“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” asks the woman, glancing past Francesca to me.

  “Yes, Miss Bernard, this is my friend Maddie Chase. Maddie, this is Miss Bernard.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Maddie,” says the woman as she shakes my hand. “What brings you here today?”

  I smile at her. “I just wanted to meet Francescas sisters,” I tell her. “Are you the owner of the orphanage?”

  “We call it a girls’ home,” she says in a slightly offended tone. “And, no, my parents are the owners. But I come down here to help out sometimes. Its like a working vacation for me.”

  “This is a very nice place,” I say, wishing I could ask her some questions about it. But I won't. I have a feeling that would make Francesca uncomfortable.

  The woman smiles in a very self-satisfied way as she smoothes the front of her shiny silk blouse. “Yes, my parents have worked hard over the years to make it that way.”

  “I'll have the girls back by two thirty,” promises Francesca as she signs a book.

  Miss Bernard nods. “Yes, I'm sure you will.” She smiles again, but I can't help but think her smile is insincere.

  Then Francesca leads us back through the foyer and out to her car.

  “Where will you sit?” I ask the girls, suddenly realizing there's no backseat for them.

  “It is all right,” says Francesca. “We will not go far.”

  The girls get in the back, making themselves comfortable on a blanket, and I try not to worry about the fact that they have no seat belts. But Francesca only drives about a mile before stopping at what appears to be an outdoor mall, only Mexican style.

  The girls act more like regular girls when they get out of the car. As we're walking, Elena grabs Francescas arm and pulls her in front of us, speaking to her sister in rapid Spanish. From what I can pick up, some great injustice has been done to her. Of course, I cant tell if its just typical teen angst or a real dilemma. Victoria, acting less shy now, quietly walks next to me and asks, in perfect English, where I'm from. I tell her about our farm and even about some of the animals, which really seems to interest her.

  We stop at a fish-taco stand, which is their regular treat, and I follow their example and ditto what they order. I insist on paying, but it is incredibly cheap. Still, they all graciously thank me as we sit down with our food.

  “These are good,” I tell them. “I never had a fish taco before.”

  “Never?” says Victoria in amazement.

  Now Elena seems to warm up, and she continues telling about how she was punished this week for something that happened at school. Something she insists was not her fault.

  “What kind of punishment?” I ask.

  Now all three girls are quiet for a moment, as if they're gauging what to say.

  “There are various kinds of punishment,” says Francesca. “The most common kind is cleaning. Not just regular cleaning like our everyday chores, but cleaning that is—how do you say?—excessive.”

  “Extreme,” offers Elena. This makes them laugh.

  “Extreme cleaning?” I query. “What would that be?”

  “Cleaning the floor with a toothbrush,” says Victoria.

  “Polishing the staircase banisters so that every crack and groove shines.”

  “Scrubbing the pool deck when it is so hot you want to jump in.”

  “Yes yes,” says Francesca. “I think that's enough.”

  “But that is not the worst punishment,” says Elena to me with raised brows. “Last week I had to—”

  “Elena,” says Francesca in a slightly warning tone, “you know you need to respect the Bernards.”

  Elena rolls her eyes.

  “The Bernards believe in firm discipline,” she tells me. “But they never beat the girls.”

  “No,” says Elena. “They take away our food, and they humiliate us. They make us work late into the night. But they never beat us.”

  Francesca just shakes her head. “There are worse things. With the Bernards you get an excellent education, and you learn English. You should not complain.”

  We're done eating now, and the girls want to look in some of the shops. So for a while, we are just like four ordinary girls, hanging together at an outdoor mall. And too soon, according to Elena and Victoria, it s time to go back.

  fter Elena and Victoria revert to perfectly mannered little ladies and quietly return to their rooms, I remind Francesca about our mission here today. “We still need to talk to the Bernards,” I whisper as we stand in the elegant foyer.

  She looks uneasy. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. But I can tell she's troubled. “Would it be better if I spoke to them without you being there?”

  She considers this, then finally says, “No, I need to be there.”

  “Where do we find them?”

  “I'll ask at the office when I sign my sisters back in.”

  I follow her to where we met Miss Bernard earlier. She's still there, only she's sitting in a leather easy chair with her back to us and her shoeless feet propped up on an ottoman. There's a television quietly playing an old rerun of Love Boat. I almost laugh to see it. My mom likes that show too and secretly watches it on Nickelodeon when she thinks no one is around to tease her.

