Chapter 2
Maria removed the black lace mantilla from around her head as she walked through the cast-iron gate at La Escuela de Nuestra Fe.
She didn’t think anyone had followed her to the private Catholic school on the outskirts of Taxco, but she couldn’t be too careful. She’d bought a faded gray dress from a woman at the bus station in Mexico City last night. It hung loose on her slender body. Her sturdy black shoes were matronly. Covering her hair with a veil added to the disguise.
Sister Rosalina led her down a cobblestone path, toward a small chapel. There were several outbuildings on the school grounds that appeared to house dormitories, classrooms, and a cafeteria. Maria had never been to a boarding school. She’d been lucky to attend two years of public high school—two more than her mother, who’d stopped at the mandatory eighth grade. Maria would have loved to go away to a place like this. Even if the nuns were mean and made the girls scrub floors or pray for hours, it was worth the hardship to get a good education.Vale la pena,as the saying went.
“Which student did you say you were visiting?” Sister Rosalina asked in Spanish.
“Sarai Tomás,” Maria replied. It was the name on the envelope Armando had given her.
“And you are?”
“Maria…Mariposa.”
“Maria Mariposa?”
Maria flushed at her sharp perusal. Her last name was Santos, but Sarai wouldn’t recognize that. The girl wouldn’t recognizeher. She might recognize her father’s favorite term of endearment, which meant butterfly. “It’s a family nickname.”
The nun gave her a skeptical look and continued past the chapel. Maria hoped that lying to a woman of God didn’t earn her a spot in hell. Then again, she’d committed quite a few sins over the past few weeks, so what was one more?
“Sarai is in catechism class,” the nun said when they reached a quiet courtyard. “You can see her when she gets out.”
Maria nodded and took a seat on a stone bench in front of a fountain. She supposed that nuns were as corruptible as politicians and policemen, but she felt safer among women. The danger here was to her eternal soul, not her physical safety. She didn’t think Armando’s enemies had followed her here. She was almost free. As soon as she delivered this letter, she could go home.
Her throat closed up at the thought of seeing her mother again. It had been four years. Four long years since she’d paid a coyote to smuggle her into the United States. Four years since she’d been left for dead in the middle of the desert. Four years since she’d been sent back to Tijuana, where she’d worked around the clock to support her family—and waited for another opportunity to cross.
Three weeks ago, her dream had come true. A friend had agreed to give her a ride to San Diego. Maria had stowed away in a cardboard box in the back of a van, where she’d fainted from lack of air. But she’d been overjoyed to wake up in the United States.
Unfortunately, there had been no smooth sailing after that. She’d found a job in a hotel full of criminals and dark secrets. She’d reunited with Ian, a man she’d often fantasized about but never expected to see again. That hadn’t ended well, either.
She took a deep breath and tried to push aside her heartache. Ian was like the American Dream: too good to be true. Not for her. Out of reach, off-limits, on the other side of an insurmountable wall. She was going back to Mezcala. Back to her mother, and her brother and sister. Back to the hardscrabble existence she’d left behind.
After about twenty minutes, Sister Rosalina returned with a teenage girl. She was wearing a white blouse and a plaid, knee-length skirt. Her hair was very short and curly on top. She had a delicate build and fine features.
“Sarai?” Maria said, rising to her feet. “It’s been so long, I hardly recognized you.”
The girl greeted her with a warm hug. “Tía Mariposa. You look exactly the same.”
Maria smiled at Armando’s daughter. She didn’t resemble him, despite the boyish haircut. “Are you finished with classes for the day?”
“No, but I have an hour break.”
“Can you show me your room?”
Sister Rosalina waved them along. Sarai took Maria by the hand and led her to the dormitory. She shared a room with another girl. There were two single beds inside with a wooden desk between them. The space was tight, but private. As soon as they were behind closed doors, Sarai dropped the happy relative act. Her expression transformed from excited to gravely concerned.
“Did my father send you?”
“Yes.”
The girl clutched Maria’s arm. “Is he alive?”
Maria removed the envelope from her shoulder bag, wincing at the blood smears on the surface. “He was the last time I saw him.”
“When?”
“Five days ago, in San Diego.”
