by Willow Rose
I stared at my daughter, a smile spreading. "That is actually a very good idea."
She made a face. "You hate it, don't you? I knew you would. It was just stupid."
"No. I just said I thought it was a great idea."
She wrinkled her nose. "You're just saying that to be nice. You do that a lot. I know you're afraid of making me sad, but please don't do me any favors."
I reached over and grabbed her bony hand.
"No. Emily, listen to me. I’m not kidding. I think we should do it. We’ll go pay them a visit tomorrow, okay?" I shrugged. "What do we have to lose?"
11
Bahamas, October 2018
Nancy blinked her eyes. A bright light was shining in her face, and it made her feel sick. She sat up and looked around.
Where am I?
She was sitting on a couch. It was soft. In front of her was a round coffee table made from thick glass. All the furniture was very high-tech and expensive. Nancy's parents weren't rich, but she had been around wealthy people enough in her life to recognize an expensive couch when she saw one. The fabric alone felt amazing.
What am I doing here?
She tried to remember. She recalled the ship docking in Nassau, then she and the girls got off the boat and headed into town. Then they had the burger at Hard Rock, and then they went shopping. She had promised to bring back a souvenir for her boyfriend, Billy. She had been looking for a hoodie for him and maybe a similar one in a different color for her, when she fell sick, when she needed to go to…
The bathroom. I threw up and then…
Nancy gasped and rose to her feet. As she did, she felt dizzy again and had to sit back down. As she gathered herself, she remembered the door creaking open, then the steps that followed and soon stopped right behind her. She remembered gasping and turning to look just as a set of hands reached out for her. She vaguely remembered there being a car. She remembered screaming, but she also remembered her mouth being covered and then there was something, a prick against her skin. Then dizziness followed before everything went black.
Panicking, she looked around her and realized the room she was in had no windows. It was very expensively decorated with paintings on the walls—that didn't seem to be copies—and designer lamps hanging from the ceiling. But there was something missing.
A door. No matter where Nancy looked, there was no door.
"Mom?" she asked into the vast space, hoping and praying she was somewhere back at the ship in one of the more expensive suites. Maybe someone had taken care of her while she was sick?
"Dad?"
Nancy whimpered as she turned around once more to see if she could find a door, but there simply wasn't one. Finally, she managed to get to her feet and walked to the stone wall behind the couch and felt it. There wasn't a crack in it to tell her this was the exit. There was no door handle or anything she could pull.
How did I get in here if there is no door?
Suddenly, the air felt tight in her throat, and Nancy gasped. What was this place? What was she doing there?
Nancy knocked on the wall as if she believed it would somehow magically open. She walked to the middle of the room and stared up at the ceiling.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me? Hello? HELLO?"
12
Bahamas, July 1983
Before Gabrielle came along, the girl had never thought about running away since this was all she knew. She had believed she belonged here, that this was her home, and that The White Lady took care of her because her grandparents had died.
It wasn't until one of the newly-arrived grown women, Gabrielle, started to talk about getting away that the girl even considered it a possibility. But where would she go?
Gabrielle couldn't stop talking about it, about how they were being kept there against their will, that this wasn't what she had paid all her mother's savings to get to. She had been promised America, a job, and freedom. This wasn't that at all. This was just another prison. This was no better than back home.
"They're exploiting you all," she said, pointing her finger at each of them while they sat on the brown tiles in the kitchen. "Keeping you as slaves."
The girl didn't quite understand what Gabrielle was talking about, but the more she listened to her stories about foreign places, the more the girl started to remember how her grandparents had been dreaming of the same thing. How they too had talked with feverish eyes about the USA and how everything would be better once they got there. How the girl would see her real mother and father.
Being ten years old now, the girl suddenly understood a lot more and started to dream herself. Was there really a life outside of this place, a life where no one would beat you if you made the coffee too strong or dropped a cup on the floor? A life without constantly fearing The White Lady's wrath?
"I’m telling you," Gabrielle, said. "I’m leaving. Tomorrow. Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome."
"It's dangerous," Carla said.
The girl had always liked Carla. She took good care of her and washed her wounds that time when The White Lady had scratched her with her long nails and made long bloody stripes on her back. The wounds had become swollen afterward and infected, probably because of dirt and bacteria from underneath her nails, Carla had explained, then called her a disgusting monster.
The other women in the kitchen nodded, agreeing with Carla.
Gabrielle scoffed. "You're all just cowards. Well, suit yourselves. Stay here for the rest of your life if you like. See if I care. I’m getting out of here."
That night, the girl lay awake on her mattress. Her wide-open eyes were watching the lizard crawling on the ceiling while wondering with a pounding heart whether she too should take the chance and get away from there, find herself a life of freedom away from The White Lady and all her rules. She could pursue the dream her grandparents had and maybe find her real parents. For years, she had waited for them to come find her where she was, but as she grew older, she slowly realized that maybe they didn't know where she was. Maybe they weren't coming after all.
Maybe she'd have to find them herself.
