Zebra Tears Read online

  Zebra Tears by T. S. Vallée

  Published by Creation House Press (CHP)

  Charisma Media/Charisma House Book Group

  600 Rinehart Road

  Lake Mary, Florida 32746

  http://www.charismamedia.com/

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed in this book are fictitious. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual people, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

  Select CHP products are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchase for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, and educational needs. For details, write CHP, 600 Rinehart Road, Lake Mary, Florida 32746, or telephone (407) 333-0600.

  Scripture quotations marked nlt are from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189. All rights reserved.

  The song lyrics My Papa by Maria Lal are used by permission.

  Cover design by Nathan Morgan

  Map of St. Mary’s School: T. S. Vallée

  Copyright © 2011 by T. S. Vallée

  All rights reserved

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012930750

  ISBN: 978-1-61638-877-5

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61638-706-8

  Dedication

  I’m so glad I went through what I did, because through forgiveness, I have been redeemed for the damage done to me. God has worked wonders through my broken places and I give Him all the Praise and Glory. I hope my book will help others who have gone through this kind of trauma in the past or are going through it presently, that they too will find hope in forgiveness. Our Lord Jesus is the only one who can redeem and give us peace.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1: The Beach

  Chapter 2: Let Us Reminisce

  Layout of St. Mary’s Convent Grounds

  Chapter 3: St. Mary’s Convent Boarding School

  Chapter 4: Discovering Anna

  Chapter 5: Going Home for Christmas

  Chapter 6: Stolen Innocence

  Chapter 7: The Great Escape

  Chapter 8: Free at Last

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank my family and friends for their support and encouragement to make this book a reality. I especially wish to thank my Publisher and dear friend Atalie Anderson, for her great advice and professional wisdom that went into the whole process; I couldn't have done it without her.

  Hans Unden

  Roda Anklesaria

  Maria Lal

  Becky & Tony Anderson

  Nick Anderson

  Vicky Anderson

  John Unden

  Ned & Celesté Clements

  Margarita Henry

  Marcos Perez

  Woodley Auguste

  Lynne Lamb

  Awilda Aviles-Rivera

  Robert Rodriguez

  Spring Page

  Derrick Gay

  The Beach

  Chapter 1

  The drive to the beach was both thrilling and nostalgic. With the window cracked open I could smell the ocean approaching. My grandchildren, who were preoccupied with their little gadgets called iPods, leaned into me from both sides in the backseat of the SUV, both trying to talk at the same time. My daughter Becky, who was driving, told them to settle down and “stop bothering Nana. We’re almost there,” but we only giggled, and I hugged them both closer to me.

  Victoria, age nine, and Nicholas, ten, couldn’t wait to show me the wonders of being at the beach. Vicky grabbed my arm and squeezed it in a hug, saying, “Nana, this is going to be an awesome day,” and, “Will you come swimming with me?”

  Then Nick piped in with, “Of course she’s going swimming, but first we must build a huge sand castle, right Nana?” Nick loved being in charge, while Vicky was a go-with-the-flow type of girl. She was so excited at finally seeing the ocean that I had to keep her in her seat with my hand on her shoulder till we were parked.

  “Hurry! Hurry! I want to help pick the perfect spot on the beach,” said Vicky while she unbuckled her seatbelt. It was a shame that my son-in-law, Tony, couldn’t join us, but serving his country in the National Guard that weekend made me so proud. It is very comforting to know that men like him are out there protecting our freedom. I thank God for blessing me with such a beautiful family.

  Ah, the ocean breeze, the soft sand between my toes, and Becky and Nick carrying the cooler to a comfortable spot that was not too close to the water yet out of the main flow of people, cars, and debris tossed about. There wasn’t much of a beach left. The sea from past storms that Florida is so famous for had reclaimed a lot of it. I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment to take in the sound of the waves and dug my feet deeper into the cool sand while remembering the beach at which I grew up. I opened my eyes to find Vicky pulling on my arm, jumping in excitement, saying, “Come on, Nana. Let’s go! Nick has already started digging, and we don’t want him to decide everything about the castle!”

  “Great digging, Nick. We will need a few buckets of water to form the sand,” I called out. Vicky jumped at the chance to go fill the buckets from the ocean. She made it back with enough water for the job, even having spilled much of it in her rush to get back.

  Becky began rubbing some SPF lotion on herself and then tried putting some on the kids’ faces and arms as they wriggled and squirmed to get back to their sand sculptures. My arms were covered in sand as our castle took shape. I made a fortress with turrets all around the castle that Nick created, while Vicky adorned it with shells and leaf flags to complete it. Vicky then stood back and gave a shrill cry of excitement, saying, “It’s awesome, Nana. Where did you learn to make forts for castles like this?”

  “It’s a long story, baby,” I said. “Someday I will tell you all about it.

  “Oh, Nana. Tell me now, please?” she insisted. I looked over at Becky on the blanket, and she put down her book to come over and join us with the castle.

