Free The Distant Marvels by Chantel Acevedo Page B

was. “That is what the Spanish do, and they will lose this island as a consequence. You will see.”
    â€œIs my Illuminada safe?” he shouted down.
    â€œNo,” Fernanda lied. “Her husband is coming for her and she’s afraid.”
    â€œI’ll kill him!” the captain said, his hand going to the gun at his side.
    â€œShe asked me to come for you. So that you might rescue her,” Fernanda said.
    Aldo Alarcón’s eyes widened. He pushed himself off the railing and nearly tumbled down the plank in excitement.
    â€œDid she? Did she? She asked for me?” he demanded once on the dock, and Fernanda nodded gravely.
    â€œHere, take this,” she said, putting a heavy iron key in the palm of the captain’s hand. “There is a back door to the inn, one we never use but is always locked. Let yourself in, rescue Illuminada, and take her away from my uncle and me. We want nothing to do with her.”
    Aldo Alarcón raised an eyebrow. “The daughter you can keep,” he said, took the key, and turned towards his ship.
    â€œDon’t forget!” Fernanda called to him. “Come as soon as you can. And bring your gun!”
    Aldo Alarcón waved the iron key in the air, dismissing Fernanda.
    I crouched behind the box and took several deep breaths. It was no use. I burst into sobs. I cried for as long as it took Fernanda to disappear down the cobblestone road and get lost among the people on the street. My sobs made my whole body shake, and were the kind of cries only children can manage without hurting themselves. Even so, it felt as if my chest were being torn in two.
    I could picture the inn and the street it was on, but I had no idea how to get there. The Havana streets were complex, and unnumbered, and an address was of no use to me. What I did know was that if Aldo Alarcón was going to the inn today of all days, someone was going to get hurt.
    I must have wept for an hour. No one stopped to help me. Perhaps I looked like one of those raggedy orphan children of which there were so many in Havana in those days. But I was wearing shoes. Nice, polished shoes of black charról that Julio Reyes had bought me for Christmas. Someone should have noticed those, I remember thinking to myself at the time. I was not a girl set adrift. I was loved! And my mamá needed me. Who would sleep near her on cold nights? Who would twirl the ends of her long hair so that the tips fell into small ringlets? To whom would she whisper stories of the sea, of a mermaid that rose from the depths to name me? We weren’t complete without one another, Lulu and I.
    With these thoughts in mind, I stood and turned and surveyed the place where I was. To the left was the Cathedral of San Francisco de Asis.
    Before me, the tall, gray convent rose in gothic spires to the sky. The apse hung long and low over the bay, and the bells started to chime loudly, making my ears hurt. I scanned the street before me. Fernanda had gone left at the intersection, I was sure of it. But we’d taken so many turns getting to the ship that I had no idea where the inn could be.
    I asked three people walking past if they knew of the Reyes Inn, but they had a wild look in their eyes, and when I approached them, they’d flinched.
    â€œGet somewhere safe, girl,” one of the women had said, fanning herself with a rickety fan and hurrying off.
    â€œI’m trying to,” I called after her, but she did not turn around. No one I asked seemed to know in which direction to point me. One had said, “Go north.” Another had suggested I go south.
    I scuttled along the street, sticking close to buildings and keeping my nose in the air. Every so often I’d stop a stranger and ask, “The Reyes Inn?” but it was no use. Either I was ignored, or the person did not know of the place. I began to wonder if my life had been a dream, that there was no inn, that I was only a shadow of a girl,