I wrapped my arms around my chest and watched Tom walk away, hands tucked deep into the side pockets of his well-fitted Dockers. My feet yearned to follow him. But, it wasn’t possible. Instead, I pushed the soles of my shoes against the concrete with locked knees. Any feelings for Tom, and his for me, rested in God’s hands. My heart whispered to his. “I’ll wait, Tom. I hope you will, too.”
With a deep sigh, I tapped the business card against my palm. So, he’d brought the infant to me. Great. Now what do I do? I crouched down to peer at her.
A chill zipped up my spine. How had Tom gotten one of my cards? Wait—how had he found me? Isn’t WITSEC supposed to keep my whereabouts a secret? Wasn’t that the whole point?
Even if my and Tom’s ties to Robert were ever severed, the federal agents had made it very clear more than once I could have no connections with my past. Tom knew the rules, too. Did the same hold true for this tiny child at my feet? My eyes stung from the question. Oh, why on earth did Tom give you to me, little one? And where is your mother?
A clap of thunder shuddered against the library building. Quarter-sized raindrops polka-dotted the paved stoop—first a few, then more. The warm, Gulf wind spritzed my face, hiding the tears in my eyes.
“We can’t just leave her here, Miz Williams. She’ll get soaked.” Josh scrunched his eyebrows together. It made him look wiser than his years. Perhaps he was.
“Okay, Josh. Let’s take her inside the library.”
He dashed up the steps to open the door for us.
“But”—I raised the baby girl to my shoulder and whispered into her little ear—“I absolutely refuse to take you inside my heart. I can’t, not yet.”
* * *
I nested the newborn in one of the overnight book-drop bins and wheeled it to my desk. Josh tilted his head to examine her. His black-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose. With a push of his finger to readjust them, he nodded. “I think she likes you.”
I swiveled my chair closer, hands grasped to my knees. The baby’s bright eyes and tiny fingers peeked out from the swaddling. She seemed so fragile, so helpless. Was she really to be my responsibility? Why would Robert give me this baby now when he’d refused to let me have one six years ago?
A tear threatened to trickle out of the corner of my eye. I blinked it back. Not here, not now. Keep up appearances. Leave the past in the past.
Yet, how could I when it stared me in the face? I breathed a silent prayer. Lord, give me strength. And a touch of your divine wisdom wouldn’t hurt either.
Josh edged in for a closer look. His hair smelled of little boy sweat and no-tears shampoo. I brought out my library-hushed voice. “Josh. Why don’t you pick out a book to read? Your mother will be back from her errands in a while.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He cocked his head to have one more look at his discovery. “What’ll happen to her?”
“I don’t know. But she’ll be fine.” I made my lips form a smile. “Go on, now.”
With a shrug, he spun on one heel and dashed to the elementary school reading section where Indians in cupboards and mice on motorcycles waited to stir his imagination.
The infant’s expression creased into a frown.
“What is it? Are you hungry?” I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to feed her. There was some fat-free half and half in the workroom fridge. Would that do? But what could I put it in?
Miniature feet moved inside the fluffy blanket in sync with a red-faced whimper.
“Please tell me you don’t need changing.” I hated to admit it, but I didn’t know how to diaper a newborn. At thirty-two, many women are into babies. But I wasn’t. In fact, I usually avoided them. Being denied one of my own pierced too deeply. Robert had been aware of its effect on me. Was this some sort of sick joke spawned from his twisted, criminal mind? Revenge for testifying against him?
Wait. Did Robert know I was here? My palms beaded with moisture. Don’t panic. Think. Maybe he’d left that detail up to Tom. I hoped so. Either way, my protected identity, which I’d received in exchange for my witness, had been breached. I’d have to call it in to Becky or another agent in charge of my case. My hand reached for my burner cell phone.
The infant’s lips quivered.
“Oh, no. Don’t cry. Everyone will hear you.”
My shoulder blades thrust into the back of the desk chair. Time to get a grip. Deal with the baby, and then deal with your situation. “Okay. You can do this, Jen.”