13
Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018
I had never seen such wealth in my entire life. Not even in Fort Lauderdale where I grew up, not in Miami or any of the suburbs, or even in West Palm Beach. This was out of this world. It was so extravagant that it made me feel sick to my stomach.
The family that Sofia had served with lived in Lyford Cay, a gated community on the western tip of New Providence Island. It was hard to imagine that this was the same island that also housed the capital, Nassau. It was considered to be one of the world's wealthiest and most exclusive neighborhoods, known to house billionaires and playboys, where they could live their press-shy lives unnoticed.
According to newspaper articles—and Google—Ella Maria Chauncey's family were shipping heirs, or at least the mother was, while her husband used to be a New York financier before they met. Now, it was commonly known that Mr. Chauncey mostly handled golf equipment and champagne bottles.
I had called ahead and spoken to the father, and he told me he'd put my name on the list at the gate. I had to admit, I felt slightly nervous as we parked the rental car in the driveway that was big enough to be called a highway where I came from.
"Why are you sweating so much?" Emily asked me as we got out of the car. "Your shirt is all soaked."
"It's hot," I said.
"You didn't sweat like that yesterday, and it was just as hot."
I pulled my shirt from my sweaty chest to get some air inside it. "What can I say? Rich people make me nervous."
Emily chuckled. "You're married to one."
"It’s not the same, and you know it. Shannon is a singer, famous and rich, yes, but nothing like these people. She is not demanding and entitled the way rich people usually are. She doesn’t set up standards so high you can't reach them. She's human. These people aren't."
Emily chuckled again. "They still put their pant
s on the same way as we do. One leg at a time."
"I’m not sure people like this even wear pants, Em," I whispered as we approached the front door.
"How are they, by the way?"
"Who?" I asked.
"Shannon and the kids? Back home?"
It was the first time Emily had asked about them. I had been calling them each morning and evening, but she hadn't seemed interested in knowing how they were. I was guessing she really needed the break from them. It was a little much and a little crazy around the house with five young kids and a puppy, but that was my reality. And Shannon's. I just hoped she was handling it well. I worried about her. Of course, I did. She had only been off the painkillers since August. I feared this was too much for her, being alone with all those kids. But she had assured me she could do it.
"They're great," I said. "Shannon's a little overwhelmed, but she's doing well. I spoke to Nanna earlier, and she even says Shannon is doing awesome."
"She didn't use that word," Emily said.
"Of course not. She said she was getting by. That's a lot coming from your grandmother on the subject of Shannon. You know it is."
Emily chuckled again. "Sure is."
I gave her a satisfied look, then turned to face the door just as it was opened.
14
Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018
We were led through the huge hall and into what might have been a living room, one of many, I suspected, in a mansion like this. The black woman showing us the way nodded politely toward the other end of it, where a white man came walking toward us. He was wearing a golfing outfit and looked like he was about to leave.
"Hello," I said and approached him, stretching out my hand. "I’m Jack Ryder. We called earlier?" I made sure to keep out the detective part—once again since I had also done it on the phone—so he wouldn’t be nervous. I had no jurisdiction here in the Bahamas. I was here on a private matter, so it wasn't important.
"You must be Mr. Chauncey?"
The man nodded and shook my hand. Much to my surprise, he didn't seem as snobbish as I had expected, and I was able to relax my shoulders.
"Yes, yes, welcome. Now, how can I be of help?" he asked. "It was regarding Sofia, right?"
I nodded and pulled Emily forward. "First of all, I am so sorry for your loss. I can't even imagine how…"
Mr. Chauncey stopped me. He held a hand to his face, shook his head, and sat down on an armchair behind him with a deep exhale. We sat on the couch in front of him and, as I looked closer, I could now see the deep grief in his eyes. I had seen it so many times before in my job, and still, it almost made me lose it every time. The thought of losing a child was simply too unbearable to me. I had many kids, but none to spare. I wouldn't be able to go on living. I don't think I could. I thought about the twins back home and then about Tyler and Betsy Sue and Angela. I put my hand on top of Emily's and squeezed it, worrying about her and whether I would end up losing her.
I wasn't going to survive it. It was as simple as that.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chauncey…" I said. "I didn't mean to…"
He held a hand up. He was regaining his façade, something I suspected he was very good at. He had to be in this environment, right?
"It's all right. I still get emotional when talking about…her…about Ella, but…it's been seven months, for crying out loud. I should be able to…" he stopped himself and clenched his fist, then placed it in front of his mouth while forcing back the tears. It was an unbearable sight. Almost broke my heart.
Outside the window, I spotted the pool in the back facing the ocean. I knew from the article that was where they had found the girl the next morning.
Mr. Chauncey clapped his hands. "All right. Now, what about Sofia? What did you want to know?"
"My daughter here…" I pointed at Emily.
Mr. Chauncey gave me a look.
"Well, she is adopted," I explained. I was used to that reaction. "I adopted her when her mother died. She is looking for her relatives and, well…to make a long story short, we believe Sofia was related to her mother."
"I do see the resemblance," Mr. Chauncey said and kept looking at Emily.