  “Excuse me, Miss Bernard?” says Francesca quietly.

  Miss Bernard picks up the remote and clicks off the TV, then slowly turns around. “Yes?”

  “I want to sign the girls back in.”

  “You know where the book is, Francesca.” I hear irritation in her voice.

  “And Maddie and I would like to speak to your parents. Are they busy?”

  Miss Bernard frowns. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” says Francesca quickly. “I just want Maddie to meet them.” She glances at me uncomfortably, as if she hopes I'll jump in, which I do.

  “Yes,” I say with what I hope sounds like an authoritative tone. “You see, my aunt is a journalist for a nationally known magazine, and I work as her assistant. I'm so impressed with your facility here that I'd like to inquire about doing a story.”

  “Really?” Miss Bernard stands now, once again smoothing her shiny but rumpled silk shirt. “Well, let me go and see if they have time to talk.”

  “I apologize for coming unscheduled,” I add. “But we're only in Cabo for a few days.”

  “Yes, I see. If you'll excuse me.” Then she shoves her plump feet back into a pair of tight-looking pumps and leaves.

  Francesca grins at me. “Well done.”

  I shrug. “And not completely untrue.”

  After a few minutes, Miss Bernard returns and invites us to meet the elder Bernards in their sitting room. We follow her to another luxurious room that's just off the swimming pool. One whole wall is composed of glass doors that open up to a covered area leading out to the pool. Very nice. Miss Bernard introduces us to her parents, who I'm guessing are about my grandparents’ ages, but then IVe never been good with that sort ofthing. They invite us to sit down.

  “This is an amazing place,” I say to them. “Francesca has told me a little about it, and I was eager to come see it for myself today.”

  “Thank you,” says Mrs. Bernard. “We have put many years of hard work into the girls’ home.”

  “And it shows,” I say. Then I look at Francesca. “When my aunt and I met Francesca at the Playa del Monaco, we were very impressed. I think she has great potential.”

  Mrs. Bernard smiles. “Yes, we like to think that of all our girls.”

  “How many girls are here?” I ask.

  “We have fifty-four right now. But sometimes we have as many as seventy.”

  “That must be expensive,” I say. “You must be very wealthy.”

  Mrs. Bernard laughs. “No, not really. The girls are sponsored.”

  “Sponsored?”

  “Through donations from people in the United States,” she explains. “Churches and civic groups and philanthropic organizations.”

  I nod. “Of course.” I want to ask why Francesca must work to support her sisters, but I control myself.

  “We have a Web site,” says Mr. Bernard. “Candace can give you a brochure on your way out.” He leans forward and peers at me. “What kind of article do you think your aunt would like to write?”

  “Well, I'm not sure yet. I'm only here to see if it's something that would work for her magazine. I help her with research. She's very busy.”

  He nods and leans back. “I see.”

  “I'm curious about the arrangements for girls after they leave the home,” I continue. “I know you've helped Francesca find work and a place to live. Do you do that for all your girls?”

  “Oh yes,” says Mrs. Bernard. “We want to make sure they're gainfully employed and living in safe conditions.”

  I smile at her. “Oh yes, I almost forgot. Francesca and I met her great-aunt the other day.” I turn to Francesca as if this has just occurred to me. “She's a wonderful old woman who lives in Todos Santos—in a lovely home. She's invited Francesca to come live with her, and I thought it sounded like a wonderful opportunity, but I think Francesca was worried that it might be a problem.”

  Mrs. Bernard clears her throat and looks directly at Francesca with probing, pale blue eyes. “What sort of problem?”

  “Francesca told me that since you helped set her up with a job and housing, perhaps she needs your approval. Naturally, I thought that sounded absurd since she's a grown young woman fully capable of making her own decisions.” Okay, even as I'm saying this, I can feel my cheeks flushing. I think I'd be a lousy poker player.

  “Of course,” says Mrs. Bernard in a stiff voice, “we encourage our girls to remain in close contact with us. We like for them to have some supervision in the outside world. And since Francescas younger sisters are still here…well, certainly, we want to be sure she's not making any foolish decisions.”

  “So it wouldn't be a problem for Francesca to move to Todos Santos to live with her great-aunt?”

  There's a long and uncomfortable silence now. Francesca is looking at her hands, which are neatly folded in her lap.