Oh, my gosh. I gulped, hand clasped over my mouth. I’d just called myself “Jen.” Stupid, stupid mistake. She didn’t exist anymore. Sheila. That’s my name now. I repeated it under my breath. Sheila Williams.
Had anyone heard my slip-up? I looked around the library, and then relaxed my shoulders. No one was near the checkout desk yet. Thank goodness it was sparse this morning. All was quiet except for the pattering rain dancing on the roof in sync with the distant drum of thunder.
I ran my fingers over my face. How could I’ve been so careless? Had discovering this baby muddled my brain that much? I’d tried so hard to cram the past into the remote corners of my mind, just as the federal marshals taught me. Night after night, I play-rehearsed the facts of my new life until it all felt real. I’d even begun to believe this do-over might actually work.
Until twenty minutes ago.
I inhaled courage, and then blew out a long sigh to ease the tightness in my chest. With a wipe of my hands against my pencil skirt, I cupped them under her squiggly form and drew her to me. “Okay. Let’s see.”
The small body wriggled in response to my touch. Afraid I’d drop her on her head, I balanced the infant on my lap as I checked if her diaper was wet. Thank goodness it wasn’t.
She looked so much like her mother, Marisol—a Hispanic teenager tricked into trafficking like hundreds of illegally immigrated girls. When we’d met that night in the shack in the middle of the New Mexican desert where Tom hid me from the mob with the girls who were being held hostage, something had bonded us despite our language barriers and age differences. Neither of us knew why at the time.
The link resurfaced as I looked into her baby’s eyes. Except now I understood the reason. My voice cracked in a soft whisper. “You’re really my step-daughter, aren’t you?”
Her olive-colored eyes and Mediterranean nose, the spitting image of my husband Robert’s, blared that fact. “You’re his, but you’re not mine, sweetie. I’m not your mother. Robert, your daddy, never wanted me to be a mom.”
The words from my own mouth burned the back of my eyes. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. He chose an illegal sixteen-year-old to bear his child instead of me, his wife? The man didn’t make sense. I could never forgive him for conning me into not letting me keep ours. My molars clamped together as my fingernails dug into my palms. I hate him. Hate him. Oh, why did I ever agree to his demands?
Deep breath. Don’t revisit that hurt. Not now. I blinked the guilt away one more time and swallowed it back into the deep crevices of my soul. My eyes returned to the newborn. I stroked her head. “It’s not your fault, but I can’t help it. A large part of me wishes you didn’t even exist, wee one.”
The infant cooed. Cute little bubbles formed in her mouth. The tightness in my chest eased. How could I hate this product of my husband’s lust? I scooped her from the makeshift hammock of my skirt.
As I looked into the baby’s face, Marisol’s sorrow became my own. She should be holding this child, not me. Had Marisol chosen to give this sweet thing up? Or had she been snatched moments after birth? I didn’t want to know. My heart hurt for this baby, for her mother, and for me—all naive victims tossed in the treacherous waves of deceit generated in the wake of my husband’s ambition and cruelty.
I leaned close to her. “Oh, why on earth did he have Tom bring you to me?”
The infant’s soft eyes blinked the answer into my heart. This little girl needed love, no matter how she came into this world. All babies deserved that much. But was I the one to give it to her
?
My little finger stroked her chubby cheek as I cradled her. The scents of baby powder and formula filled my nose. Her shiny eyes twinkled raw trust as they focused on my face.
Some innate motherhood gene awoke from deep inside me. A tingly, warm sensation spread from my chest to my eye ducts. In that moment, my heart had double-knotted with hers.
A grin crept across to my cheeks as I gently swayed her in my arms. Her face revealed such innocent trust. No one had hurt her yet. No one had stomped on her feelings, or lied to her face, or cheated on her. And now, in this new life the government had given me, I had to pretend none of those things had happened to me either.
Maybe, this baby symbolized my fresh start. I could protect her. Ensure she had a normal, safe life. No one would be the wiser, right? Surely lots of kids grow up in WITSEC protection.
But could I keep all the hurt she’d dredged up hidden? What if somehow, someday, she discovered her past…and mine? Could we love each other in spite of it? Oh, how I hated living a lie.
