“Money isn’t all there is, is it?” Look at Mike Weston. Zan’s brother-in-law had a phenomenal career but was an arrogant, violent jerk. Always provided bruises along with the cushy income.
“There’s way more to life than money. I don’t lack for anything, man.”
An unfamiliar restlessness gnawed at Zan. He wanted Caleb’s brand of contentment. Wanted to be a man of integrity too. A man who protected the people he loved, knew how to be strong and kind at the same time. Knew how to show them they mattered.
Zan needed to be a different kind of man altogether.
~*~
Kasia leaned in, arms on the table. “When the market closes for the day, what do you all do?”
“I am…I read…about economics and business,” Arturo said. Deep brown eyes watched for her approval. He’d been the first to answer every single question she asked. Juan, the older boy with glasses, listened carefully, but he only spoke up if she spoke to him by name.
“Do you study all summer, Arturo?”
He shrugged. “It is difficult to find work in Lima. I must be…do best I can.”
“That makes sense. Do any of you have any hobbies? What do you do to relax?”
Arturo squinted.
The girl with the long, wavy hair tilted her head and lifted her hand. “I may answer?”
“Sure, yes! Rosamaria, right?”
“Si.” She laughed. “Sorry, yes. If…if I am not have to watch my little brothers, I like to help my mother make cloths. I like the…colors”—she used her finger to trace the design in the tablecloth—“this pattern?”
“Oh! Yes. This has a beautiful pattern. You make cloths like this?”
“Yes, this one—this my mother’s work.”
“It’s beautiful.”
A genuine smile graced the girl’s face as she ran a hand across the cloth and dipped her head in thanks. Kasia made a mental note to buy a tablecloth for Mamusia.
“Juan?”
“I play fútbol.”
“I love that,” Kasia said. She spoke slowly but didn’t over-enunciate the words. “My family enjoys fútbol too. In America, we call it soccer. My father grew up in a small neighborhood where all the families had moved from Europe—from Poland. They played soccer in the streets, many nights until dark.”
All the heads nodded. Juan smiled. “We do too. We play in streets.”
“Donde esta this—Poland?” Inez asked Arturo.
“Polonia.”
“Ah.” She nodded, quiet again. That was the first time Kasia had heard her say more than her name.
“So, all of you like soccer?” Kasia asked.
Heads bobbed.
“What else do you do to relax, for fun?”
Most everyone shifted, eyed the others, waited.
“Kasia, you want to go places, do fun, with us? After class?” Rosamaria asked.
“I would love to. Maybe some of you could show me around. Take me to your favorite places—important places I should see before I leave. I want to take pictures for my family in America and show them your beautiful city.”
Suddenly, everyone was talking—and Kasia knew that the plans her students hatched now would be her favorite times. One-on-one. She could learn from them, listen to their stories, and build real friendships.
~*~
Scruffy grass pressed into Kasia’s thighs as she dangled her feet in the steamy spring—her new favorite spot.
Every afternoon siesta, she rested in her courtyard, played her guitar, and poured her thoughts out onto the pages of her journal, more poetry than story. She might not have the songwriting bit back, but she could play. And she could sing songs she already knew.
But she wouldn’t complain. After two silent years, music had relented and given an encore. That was something.
Besides, if she wanted rest, naps were pointless.
Kasia set down her journal, pulled her feet from the water, and scooted back against the wall. She reached for her guitar. Her fingers picked along the strings as she sang through Psalm 40. The instrument felt like an old friend, but her fingertips throbbed, and she set it aside.
Wow. Her index finger had actually cracked. No wonder it ached.
Shadows had lengthened and the sun rested on her boundary wall. Siesta would be over soon, and the kombi would shuttle people back into town. If she missed the bus, she’d be late for coffee with Rosamaria. She ran inside, set her guitar on the bed, made sure the darkening circles under her eyes were well-disguised. Then, with her backpack and water bottle, she hurried toward the door, kept an eye on her watch.
Time with her students outside class was her lifeline. In the midst of real conversations—about life, dreams, plans—she could feel.
