Read Online Destiny's Captive by Beverly Jenkins - Free Book Online

taxes the crown kept imposing, but now? She sighed angrily.
    They finally reached the small open-air market owned by Carlos Mendez, a widower in his late forties. The policeman followed. “This is all Juan’s fault,” Pilar snapped and her sister agreed. If her cousin hadn’t already been in custody, she’d sail him out into the bay and drop him into deep water for the problems he’d brought down on their heads. The money they’d get for the eggs would be a pittance compared to what they might have received in exchange for the cuff links, but there was nothing they could do about it now, so they led the man on their heels past the penned-in chickens and pigs; the open crates of mangoes, red bananas, and coconuts; and the burlap sacks of yams to the back of the market, where Mendez sat at the rickety table that doubled as his office. His six children could be seen stacking vegetables and opening crates and standing guard to make sure the goods weren’t stolen by the gangs of orphans who roamed the streets.
    â€œGood morning, Pilar and Doneta.”
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Mendez. We have eggs for you.”
    The policeman sidled closer, as if he were contemplating buying some of the candy for sale but they were certain he was attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation. They ignored him.
    Mendez took the basket of eggs, and after adding theirs to the ones he had for sale, he returned the empty basket and Pilar placed the few pesos he handed her into the pocket of her skirt. “Thank you, Mr. Mendez.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Give my regards to your lovely mother.”
    â€œWe will.”
    As they walked back out to the street, the policeman, now standing over a basket of oranges, pretended disinterest. Pilar almost stopped to ask if he wanted them to wait until he was done looking at the fruit, but decided provoking him was not a good idea. Instead she and her sister walked back the way they’d come. He followed them all the way to the stable where they’d left their wagon, then watched and waited until they drove off before he turned away and headed back to the city’s center. Pilar held the reins and shook her head with disgust.
    S cattering chickens and a few pigs, Pilar steered the wagon onto their property and pulled the reins to a halt next to the listing wooden barn. Their farm was just outside the city. It originally belonged to their pirate grandfather Benito and his wife, Anitra, who began her life as a slave in Jamaica and lived there until she was stolen away by him during a raid. His ancestors were originally from the Mandingo tribe—tall, strong, and reddish in skin tone, while she was of the Ganga, short and freckled like most of her people. Both Pilar and Doneta had a light dusting of the spots on their upper cheeks, as had their father, Javier.
    Their mother, Desa, was seated on the porch. At their approach, she stood and smiled. “How is the city?”
    â€œWe couldn’t sell the cuff links because we were followed by the police,” Pilar said as she climbed the two broken steps. Like the barn and the house, the porch was a weathered silver. There were numerous slats missing but enough remained to support the old settee and a few chairs so one could sit outside and enjoy the mountain breezes. She handed her mother the few pesos from the eggs. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
    â€œThat’s disappointing. Tell me about this policeman.”
    So they did.
    She sighed with disgust. “This is all Juan’s fault. Had he been half as smart as he thought he was he wouldn’t be jailed. My poor Ria. She’s going to have to go into Santiago and look for work now that Juan can no longer help out.”
    Pilar was certain the thought of having to hire herself out as a maid or washwoman had likely sent her proud aunt to her bed. Ria was among the best document forgers in Cuba. During slavery, because Santiago held one of the