Home Front Lines by Brenda Sparks Prescott

Author:Brenda Sparks Prescott [Prescott, Brenda Sparks]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cuban Missile Crisis
Publisher: Bedazzled Ink Publishing
Published: 2021-03-15T22:00:00+00:00

Lola

The Discretion of the Monteros 5

THAT NIGHT I stood in thigh-deep waves at the beach near our old family home. The sky was closed with rolling clouds, and I could barely see the tiny boat that bobbed right in front of me in the heavy darkness. It was one of the few vessels left in private hands and seemed too small to carry even a family of mice on such an important voyage. Yet it was filled with the children of the Sisters Montero. I handed a small bundle to each child, meat patties that would be devoured as soon as they were discovered. I had also packed sweets to comfort them when they lost sight of land and had only the promise of bright stars and their Cuban heritage to keep them company. I waded back to shore to retrieve the larger packages wrapped in canvas. Already my work pants were soaked dark like ink on the moonless night.

My ears strained to catch sounds of patrols or other unwelcome intruders, but I kept a calm posture. I didn’t want to alarm the little ones. Our children understood the importance of silence. I heard a faint clanking from the boat but no chatter from the living cargo already on board. They were good children. I returned to the boat with the larger packages extended out to my sides over the washing sea. Their weight strained my muscles but kept my blood from rushing to burst my heart. Selena’s outstretched hands greeted me at the boat. She took the bundles and arranged them around herself. She was the adult who knew what nourishment to give and when, but my Bonita, at only eight years, was the little one with the big voice and a mama’s stare that kept her older cousins in line.

Bonita was the one who would let her most precious possessions go to the bottom of the sea but wouldn’t remove the water bag from around her neck if the boat overturned. She would use her big voice to steer the other children to the hull. Selena was the adult in charge of the trip, but she was the hot-headed one who got too excited. Bonita and I had spoken of such things as we baked small biscuits for the bundles. She was the sensible one who would lead when she had to. She had a child’s curiosity about disaster, so we had to examine all the calamities that might befall a small fishing boat that strayed out of Cuban waters. At one point, when I shuddered at one of her questions, she squeezed my chin with her small fingers and said, “Mami, you must be brave.”

Now I touched each child in a silent farewell. I clasped Selena’s hand as I had when she was a school girl.

“It’s time,” she said.

Her brother pulled his small anchor, dipped a paddle into the water, and pushed off the bottom. He wouldn’t use the tiny motor until he had to. I leaned against the boat to set it on course.

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