by Kathy Macias
The man tore his gaze from Abuela and transferred it to the girl. “Itzel,” he asked, his voice firm but gentle, “are you sure it was Señora Bennington?”
For the first time since entering the compound, the child lifted her gaze. Abuela spotted tears on her cheeks. Itzel nodded. “Sí. It was my teacher.”
The silence lasted only a moment before the old woman continued. “I have heard it from others too. It is said the car is called a Blazer, and the man who drives it might be from San Cristobal, but he has not been around here long.” She swallowed, the length of her sentence exhausting her. She lifted her teacup and sipped from it, more anxious than ever to leave.
She watched as the two who sat across from her looked at one another, then back at her. “I can’t thank you enough, señora. Your news is exactly what we needed to hear.” He smiled, but Abuela could tell it was forced. “Is there . . . anything else?”
She shook her head. “That is all I have heard. I came right away to tell you.”
Señor Barnes nodded. “And we are grateful that you did. Thank you. If you hear anything else, please tell us, will you?”
“Sí.” Taking a final drink of tea, the old woman stood to her feet and nudged Itzel’s shoulder to do the same.
The child obeyed, but before turning to leave, she fixed her eyes on the Barneses. “Is my . . . teacher OK?”
Once again the Barneses exchanged glances before the woman smiled at the girl. “We must pray that she is, Itzel. Will you pray as well?”
The girl nodded and then dropped her head once again as Señor Barnes headed for the door. Abuela took her granddaughter’s hand and followed him outside.
ITZEL WAS RELIEVED when they arrived back at home. One of her friends had called out to her as they passed by, inviting her to come and play. But Itzel ignored her, continuing her silent trudge home. All she wanted was to lie down on her sleeping mat and be alone.
As sure as she’d been that the red-haired woman she’d seen peering out the back window of the white car was her teacher, she had clung to a tiny hope that she was wrong, that her teacher would greet her at the compound when they arrived. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, after talking with Señor and Señora Barnes, Itzel had known with even greater certainty that her beloved teacher was in great danger.
The little girl lay down on her mat and drew her knees up to her chest. Even when her abuela offered to take her to the marketplace for a special treat, she refused to move. She was not interested in going anywhere or eating anything. She had promised to pray for Señora Bennington, and though she wasn’t sure how to do that, she would try—and she wouldn’t stop until she heard her teacher was safe.
JOHN AND MARIE LAY SILENTLY, side by side, in their bed that night. The prayer meeting had lasted for several hours, and Marie was encouraged by the time everyone left. It hadn’t taken long, however, to sink back into despair, though she’d held it together long enough to prepare a quick supper. None of them had seemed inclined to eat much, but it had helped Marie to do something familiar. Afterward she and Brittney had cleaned up while John and Tyler once again watched television. At last they all gave up and headed upstairs to bed.
Marie imagined no one had drifted off to sleep yet, but maybe it was best that they were alone with their thoughts—and prayers. Why is it my faith rises to the surface when others are here, praying with us, and then it bottoms out when they leave? I am so weak, Lord. So weak!
She choked back a sob, not wanting to disturb her husband. But almost instantly he stretched out his arm and drew her to him. She laid her head on his chest, grateful for his closeness.
“What’s going to happen?” she whispered. “What will they do to her when the three days pass and we don’t have the million dollars to give them? What will they do to her, John?”
She felt her husband shudder. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But we can’t focus on that. We have to stay focused on God, who not only knows where Julia is but what lies ahead for all of us.” He bent to kiss the top of her head. “Remember, He loves her even more than we do.”
Marie knew that in her mind, but her heart still had questions. If God truly loved Julia more than her own parents did, why had He allowed her to be kidnapped in the first place? As an earthly parent, Marie would never have let this happen. It just didn’t make sense. Even if Julia came through it safe and sound, what possible good could come of it?
As if reading her thoughts, John stroked her hair and said, “We don’t always understand God’s thoughts or His ways because they’re so far beyond our capacity to do so. But one thing we can be sure of is that His plans for us—and for Julia—are for good and not for evil, to give her a future and a hope, just as the Scriptures promise.”
Jeremiah 29:11. One of Marie’s favorite verses. She remembered helping Julia learn it when she was a child and needed to recite it for Sunday School. The thought occurred to her that it might encourage Julia right now, wherever she was and whatever was happening to her.
“Please,” she said, raising her head to look into her husband’s eyes, “pray with me that God will remind Julia of that verse. She knows it. She memorized it years ago. I think she needs to be reminded of it right now.”
John nodded and held his wife close as he implored the Lord to bring that verse to their daughter’s mind and to encourage her to cling to it, no matter what.
CHAPTER 26
JULIA SLEPT INTERMITTENTLY but had no idea whether it was day or night. Every few hours, though not nearly often enough, Hernando untied her so she could avail herself of the primitive facilities. And though she heard other men’s voices now and then, always Hernando seemed to be there. It was obvious he felt territorial about her, but for whatever reason he had yet to carry out his threat to rape her. For that she was indeed grateful.