Kasia caught up with a group of young girls, age ten at the most, who also headed down the street. She hung back a bit, tried to stay under their radar. She etched the picture in her mind: their vivid wool skirts puffy enough to be hiding crinolines, vibrant blouses, cardigans, and high-crowned straw hats. What intrigued Kasia, though, were the striped cloths—the kind Rosamaria and her mother made. Each girl wore one against her back, her burden bound closely to her. One girl, maybe four years old, carried a load of alfalfa, which Kasia had learned would be for the family’s sheep. Another older girl toted a load of firewood.
The tallest carried a hefty black-haired toddler with wide ebony eyes. Kasia smiled. His big sister kept passing him bits of bread over her shoulder. Kasia knew the moment he noticed her.
He stared at Kasia openmouthed and called out to his sister. “¡Naranja!” The girls turned, all evidently surprised by her fiery curls.
“¡Hola!” Kasia waved.
The three girls giggled, but the little boy whispered a greeting back to her.
Kasia stopped under the tree that marked the local bus stop. Since she only headed as far as Cajamarca proper, she’d actually be in a twelve-passenger van. Bigger busses were used from one metropolitan area to another. She’d learned the hard way, though, the kombi could hold way more than twelve of the locals. Kasia eyed the waiting crowd. Who knew how many they’d squeeze in today?
The mud-splattered van approached, filled the clean, village air with diesel fumes. It chugged to a standstill, and a lanky man unfolded himself from the front seat and stuck out an open palm. Kasia dropped two soles in and climbed into a seat as close to the door as she could manage. It did no good. Within a minute, she was twisted and squeezed so she could barely breathe, and a strange man bent over and perched directly on her right shoulder.
Oh, and she didn’t want to breathe. The rank air burned her nostrils and throat.
Mercifully, the ride didn’t last long. When Kasia stood upright once again, she gulped in the fresh air like water in the desert. She met Rosamaria at the café, and the two of them wandered the city for hours.
By the time they said good night, it was late enough the shuttle wasn’t running. Rosamaria walked Kasia to a taxi stand and gave the driver the address before she told Kasia the fare was a little over one sol per kilometer. So…ten or twelve soles to Los Baños.
“He might think you don’t understand. Don’t pay too much. Okay? Tell him you know what is fair.”
Kasia nodded and hugged the girl before she climbed in the back of the car.
The night was so dark that Kasia only saw her own tired reflection peppered with red and blue flecks of light from the instrument panel. The driver watched her in the mirror. She wished her Spanish were decent enough to tell him to concentrate on not running his crazy little car off the road, but she must’ve bored him eventually. Just as she started to relax, he pulled to a stop in front of her place.
“Veinte soles,” the driver said, without so much as a glance in her direction.
Twenty? Not a chance. She reached across the front seat and dropped twelve soles into his hand.
His head jerked up, offended, and he repeated the price.
No, sir. “Doce.” Twelve. Not a cent more.
/> She opened the door to get out, and as she stood, he jumped up as well, irate. He held out his hand in arrogant expectation, and she gave him one icy look before she marched toward her door. She half wished she’d knocked his hand out of her way.
But she fumbled with the lock, and the whole time, his voice rose and rattled her composure. As the green door relented, he shouted a final nasty insult, slammed his door, and peeled out. All she’d understood was gringa. Would she have paid twenty if Rosamaria hadn’t warned her? She hoped not. She wanted to be strong, the kind of girl who said no and meant it.
She closed the door behind her, locked the deadbolt. What she wouldn’t give to have Samson greet her right now—all wet kisses and whimpered hellos.
Kasia leaned an arm against the cool wall and kicked off her shoes. The hot spring beckoned her again. She sat on the edge to roll up her pant legs. As she slipped into the warm bath, the heat melted away her fatigue. Her indignation drained out as well, and Kasia breathed in the solitude. The sounds of deep silence swelled the air, disrupted only by an occasional shuffle out in the street.