With a swallow of my now-cold cup of Earl Grey tea, I washed down new tears. I traced her forehead with my hand and croaked out the words of my heart. “What do I do with you?”
“I guess what anyone should do under the circumstances, Mrs. Williams.”
I looked up as the Bonita Springs deputy sheriff, Jorge Hernandez, gazed down at me and the newborn. “Josh told me you two found her on the steps outside. Which means you have no idea who she belongs to, right?”
One of his thick black eyebrows raised in a tight arch.
I gulped.
POSTSCRIPT
When I began this novel, I had no idea this was where it would lead. But God knew. As my fingers flew over the keyboard, He instilled in my heart to write about human trafficking, but to encase it in a story about love, betrayal, and restoration. What my main character, Jen Westlaw, went through is mirrored in the experiences of the two teenage illegals, Monica and Marisol. All three women had been lied to and mistreated by the same man. The girls were physically raped. But Jen was emotionally raped of her belief in who she thought her husband was. Her trust in him had been ripped from her heart, just as the girls’ innocence had been ripped from them. Jen’s efforts to seek and rescue Marisol and Monica reflect God’s efforts to seek and heal her through Pastor Jake and Tom.
I would like to extend my deepest thanks to Jaime Welch and Toby Scrivener of the United States Catholic Council of Bishops (USCCB) for their eye-opening guidance concerning the plague of human trafficking and the plight of the trafficked victims. This group has been the lead lobbyers in anti-trafficking legislation for two decades. Also, thanks to Marilyn Ehle who writes for Truth Media’s Christian Women Today daily devotional blog along with me, and who authored the devotional Jake shared with Jen. Finally, thanks to my AWSA sister Peggy Sue Wells, and Teresa Flores, co-authors of The Slave Across the Street*, which tells the story from the victim’s point of view. I also thank critique partners Gail Morris and Sandy Wright, Joy Brooks of Prayer4Freedom, my editor, Delia, Prism Book Group president, Joan Alley, and fellow author and speaker Angela Breidenbach, who gave so many great suggestions, and to my real life sister Anne and my niece Melissa who are my dearest encouragers.
Here are the bare facts about human trafficking.
It is a growing issue worldwide and a vast majority of victims are illegal immigrants, according to statistics. They come from many countries, not just Mexico. Girls from Eastern Europe, Russia and Asia are trafficked. (*So are teenagers born in the U.S.) In 2005, the U.S. Department of State estimated between 14,500 and 17,500 immigrant boys and girls who had been duped into human trafficking had already entered our borders. Sex is not always the purpose. Sometimes the victims are used as slave labor in restaurant kitchens and dry cleaners, for crop harvesting, and for transporting drugs. In third world countries, child soldiering is also commonplace.
Human trafficking is often tied to drugs and/or organized crime. A majority of the victims are lured with the promise of legitimate work in the U.S., and a better way of life. They are most likely taking the risk in order to escape extreme poverty and abuse in their home country. This makes them easy targets for such schemes because they are already broken and vulnerable. Many are prostituted to “pay for their passage,” thus initiating the pattern.
Human trafficking is believed by many to be responsible for the increased percentages of disease infestation in the United States over the last fifteen years including malaria, HIV/AIDS, drug-resistant tuberculosis and polio.
FOX News reported on the increase in trafficking in North Carolina in 2011. They interviewed Delbert Richburg, ICE North Carolina Assistant Special Agent in Charge. He stated, “The average citizen has no idea of the magnitude of the problem that exists here, in our backyard, and which has been growing with time. So we need people to help and report cases... The traffickers seek out teenagers in remote towns in Latin America with the promise of getting jobs in restaurants or caring for children. On arriving here, they keep them captive and isolated. The traffickers usually take the migrants’ identification and travel documents and threaten to harm them or their families if they try to escape.” 2
Legislation to assist human trafficking victims and bring more traffickers to justice was passed by Congress in 2000 under the Trafficking Victims and Protection Act (TVPA). Opponents see the act as convoluted because, while it provides victims financial help and medical care in exchange for identifying the traffickers, it does nothing to deal with why the victims agreed to break the law. In a 2006 report, a California social worker named Johansen, said, “‘Crisis’-centered interventions emphasizing the criminal justice system needs while neglecting vulnerable victims are not likely to have an impact on human trafficking. The best interests of individuals, human rights, or public protection are not served under existing programs. There is a need to look at larger issues including economic inequities, gender and racial discrimination, if there is to be any real reduction in human trafficking.” 3
Governmental assistance and legislation only bandages the gaping wound of supply and demand. Through social awareness and education, public intolerance can significantly reduce this problem.
