Stolen (eBook)

1

Stephanie gritted her teeth as the cargo plane sputtered and lurched into its fourth circle above Toussaint Louverture International Airport, waiting for its turn to land. Just one day ago, a 7.0 earthquake near the town of Léogâne had rocked the region, prompting aid workers from around the world to board planes and descend en masse onto the airport’s single runway.

As a marine surgeon of Haitian descent, Stephanie and her businessman husband, David, felt duty-bound to join the relief effort. But as the plane continued its precarious orbit near the capital city of Port-au-Prince, she couldn’t help but think that she had been crazy to come—crazier still to have agreed with her husband—and completely insane to have brought along their seventeen-year-old, Jeffrey, who was quite dismayed to have been pulled away from his friends and school activities to go live in a foreign country for an unspecified length of time.

Stephanie glanced around at the other aid volunteers on the flight. There were eight others besides herself—six men and two women. She couldn’t help but notice that, unlike her, they were all traveling alone.

The idea of coming without her son had never even crossed Stephanie’s mind. But as she looked across at Jeffrey and noted his gloomy expression, she realized that maybe it should have.

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. Hindsight is 20/20, she thought.

One of the crew members turned to the pilot. “Let’s not do this again.”

“We couldn’t even if I wanted to,” the pilot replied.

Stephanie sat upright. “And why is that?”

“We’ve burned through most of our fuel already,” he answered over his shoulder.

Alarmed, Stephanie looked at David, who patted her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

***

Stephanie followed David and Jeffrey as they dragged their luggage through the airport lobby.

A young woman approached and greeted them in a thick French accent. “Bienvenue en Haiti.”

“Thank you,” they replied.

“Safe flight?” the woman asked as she guided Stephanie, her husband and son, plus four others through a side gate.

Stephanie exchanged weary glances with her fellow passengers, several of whom broke into nervous laughter.

When the group was finally outside, Stephanie couldn’t help but to stop and stare at what lay before her. It looked like a rundown zoo after mammoth-size animals had been forced out.

“Wow,” her son said, looking at the poorly lit surroundings. “Mom, this is really bad.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Stephanie said unconvincingly. She sighed with relief when transport finally arrived. “Ready, Jeff?” She tried to distract her son’s lingering gaze.

“Yeah.” He offered his hand as they entered the vehicle.

Stephanie leaned against the window of the UN vehicle, looking at the aftermath. It was just afternoon, but the lack of electricity and the still-thick cloud of dust from fallen buildings made it look like it was past midnight. Nothing looked familiar, though she attributed that to the fact that she and her parents had moved to Florida from Haiti when she was only ten years old. But at the sight of dust-powdered faces of the half-naked children paving both sides of the road, her memory returned and her sadness grew.

She located a sign that read, Bienvenue a Port-au-Prince. It looked like it had been bent in all corners, but somehow stretched back into a roughly rectangular shape, unsafely held in place by some four-by-fours. The ride was bumpy, especially at the center of the capital where she saw the CNN logo. It wasn’t far from where the bronze status of a man named Capois La Mort was barely standing.

“See that statue, Jeffrey?” Stephanie pointed.

“Yeah...what about it?” he replied.

“His name was Francois Capois, a rebel slave whose bravery earned him great respect,” she said.

“How so?” Jeffrey stretched his neck for a better view of the statue.

“He was a rebel slave, best known for his extraordinary courage and especially for his bravery at a battle named Vertières,” Stephanie explained. “It was against the French.”

“On November 18, 1803, a general of the Haitian army named Jean-Jacques Dessalines ordered Capois to take over an enemy fort situated on a hill. Capois advanced three times with a demi-brigade to fight the French armies, but he and his troops were driven to the bottom of the hill by the French military. Boiling with rage, Capois mounted his horse and advanced for the fourth time, rousing his men to follow him by saying, ‘Forward! Forward! Bullets are nothing but dust of the earth!’

“While he was at the head of his army, his horse was hit by a cannonball and he fell. When he got back up, he picked up his sword, ran, placed himself again at the head of his soldiers, and shouted, ‘Forward! Forward!’”

“Then what?” Jeffrey was at the edge of his seat.

“I’m not quite sure how it ended. It’s been a while since I read the story,” Stephanie said. “But I think he died.”

“Duh!” Jeffrey yelled.

She threw him a disapproving look.

David, following closely, offered some much-needed explanation. “He died later, son. Way later.”

“How?”

David turned to Jeffrey. “Let’s see. Like your mom said, his horse got hit, but that didn’t stop him. He commanded his troops and they marched, full force, through a rain of bullets. One of them hit his cap—took it right off his head. It was one of those old-school type of metallic caps, garnished with plumes. Still, he didn’t stop. Horseless, hatless, he marched with only his sword, and again threw himself into the assault. The enemy was stunned. Their general, a Frenchman named General Rochambeau, shouted, ‘Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!’ and asked for a cease-fire.”

“And?” Jeffrey was still eager.

“And a French staff officer mounted his horse and rode toward Capois,” David continued. “On behalf of their general, he congratulated Capois for his bravery. Then he returned to his position, and the fight was on again.

“The next morning, a French officer rode to the headquarters of the Haitian army with a beautiful horse and delivered it to Capois. It was a gift from General Rochambeau—his own horse. He offered it as a mark of admiration and to replace the one killed by the French army.”

“Wow!” Jeffrey said, clearly impressed. “Did you guys win?”

“Are you kidding?” David said. “We kicked French ass!”

“Yep...and a lot of good that did us,” Stephanie said in a mocking tone.

“Fascinating,” Jeffrey replied. “Now, here’s a piece of my history.”

“Where?” Stephanie said.

“Over there.” Jeffrey pointed at a well-built, white-haired anchor. “That’s Anderson Cooper.”

“Is that so?” Stephanie smiled. “I guess it’s a small world after all.”

They drove up to a partly destroyed city called Pétionville.

***

Stephanie watched a man hurry to open the gate of one of the few hotels left standing. She noticed another statue and glanced at her son, waiting for his reaction.

“Let me guess...the statue we just passed, it also comes with a story, doesn’t it?” the teen asked his mother.

“Yes, they all do. And guess what?”

“You’re going to tell it to me,” he said mockingly.

“You bet,” David answered, walking up behind him. “And there’s a lot more where that comes from.”

“Oh man! I agreed to come and help,” Jeffrey protested. “But had I known there’d be history lessons, I would’ve stayed home—in school!” The teen groaned.

“Sucks to be you,” Stephanie said, laughing.

David laughed and playfully punched his son in the arm.

As they were all waiting in the hotel lobby to check in, one of the missionaries walked up to them and started a conversation. “You guys are from here?”

“Yes.” Stephanie nodded.

“Must feel good to come back home,” he said.

“I’d much prefer the circumstances to be different.” Stephanie smiled sadly.

“How long have you been gone?”

“About twenty-two years...far too long.” I should have come back sooner, she thought in shame.

“Hey, you’re here now. That’s the only thing that matters.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.”

Stephanie’s chat was interrupted when a hostess walked up to them. “Bienvenue a Pétionville, que puis—je pour vous?” she asked, smiling.

Stephanie’s French was rusty from having been away from home too long, but the young woman’s bright, native smile and her unmistakable warmth were clear indications that she had just greeted them.

“Merci,” Stephanie said, handing her their reservation papers.

The hostess nodded, and Stephanie and her family were escorted to their room, a suite to be shared by all three of them, despite the numerous complaints of the youngest guest.

“Jeffrey, son, please stop complaining,” David begged. “The people out there crying—the lines of cadavers we passed—two of them could have easily been your mom and me. We were fortunate...