He had recently brought her another burrito, which seemed to be the only fare she was allowed—or perhaps all they had. Either way, she was grateful for that as well. She had originally thought she would never be able to eat anything, but despite her painful and frightening circumstances, her stomach still seemed to growl its demand for food.
Now she listened to the intermittent snores of at least two men. Did that mean it was night? She occasionally heard what sounded like a dog whimpering in sleep, so perhaps it was. But which night? How many nights had she been here? Hernando had told her that her family had three days to pay her ransom—one million dollars—so she could only assume the three days hadn’t come and gone yet or they would most certainly have killed her by now.
She shifted in her chair once again, desperately trying to find a more comfortable position. Sleep was nearly impossible, but at least Hernando wasn’t taunting her at the moment—another point of gratitude.
I know the plans I have for you . . .
The words took shape in her mind, unbidden and yet somehow welcome. She frowned. Jeremiah 29:11. She hadn’t thought of that verse in years, but she remembered well the many evenings she sat with her mother, memorizing Scripture verses so she could recite them in Sunday School. She’d had a perfect attendance record then and more gold stars for Scripture memorization than almost anyone else in her class. When and how had she drifted so far from the faith of her childhood?
Tom. My beloved Tom. Handsome, sweet, thoughtful man that you were. You rode into my life like a knight in shining armor and swept me off my feet, as they say. You became the most important thing in my life, more so even than God. Is that what happened to my faith? Did I allow it to be replaced with love for you?
She sighed. No doubt that was at least part of the reason, but she couldn’t blame Tom for that. Though he had no personal faith of his own, he’d never insisted she leave hers behind.
But I did, didn’t I, Lord? Slowly but surely, I let it slip down my priority list until it nearly vanished altogether. When Mom and Dad’s pastor came out to pray with Tom before he died, I was so pleased that he received Jesus as his Savior, even if it was in the last days of hi
s life. But even then, I continued to drift along on my own way instead of Yours, God. It just seemed so much easier at the time.
A sob escaped her throat then. And look at where I ended up. Is this to be the end of my life, Lord? I’ve ignored You for so long, and I know I don’t have a right to ask, but Father, please . . . I can’t even imagine what this will do to my family, what will become of them if I die here in this awful place.
The remembered promise came back to her again, this time in more detail. I know the plans I have for you, plans for good and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.
Another sob burst forth then, and she didn’t even try to hold back the tears. Was God saying He wasn’t through with her yet, that there was still hope for her? Did she dare cling to such a fragile thread?
“Shut up over there,” came a growled order. “We’re trying to sleep.”
Julia knew it wasn’t Hernando’s voice, but one of the others. She tried to obey, tried to turn off the water works, but the tears continued to come, once again soaking the filthy rag that covered her eyes. Worse than that was the gag that threatened to suffocate her if she didn’t stop crying. For that reason even more than her captor’s order, she tried yet again to calm herself. She had nearly succeeded in doing so when she felt, as well as heard, Hernando’s voice beside her ear.
“What is it, cara? Are you lonely? Do you miss Hernando?” He laughed. “Yes, I think that must be it.” He kissed the top of her ear. “Do not worry, preciosa. As soon as your familia sends the money, then we can have our time together—alone. Just you and me, señora.” He laughed again. “But you are impatient, no? Tired of waiting? Maybe a little kiss from Hernando will make you feel better.”
She felt him untie the gag, the only time he had done so except when he gave her food. But even the relief of having her mouth free didn’t calm the terror or revulsion that rose up inside her as he brought his lips close to hers, his foul breath assaulting her. The promised words from the Scriptures that had so recently brought her comfort now evaporated as she tried to pull back from him. The back of the chair prevented that, and as his mouth closed over hers she bit down on his lower lip until he screamed. When she still refused to let go, he slapped her so hard her mouth flew open in a scream of her own.
By now Bruno was awake and growling, and Hernando was free. But before she could catch her breath, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back as he spit in her face. “If you ever try that again, señora,” he hissed, “I will repay you—slowly and painfully—until you beg me to kill you.” He yanked her hair again, and Julia knew he had pulled some of it out. Tears once again streamed from her eyes as she tried to respond, but he held her head so tightly she couldn’t nod.
“I . . . understand,” she managed to say at last.
“Good.” He loosened his grip slightly. “That is very good, señora. Do not forget it. You belong to me now. Comprende?”
This time she was able to nod, though only slightly. She waited, hoping he would release her then. Instead the other man’s voice interrupted them.
“Hey, I told you, I’m trying to get some sleep. If you want to beat the woman, can you wait until morning?”
At last Hernando dropped his grip and moved away from her face. Would he heed his companion’s request and at least leave her alone for now?
After several seconds where the only sound she heard was an agitated Bruno, Hernando apparently decided to call it a night and replaced the gag in her mouth. As much as she hated it, she breathed a ragged sigh of relief. Perhaps she would live for at least a few more hours.
RAMON WAS AS CLOSE TO ECSTATIC as he could be under such dire circumstances. True, Julia was still missing and the kidnappers had demanded an impossible amount of money in a ridiculously short period of time. But he knew that kidnappers often demanded ransoms beyond the actual amount they would accept. He could only hope that was the case this time. But his real reason for optimism—as fragile as it might be—was the news that Itzel’s abuela had brought them. He still had little or no hope that local authorities, either in Chamula or in San Cristobal, would do anything to help them, but at least he had a starting place.
