Coming Out of Egypt: Egypt, #1

By Angela Joseph

When Marva Garcia accidentally kills her father, her goal is to get as far away from Egypt Village as possible and start a new life for herself and her younger sister June.

But it's not that easy. A hawk-eyed detective is hot on their trail, June's rebellion is seemingly out of control, and Marva is too afraid to confide in anyone, It would be so easy to fall in love with Jason, who has never hid his feelings, but the abuse she suffered from her father and her newfound faith in God convince her she can never love any man.  

While Marva wishes for love, peace and forgiveness, all she can visualize is a lifetime in prison.

This soul-stirring Christian women's fiction takes place in the exotic twin-island nation of Trinidad and Tobago, a setting that will weave its spell over you as surely as this captivating tale of courage, perseverance, and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Joseph
• Release date: May 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781530288946

Book preview

1

T

hunder rumbled in the distance, and Marva Garcia looked through the window at the tall trees silhouetted against the sky.

On a clear day, she could identify most of the trees by name,

but with the growing darkness she couldn’t tell which was cedar or mango, breadfruit or samaan or any of the stately trees that flanked the estate. It was as if they had all banded together to disguise themselves against the threatening storm. Only the coconut and gru - gru palms were distinguishable by their long, slender trunks and fringed branches.

Nearer the house, the smaller fruit trees were still visible, but their leaves hung down as if bracing for what was to come. The door of the storage shed where they stored their produce – grapefruit, oranges and bananas – rattled as the wind blew through it. Marva had heard it multiple times, but tonight the sound grated on her nerves. She looked at her younger sister, June, sitting huddled on a stool, head buried in her arms like a sleeping chicken. Occasionally, a sob escaped from beneath the bush of hair. If only she didn’t have to experience any of this.

Marva cast another anxious glance at the heavy rain clouds hanging like wet sheets on a clothesline. Might as well do it now before the storm hit.

She tugged at June’s arms. Come on. It’s time. 

The girl raised her head, showing eyes reddened and wide like those of a frightened deer. She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it and stumbled to her feet.

Marva softened her tone. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. June nodded, indicating she would go.

Marva closed the window. Steeling herself, she opened the bedroom door and crept forward, June following right behind her.

He lay on his stomach on the floor in the same position in which he’d fallen, head at a rakish angle, arms flung out in front him, one knee slightly bent. June gasped, and Marva glanced over her shoulder. June’s lower lip trembled, her face pale, arms crossed over her bosom. Marva hesitated before turning back to the body on the floor.

Her heart pounded so hard, it sounded in her ears, and for one frightening moment she thought she would faint. But fainting was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now. She leaned against the wall for a second to quiet her heart then with a grimace, bent low and spread her arms. Something swelled in his back pocket. She pulled out the wallet, flung it on the bed, then straightened and looked back at June, peeking from behind her fingers. Lord, I can’t do it.

Marva ran into the kitchen, June close behind, and returned with the broom. Using the handle, she tried to push the body toward the door, but with no success. She threw the broom aside and clamped her sweaty palms on the dead man’s ankles through his pants. As long as her hands didn’t touch his body... She yanked, but something was causing a resistance. Sweat formed on her brow.

"Help me, nuh!" It was more a plea than a command. June sprang closer to her sister, but stayed behind her.

Let’s ... roll him over, Marva panted.

June held back, moaning like a wounded animal. Marva gave her a slight push, bringing her within inches of the body. They knelt, and June grasped the man’s shoulder with both hands, while Marva grabbed his belt. Together they rolled him on to his back. His eyes and mouth were open and blood trickled from his mouth and ears. June fell backwards with a scream. Marva rushed to her side and hugged her, stroking her hair and murmuring, "It’s all right, Junie.

It’s all right ..."

How many times had she spoken those words?

Minutes passed before June stopped trembling and crying. A flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder galvanized Marva into action. She pulled the straw mat out of the way, and, motioning to June to open the door, bent over and grabbed the man’s legs once more. Thunder rolled again, and Marva swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Summoning all her strength, she pulled. This time the body gave and slid over the smooth, linoleum floor. Beads of perspiration ran down her face and fell on the dead man’s khaki pants. Once Marva got to the door, she had no choice but to let his head drop the one step to the ground outside.

