Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  There were no legal pads for taking notes or recorders. There was just him and her. She took in a deep breath, wondering if the air had left the room. He poured two glasses of wine. He stood back, offering her a sad smile. “Would you prefer juice?”

  The silly question relaxed her. “The wine is good. Leave the bottle at the table, please.”

  “I planned to.”

  Chapter 37

  The Choice Less—the real last chapter

  Asha thought she was dead, except death couldn’t be this painful. Her skull felt as if it had been ripped open, her back throbbed, and her skin burned like someone held a torch to it. She couldn’t even breathe, but her ears worked. She heard the boy’s cries and felt him squeezing her hand.

  She blinked her eyes awake and kept blinking until Mukash came into focus.

  Sister Sarah wiped her forehead. “Mukash found you and brought you here.” The nun’s lips quivered. “We almost lost you.”

  She tried to respond, but her throat wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Don’t talk. There’s a tube to help you breathe. Mukash, you should go home. Your family will be looking for you.”

  A newfound fear gripped her. She tried to remove the tube, but Sarah stopped her. “Calm down, child. You’re safe. They think you’re dead.”

  Sarah looked at Mukash with admiration. “Don’t make me leave,” he pled. “I’ve been waiting three days for her to get up. They won’t even realize I’m gone.”

  “Mukash is a very brilliant boy,” Sarah said. It was a fact Asha already knew.

  Mukash smiled proudly. “After I brought you here, I took your sari and ripped pieces from it and laid them down in the water with some strands of your hair. Everyone assumed you’d drowned. Aditi thinks he killed you so he called the search off quickly. He’s scared they will find evidence against him.”

  “Come back tomorrow after school, Mukash,” Sarah said, tousling the boy’s head. He nodded, kissing Asha on the cheek before leaving.

  Asha reached for the tube again, this time not letting Sarah push her hands away. Her voice came out raspy, the words inaudible. “Where am I?”

  Sarah embraced her. “We’re in a city hospital far from the village. The people here have been paid well not to reveal your identity.”

  Her body shivered, tears streaming down her face.

  “Dear girl, don’t waste your energy crying. You have nothing to fear now.”

  It took a few minutes to find her voice between the painful swallows. “I’m not crying because I’m afraid,” she choked.

  “Then why?”

  She spoke the words, knowing the woman who loved her so much, who had sacrificed and put herself in danger for her, would be incredibly hurt by them, but she didn’t care anymore. “I’m crying because I wanted to die. You should have honored my wishes.”

  * * * *

  She stayed in the hospital for a week, recuperating and getting stronger.

  “Why did you want to die, child?” Sarah asked her, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.

  “I still do. Present tense, Sister.”

  “Enough. I won’t stand for this. It’s a sin.”

  Asha laughed. “A sin? What about the other sins? I’ve had everything taken away from me in this life. I’ve been tortured in every way a person can be. What good is any of it? I have nothing left to fight for.”

  “There has to be something.”

  Asha was quiet so long the sun dipped and the room grew dark. Sarah remained patient, praying silently while waiting for the answer. Asha hated herself even more for making Sarah cry. For hurting Mukash. But she was a weak girl who had forgotten how to live.

  “I want my daughter back,” she whispered with quiet conviction.

  Sarah turned on the harsh bedside light, causing both women to adjust their eyes. The nun shook her head. “She’s with people who love her.”

  “Who better to raise her than her own flesh and blood? You asked me what I would live for, and the answer is her. It wasn’t my choice to give her up. My sacrifice wasn’t a choice.”

  “If you had an opportunity to get her back, would you regain your will?”

  Hope flooded through Asha. Even in her unconsciousness, she’d held steadfast to the memory of the little girl holding her hand. “Yes.”

  “Rest now. I need to tend to some things.”

  Sarah came back a few hours later. She looked tired. Her usually clear features were sunken and her posture slumped. She’d lost so much weight her skin sagged. Asha chided herself for not noticing sooner. “Sarah, are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “You’ll be fine too, honey. I’ve arranged for you to leave on a train later tonight.”

  Asha sat up in the bed. “You’ll take me to my baby?”

  “Not yet. She’s very far. It’ll take some time to organize the details, but we need to get you away from here. There’s a chance someone from the village might see you.”

  “Where will I go?”

  “A very good friend is going to help us. You’re going to meet him in Mumbai.”

  “Mumbai?” It sounded like Mars to Asha. “It’s so far, and it’s a huge city.”

  “All the better to get lost in. You’ll be safe there. You must listen to everything Charles tells you.”

  “I have to say good-bye to Mukash.” As she thought of it, she suddenly wondered how she was going to leave the boy. “Can he come?”

  “Absolutely not. What’s more, he wouldn’t want to. You know he loves the farm.”

  Asha nodded, wiping her tears.

  “He wants this for you, honey. He can take care of himself.”

  Sarah was right. His family mostly ignored him now, his mother’s attentions solely focused on her eldest son.