He wished he could head out to San Cristobal immediately, but it was Sunday morning and he needed to keep his priorities straight. First things first. He would lead the church service, as well as more prayer for Julia’s rescue, and then he and Frank Barnes would head into San Juan to search for the white Blazer. He knew it would take a miracle to find it in this city of approximately fifty thousand people, but surely God would help them. All the more reason to wait until after the church service and our prayers, he reminded himself.
Ramon took his usual place in the front of the chapel, sitting on his stool and holding his guitar. Help me to focus on worshipping You, Lord, he prayed silently as he strummed his first chords.
The front gate to the compound was open, and the small congregation was beginning to stream in. Ramon watched as they entered and took their seats. Few of them knew of Julia’s kidnapping, and he wrestled with whether or not to announce it and ask for group prayer. But even before they joined him in the first song, he sensed a peace from God that he should indeed invite them to pray together. With that settled, he continued the worship service with a stronger assurance.
MARIE WONDERED IF she’d lost her mind when she agreed to join Ginny after church to help serve lunch at the homeless shelter. Yet the moment Ginny had invited her, she felt compelled to go.
John had seemed mildly surprised but then encouraged her to take advantage of this ministry opportunity, assuring her he would go home and pick up Brittney and Tyler and take them out for lunch. “It will help you get your mind off Julia for a little while, and it might do the kids good to get away from the house. You know how tough it’s going to be to convince them to go back to school this evening anyway, but I really think they should. Maybe I can lay some groundwork for that while we’re at the restaurant.”
Marie knew he was right that it would be best for their grandchildren to return to school, but she didn’t tell him she’d much prefer it if they stayed. Deep down she imagined that’s exactly what they would end up doing, no matter how much groundwork John managed to lay. Besides, she and John were heading to their bank first thing Monday morning to see how much money they could pull together to at least attempt a ransom payment. Tyler and Brittney knew about the planned trip to the bank and would no doubt want to stick around to see how it turned out.
Ginny knew about the situation with Julia, which was a comfort to Marie. As they parked in the street in front of the shelter, Marie was shocked to see the length of the line of people waiting to be fed.
Nothing can take away the pain or fear of knowing my daughter is in danger, but maybe I can do some good for someone else while I wait. Marie followed Ginny inside, catching the eyes of hungry men, women, and children as they bypassed the line.
“Hey, the cavalry has arrived!”
Marie looked up to see Joe Littleton, the main chef at the shelter, his face beaming in welcome as he stood in the kitchen door. A handful of volunteers already worked at covering long tables with white paper, distributing salt and pepper shakers, and placing plastic bowls of sugar and powdered creamer packets on each table. From the looks of the many people waiting to be fed, it would take a concerted effort from everyone inside to pull this off in a timely manner.
“I think we’ve got enough people out here getting the tables ready,” Joe said, his ample stomach covered by an oversized apron that said, Time to Eat! He gestured to Ginny and Marie. “I need a couple of extra hands to finish making salad and dishing it into plastic bowls. Think you two can handle that?”
“Absolutely,” Ginny said, laughing as she led the way. Marie was right behind her, and in moments they were wearing aprons identical to Joe’s. Three other people stirred soup and buttered bread, while one young woman sliced several sheet cakes and placed the pieces on small paper plates.
&nbs
p; It was a busy half hour or so, but before Marie knew it, the line was moving past as she and the others placed helpings of food on each tray. A few of those in line met her eyes, but most looked down at their trays. Some said thank you; some asked for more; others were silent.
At last they all were fed, and Ginny encouraged Marie to join her in walking around the room and greeting the diners, stopping to visit only if someone seemed open. Hesitantly, Marie did so. It was the first time she had actually intermingled with the homeless they served.
She received a few mumbled words from the first couple of people she talked to, but then an elderly woman with scraggly white hair looked up from her meal and offered a toothless smile. “I’m Gladys. Who are you?”
Marie lifted her eyebrows. This one looked promising. Maybe she’d sit down and talk with her for a few minutes before moving on. She took the empty seat beside the woman named Gladys.
“I’m Marie,” she said, smiling in return. “It’s nice to meet you, Gladys.”
The woman nodded and took a bite of chocolate cake. “I love cake,” she said and then began to hum as she chewed.
Marie recognized the tune. “Amazing Grace,” she said. “One of my favorite hymns.”
“Mine too,” the woman said, washing down her cake with a sip of coffee. “God wrote it for me, you know.”
Marie lifted her eyebrows. “He did?”
Gladys nodded. “He sure did.” She leaned toward her, the dirty lapel of her jacket touching the frosting on her cake. “Especially the part about being lost before He found me.” She laughed. “He knew where I was all the time. It was just me that didn’t know where I was.” She pointed her fork at Marie. “But I know now. Yes, ma’am, I know exactly where I am. I’m on my way home.” She nodded sharply. “And I’m gonna make it too. You know why?”
The woman paused, and Marie realized she was waiting for a reply. “Um . . . no, why?”