Senses alert, she stopped and listened. The storage door still rattled, and the wind rustled through the leaves like whispering ghosts. A shiver ran through her. It was unlikely that hunters, or any of their father’s laborers, would come through their property on a night like this, but one never knew. With June sticking to her like a shadow, they took the familiar path down the slope leading to the river. Swish-swish went the corpse as Marva dragged her father’s lifeless body over the carpet of dry leaves.

It must have drizzled earlier, for the asphalt on their little access road gave off a strong scent that Marva loved. The sweet aroma of recently-picked bananas floated on the night air. Why did everything seem so right on a night when so much had gone wrong?

She walked backward, not looking down at the dead man’s face, and even with June at her side, giving her weepy directions, Marva occasionally stumbled over a rock or a vine. Her arms ached, but she couldn’t stop to rest. She’d spent all of her seventeen years on this estate and therefore didn’t need a light. The impending storm and the seclusion of their home gave her a small measure of security.

By the time they reached the immortelle tree that stood near the bank of the river, Marva felt the first raindrops. A Trinidad rainstorm usually came down very fast and very heavy. They had little time to waste. The land dipped suddenly, and Marva knew they were near the water. She couldn’t go any further. She turned, stooped, rolled the body on to its side and kept rolling until it hit the water. The resounding splash was drowned out by a loud clap of thunder and the ensuing torrential downpour as the clouds burst open. She grasped June’s hands and raced up the slope back to the house.

* * *

Marva left June in the bedroom toweling her hair and returned to the kitchen. She eyed the three untouched plates of yam and salted fish she’d prepared earlier. Her stomach churned. She and June had not eaten since lunch, but who could eat on a night like this? Her mother had always told her not to waste food, but Mama would understand if she were here. Marva dumped two plates of the food in the bin, leaving the third in case June wanted it. Something struck the roof of the house and June was at her side, grabbing Marva’s arm, the towel wrapped around her head. They stared up at the ceiling, but heard nothing else. June disengaged herself and sat on the stool.

Marva pointed to the plate of food on the counter. You want it?

June shook her head. Marva dumped the food in the bin, washed the plates and stood them in the dish drainer. Then she opened the refrigerator, pushing back the freezer door that always fell forward, and reached for the glass she’d placed there earlier. Putting it to her lips, she allowed the brandy to roll over her tongue before swallowing. She burped and rubbed her stomach. That felt better.

While the rain pounded the galvanize roof, the wheels of Marva’s mind were turning. She and June would have left the house tonight, were it not for the storm. To give herself something to do, she went into the bedroom and returned with a comb and a towel. June’s abundant hair did not dry easily. Marva wished they had a hair dryer. She parted June’s hair in small sections, dried each one, combed it through gently, then twisted it in long braids. Neither of them spoke, and by the time Marva was finished, June had begun to nod.

Marva went with her to her room, watched her climb into bed and draw the big, stuffed teddy that Mama had made close to her chest. Marva pulled the blanket over her and waited until June fell asleep. Only then did she feel the tears prickling her eyes. She lingered a few moments longer then turned off the light, left the room and went into the adjoining one where her father’s body had lain.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle and Marva opened the wallet she’d thrown on the bed. As she’d hoped, it contained money – neatly-folded bills in different denominations with the blue ones - hundred dollar bills - on the outside as if protecting the smaller ones. Marva counted. Six hundred and fifty dollars and a few coins! He’d always kept money in the house, but no one, not even their mother dared to touch it. Marva folded the bills, took them to her room and put them in her mother’s brown, vinyl purse. A couple hundred more would give them a start on their new life.

* * *

Marva threw the covers off and jumped out of bed then plunked back down as memories of the previous night hit her with the force of a bulldozer. The next minute she was up again and running into her father’s room. Good. Nothing there. The room was just as they’d left it. The bed made, the straw mat twisted at an angle. She bent to straighten it then saw what looked like blood on it. Her heart pounded. She picked up the mat and took it outside.

The sun was just beginning to clothe the landscape in a bright golden veil and raindrops still hung like jewels from some of the leaves. Was it her heightened perception, or were the coconut palms greener, the air sweeter, the breeze fresher? In the distance a dog barked, a keskidee called, a truck rumbled. A new day had dawned.

Bags of grapefruit, now wet, leaned against the shed where the pickers had left them. The remainder of the fruit inside the shed would be bagged on Monday for their customers. An idea took shape and sent Marva’s heart racing. She knew what she had to do. Mat in hand, she headed to the latrine.

When she came out, June met her near the door, rubbing her eyes, cheeks rosy from sleep, hair tousled. She seemed frightened. I was looking for you.