"Yes, Sofia is the spitting image of Emily's mother, so we thought they must be related. When we went to visit her in jail, she wouldn't speak to us, so we hope…well, we thought maybe you could shine some light on this for us. Do you know if she has any relatives around here?"
Mr. Chauncey looked at me, surprised. "You don't know?"
I shook my head. "No?"
Mr. Chauncey smiled and got up. "Give me a second.”
15
Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018
I watched as Mr. Chauncey walked out and then came back, holding his arm around a young girl, a little younger than Emily, but otherwise close to her spitting image.
I rose to my feet.
"This here is Sydney," Mr. Chauncey said. "She's Sofia's daughter. She's lived with us since she was born. Sofia worked for us back then and so, when she was arrested, we decided to let Sydney stay. She is, after all, like a daughter to us and we would hate to see her in the streets."
"That's…that's awfully big of you considering what her mother did..." I said, feeling a sudden deep respect for this man. Her mother had murdered their only daughter, and yet they had decided to let the girl stay even though her very face reminded them of what her mother had done. I was impressed with their compassion, to say the least.
"Kids around here don't stand a chance if they end up in the streets," he said, while the young girl studied both of us closely. Mostly Emily.
"After all, she can't help what her mother did," Mr. Chauncey continued. "We’re making sure she gets an education, so maybe she can reach above her mother's poor standards and judgment."
I nodded and smiled, then reached out my hand toward Sydney. "I'm Jack Ryder, and this young lady here beside me is Emily. I think you two are related."
The girl gave Emily a shy smile. Emily reached out her arms and pulled her into a hug. It was an emotionally loaded moment, and I could see how badly Emily's legs were shaking beneath her.
"Do you mind if they spend a little time together?" I asked. "We’ve been looking for relatives for days. This is really our first breakthrough."
He shook his head. "Not at all. Feel free to stay as long as you want." He glanced at his watch. "Now…I have a tee time in a few minutes, but Rosie will make sure you have everything you need. She's the one who showed you in."
"Is Mrs. Chauncey home?" I asked.
"No."
I smiled, forced. Mr. Chauncey's eyes had avoided mine when I mentioned Ella's mother, and I detected that things weren't the way they were supposed to be between them. It was only natural with all they had been through. Losing a child could destroy any marriage, no matter how strong it was.
"Naturally. But there was one other thing I wanted to ask of you before you leave."
"Yes?"
"Sofia Rojas. Do you know how she was related to Valentina Rojas and Augustin Rojas? Have you heard of them before maybe? They immigrated to the US in nineteen seventy-five from the Bahamas."
He shook his head. "I really wouldn't know. Sofia has worked for us for many years, but I have never met any of her family."
I thanked Mr. Chauncey for his time and watched him leave, while the two girls had already taken off. I spotted them out on the patio where Sydney was showing Emily around. I let them have their privacy and sat down on another of the many couches, pulled out my phone and called Shannon, responding to a deep desire to let her know how much I loved her.
16
Bahamas, July 1983
They took Dylan with them to the park the next morning. Carla, Gabrielle, and the girl. The White Lady had a hard time finding decent friends who would play with the boy, even though she offered to pay their parents. The few children who were good enough for his mother didn't like coming to his house, and Dylan was growing increasingly more and more lonely. The Whi
te Lady always asked the girl to hang out with him, so that's what she did most of the time. It wasn't too bad, she thought as she ran after him on the playground, playing Tag. Even if looking at the boy often filled her with more rage than she could contain in her young body. She knew it wasn't him she was angry with; it was his mother, The White Lady. But she couldn't help seeing her in the boy's face.
"You can't catch me," he now yelled and blew raspberries at her. "You can't catch me. You're too slow."
The girl hurried up and ran after him, running behind the slide, then grabbed him by the shirt. She pulled him back forcefully, and the boy ended up on his back, crying.
The girl stood above him, staring down at him, not even caring one bit that the boy was crying. Carla and Gabrielle didn't care either. No one usually did when The White Lady wasn't around. It was their little revolt against the woman who held them all as prisoners.
The girl stared at the boy, relishing in his pain and whining, almost enjoying it, sensing how the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and how overwhelmingly satisfying it was to see him lie there completely defenseless.
"I’m doing it," she heard Gabrielle yell. She and Carla were arguing loudly, and the girl knew what it was about.
"Don't, Gabby. You know it won't end well," Carla argued, pleading with her to stay. "Where will you go? This is a gated area. How will you get past the walls?"
"I'll jump in the ocean and swim down the shore," Gabrielle said.
"You'll get caught; you know you will. Someone will see you and bring you back. This is an island; there is nowhere to go. What if the police find you, huh? Then what will you do?"
"You can't stop me, Carla."
The girl watched them argue with her nostrils flaring in agitation, wondering what to do. She had thought about it all night long. She wanted to go with Gabrielle when she left. She wanted to see the Promised Land and not stay trapped here forever. Somewhere out there behind the walls that surrounded all the houses was another world, and that world housed her parents, her real mom and dad.