  Mr. Bernard clears his throat. “I don't think it's a problem for Francesca to live with her aunt in Todos Santos. I assume Francesca will want to find a job there. We have some connections in Todos Santos.”

  “Her aunt has some connections too,” I say. “She has some ideas for good places for Francesca to work.” Okay, I'm not really sure about this, but I guess I want to call their bluff. If they're bluffing. These people are starting to remind me of Nazis. It's like they think they own Francesca, body and soul.

  “We'd need to approve her place of employment,” says Mrs. Bernard quickly. “We can't have one of our girls working someplace disrespectable.”

  Now I'm entirely fed up. “Well, I'm not sure how much you know about where Francesca is working now,” I say carefully. “But my aunt and I both feel that it's a very poorly run establishment. We were only too eager to check out of it and move to another hotel.”

  Mr. Bernard's brows lift. “Would you care to elaborate on this?”

  And so I do. I tell him just a bit of what we saw and heard. And he actually seems surprised.

  “Is this true, Francesca?”

  She nods sadly. “That and even more.”

  He's drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair now. And I get the impression he's actually concerned. But then Mrs. Bernard begins to speak.

  “You don't understand this country, Miss Chase,” she says in a slightly snooty tone. “Mexico isn't like America. Things are run differently here. You shouldn't pass judgment so quickly on things you don't fully comprehend, my dear.”

  Well, I guess that was supposed to put me in my place. I try to compose myself before I cut to the chase. No sense in getting all riled up. “I understand that Francesca is a good person,” I finally say. “And I have to commend you and your husband for your involvement in this. But it seems to me that your work with her is done now. I think you should trust her to make good decisions, and I hope you won't oppose her choice to live with her great-aunt.”

  “So is that your choice, Francesca?” asks Mrs. Bernard, those eyes probing.

  Francesca looks at her evenly. “Yes, Mrs. Bernard. That's my choice. I was so pleased to learn that I have some family. You must know how important family is. More than anything, I would like to live with my aunt and find work in Todos Santos. I have been miserable in my job. And my accommodations are…well, they are not good. Perhaps you would like to see the place for yourself. I cannot imagine that you would approve.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Bernard looks a little shocked.

  “It's true,” I say quickly. “I saw the place. It's smaller than a single-wide mobile home, and yet nine adults live there. I assume they share one bathroom.”

  “When it's working,” says Francesca. “There is an outhouse too.”

  “Oh my!” Mrs. Bernard looks at her husband.

  “Maybe we need to check these things a bit more closely, dear,” he says to her.

  She nods, causing her double chin to wobble.

  “As for the article,” I say in closing, “perhaps this isn't a good time to interview you for the magazine. You see, my aunt likes to write very honest stories about real people. And some of the things we've learned might not come off in a very positive light for you and your organization.”

  “Perhaps not,” says Mrs. Bernard.

  “But maybe later?” I say as I stand up.

  “Certainly,” says Mrs. Bernard. “Believe me, if what you and Francesca are saying is true, there will be some changes made.”

  “It's true,” I tell her.

  “Well, of course… “

  “We can see ourselves out,” says Francesca. Then she politely thanks them for their time and tells them she will let them know her new address when she comes back next week.

  Once we're outside and safely in the car, Francesca turns to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much!” she says. “I never could have done that without you, Maddie. Do you see that now?”

  I nod, still amazed. “Yes, I do see it. That is a formidable woman.”

  “I know they are not all good,” says Francesca as we drive away. “But they are not all bad, either.”

  “I think I understand,” I say. I want to add that perhaps they are the lesser of two evils, but I don't want to insult her. Still, I did pick up a brochure, and I plan to check out their Web site. Just out of curiosity.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I say as she turns back onto the main highway.

  “Of course, you can ask me anything.”

  “Completely off the record.”

  “Off the record?”

  “Meaning I won't write an article.”

  She sort of laughs. “Yes. Certainly.”

  “What Mrs. Bernard said about the child-sponsorship program— do you know about that?”

  “I know that sometimes things are different,” she says slowly.

  “Different as in how?”

  “Sometimes, when sponsors came to visit, we were allowed to be in the whole house. First we were told we must not break anything. And we had to be polite and courteous. We were allowed to use the pool and to eat in the main dining room, which is beautiful. We enjoyed these times. We pretended we were on vacation. Then the sponsors went home, and everything was back to normal.”

  “1 see.”

  “But you cannot blame the Bernards. