Grace’s fingers touched her amulet as she remembered how she’d tried to escape the pain of Bridey’s death by tucking herself against one of the old stone walls that curved along the perimeter of her village.B?o running away now made sense to her. “Children often try too hard to be brave,” she said softly.
“Compassion like yours is a gift, Mrs. Golden.”
A flicker of pain pinched inside her. Her mother curled in a tight ball in bed, her baby brother wailing, the flash of memory returned to her. Grace had often been the one to feed him, to rock him to sleep. Her mother’s grief had consumed her.
“My own childhood had its fair share of sadness, but I was fortunate to know kindness, too.” Delilah had died over thirty years ago, but there were times Grace could swear she felt the papery skin of the old woman’s hand gripping her own.
“We are grateful that God has shown mercy and B?o has one family member with him. He is not alone.” Sister Mary unfolded her hands. “Would you like to come this way? I’ll show you where they’re having an English lessons right now. We have four other nuns who are helping with their instruction. Anh, actually, has become one of our best students.”
“Yes, thank you,” Grace said.
“It’s my pleasure. And it’s not entirely selfless on my part.” She took a step into the room and said, “As you can see, we have quite a project here … with the tutoring. We could always use another hand.”
The motherhouse, the Sisters’ headquarters on the grounds of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, had always appeared rather gloomy to Grace, but now it buzzed like a beehive. She followed Sister Mary Alice toward a common area where four matronly-looking women sat at different tables giving instruction to the adults while the children sat on the floor. The room smelled like apple juice, crayons, and warm bodies.
Grace spotted B?o first. Sitting beside two small girls with pigtails, he seemed to have little interest in repeating basic words back inEnglish. Instead, he was pulling out tiny fibers of the rug and arranging them in a pile.
Then she saw Anh. Unlike the others, who were spread out into small groups, Anh sat alone at a desk in the corner, bent over a soft-covered workbook, her long black hair tied loosely with a scarf. The edge of two pink shower sandals peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt.
“As I said, Anh is one of our hardest workers,” Mary Alice said, noting that Grace was looking at her from afar.
“She still doesn’t speak very much, but she definitely seems to understand more than the others. I suspect she made the most of the lessons back at the Red Cross camp.”
Grace again looked over in Anh’s direction.
“Anyway, it’s been quite a challenge here,” the Sister continued. “We don’t understand a word of Vietnamese. And while most of them as I mentioned had a bit of lessons in the refugee camp, a few are even too shy to practice with us. We’re hoping that will change soon.…” She looked over at B?o. “The boy’s been a bit hard to reach. Watches a lot of television but doesn’t want to practice speaking. He’s still so withdrawn, but we don’t want to push him too much after this weekend’s incident.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe you can help.”
Grace watched as she went over to one of the folded bridge tables and tapped B?o on his back, then whispered something in his ear. He looked older now that he was wearing a plaid short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. He turned his head around after Sister Mary Alice pointed in her direction. Grace felt a warmth flow through her as B?o’s hand slowly unfurled and he offered her a tiny wave.
CHAPTER 12Vietnam, 1976
ANH WATCHED HER SISTER PREPAREB?O’S LUNCH BOX BEFOREhe set off for school, adding a small amount of fish sauce to make the modest rice gruel more flavorful and then artfully placing three sweet potato leaves on top. She’d been waiting for the right time to share her good news, but she could see how preoccupied Linh was in making sure B?o’s modest meal reflected her heart. Her sister believed that even with the barest ingredients, one could still show great care and love.
Her nephew had been struggling in school. The child always left each morning with a strained smile on his face, but Linh told Anh that he was constantly being bullied by his classmates who called him “a son of a traitor.” With so few opportunities to socialize, B?o spent most of his time with a stray dog he had named Bibo who was so starved for nourishment, he spent most of his days sleeping on the ground. But the child was devoted to him, nuzzling next to him during the hot afternoons and keeping his fur brushed and clean. Several times Linh had caught the boy taking what little food he had on his plate and slipping it into his pocket so he could later offer it to the dog.
In an effort to give his son another outlet, Chung had recently found an old bicycle with no rubber on the tires for B?o, and the boy—despite a tremendous amount of falling and wobbling at first—miraculously learned to ride it just on the wire rims. But then one day, one of his classmates smashed the front wheel and slashed the old vinyl seat. Linh didn’t need Anh to tell her that mean-spirited acts and torments were committed by the same children whose fathers harassedMinh and Chung at the cooperative farm. How many times had Minh been blamed for a crop failure or accused of sabotaging the plantings when they didn’t grow? In the poverty and widespread hunger that affected the community, everyone—adults and children alike—was looking for places to unleash their frustration.
“One more thing, bé tí,” Linh said to B?o before he departed, her voice lifting in an attempt to provide him some cheer. She reached into her apron and pulled out a small mango she’d miraculously found on the path that morning, the skin not quite golden. Despite its modest size, it was nearly perfect. She took her knife and quickly peeled off the skin and cut the flesh off the pith. “I saved this one just for you.”
That afternoon, Anh confided in her sister that finally, after so many years of trying with no luck, she had missed her monthly cycle.
“Sister!” Linh rejoiced at the news. “Our ancestors have heard your prayers.”
Anh beamed. It had taken a painfully long time for them to hear it, but she was now so grateful, her heart was bursting.
“No more lifting. No more pulling the cart.…” Linh insisted. “I will cover for you so the others don’t know you’re not doing as much physical labor.”
“B?o will finally have a little one to play with,” she said, smiling. She had herself wished for another child, but they barely had enough food to feed B?o.
“My sister is going to be a mother!” She threw her arms around Anh’s neck and kissed her.
Over the next few months, Linh cared for Anh with renewed energy. She grated ginger root into hot water to fight any nausea. She collected betel leaves to ensure her sister had extra vitamins and massaged her feet when they became tired and swollen.
Then one morning, men in Communist uniforms arrived looking for Minh.
“There’ve been complaints made against your husband!” one of the men shouted at Anh. “Where is he? He needs to know that if he doesn’t work harder, we’ll send him up north!”
Anh froze. She knew if her husband was taken to a camp again, it would be far harsher than the one he’d been sent to the last time.