I just went outside. Let’s go make breakfast.

Over fried bakes and smoked herring, Marva shared her plans with June. I don’t want to stay in this house.

She didn’t expect June to respond so she continued, We’ll go by Tantie Beulah.

An hour later, Marva drove her father’s old, green pick-up truck about a half mile along the track that led from their house to the main road. Another mile to the left brought her to a pay phone. Leaving June in the truck, Marva stepped into the little booth. She pulled out a piece of paper from her shirt pocket, opened it and dialed the number on the paper. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered.

Mr. Singh? When are you coming for the grapefruit? You have it ready? the man asked.

It’ll be ready by one o’clock.

All right, I have some things to do down on your side. I could be there by half past two.

Marva gritted her teeth. Okay, Mr. Singh. She hung up, and returned to the truck.

We’ll put all the grapefruit by the road so they can load it up when they come, she said to June as she drove off.

Somewhere, away from Egypt Village, a new life beckoned, but they had to hurry. Mr. Singh would expect more than the three bags of grapefruit the pickers had left. She and June had work to do.

* * *

Marva added the money she’d received from Mr. Singh to the bills in her mother’s purse. Nine hundred and ten dollars in all. She ran her hand over the smooth cover of her mother’s small Bible and the rosary beads. Apart from her mother’s photograph, they were all she would have to remind her of her mother.

June had already placed her one, pretty church dress with the frilled overskirt, a few cotton dresses, and some underwear into the suitcase. Marva added her only touch of luxury - three lacy bras and matching undies her mother had bought her along with her three long skirts, four blouses and the black dress she’d worn to her mother’s funeral. She was not bothered by her meager wardrobe. Except for trips to the store and sometimes to Point Fortin - the neighboring town - to do business for her father, she never went anywhere. Some slacks would have been nice, but her father didn’t approve of them.

Their packing completed, Marva zipped up the suitcase and took one look at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her calm, brown eyes belied her inner turmoil. No one looking at her would guess what had taken place last night. But then no one knew anything that went on in their little home. Their lives had been encased in a tight shell for as long as Marva could remember. She tied her bandana over her hair, and let her cream-colored blouse hang loosely over her full, brown skirt that fell way below her knees.

She called to June who was staring out the window. Ready, Junie? June didn’t seem to hear.

She repeated the question and the girl jerked her head in her direction. Y... yes.

June wore a blue, plaid dress with a white Peter Pan collar that Marva had picked out for her, and a pair of low-heeled black shoes. A slim, black belt around her waist accentuated its smallness. Marva strode over and loosened the belt so it barely made an indentation. June’s pain-filled eyes looked into hers, but she said nothing. Marva’s throat constricted, and she turned away so June wouldn’t see the pain mirrored in her own eyes. They had no time to cry on each other’s shoulders. They had to get away from this house before someone came asking for their father.

Let’s hurry, Junie. Make sure all the windows closed. I’ll check the doors and turn off the gas.

Out in the living-room, she removed the picture of her deceased mother from over the door, and one of herself and June, taken four years previously.

Wrapping each picture in one of her skirts, she placed them on top of her clothing and closed the suitcase. Let’s go.

* * *

T

2

he taxi bumped and wove its way over the rough, winding road with steep inclines, sometimes getting disturbingly close to oncoming vehicles. But Marva paid little attention.

When the driver asked her where they were going, she’d said, We’re going by our aunt to spend holidays. The drivers who plied that route knew everyone, so she had to give him an acceptable reply in case anyone asked questions. He nodded and smiled at the female passenger sitting next to him. In July and August you can’t find anybody home.

June, silent as always, sat next to Marva, looking out at the familiar passing landscape. They’d walked the three-quarter-mile distance to school every day until Marva dropped out three years ago. Now June went alone. School held bittersweet memories – fights with the children who teased her about her height, her faded uniforms and rundown shoes. Those fights, even though they often landed her in the principal’s office, brought some benefits – defeating the enemy and having her friend Jason fight alongside her.

As her mind rested on him, the taxi drove past Pond Street where he lived. He was part of the few reasons she would miss Egypt Village. Another was the seclusion of her home – a paradoxical haven that enclosed her like a babe in the womb, but couldn’t protect her from the harsh realities in which she lived.

They neared the school, and Marva felt a strange fondness for the shabby, low-lying building that bore the sign EGYPT VILLAGE OVERNMENT SCHOOL with the letter G missing from the word GOVERNMENT. It had been like that long before Marva left. The school also brought back memories of another special person, one of the few teachers who had been kind to her. Most likely Marva would never see her again.

