Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She needed to run, to escape from this island before it was too late.
“Smile!” came a command from a short, wiry man with a Nikon aimed and ready to shoot. “Come on, Jason. Stand a little closer to the lady.”
“No photos,” Jason said firmly.
“But this is for the Gazette.” He lowered the camera and nervously raked his fingers through his long, graying hair, tightening his ponytail. “You’re front-page news, Jason. It’s not every day that the most eligible bachelor in the county gets hitched. Now, say cheese.”
Despite his crippled leg, Jason stepped quickly toward him, snatched his camera from his hands and whipped the embroidered strap up and off his neck.
“Hey! Give that back!”
“First, I’d like for you to meet my bride. Even journalists can be civilized.” He forcibly propelled the small man toward her. “Maria, this is Chip Harrington. He is the chief reporter-photographer-editor for the local newspaper.”
“Delighted,” he said, quickly shaking her hand and turning back to Jason. “Now, can I shoot you?”
“It’s like this,” Jason explained in a low voice. “Maria is very tired after her long trip, and she’d rather not pose for pictures right now. She doesn’t feel like she’s looking her best.”
“Man, if this isn’t her best, I’d like to see—”
“Thanks, Chip, for being so sensitive to her concerns.” Jason waved to his sister and gave her the camera. “Make sure Chip gets this back when he leaves.”
“I’ll let you get away with this on one condition,” Chip said. “If I can’t have a picture, I want an interview with Maria. One on one.”
“But she only speaks Spanish,” Alice observed.
“No problemo.” When Chip grinned, his face became a road map of deep creases that radiated from his mouth to around his eyes, crisscrossing on his high forehead. “Sometimes you people forget that I haven’t always lived here in Maine. I covered a world beat, including El Salvador.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Jason said. Chip’s elfish appearance masked a sharp intellect. He was, by trade, a gatherer of intelligence in this country and in Central America. In addition to his weekly newspaper, he regularly contributed to several national publications.
“With your permission, Maria.” Chip spoke in flawless Spanish. “We will talk for five minutes.”
Jason disliked the idea. He felt possessive about his bride. She wasn’t well, and he didn’t want her to face someone as sly as Chip Harrington until she was ready. “I’ll come with you.”
“Give me a break,” Chip said. “She can’t tell the secret of how she landed a prize catch while you’re standing there. Don’t worry, man. I’m not going to quiz her on the prenuptial agreement or anything. This is strictly a fluff piece. Maria? How about it?”
“I will be happy to speak with you. Though I have little to say.” She separated from Jason and went toward Chip. A newspaperman, she reasoned, ought to be able to give her information about the island and about Jason. She needed to know more about her new husband.
Chip Harrington was approximately her own height, and his easy grin made her feel safe. She gestured toward a love seat beside the fireplace, and they sat. Before he could begin his interview, she asked a question of her own. “This island,” she said. “It is so beautiful. Has Jason lived here long?”
“All his life. The Walker family is descended from whaling captains. But I don’t want to talk about history. Tell me about yourself.”
“I am what you see,” she said in a manner that she hoped was disarming. “Is Jason involved in a seafaring trade?”
“No way. He was almost a doctor. From what I hear, he had only a residency to complete his training. But you know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Even with Chip, she needed to be careful not to betray the truth...if she could ever remember what the truth was. “I am so very tired. I forgot.”
“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