This was where she wanted to be. Behind her wall, safe in the warmth of her sanctuary, under the heavens and the ever-watchful eyes of her Savior.
The sky above her held familiar constellations, but out here, miles from the city lights, there were more stars behind Orion the Hunter than she’d ever known. Clusters twinkled in and around the three stars of his belt. Tatuś always looked up at the sky in Langston Falls as he closed his day, and she imagined him beside her now.
I miss him—all that strength and stability. If I can’t get back to who I was, at least help me be worthy of his love.
18
Kasia sat still as the night air settled around her. Cold.
She’d emptied her heart and mind of all her thoughts, confessions, and hopes. Her feet, prickly from the heat, had soaked in the steamy mineral spring long enough.
But dread filled her as she considered sleep. She knew it: As soon as she drifted off, the demons would return.
Maybe she could touch base with friends back home.
Once her feet were dry and her comfy pajamas snuggled her warmly, Kasia opened her laptop to see what was new.
A new message from Alexander Maddox. Who?
Oh.
Oh. That haystack hair. She studied his profile pic—he leaned back in the sand while a golden retriever pawed his chest and gave him a big, wet kiss. The day they’d run into each other in the store, she’d seen him laugh like that. His laughter filled her head. Those dimples would probably stick with her for a while.
There was something about a man and his dog. She could imagine their day at the beach without even knowing him.
Forearms.
Alexander. He’d called himself something else before.
She tore her g away from the photo, missed Samson even more, and read the message.
Auburn, first: I’m not a stalker. You’ve just come to mind once or twice. Second: I thought it’d be nice to know someone on campus when I start school. Friend me, if you want. Or don’t. Forearms. (Best. Nickname. Ever.)
A smile pulled at her mouth. She clicked on his profile. Charleston, South Carolina. So maybe not a surfer, but she’d nailed the beach-lover aspect. Great taste in music. Baseball fan. No surprise there.
Sure. She could friend him.
After a shower, she climbed in bed and prayed the nightmares wouldn’t come.
But they did.
She traced the creamy threads in the black marble floor next to the Hamilton family’s towering Christmas tree and tucked her feet beneath her on the plush rug. Blake knelt in front of her and held out cupped hands, lifted one to reveal a dark velvet box. Kasia sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. He wasn’t supposed to ask her yet.
His straight blond hair fell into his eyes, and his gorgeous smile curved his lips. He set the box on the floor between them and took both her hands in his. “Marry me, Kasia.”
He was earnest, his eyes bright and eager. So why was she breaking into a cold sweat? The world seemed to shift, and she closed her eyes, tried to regain her balance. She slid her hands gently out of his, covered her face. She could not let him see her panic.
“Ka-sia…” he sang. “I surprised you, didn’t I? You never expected the ring for Christmas.” Smug satisfaction laced his voice.
With a deep, calming breath, she peeled her hands away from her face and hoped he’d see the surprise he wanted rather than the shock she felt. “I…I don’t know what to say, Blake. I can’t believe it.”
He laughed. “Then just say yes, Kosh.”
She nodded, her bottom lip tight between her teeth. “Yes, Blake.” Saying it out loud made it feel better. “Yes. Thank you.”
His eyes flashed, and he was on his knees within seconds, his hands tangled in her hair. The kiss was urgent, possessive. She tried not to shrink away, and he didn’t seem to notice.
Blake’s fingers dug into her skin. The room darkened.
“Ow! Blake, that hurts.”
He released her for a moment, but she found no comfort in his eyes.
Everything in his den blurred, a gray haze hiding warped, faceless evils.
With a snarl, he came at her again, bound her tight.
This wasn’t Blake anymore.
She fought with her arms and legs, screamed for help. This thing could not pin her down. But the more she writhed, the more tangled she was in its grasp.
Wham! Her head slammed into something solid and unforgiving. She was suddenly flat on her back. The world spun as if she were on a merry-go-round, and she gripped fistfuls of something soft, desperate to ground herself. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears it sounded like someone banging on a door.