Trees, bushes and a few houses came into view, then Mr. Chin’s grocery, the only one for miles around, a gas station and the tire shop where Marva often took the tires from her father’s truck to have them repaired. The car swerved past a man riding a bicycle accompanied by his dog. Everyone knew Mr. Urias Brown and his dog. They were inseparable. A few miles later, the houses grew larger and better maintained and the traffic increased. They were nearing Point Fortin, a bustling little town that boasted shops, restaurants, a couple banks and a hospital. This was where Marva’s father sometimes went to pay bills or conduct other business.

The taxi dropped off the other two passengers and waited several minutes before picking up three more. Sweat gathered under Marva’s armpits and she stared anxiously out the window. Would Tantie Beulah welcome them without word from her father? Tantie Beulah was her father’s sister, and even though she’d never been particularly close to her and June, she was the closest relative geographically. The last time Marva saw her was two years ago when Marva’s mother died and the last time she’d been to her house was two years before that when Tantie Beulah’s daughter got married. Marva wasn’t sure she remembered where her aunt lived, but she knew the village was Oropuche, and the name of the street was Francis Trace.

Leaving Point Fortin, the car rounded a deep bend, bringing the brownish water of the Gulf into view. A number of small fishing craft anchored off shore, and boys wandered along the beach. As they neared a gas station, Marva spotted a small, rusty sign that said Francis Trace. Heart racing, she paid the driver, and she and June got out.

They’d walked just a few yards when Marva sighted rows of potted plants in the yard, on the steps and on the wooden porch. That had to be the house. A small, concrete structure with galvanized roof, it seemed to be crying out for a new coat of paint. And other things too, Marva thought as they drew nearer. Soiled, blue curtains showed through the grimy, louvered windows, and the plants were dried and yellowing, not at all the way she remembered them. Did Tantie Beulah still live here? Was she ill?

From where she stood on the step, Marva couldn’t see through the window. She knocked on the glass, front door and waited. No answer. She looked at June then knocked a second time.

Coming, I coming, a raspy, female voice answered from inside the house.

A sixty-something-year-old woman - almost as tall as Marva, with untidy, graying hair hanging around her face from under a nondescript scarf, spectacles dangling on the tip of her nose opened the door. Her faded, cotton dress was belted at the waist, not so much for style, but, as Marva recalled, to keep the contents of her bodice - towel, money and other essentials - from falling to the floor. Yes, this was Tantie Beulah.

Who it is? She peered at them from behind her glasses.

Your nieces, Marva and June, Tantie Beulah, Marva said.

The lady wrinkled her nose. "Who is Marva and June? I don’t know no

Marva and June."

Your brother Jamie daughters, Marva said.

Jamie? Where him?

He’s not here, Tantie Beulah, Marva spoke while June looked on with no apparent interest.

Well, come inside. Tantie Beulah opened the door wide. Why you all standing there like strangers? You all is my flesh an’ blood. Ma, she called, as she limped into the house. 

What happen, Tantie Beulah? Why are you limping? Marva asked.

Child, my rheutamism givin’ me hell.

So that explained the neglected appearance of the house. I’m sorry to hear that, Tantie Beulah.

Is all right, child, God is good. I rub my knees every night with something the neighbor gave me, but it’s not working yet.

The inside of the house reflected what Marva had already noticed from the outside. Scratched, wooden floors that needed polishing; worn, upholstered furniture; dusty, plastic flowers in a vase on the coffee table; a scattering of photographs on the wall. A naked light bulb hung from the high, wooden ceiling. Marva and June followed their aunt into a small room off the livingroom where an old lady sat in a rocker, a faded towel around her shoulders, white, wooly hair framing her pale, wrinkled face.

Ma, look your grand-children.

My grand-children? The old woman smiled, revealing a mouth as toothless as a baby’s.

Marva went to her and kissed the wrinkled cheek. How are you, Grannie? June hesitated then followed her sister’s example. Her grand-mother patted her hand.

Nice child, she said.

So where’s your father? Her aunt asked again.

He’s home, Tantie Beulah, Marva answered. He sent us to spend a little time with you.

Well, all right. Come an’ put down your suitcase an’ tell me all about your father. He still drinkin’ plenty? I told him to stop drinkin’, you know. The good Lord don’t like that. I believe he still greivin’ for your mother, poor soul.