  Becky remarked, “Mom, this is great. It looks so real. If there was a sand contest, you three would win for sure.” Nick got up and made a dash to the water to wash off the sand that was clinging to his body, and Becky went with him to make sure he would be OK. Vicky and I just dusted off as much as we could and relaxed under the large umbrella that Becky set up on the blanket, admiring our efforts.

  “So, Nana” she started, “how did you learn to make such great forts around castles? When you grew up in India, did you have a beach nearby?”

  “Oh, yes, Vicky. I practically lived on the beach, which had a fortress just like the one we built. I was your age at the time,” I began to tell her. I could almost imagine myself there at my beloved beach surrounded by the smells, sounds, and people from my past.

  “Nana, Nana.” I heard Vicky pull me back to reality, her cute face and Shirley Temple curls bouncing around. “Do you want to go swimming first, and then you can tell me all about India and the beach there?” I could see how excited she was to get into the water, so we made a mad dash for the frothing waves.

  After a long swim—or, should I say, bobbing with the waves—we all got back to the blanket with a great sense of contentment and now being quite hungry, having worked up an appetite. I helped Becky pass out the sandwiches, fruit, and drinks when I remarked, “I wish this was bhel and a freshly opened coconut!”

  They all looked at me like I was crazy. Then Vicky asked, “What is
bhel, Nana?”

  “Let me tell you about bhel, Vicky. It is the most scrumptious food that was ever created.” Nick and Vicky settled between their mother and me and looked up with eager faces for my story. I closed my eyes again and told them that I would take them on a special journey through time. They had to imagine that our beach blanket was a time machine and to hold on tight. They giggled and hung on to my arms and off we went.

  Let Us Reminisce

  Chapter 2

  “Well, kids, first of all let me show you where I was born.”

  “Are we in India now, Nana?” asked Vicky, to which I replied yes with a nod.

  “Go on, Nana,” said Nick, showing his sister a scrunched-up nose. “You just have to see where I lived, and I will introduce you to my big sister, Ava.”

  ***

  I was born in Bombay, India, to a Polish father and Scottish mother. I lost my father when I was just nine months old. I am told he was a gentle human being who loved science with an open mind. He was also an accomplished artist and interior decorator. He designed furniture and building structures that were considered beyond his time. His beautiful hand-painted murals decorated the walls and ceilings of some beautiful palaces in India. His murals grace the historical section of the Prince of Wales Museum in Bombay, and I only hope they have been preserved for future generations to enjoy. His mark of genius was a treasure to the world and a precious find for me. How I longed to draw, paint, and travel as he did.

  My father was also quite affluent in reading and writing nine languages. He was even skilled in Sanskrit, the classical literary language of ancient India, considered by some to be the world’s most difficult language. My father had traveled through many countries before reaching India, learning their culture and language, which was displayed in his art. During World War II he was held in a German prisoner of war camp for safekeeping, as his great comprehension of so many tongues made him a valuable asset. To be treated as a spy was truly an unjust reward for such remarkable intellect!

  He was released two years prior to my birth. During that time, he continued to paint scenes of life in camp. Even though within the confines of the prison, he found so much of nature to paint in beautiful watercolors. I remember my mother describing his first visit to St. Elizabeth’s hospital, where I made my debut. She said he picked up my little hand ever so gently and touched each of my fingers, saying, “Another perfect human being.”

  I lived at an impressive address called Beach House, which was once a raja’s beautiful palace. In its day, when the king lived and ruled there, it stood out like an ornament on a beautiful cake. As you drove up an extensive driveway and you approached the four white marble pillars holding up the second-floor balcony, it gave you a sense of privileged presence. The arches between the pillars had a soft covering of ivy mixed with pink climbing roses that seemed to grow out of thin air. The driveway under the arches served as a drop-off point for people arriving or departing from the palace. Bearers dressed in red turbans and cummerbunds over a white jacket and loose white pants made an impressive statement of elegance while they waited on dignitaries getting in or out of their cars.

  You then ascended marble steps onto a multihued mosaic floor. The first door was the main entrance to the palace for government officials, who would gather to discuss the day’s agenda. Once in the official part of the palace, you walked into the front foyer, still stepping on a mosaic floor, where murals of beautiful women standing under waterfalls or hunting scenes covered the walls. As you walked into the great hall on your left, chandeliers draped the ceiling and there was a patchwork marble floor of black and white squares under foot. A lavish living room right out of Arabian Nights sat in the center of the room on a beautiful fringed carpet. Here, too, there were walls with tapestry and murals that complemented each other. To the far left of the room stood a large polished mahogany table that could easily seat ten. The windows were open, and the sunlight streaked in, making the table shine like glass while the smell of roses from the front garden filled the room.