Above all, fervent prayer for these victims, the people who desire their services, and their captors is needed. It is the best remedy we can offer to a broken world.
For more information about how you can help, contact one or more of the organizations and fundraising opportunities listed in the reference section at the end of this book, or do a computer search for anti-trafficking organizations. The referenced lists are not inclusive. More and more people are getting onboard to support and rescue victims both in the United States and worldwide.
If you identify a person you feel is a trafficking victim in the United States, call the National Human Trafficking Resources Center (NHTRC) at 1-888-373-7888. In Canada, contact Public Safety Canada at 1-800-830-3118.
Thanks,
Julie B. Cosgrove
REFERENCES
Organizations
1. Coalition of Religious Congregations to Stop Trafficking of Persons (NY-CRC-STOP) http://lifewaynetwork.org/coalitions/nycrc-stop/human-trafficking-of-young-women/
2. Girls Education and Mentoring Services (GEMS), http://www.gems-girls.org/ 212-926-8089
3. Prayer For Freedom www.prayerforfreedom.com 817-229-8947 Based in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, this organization also has an informative website and weekly blog from missionaries about human trafficking and sex slavery all over the world, and how prayer in beginning to make impacts.
4. Coalition of Catholic Organizations Against Human Trafficking, [email protected] [email protected], 202-541-3220, one of the premier organizations with lobbying power in Washington, D.C.
5. Bridging Refugee Youth and Children’s Services (BRYCS) http://www.brycs.org/ 1-888-572-6500
6. Shared Hope International sharedhope.org 866-HER-LIFE (866-437-5433). Based in Vancouver, Washington. Access to sta
te-by state resources as well as statistics and glean reliable information on how you can become involved at one of many levels. Also has a Facebook page.
Fundraisers
1. WAR- Women at Risk International, www.warinternational.org 616-355-0796. Sell or buy jewelry, scarves, handbags from trafficked victims to help them off the streets. Ninety-three percent of monies raised goes to the safe houses in Asia and Africa. You can host a party at no cost to you.
2. Thistle Farms- Love Heals, http://www.thistlefarms.org 615-953-6440. Body care products handmade by survivors of prostitution and trafficking. Located in Nashville, TN., they also have retail outlets spreading across the U.S.A. Tours and café open Monday-Friday. “Every product bears witness that love is the most powerful force for change in the world.”
3. Polaris Project, www.polarisproject.org 888-373-7888. Sell products and host house parties, book a speaker, or watch informative films. Website has free handouts that inform about human trafficking. Based in Washington, D.C., it also has a state-by-state map that lists non-profit organizations.
ENDNOTES
1 Flores, Theresa, with Peggy Sue Wells (2010) The Slave Across the Street. Ampleon Publishing. ISBN 978-0-982386-8-2
2 Read more: http://latino.foxnews.com/latino/news/2011/01/21/human-trafficking-immigrant-women-girls-rise north-carolina/#ixzz1aEA5US26
3 P. S. Johansen / Californian Journal of Health Promotion 2006, Volume 4, Issue 3, 34-41, "Human Trafficking, Illegal Immigrants and HIV/AIDS: Personal Rights, Public Protection" http://www.csuchico.edu/cjhp/4/3/034-041-johansen.pdf
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie B. Cosgrove is a freelance writer, professional speaker and published author. She is a member of Advanced Writers & Speakers Association, American Christian Fiction Writers, Christian Authors Network, North Texas Christian Writers, The Christians Writers Group Two, and Christian Writers Fellowship International.
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