  * * * *

  Asha arrived in Mumbai on a rainy Tuesday. Charles Breckenridge sent a servant to pick her up. She had read stories about the city, but the sights and sounds of the crowded streets invaded her senses. But it was the smell, a pungent aroma of opulence and decay, she’d never forget.

  Charles was a cold man. He spoke in clipped tones as he showed her around his luxurious flat in the center of the city.

  “I’m still moving in myself,” he said, opening doors as he walked briskly thought the rooms. “You will stay here. I have hired tutors for you.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “There are huge gaps in your education we need to fill. Don’t call me sir. Call me Charles. You are not my maid, nor my employee.”

  “Sir, I mean Charles, I don’t understand.”

  “You want to see your daughter, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “As it turns out, she’s in America.”

  Asha cupped her hand to her mouth. Her little girl was living across the world from her? She would have paused to take in his shocking statement, but Charles kept talking as if he hadn’t said anything remarkable. She sped up her steps to keep up to him.

  “As someone who has no family or ties in the States, the easiest way to get you into the country is through a student visa. My legal counsel advises this is a battle best fought on Yankee soil. You’ll have more sway as a legal resident. You’ll also have an airtight identity. It’s important you get used to your new name.” She started to bow to him, the sign of respect, but he stopped her. “Use your words.” His voice registered annoyance.

  “Thank you.” It was such a simple sentiment, but she didn’t know how else to express her deep gratitude.

  “I daresay, you should prepare yourself. You require a great deal of work. This won’t be easy. If this is something you truly want, I’d suggest you learn how to absorb information like a sponge because we barely have a six month time frame until the next round of standardized testing comes.”

  Each question was difficult for her. She’d never spoken openly to a man, let alone a white, rich man. Charles Breckenridge had no patience for her coyness. “Don’t look down when you address
me. If you have a question, you look me in the eyes.”

  She lifted her head, feeling the weight of it—a lifetime of subservience manifesting itself in the simple gesture. “What will happen when I get to America?”

  “You’ll go to college. I’ll finance you and give you a monthly stipend. I suppose that is the easy part, but you will have to work with diligence and efficiency.”

  “How will this help me get my daughter back?”

  “There are ways to dispute if the adoption was legitimate. Understand this, girl, Sarah did some illegal things to give your daughter a good life. We will have to expose those things to get her back.”

  Asha’s heart wrenched at placing Sister Sarah in jeopardy. “What will happen to Sarah?”

  “That’s not your concern, but I assure you it won’t matter. Timing is everything, as they say.” His stern face yielded to a softer, sad expression.

  He showed her the library and her bedroom. The marble floors, four-poster bed, and shelves lined with books looked like a sheik’s private quarters. She’d never slept so high up from the ground. What if she fell from the bed?

  Charles led her to an office. “And this is where you’ll be studying. I will oversee your education personally, but I’m not a teacher. You will have the best tutors money can buy. I should know. I’m footing the bill.” He walked her back to a large dining room. Charles rang a bell on the polished wood table. “Now then, let’s have some tea.”

  He regarded her with horror when she attempted to sit on the floor in the corner of the room. “Oh dear God, this is going to be more difficult than I predicted.” He shook his head. “Either you sit at the table with me, or you don’t sit at all.”

  She swallowed, trying to keep her composure and hide the anger quaking inside her. She did as he asked…but on her terms. She stood while drinking her tea, keeping her back ramrod straight the whole time. For some reason, this amused Charles.

  “You are quite something.”

  “What do you mean…sir…Charles?”

  “You’re subservient and rebellious at the same time. What an interesting combination.”

  Charles was wise enough to realize Asha needed to overcome some serious psychological issues, but he was also smart enough to appreciate he wasn’t the man for the job. He hired a therapist along with the tutors. He also paid for expensive plastic surgery and cosmetic dentists so she would have no reminders of her vicious past…at least not physical ones. In many ways, though, it was Charles’s unrelenting attitude that helped Asha the most. Even when he angered her, which was often, she gained more confidence with each exchange.

  She both feared and admired Charles, although he seemed to hold disdain for her. She missed Sarah and Mukash, so she threw herself into her studies, craving the distraction, determined to meet her goals. Some days, she would work for sixteen hours, pausing only to eat and sleep. A mutual respect grew between Charles and her, although Asha would never describe their relationship as friendly. It took a whole month for her to look him in the eye. And another month after that for her to hold a conversation without his prodding. And yet another month for her to freely express her opinions and debate him.

  She marched toward the dining table. “Why are you making me go shopping with Sita?” she asked on the first day of the fourth month.

  Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his irritation evident. “You need new clothes, and as I recall, the last time I told you to buy some, you used the money to purchase items for homeless children instead.” She shifted her head down in guilt, but his next statement prickled her skin. “You look like a poor village girl.”

  “I am a poor village girl.” She jutted her chin, an act of pride and defiance.

  “I am charged with the task of turning you into a strong, educated woman—you can be both. In fact, you must be both. You need to leave the house more and get comfortable in groups. Sita is your age, and she’s well educated. You have to learn social skills.”

  “I am polite.”