Tantie Beulah kept up the chatter while she took them to a room which had one unmade bed. She pointed to a dresser. I have sheets and towels in there. Everything clean. The little one ... what is your name again? June? Okay. June could make up the bed, an you, what is your name? Marva? You come and help ' me finish cook. I’m making fish broth with corn dumplin’. You all like corn dumplin’? I will give my mother only the fish broth because she can’t eat no dumplin’.

Marva felt the tension oozing out of her muscles like the blood that oozed out of her father’s nostrils. Coming here was a wise decision. She and June would not have to say much. All they had to do was pretend to listen to their aunt.

That night as they prepared for bed, June asked, How long we going to stay here?

Marva hesitated. It all depends.

On what?

On how things go.

June climbed into the bed and proceeded to pull the cover over her head.

Marva yanked it off. You’re forgetting something. June raised her eyebrows.

Marva got down on her knees and beckoned to June to follow her. Sighing, June got off the bed and knelt beside her sister. Their mother, who had been Catholic, had always taught them to pray before going to bed, but they didn’t always do it. Tonight Marva felt the need to pray.

Our Father in heaven, she began, "we thank you for watching over us and protecting us. Forgive us our sins and bless us, Heavenly Father. Bless this

house and Tantie Beulah and Grandma, for Christ sake, Amen."

During the night, June tossed and turned, crying out in her sleep. Marva held her close until she became calm, but long after June had fallen asleep, Marva was still wide awake. She finally dozed off only to be awakened by a nightmare of a headless man chasing her. Bathed in sweat, she lay there terrified until the first light of dawn peeped through the curtains. Then she drifted off to sleep once more.

The next morning June appeared relaxed while Marva struggled to keep her eyes open. But Tantie Beulah noticed. Goodness, child. Your eyes red like a drunk man. You didn’t sleep or what?

Marva stifled a yawn. I didn’t sleep well. Maybe it’s because I’m not accustomed to the house.

I don’t like to sleep out either. Tantie Beulah smiled. The same thing happens to me.

Gradually, Marva pushed the events that occurred at Egypt Village to the back of her mind so she could sleep more comfortably, and June didn’t jump each time someone knocked on the door. Marva convinced Tantie Beulah to let her remove the old curtains and hang some newer ones. She and June polished the floor and watered the plants, which showed their appreciation by lifting their heads and sending out a few buds. At nights, she and June watched television, something they didn’t have at home. And before going to bed, Marva massaged Tantie Beulah’s arthritic knees with some foul-smelling liquid to ease the pain. June read the newspaper and the Bible to her grandmother every day, even though Tantie Beulah said the old lady couldn’t hear a thing. And although Tantie Beulah praised them for their hard work, Marva knew they had to leave once school reopened. She racked her brain trying to formulate a plan, but none was forthcoming.

Tantie Beulah usually went to the beach early in the morning to buy fish when the boats were coming in. If they had a large catch, the fishermen would give some away to their regular customers. She always invited the girls to accompany her, but Marva declined, despite protests from June who wanted to get out of the house.

Marva had just finished rinsing the dish towel and was about to hang it on the oven door when screams shattered the morning’s stillness. The voice sounded like that of Tantie Beulah who had left for the beach about an hour ago. Marva’s stomach lurched. She dropped the towel and rushed to the window. June joined her. Tantie Beulah came running up the street, arms flailing, basket missing, arthritis obviously forgotten. Ma! Ma! Neighbor, come quick! Oh God, my brother, my brother ...

The two girls looked at each other then ran down the steps to meet their aunt, who now sat on the step screaming.

Neighbors quickly converged, asking questions. A passing motorcar slowed, its driver glancing curiously at the scene.

Marva stooped next to her aunt and grabbed her shoulder. Tantie Beulah, what happened?

A woman shot her an impatient look. You didn’t hear? They find a drowned man on the beach an’ Miss Beulah say is her brother.

Marva’s heart plummeted. She turned, and her eyes met June’s. She’d gone deathly pale.

Marva ran up the steps. Go inside and don’t come back out.

Tantie Beulah looked up at them and screamed again. Oh Lord, look at the poor children. Oh ...

A woman fanned her. Another one called to Marva, Bring some water.

Marva didn’t know what good the water would do, but she obeyed, glad to escape the pandemonium. Her aunt had three brothers beside her father and it was very unlikely that two would die within days of each other. The drowned man had to be her father. She and June had dumped his body in a river twenty miles away, and it had