  There was a circular garden at the palace entrance filled with flowers of all varieties amidst a child’s dream playground. The garden had a huge sandbox the size of a small pool with a giant slide. At the far side of the garden were two sets of swings that hung from heavy chains. These were not ordinary swings but built for a little prince or princess. The seats were large wooden rectangles, strong enough to hold a child and his/her bodyguard. Next to the entrance of the garden, on the side of the driveway, stood a huge mango tree loaded with fruit ready for the picking. It must have been wonderful to stand on the balcony and just reach across and pick a mango. A staircase reached the balcony from inside the garden so that the royal family could spend leisurely hours looking down on their children at play.

  Returning to the inside, the great hall had a short foyer, which also served as a waiting room. It led to the back garden and promenade. You stepped down onto a soft, well-kept grassy lawn, from which you could gaze out onto the promenade and ocean ahead of you. The border of the garden had a three-foot wall lined by a trim hedge with tall palm trees in front of it, spaced at ten-foot intervals. The trees were lit up at night, creating a great compliment to the whole garden. A five-foot-wide pathway of large stonework leading directly to the promenade gave the impression of a giant mosaic floor. Throughout the rest of the garden there were clusters of other flowerbeds neatly groomed in different shapes and sizes, with wrought iron tables and chairs scattered around in shady areas.

  The pathway led out onto the promenade, constructed as a fortress with flat areas where one could sit with intermittent square turrets. The promenade served as a secure battlefront. It was encamped on a beautiful beach with a horizon that would astound you. The sunsets were enticing enough to maintain a fixed gaze on the big red ball as it slowly disappeared under the water, for you dared not blink and miss the finale.

  The royal family must have walked along the promenade with guards stationed at each turret to protect them while the children raced up and down the long promenade, tiring themselves for a good night’s sleep. The public must have walked just below, feeling the soft, cool sand between their toes yet looking up with envy rather than the treasure of freedom under their feet.

  This was now a public beach, with people from all occupations taking an evening’s leisurely walk. They carried their sandals in hand while holding onto their trouser legs and dodging the frothy waves that reached to grab them. Children flew kites, while the balloon man walked down the beach yelling, “Balloons!” There were also large wheeled stands where peddlers sold everything from pieces of sugar cane to roasted peanuts and especially my favorite snack foods, panipuri and bhel. Pani means “water,” and puri is a deep-fried, salty puffed-up pastry about the size of a ping-pong ball but hollow in the middle. After punching a small hole, you dip it into the pani mixture consisting of water, tamarind juice, hot sauce, finely chopped onions, and coriander. You let the puri fill up with the pani and place the whole ball into your mouth and crunch down. The hot juice flushes down your throat, leaving a wonderful pungent taste, while you chew up the puri, anticipating the next one. The bhel is a mixture of all kinds of nuts and chickpea flavored tidbits, something like nachos with puffed rice, chopped tomatoes, onions, boiled potato bits, green chilies, raw green mangoes, and coriander, covered in a thick sweet-and-sour hot sauce. The sea breeze had a pungent smell of the ocean, yet it carried back whiffs of smoky roasted peanuts served in newspaper cones.

  ***

  “Now can you picture the palace and its surroundings? I just want you all to know, that what I have described is not what greeted me in my life there; it’s how I imagined it would have been. We would need to move into the future a bit in our time machine.”

  However, when growing up there I only remember the garden, with brambles and stumps of what used to be rose bushes. Large cobra holes were now scattered around the yard, and you really had to watch where you stepped. The promenade made a good
fortress, but it too had decayed. Part of the wall had cracked and fallen away, while some of the square turrets lost their shape through corrosion and the touch of vandalism. The outer walls seemed to have held up pretty well, even through the battle scars. This was the Beach House of today, but I only choose to remember it completely restored to its full beauty. I missed the beautiful sight watching the sunset over the horizon, knowing that so many sets of eyes over the years had witnessed it too. I remember how I would hold my breath until the sun took its final dip.”

  “Nana, I just want you to know I am still thinking of bhel. I love nachos,” said Nick, “and this bhel sounds like something I would eat.” We all laughed watching Nick lick his lips as he stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

  “Someday I will make it for you, but I wouldn’t add the hot chilies. I know you love spicy stuff, Nick, but this would be beyond even what you could swallow.”

  “Do you want me to continue describing the interior of the palace?” I asked.

  “It’s a little confusing and sad to follow your directions, Nana,” said Vicky, “but go back to showing us how it used to be when the raja king lived there. It sounds so beautiful.”

  “OK,” I said with a wink and took them back to the palace in all its grandeur.

  ***

  Back in the great hall, you would turn south and find yourself back in the front foyer, where five other rooms, guest quarters, I believe, lined the long mosaic corridor. At the farthermost end stood the huge palace kitchen and two and a half baths. The other set of wooden double doors at the end of that hallway led to a side entrance of the palace, used only for deliveries and the servants.

  “Are you keeping up with me, kids?” I got nods from all of them, including Becky, who was now into the story too. “Let’s go back to the official area at the main entrance to the palace, where another stately staircase with highly polished mahogany banisters leads to the second floor, the royal family residence.”