  “I agree, but you are polite in a way which makes you appear feeble and inferior. I guarantee you won’t last a Mumbai minute in New York City with that attitude.”

  “I am social, too.”

  He laughed, folding his newspaper. “Playing with guttersnipes is not what I had in mind.”

  “You are a mean man, Charles.”

  “Good God, she has an opinion. I’m delighted to see, despite your many limitations, you are at least observant.”

  She balled her fists, finally finding the courage to ask the one question she desperately needed the answer to. “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t seem to like me very much.”

  He sighed, narrowing his grey eyes. “Correction, I don’t like you at all. You’ve been a proverbial thorn in my side for eighteen years.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He took a seat at the dining table and called for tea. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you. Sit.”

  Asha sat across from him, her eyes darting around the room nervously. She’d had many conversations with him, but never one so personal.

  “I will wait until you can look at me. I thought we were past this.”

  She folded her arms.

  “Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you, Asha. Pity, much like charity, begins at home.”

  “I don’t want your pity or your charity.”

  “I admire your disgust for the prior, but you absolutely do need the latter.”

  “You have my gratitude, but you will need to earn my friendship.”

  He chuckled, a rare sound for him. “What makes you think I want it?”

  “You’re lonely and sad. It’s made you cruel.”

  He nodded and was quiet for a long time. Asha wondered if perhaps he forgot what he was going to say.

  “I do admire you, Asha. You’ve been through a great deal. Your strength is tangible.”

  “That’s hard to believe coming from you.”

  “Do you think I’m artificial in my compassion?”

  “I don’t think you’re all that compassionate to begin with…artificial or otherwise.”

  Charles chuckled again. “I deserve that. I am sorry.” The statement was simple, but Asha felt the weight of it. Charles was not a man who apologized with pretense.

  “Thank you.” For the first time since she’d arrived, she smiled.

  “You don’t remember me, do you? I once complimented your English.”

  “I remember you, but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to mention it. I’ve changed a great deal from the little girl you met.” The image of him kissing Sarah all those years ago swept through her mind once again.

  “We’ve all changed, dear. I first came to India as a young lad with equal quantities of optimism and stupidity. I was here to look after my family’s hotels and the charity my father founded, which funded schools in third world countries. That’s where I met Sarah.”

  Asha wondered how someone as kindhearted as Sarah would ever be friends with this man, but his harsh features softened as he spoke. Tenderness came into his eyes as he talked about Sarah. “I don’t know what’s stranger…that I was in a love triangle with God, or the fact I won.”

  “You loved Sarah?”

  “No…I love Sarah. You may be able to plug up a dam, but the water still rages behind it. She loves me, too. She was going to leave the convent to marry me. We had it all planned.”

  “What happened?”

  Asha had never seen the great Charles Breckenridge look so unsure of himself, so she repeated the question.

  “A baby in a box washed up on a riverbank. Sarah said God spoke to her and told her she should take care of this child.”

  Asha’s heart pounded in her chest as she digested his statement.

  “I never realized the sacrifices she made for me. I was unkind to her. Charles, I know I can’t contact her, but I have to tell her how much I love her.” Asha had once sworn she would make Charles Breckenridge p
ay for Sarah’s tears. She now realized she’d already done that a long time ago.

  “No worries, love. You’ll get your opportunity. She’s coming here.”

  Asha smiled, relief flooding her. “She’s leaving the convent then? She is coming to be with you?”

  “Not in the way I intended.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The circles under his eyes deepened as he took a deep breath. He appeared to have aged since he’d started the story. “She’s dying. She has cancer.”

  Asha froze, her heart wrenching with his statement. “Surely something can be done for her. You have so much money.”

  His voice strained. “Don’t you think I insisted on the best medical care? I even flew out my personal doctor to view her test results. There is no hope. She’s coming here because she wants to spend her last days with her family. For Sarah, that’s you and me.” His voice cracked, the cold façade of Charles Breckenridge disappeared before Asha’s eyes, and she saw the real man, the one who loved Sarah so much he’d waited for her all these years. He’d even taken care of the girl who was the cause of his misery. “We are her family, and therefore we are tied to each other. I want to hate you, but I cannot.”

  He took out a neatly pressed handkerchief. He moved to wipe his own eyes, but paused. Instead, he wiped her tears.

  She hugged him, the tears coming so hard that a simple handkerchief wasn’t enough. Charles acted surprised at first, as if he’d never been embraced, which was a possibility. He hugged her back. They cried for a long time, both grieving for the woman they loved.

  * * * *

  Sarah came to Mumbai, much like Asha, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

  She’d lost a few stone. Her hair had fallen out, and her skin sagged on her bones like loose clothing. Charles insisted on carrying her into the house. In fact, he took the brunt of responsibilities when it came to Sarah’s care, even though he’d hired additional staff for that purpose. He did everything to make her last days comfortable. He’d even had his gardener plant all her favorite flowers so she could gaze upon them from her bedroom window. Asha and Charles took turns watching over her. At night, Asha read to Sarah from her three favorite books.