The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba(54)
“Thank you for taking me into your home,” I reply. “I don’t know what I would have done without your assistance, only that I would like to thank your wife as well for her kindness.”
“There’s no need to thank me. Any patriot would have done the same. You are a credit to our country, and it is my pleasure to serve you in whatever manner I may.” His smile deepens. “Besides, given all the Spanish have done to us, it isn’t exactly a hardship to thwart their plans.
“As for your other thanks, I have no wife for you to meet, unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed. You are a widower, then?”
“No, I’ve never had the pleasure of finding someone to spend my life with.”
I never imagined that they would take me to a bachelor’s house, and suddenly, it occurs to me that I am alone with a strange man, and after my experience with Berriz—
He must read the unease in my expression, because he says to me, “In this house, you will be treated with nothing but the utmost respect. I can’t imagine what you have been through, and I understand how it would cause you to distrust the actions of men around you, but I promise you I will treat you with the same level of love and respect that I would accord to my own mother.”
There’s something so earnest in his voice and courtly in his manner that despite my misgivings, I relax somewhat. It is good to be reminded that all men are not Berriz, that there are kind men in this world.
“If all goes as planned, you will leave tomorrow on the passenger ship Seneca, which is bound for New York City.”
New York City.
“That seems an impossible wish,” I confess.
“Not so impossible. Not for those of us who have dedicated ourselves to your cause. I have connections with the Havana agent for the Ward Line that owns the Seneca, which has certainly helped. Besides, you have influential friends, and importantly, you have friends among the Americans. Consul General Lee himself has taken an interest in your case.”
“Are they searching for me?”
“They’re going house to house. But you have nothing to fear. I keep cash on hand, and if I need to bribe any of the authorities to look the other way, I have no qualms about doing so. I don’t want you to worry about your safety. I won’t let anything happen to you. We haven’t come this far to taste defeat so soon. Besides, if the cash doesn’t work, I have a revolver on hand that will.”
There’s something about him that reminds me a bit of my father. He seems to be a man of his word, who despite his elegant appearance isn’t afraid to dirty his hands and fight for what he believes in.
It gives me peace where there otherwise would be none. After years spent caring for my family and languishing in prison, this sensation that there is someone else looking out for me is entirely welcome.
“If for some reason you do need to escape,” Carlos adds, “I have rented the house next door. We’ve broken the windows between the two houses in case you have to climb between them.”
I smile in amazement. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Not everything. I must confess, we were quite stymied on how to get you out of Recogidas. I can’t tell you the relief we all felt when we saw your careful instructions. And the diagrams.” He laughs. “I think we all fell a bit in love with you then. Decker, certainly.”
My cheeks heat at the casual way in which he says the word “love” and the gleam in his eyes.
“I have had a great deal of time to contemplate escape.”
His expression darkens. “Yes, I imagine you have.”
“Why did you help rescue me?”
I am used to fighting for myself, for the dreams of an independent Cuba that I and others around me believe in, but I am shocked by their willingness to risk so much for someone they have never met.
“Because it was the right thing to do. It is difficult to live in these times and not feel helpless. I am fortunate that my wealth has kept me somewhat protected, but we all have a responsibility to do something when called to it. I love my country. This was my attempt at serving her in the manner I knew best.” His expression gentles. “And how could I not? I saw you in Recogidas. I went by one day, and while I didn’t want to raise suspicions by formally requesting to meet with you, I had heard talk that you were there, and I wanted to see the woman who had spurred the Spanish myself. Maybe I fell in love with you myself that day,” he says, his tone and expression suggesting he is in jest, although I can’t deny the warmth that fills me at his attention.
“Thank you for all of your help. I don’t know what I would have done without you. For you to risk your life like this—”
“It is no risk. It is my pleasure to do what I can to right the injustice that has been done to you.”
Expressing my gratitude seems hollow, no words I can offer enough for the magnitude of what he has done for me. How do you properly show your appreciation for someone who saves your life?
* * *
—
We spend most of our waking moments together while we wait for the ship that is to carry me from Cuba. Carlos is an excellent host—solicitous and considerate—and I am fascinated by the stories he tells of his career in banking, his American friends, the years he spent studying in the United States. I absorb his every word as he speaks of the country that is to be my new temporary home, as he gives me advice on acclimating to my life there. More than anything, I am drawn to how he listens, the interest he takes in me. I tell him about my sisters, my life before my father was arrested. Berriz is the subject we avoid, and we both dance around my time in Recogidas as though through some silent agreement to ban all unpleasantness from this sanctuary we have created.