her past. There was no comparison, of course, and though her heart squeezed at missing out on the day with her parents and children—not to mention the fact that she would never again enjoy such a time with her late husband—she knew she wouldn’t give up the once-in-a-lifetime experience she’d had with her students.
And Ramon, she thought, then quickly banished the images of his warm laughter and his pleasant voice as he led the children in singing after their meal. It had indeed been a delightful day, and it was representative of her entire experience so far here at La Paz. How could she have doubted for a moment the rightness of taking advantage of this rare opportunity? She would go home a better person for it and was certain her family would recognize that, even if they didn’t understand it now.
Setting her completed letters aside, she made a mental note to take advantage of the fact that she’d opted to give the children the entire weekend off. They wouldn’t be back until Monday, so that meant she was free on Friday. As soon as the usual morning fog burned off, she would venture out for a brief walk to town, where she would mail her letters and browse the outdoor market a bit before coming back. She’d been there several times now, though never alone, except for the time she’d walked with Itzel and her abuela, and she’d never seen any reason for concern. It was perfectly safe, and so long as she didn’t alarm the Barneses or Ramon by telling them of her plans, she’d be back before they even realized she was gone.
She stood and stretched, then changed into her pajamas and slipped under the covers. The novel she was reading beckoned to her from the nightstand beside her bed, so she picked it up and began to read. She knew it wouldn’t be long before her eyes grew heavy and she turned out the light, but for now it was an enjoyable pastime in a place that sported no televisions, only one radio, and very sporadic Internet service. It was a pace of life that she was beginning to think suited her well.
HERNANDO HADN’T SLEPT MUCH. In addition to his snoring roommate, his mind raced with the pressures he felt to deliver more ransom money. Obviously he couldn’t do that until he kidnapped someone, and that someone had to have the strong possibility of relatives willing and able to pay the ransom.
If he just had more time, he could wait for the perfect tourist to show up, as had happened last time. But he didn’t have time; he was going to have to make a move soon. His trip to San Juan Chamula on Thursday hadn’t produced any pro
mising leads—except one. When he’d returned and his compadres had asked where he’d been, he told them of the reason for his foray into Chamula. That’s when Raul had mentioned seeing a couple of gringas in town the last time he was there. He’d asked around about them and learned they were from the La Paz Compound. He also found out they were Americanas, meaning the possibility of their families having money was strong.
Hernando had nearly knocked the idiot in the head for not telling him about this sooner but now, after thinking about it all night, he had decided to drive back into Chamula to see if he could learn more about these women. Perhaps one or both of them could prove to be the answer to his problem.
THE MORNING FOG had been slower than usual to burn off, but Julia had wrapped her favorite white shawl around her shoulders and headed out anyway. She wanted to get an early start before the Barneses or Padre Ramon were out and about and more apt to see her leave. If all went well, she’d be back before they missed her. She didn’t want anyone to worry, but she was looking forward to a pleasant outing on her own.
She went first to the post office to make sure her letters would go out that day. After that she turned her attention to some browsing at the outdoor marketplace.
The aroma of freshly baked tamales snagged her attention, and she spotted a street vendor selling them near the entrance to the marketplace. Her stomach growled with anticipation, as she realized she hadn’t yet had any breakfast. What better than one of the local steamed black bean-and-masa treats? She knew many of the tamales also contained such ingredients as iguana or fish, but she opted to stick with what she considered safer and more familiar ingredients.
She stopped in front of the vendor’s cart and asked in Spanish for one tamale, beans only. The old man with the nearly black eyes frowned suspiciously. Wordlessly he handed her a banana-leaf tamale, still warm from the steamer. She paid him, smiling as she spoke her thanks. Still he did not respond, and so she took her breakfast and moved on, sensing that he watched her as she walked away.