Finally, the vertigo eased, and Kasia noticed the faint light slanting through the barred window from the streetlight. In Peru. She was in Peru.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Wood splintered in the courtyard outside.
Wait. Her heart wasn’t making that sound. Someone was breaking in. The clock said 3:30 in the morning. Who in the world would be there at this hour?
Fear gripped her. No one good. Someone was after her.
She stood too quickly and wobbled out into the main room, leaned against the walls. Her head pounded, but she had to think. What could she use to fend off an attacker? Her gaze landed on the heavy candlestick, and she grabbed it. She made it the final few feet to the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, locked it. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her breaths echoed too loudly in the tiled room. He’d find her.
Had Blake come all the way down here? No way.
The sound of jarring wood reached her ears, followed by footsteps. The door to her apartment slammed into her hallway wall. He was almost here.
She gripped the candlestick and held it like a baseball bat. She would not miss. She couldn’t. God, help! Stop him!
“Kasia? Kasia? Are you hurt? Where are you? It’s Mark. Answer if you’re all right.”
Why would Mark be there?
“Kasia, honey?” Patty’s voice. “Are you here? Are you alone?”
The relief wiped her out, and she sank onto the cool tile floor. She tried to speak. “In here.”
“Kasia?” they called.
She banged the inside of the bathroom door, found her voice, but it was shaky. “I’m in the bathroom.” She raised a tremulous hand and unlocked the door.
It swung open, and Patty stuck her head in. “Honey! What in the world? Are you all right?” The woman flipped on the light and knelt beside her. Kasia squinted at the brightness as Patty pushed Kasia’s hair back from her face and searched her eyes. She smelled clean and soft, like shampoo and cotton.
Mark stood over them. “There’s no one here. She’s alone.” He squatted. “What happened, Kasia? We heard you scream and call for help.”
How humiliating. The whole neighborhood had probably heard her. She looked up at Mark, afraid he’d be angry s
he’d woken them up for nothing. “It was a nightmare. I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour.”
Mark blew out a breath. “Bother us? Scared us out of our wits is more like it. I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody called the police.”
Kasia’s pulse was beginning to even out, and she realized what she’d put them through. “Really, forgive me. I won’t let it happen again.” She pressed her palm against the back of her head. “Could you—may I have some ice for my head?”
Mark left to get some.
“Kasia,” Patty said, her eyes full of compassion, “I don’t think this is something you can control. You sounded terrified. Do you want to come and stay with us?”
“Oh, no. No. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to—”
“I’ll stay here with her.” Grace. When had she come in?
Kasia’s eyes locked on the other girl’s. “You…you don’t mind?”
Grace shrugged, her eyes full of kindness. “No. I’ll get my things and be right back.”
“Do you want me to make you some tea?” Patty offered.
What Kasia wanted was for Mamusia to make her a cup of tea and help her figure out why these nightmares wouldn’t quit. Gently, she shook her head. “Thanks though. I’ll be fine.”
Patty stood and gave Kasia a hand up. They walked out and sat on the sofa, waited. Kasia didn’t know what to do. Sleep scared her, but she didn’t want to sit and talk about it either. Thankfully, neither Mark nor Patty asked her about the dream.
“I love these Scripture verses you’ve put up around the room. They’re so inspiring,” Patty said.
“Thank you. They’re the ones I’m memorizing.”
“Make you want to rise to the challenge, don’t they?” Mark meandered around, reading each of them.
Grace soon arrived and put her things on one of the bunks.
Mark prayed for Kasia before he and Patty left, and Patty gave Kasia’s shoulder a motherly squeeze.
“You girls get some rest now,” she said.
Both Kasia and Grace nodded, but Kasia knew. Sleep wouldn’t be happening tonight.
~*~
Kasia studied Grace in the silence. The older girl wasn’t asking the million questions that she had to wonder. Grace sat, long legs folded beneath her in the corner of the sofa. She’d pulled a book from her backpack—it looked like a history of the Quechua people, the highland descendants of the Incas. She had wordlessly placed the ball in Kasia’s court. Available but not pushing.
Strains of Silence Page 14
