His Wet Nurse

Hartwood (43)

Jema tightened the bands of her black shorts before stooping to grab the machete from the grass. When she arrived at her grandmother's home which used to be her home after her parents died, she discovered how unkept and overgrown the grasses at the front yard were.

The leaves were green at the base but wilted dry at the tips. They jutted out, covering the pathway leading to the small house. It could be described as a picture of a cottage with a white picket fence—only they had no fence and the weeds had made the place look more like a horror film setting.

Jema grabbed the machete and began snapping angrily at the stubborn weed.

"Dear, let Henry do that for you when he gets back!" Her gran-gran said from the porch with a concerned look. Jema stood and faced her, frustrated that her grandparents couldn't read the signal from their neighbor. A douchebag who'd hidden within the confines of his home and had refused to lend them his mower with the excuse that it was broken.

"You both know Henry is around, lurking in his room with his crazy girlfriend. He's been watching me from his window," she gestured at his house with the machete in hand. "To see if I'd figured him out. His mower never broke down, he just wanted to have you guys pay to use it just like the rest of the houses do."

"That's not true Jema, Henry wouldn't ask us for money for that!" Gran-gran cried and her husband who sat on a rocker agreed with a nod.

Jema sighed, dropped the knife, and headed over to Henry's for a confrontation. She rapped on his door hard and repeatedly until a very thin girl in nothing but a white singlet that barely covered the crack of her butt opened the door.

"I'm looking for Henry,"

"He's not—"

"Tell that fool of a boyfriend that if I walk through this door to him, he'll never remain the same. I saw him through the window, dammit!!!"

The girl swallowed hard at the blaring face of Jema, with much luck Henry came out of his hiding place.

"Now look who grew balls to finally let us know why he pretended his mower was broken but I just saw the Finleys mowing their farm with it. Why Henry?"

He let out a long drawl, his fingers brushing against his unkempt face. "Jema! Please spare me the accusations. Your gran-gran wouldn't pay twenty bucks for my services so why should I waste my time on them?" He hissed.

"Twenty bucks?! Are you a thief Henry? That's too much."

"Says who gets paid times three in the city just for wiping a table,"

She shut her lips, barring herself from speaking further. "You should've at least had the balls to let them know. You can eat your mower, like you said I earn much more than you can ever imagine. I'll get my grandparents a new lawn mower!" She gloated and walked back to in fact order one from online. She was done roasting her skin under the sun and inflicting further pain on her shoulder.

It was the morning after she'd arrived at Hartwood and wanted to spend the whole day with her people before taking the bus to the monastery. She'd ended up with a cutlass in hand weeding the vast area of land that hadn't been touched in a while. Her calloused fingers were enough evidence.

The next day Jema was fully prepared to meet with the mother general at the monastery. It was the urgency in her voice that led to Jema's unprepared visit home. She'd wondered what the important thing was about and why it wasn't sister Mary-Anthony who sent for her. She was almost at her destination but the feeling of anxiety didn't stop, rather it heightened with every step she took towards the monastery.

A nun dressed in a coffee brown tunic, a belt around the waistline, and a large scapular plastered on her chest like a protective shield. They all looked the same just as Sister Mary-Anthony did the last time Jema came around.

She was led to an office unlike her previous visit, this time a more modest treatment was offered to her and when she stepped into what looked like an office but with crucifixes, candles, prayer books and somewhat like an altar set by a corner of the large room Jema knew she was onto something else.

The woman behind the desk unlike the others wore a white coif that framed her face. She looked like a stuck-up in that attire—Jema noted to herself.

"Welcome Ms. Delray," The Reverend's mother greeted and offered her a chair.

"Thank you, you can just call me Jema." She sat with a suspicious look on her face. "I couldn't come soon enough, I'm sorry,"

"No, no, that's understandable. I wasn't expecting you to appear here as well. And thank you for taking your time for this." She adjusted on her chair. Her fingers are linked together and on the desk. "I would've offered you tea or something but we're currently fasting, wouldn't it be improper, yes?"

Jema scoffed. "It's okay,"

"We received your emails to sister Mary-Anthony, at first we didn't think much of it but not until your last email regarding your late husband's funeral and the importance for her to show face. Did you have any idea that your late husband was related to Sister Mary-Anthony?"

"Yes, of course, they're step-siblings or rather grew up in the same orphanage, and ever since then..."

"Is that what she told you?"

"That's what Jacob said!"

"Mr. Delray?.... Goodness!"

Jema paused for a second, wondering what she was on about. "What's this about?"

"Sister Mary-Anthony isn't an orphan, in-fact she was born into a rich family but was converted to join our mission after having gone to jail twice for reasons we can't divulge." She eyed Jema who sat still like an effigy. "It was a week after your first visit that sister Mary-Anthony disappeared from the monastery and ever since then, we haven't gotten around to finding her. No letters, no calls, nothing! Even the police have done their best."

"You think she wasn't kidnapped?" Jema found herself asking.

"That was our previous thought until we found some implicating material about her. I was away at a missionary convention in Haiti and had to return quickly when we heard of her disappearance. She was occupying this seat on my behalf before you came around and we recently discovered she'd been siphoning large sums of money from our accounts to her private account."

Jema peered deeply at the Reverend's mother. It didn't make sense. "How is this connected to me?"

"Because it wasn't our money she'd been siphoning. It was yours."

Good lord!
Another life's twist!
"My money? I don't have any money with her. We barely know each other."

"Not particularly yours. Your late husband somehow got to know her and trusted huge sums of money into her care. He'd written that in several letters addressed to sister Mary-Anthony—of the need to help him secure your future. Every single cash he forwarded came with a letter and he'd do this in the form of charity to the monastery." She handed Jema a few of Jacob's letters to the nun and her heart stopped when she recognized his handwriting.

"That's my husband's," she whispered.

"Yes it is, the signature and all, the money was meant to be given to you if anything happened to him."

Her eyes flew to the mother general. "What?"

"It's like your husband knew he'd die or something but every one of his letters carried a warning and a pact of reassurance from sister Mary-Anthony. But I guess her  sudden disappearance and your shocked response show she hadn't held her end of the stick."

"But she... heavens! Why would Jacob trust her with savings meant for me instead? What was he scared of if he'd handed it to me or put it in our joint account?!"

"It's obvious the money was illegal, this is a case of money laundering, Jema,"

"Oh my God!" She palmed her temples, a headache suddenly building by the minute. "How much are we talking about here?" Her breath hitched and saliva dried from her tongue as she waited for the information.

"We're talking roughly twenty million dollars,"

The room trembled before her eyes, whirring and spinning her and every object within like a vortex until darkness was all she saw.