Unveiling the Truth Page 2

  By 5:45 p.m., Beatriz was again sitting reasonably comfortably in her bus seat, settling in for the last leg of her trip to Winnipeg. She could not believe she had had the moxie to board this final bus. There had been a moment of hesitation as she reviewed the contents of her purse: her passport, her seven-day American Bus Pass to get her to Miami, a one-way airline ticket to Brazil, and a total of $80 cash. And, of course, the little box of treasures she carried everywhere. She reasoned it must have been the knowledge that she could go back home anytime that kept her moving forward.

  The bus was scheduled to arrive in Winnipeg at 11:30 p.m., and her friend Tracey would be there to pick her up. Everything was falling nicely into place. Although it was early for sleep, the movement of the bus and the vista of wheat fields as far as the eye could see soon lulled her into a light oblivion.

  The little girl with the piercing green eyes had the world by the tail. By the age of five, she had developed a fairly good understanding of the world around her. She knew she was special—although she didn’t understand why exactly. She loved her big house and her beautiful dresses. She had just started school, and she loved Miss Silva and all the other children. There were just three things that puzzled the little princess: Why Daddy yell at Mommy so much, and never come to the school like all the other children’s parents and the photograph in the living room.

  In one corner of her living room, there was a collection of photos hung on the wall and displayed on a special table with a lacy doily. Beatriz recognized her grandparents, and Mommy and Daddy getting married. She loved the picture of the coconut trees in Fortaleza, and of course, the many important life moments of her siblings, Paulo, Nita, Luiza, Luis, and Rafael. Most of all, she thought she would burst with pride when she saw the newest addition: a gorgeous photo of herself in her lace first Communion dress covered with roses and a long white veil. She thought she looked like an angel. But for as long as Beatriz could remember, she was confused by one black-and-white photo in the centre. The nine-month-old baby in the little white coffin amid a sea of beautiful garlands of lilies and miniature white roses was haunting.

  “Who is that baby sleeping in the little box?” she would ask over and over, hoping each time for a different answer.

  “Oh, baby,” her mother would coo. “Of course, that’s you! Little Beatrice! You remember that the good Lord took you away from us, and we were very sad. But then, he gave you back. You are so special. You are a miracle!”

  “Milagre! Milagre! Pequeno milagre de Deus!” God’s little miracle. Beatriz would always remember the chanting of her sister Luiza. She was never quite sure if she was celebrating her or teasing her, but every time Luiza started, she wanted to hide her face under a pillow. It caused her such embarrassment. Even though she was just five years old, she knew it was a story she should not repeat outside her home.

  It would be years before Beatriz finally put together the pieces of this bewildering puzzle. She would learn of her parents’ anguish upon losing their baby Beatrice, their fourth child, the second time a baby had died before its first birthday. The infant and Luiza had been left in the care of the housekeeper Benedita and Francisco while Dolores went to visit her mother who was at the hospital on the North of Brazil, and no one ever wanted to talk about what happened to her. The parents blamed themselves and each other; the house became a place of mourning and grief and much anger.

  When their final child arrived a few years later, the family was overwhelmed with joy. Their faith in God was renewed and the home was transformed with gratification. This devout Catholic family experienced their own resurrection and was convinced they were given a second chance. They chose an eerily similar name to that of the deceased infant Beatrice. Beatriz, therefore, grew up believing that she was a gift from God and that her mission was to bring peace into her home. She did her utmost to carry out that mission for as long as she could.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE BUS LURCHED to a stop and propelled Beatriz into the seat in front of her. The bright overhead lights came on and she heard the muffled voice of the bus driver making an announcement over the loudspeaker.

  “What is he saying? Why are we stopping?” asked Beatriz.

  “We’re at the Canadian border,” replied her seatmate. “We have to pass through Immigration.”

  Okay, thought Beatriz, No problem here. She had nothing to hide. But she did wonder if her situation might be perceived as a bit fishy. Why had she come all this way for such a short visit? And why did she have just $80 to her name? Would they assume she was trying to come here to work illegally? Or worse, that she was smuggling drugs from South America? She could not answer questions of why she’d come for immigration officials. She could not answer them for herself. She could not explain why she was so determined to go to Altona. Reason for visit to Canada: fate. She wondered if they had a stamp for that.

  Her heart was pounding as border patrol officer asked everyone to get off the bus and bring the luggage inside the building. One by one they were asked to follow him into a small room. Bushy eyebrows arched as she admitted to the contents of her wallet. But after viewing Beatriz’s letter of invitation from Tracey and the half-expired bus pass, he accepted that Winnipeg was to be her last stop before returning home. He stamped her visa: three days only.

  Beatriz had never been a drinker, but she imagined she could have used a stiff one as she tried to calm her nerves and settle back into her bus seat. She was very close now.

  After what seemed like a short time, the bus stopped again to pick up new passengers. She could hear two boys speaking with the bus driver and could not place their accent. They were definitely not native English speakers, yet their speech was so very familiar to Beatriz. She practically leapt with joy when they sat down across from her and began speaking to each other in Portuguese. The remainder of the trip flew by as Beatriz made two new friends. They were part of a student exchange program and both were from Brazil: one from Fortaleza in the north and the other from Paraná in the south.

  It was almost midnight by the time the bus pulled up to the Winnipeg bus terminal. Tracey was nowhere to be seen, and no one seemed to be familiar with Altona, the small town where she lived. The Brazilian boys gave her a Canadian quarter to make her phone call and said their good-byes as they raced to catch another bus.

  Beatriz became a little worried when Tracey explained on the phone that her husband had been called away to an emergency and had taken the car. She promised to come to pick Beatriz up as soon as she could—by 2 p.m. the next day at the latest.

  “Great,” said Beatriz out loud to no one in particular. “Now what am I supposed to do?” She considered hopping right back onto a bus—destination Miami—but of course, there were no more departures that night. Beatriz looked around. With the exception of one young man and one security guard, the place was deserted.

  The security guard was watching her with interest, waiting for her to leave so he could lock up. She really did not want to sleep in the depot, but could see no alternative. She explained her situation to the guard, who kindly led her to a padded bench where, as a special exception, he would allow her to spend the night. Yup, Beatriz thought as she settled in, I sure am special.

  June 10th, 1976

  Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

  Dear Sweet Beatrice,

  What a stressful time for you these past many months living with Mom and Dad’s constant fighting. I am very sorry that I have not been able to write you sooner or visit you for moral support.

  Marriage is definitely not what I expected. Already, Marcos and I seem to fight over many things—especially money. I thought I knew him but every day it seems more and more like we have different goals. I understand what people mean when they say they’re “drifting apart.”

  I can see you have figured things out about the goings-on of our seemingly happy, innocent family. But there is still much that you might not know and you’re old enough now to understand. You may have heard about Maria, th
e housekeeper who used to help Mom around the house. I really liked her because she was not that much older than me, and we used to play together. Mom was jealous of Maria because she was so attentive to Dad. I guess at first, he felt sorry for her having to work as a maid when his own daughters had so much. However, Mom eventually found out that Dad was giving her too much attention. The you-know-what hit the fan, and Mom was fit to be tied. She found a safe place for Maria and promised herself that this would be the last time she cleaned up one of his messes.

  Do you remember going to the east end before church every Sunday with Mom? How she would pack groceries and clothing into sacks and drop them off at a convent while you waited outside in the car? Well, that was where Maria stayed until she turned 18. I guess Mom felt sorry for what Dad had done to her.

  Then, of course, the whole incident with little Beatrice’s death shook our family to the core. Mom never forgave Dad for leaving her alone with the housekeeper Benedita. I can’t imagine them reconciling for long enough to have sex, but they must have because you were born, and you’re the spitting image of Mom. (You are so lucky! It’s not fair that you got her beauty, and I just look like Dad with dark skin and curly hair. Of course he is handsome, but come on! What girl wants to hear that she has handsome features?) Some of us joked behind their backs that you were an Immaculate Conception, but Mom and Dad were convinced that you were Beatrice resurrected.

  I am so sorry to have to tell you all this, and sorry that you had to live through it. But I do so because I think it’s time you got away from there. You have the chance to go to the North for the summer… Go. Visit with the cousins for the summer. Trust me.

  Abraços e beijos,

  Luiza

  Beatriz shivered. She had the strange feeling she was being watched, and she opened her eyes to see three men hovering beside her bench. She recognized the security guard who had given her permission to spend the night in the depot. She fully expected to be hauled away to the jailhouse for breaking some crazy public sleeping law. Or worse, to be booted out of the country.

  “Pardon me, miss,” he said politely. “Sorry to startle you, but these men are looking for you. They say Tracey from Altona sent them to get you.”

  Beatriz looked from one man to the next as they tried to explain who they were and why they were so late. Tracey had called her sister Christine in Winnipeg who asked her husband, Christopher, to go to the depot to get Beatriz. Christopher did not have a car and his wallet had dropped out of a hole in his pocket on the way to the bus stop. What??? He met Peter as they were both waiting at a stoplight, and Peter—a complete stranger—who was on his way to pick up his car, offered him a lift. How kind, these Canadians! They found the security guard, explained their story and were led to Beatriz in the locked depot. What an ordeal she had caused!

  It was not until she was in the car nestled between two complete strangers that it occurred to Beatriz to question her judgement. Was she the innocent, all-too-trusting tourist who would end up in tomorrow’s headlines? Kidnapped into slavery or the underground sex trade? But she was too tired to care. Already in Christine and Christopher’s house, she lingered in a hot shower, and as she slipped under the comfy covers of the guest room bed at 2:30 a.m., she thought to herself I’ll take my chances.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BEATRIZ AWOKE THE next morning feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and excited about what the day would bring. Christopher had already left for work, but Beatriz could smell the delicious aroma of fresh coffee, and she made her way upstairs to the kitchen. There she met Christine, or more precisely, Christine’s quite pregnant belly. She was expecting her third child and very close to due.

  Over coffee and fresh croissants, the two women got acquainted. Beatriz described meeting Tracey in Brazil and how she had been intrigued to visit her home in Canada. She recounted some of the highlights of her trip so far and how nobody believed she was there for just three days, least of all the immigration officer who had reluctantly approved her visa.

  Christine was happy to sit in her bright kitchen and spend some time chatting with this charming girl. She had just arrived home from her overnight shift at the hospital and was exhausted. A nurse’s job is tiring at the best of times; being on her feet for ten hours with six pounds of baby in her belly was torture. She could not wait for her maternity leave to kick in. Although with Christopher going back to school and working part-time to make ends meet for the little family, she was not so sure what difference the short break would make.

  She kicked off her shoes and listened intently as Beatriz described her past and her plans for the future. After Beatriz left her home in Belo Horizonte for a summer holiday in 1976, she never did return. She stayed with relatives for a while in Fortaleza—that beautiful city in the northeast of Brazil with its lovely beaches and coconut trees—and eventually found herself an apartment. She finished high school, and by the age of eighteen, she had landed an entry-level administrative job with the biggest corporation in the city. She worked hard and progressed in the company all the while studying part-time at the university. Her goal was to acquire business skills and real-world experience in order to realize her master plan: open up an English school. She had inherited a strong entrepreneurial flair and business smarts from her parents and had her heart set on running her own business. As a reward to herself upon completing her bachelor’s degree, she and her sister, Luiza, spent the school break travelling through France, Portugal, Spain, England, and America—which was why she was now completely broke.

  Before returning to her big plans in Brazil, Beatriz thought it would be wise to travel a bit more in English-speaking countries, living in various home-stays to keep improving her own English language skills. And there was this inexplicable force of fate insisting that she visit Tracey in Altona.

  “Beatriz, I think you have found your fate. You are the miracle I have been hoping for!” Christine exclaimed.

  Beatriz blanched. “Miracle?”

  “Yes! It’s perfect. You can live here with Christopher and me in the basement apartment you stayed in last night. You can help me with the children and babysit them when I go back to work. Even a few months would be a great help. You can enrol in English classes at the local community college. Say you’ll stay?”

  PART TWO

  FALLING FOR THE CHARMS OF AN EXOTIC MAN

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  October 10th, 1988

  Dear Beatrice,

  Good for you! I think you’ve made a smart decision to stay in Canada for a little while. Christine and Christopher sound like decent people, and it seems they appreciate your help.

  By now, you should have received the money I wired to Christine’s bank account, like you asked. Bete says hello and thanks for selling her your car. She is thrilled!

  I was amused to learn that your visit with Tracey was uneventful; you were so keyed up about it. Still, I hope she was happy to see you and pleased that you made such an effort to get there.

  Nothing much new here. I don’t miss Marcos at all since our divorce, but I feel like I work full-time for my kids! I can’t wait to be able to get back to my studies.

  Abraços e beijos,

  Luiza

  THE AUTUMN OF 1988 put on a magnificent show as it transformed the city into a glorious red-and-orange autumn landscape that Beatriz had only ever seen in paintings. She spent many hours exploring the beautiful parks and gardens with Christine’s children and taking weekend car trips “up north.” She found that expression so amusing.

  With each week that passed, she found herself borrowing another piece of clothing from Christine and layering it on to her medium frame. She was starting to feel like an elephant lumbering down the street and wondered just how cold it would get. She had never in her life experienced a North American winter. It was the locals’ turn to be amused.

  Even though she had agreed loosely to a few months, she was in no real hurry to leave Winnipeg. Christine had organized an extension to her visa
and had even enrolled her in a free English-as-a-second-language course at the local community college.

  Beatriz had always heard that Canada was a multicultural country, but it was not until she had arrived that she understood what that meant. She was fascinated not only by the many different faces, but also by the way everyone seemed to just get along. Ethnic restaurants and community centers clearly identified small pockets of the city populated by certain religious and cultural groups, yet the neighbourhoods were open and accessible to all. Since she had started studying English four nights a week, her expanding circle of friends was comprised of people from all over the world who had decided to make Canada their home. English was their common denominator, and Beatriz was amazed at how quickly her language skills were improving. During her university studies, she had learned that true immersion occurs when one starts thinking in the second language, and she was actually experiencing this herself.

  Oh my, she thought to herself in English, stopping in her tracks. Who is that man? She felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t remember ever having such an intense reaction to any person, let alone this exotic-looking stranger, with his shiny black hair and skin the colour of smooth, milky coffee. He was looking at her intently from deep, chocolate-brown eyes. She mustered a shy smile and scurried away down the hall. Beatriz kicked herself for not having had the courage to say something to him—anything at all—to start a conversation. She was practically breathless when she sat down beside her Filipina classmate. “Lorena, did you see that handsome man? Do you know who is? I must meet him. Oh my, did you see him?” the questions tumbled out too quickly for Lorena to follow.