Death of a Songbird by Christine Goff Read Free Book Online Page A

chair.
    “She said her father didn’t arrange the papers correctly,” Velof said. “In fact, he screwed them up royally.”
    That it was Velof who spoke, Velof who understood her, surprised Lark. The Latin language seemed more suited to Jacobs than the straight-backed portrait she’d painted of the Drummond day manager.
    “She says it was because he didn’t want certain people alerted to the fact she was leaving the country,” he continued.
    “What do her papers say?” Lark asked.
    Velof waited for Teresa’s response, then cleared his throat. “She says they give her permission to be in the United States for six months. After that, she’s forced to return to Mexico.”
    “Only, let me guess, she doesn’t intend to go back.”
    “Eventually, I will,” Teresa explained, “just not right away.”
    “Did Esther know that?”
    “Yes.” The girl spoke in Spanish again. This time, her words were barely audible.
    “Esther promised Teresa’s father that once Teresa was in the United States, they would arrange for her to obtain a green card,” Velof said, pacing the narrow track of tile that separated the door from the chair, like a soldier on patrol paces the fence. “According to Teresa, Esther never followed through.”
    “That’s right,” Teresa said, continuing in Spanish.
    “Apparently, Teresa’s father paid Esther to help them, plus he supposedly gave Esther money that belonged to Teresa. Money she’d never received. She claims Esther lied to them from the beginning and used the money for the business, but that her father believes she’s safe here.”
    “Safe from what?” An unsuitable romance? A childhood indiscretion?
    It wasn’t the idea of a father sending his daughter away that Lark found unfathomable. That sort of thing happened all the time, and for any number of reasons. When Lark turned fourteen, her father had shipped her off to boarding school, justifying his parental abdication by convincing himself—and anyone else who would listen—that it was for Lark’s own good.
    No, what Lark found unfathomable was the fear inherent in Mr. Cruz’s decision to send Teresa away with Esther. He must have been seriously frightened to entrust his daughter to a stranger with no official credentials backing her up.
    “I don’t understand the danger.”
    “How much do you know about the revolution in Mexico?” Velof asked.
    “I know there’s been some civil unrest in the southern states, but—”
    “Civil unrest?” Velof snorted. “More like civil war.”
    The vehemence in his voice unsettled Lark. “What do you know about it?”
    “Enough.” Velof stopped marching and sat down on the windowsill, arms stiff at his sides. “In 1994, a band of Indian farmers calling themselves the Zapatistas led an uprising against the Mexican government. They cited problems such as work, land distribution, housing, food, health care, education, etc. And they timed the rebellion to coincide with the ceremonies marking the first day of the North American Free Trade Agreement.” He gripped the edge of the windowsill so hard his knuckles turned white. “One hundred forty-five Zapatistas and civilians died during that twelve-day siege. After that, the rebellion moved underground, and there’s been only sporadic fighting between the guerrilla forces, the forces of the government, and the larger landholders. Still, war is war.”
    Jacobs, who hadn’t said anything up to then, reached for Teresa’s hand, “Teresa is a Tzotzil Mayan. Her father is an Indian coffee grower sympathetic to the Zapatista rebels. All the Indians want is the right to work and some land to grow their crops on.”
    “My people are very poor,” Teresa explained.
    Velof snorted. “And whose fault is that? All your people need to do is tap into the resources. Yet every time the government tries to help, the Zapatistas contend the government’s offer to control of the land. The government is not all bad.”
    “They are,” Teresa