Mysterious Vows

“I’ll be brief,” he promised. “So, you’re from Central America. What country?”

“Guermina.” Maria had no idea why she’d chosen that country, but the location sounded right. It seemed equally correct to say, “I look forward to becoming an American citizen.”

“Tell me of your homeland.”

Sharp pictures exploded in her mind. Rapid-fire impressions, as if she were flipping the pages of a book. “So beautiful, lush and green. But so much suffering. Constant warring. Poverty in the cities. There is rain, much rain. Coffee plantations. Volcanoes rise like pyramids to the skies of the Mayan gods.”

Though she knew a great deal about the country, Guermina seemed exotic to her, not familiar as a homeland should be. Just as Spanish was a language she could speak fluently, but it was not her native tongue.

“Maria,” he said, summoning her attention. “Do you know the woman they call Truth? Her name is Juana Sabbatta. She is—”

“I know of her,” Maria said. Her senses prickled. This interview had made a foray into dangerous territory. “A journalist like yourself. A troublemaker.”

“A heroine,” he concluded. “Many people believe she is courageous.”

Her heart beat in double time. A twinge of pain in her forehead warned her that the headache might return. “What could Juana Sabbatta possibly have to do with Jason and me?”

His scrutiny was so thorough that she felt as if she were under a microscope. Then his gaze lifted. She detected a hint of surprise in his voice. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I know very little.” That much was true. She couldn’t even remember her real name. Maria? Even her name was an alias. Maria was a lie.

Chip asked, “What makes a woman agree to be a mail-order bride?”

She shrugged. How would she know such a thing? Maria wasn’t even sure what a mail-order bride was.

“Come on, Maria. Help me out here. This is romantic stuff. When Jason placed ads in those Spanish newspapers, what caused you to respond?”

“I don’t know.” Had she responded to an ad? She couldn’t remember.

“Why do you suppose he selected you from all the women who wrote back?”

“I cannot say.”

The reporter’s face pulled into a frown. “At least, tell me the logistics. I assume that once you and Jason had decided to be married, he sent money—”

“Money?” she interrupted.

“Pesos. Dinero. For your trip to Maine. Tell me about the arrangements. How does a mail-order bride, like yourself, come into this country? Is there a broker?”

A sour taste invaded her mouth. A broker? From what Chip was saying, she had been imported to be a bride. Jason had advertised and she had answered. The idea disgusted her, and confusion flooded her mind. A mail-order bride?

Though she remembered nothing, she knew that was false. Her sense of pride and self-respect would never allow her to sell herself in marriage...no matter how terrible the circumstance. Why couldn’t she remember? Why hadn’t Jason told her?

She glanced across the room at him, sought the truth in his deep gray eyes. He was watching her carefully. But, of course, he would be. If what Chip said was correct, she was his possession, something he’d bought. It was no wonder that he had kissed her so passionately. She belonged to him. A mail-order bride. Bought and paid for.

What sort of man could do such a thing?

What sort of woman would agree to a forced marriage?

And tonight? When the guests had left, Jason would demand that she perform her wifely duty in bed. The spontaneous wonderment of their kiss became suddenly tawdry and cheap.

Chip was still asking his questions. His voice droned. He touched her forearm. “Maria?”

She jerked away from him. “I am not well,” she said. “I must lie down.”

“But I have a few more questions.”

“Not now.” Quietly she rose and slipped away, finding the small room where she had awakened before the ceremony. She closed the door and went to the window. Beyond a stand of coastal pines, she saw the shimmer of sunlight on water. The Atlantic Ocean was her horizon and her boundary. After everyone else left, she would be isolated on this island. With Jason.

“Maria?” Alice opened the door. “Are you all right? Um, cómo está usted?”

Maria shook her head. The dull aching was back. She sank to the floor beside the window. One hand reached up, rested on the sill, grasping toward freedom. How could she have sold herself? She was so ashamed. No wonder her mind had blanked out the past.

Alice sat on the wingback chair near her. “You’re homesick, aren’t you? Oh, Maria, I wish I could help you.”

But would she? Would Alice help her escape? It seemed doubtful. Alice was Jason’s sister. Her first loyalty would be to him.

“You’re very brave,” Alice said. “I don’t think I could do what you’ve done. Leaving my home and all. You must have been desperate to escape your country.”

Desperate to escape? Yes, Maria thought, I am desperate.

“But you’re very lucky,” Alice said. “Sometimes Jason behaves like a gruff old pelican, but he has a kind heart. And I do believe you will be good for him. After his first wife Elena died...well, he was devastated. I never thought he would marry again. He nursed her all by himself, you know. After the doctors had diagnosed her cancer and said it was hopeless, Jason took care of her—all alone—for months on this island.”

Maria imagined the horror of being trapped here. Dying and imprisoned on a cold island in Maine. Had his first wife been a mail-order bride? “Elena?”

“She looked a little like you. The long, black hair. She was Spanish, too.” Alice gave a little frown. “Well, I’m sure you don’t understand a word of what I’m saying here. I wish I could reassure you, but I guess that’s up to Jason. Now, do you want to lie down for a moment? Or should we cut the cake?”

The door swung wide and Jason maneuvered his way inside. Maria looked at him with new eyes. The tension around his mouth indicated to her that he was holding back his pain. His leg must be bothering him. He didn’t seem like a cruel man, but he was angry. It was strange, she thought, that she could read his emotions more easily than she could understand what was going on inside her own head.

“Leave us, Alice.”

“All righty. But I insist that the both of you come out here and cut the cake. Then the basic ceremonial duties are over, and Maria can rest.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” he said.

Alice left, and he crossed the room. His strides were labored. “Maria, you’ve got to be careful. These people may seem harmless, but we can’t tell. We can’t trust anyone. Not even the reverend.”

She stood, but kept close to the window, as far away from him as possible. Was the danger from other people? Or from him? He was the man who had bought her. Pure rage burned within her, hotter than a forge, but she tempered her emotions. Whatever Jason had done, she’d allowed it. My God, what had happened to her? What insane reasoning had led her to this point? “How could I have gone through with this?”

“What are you talking about?”

He reached for her, and she pulled away. Lithely she darted beyond his arm’s reach.

“Leave me alone,” she said. Her words were English. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

But he already had. He had taken her name and her freedom. Though she’d agreed, though she had voluntarily repeated her vows before witnesses, the wedding was a sham. She glared defiantly. “You may have bought a mail-order bride, but I’ll never be your wife.”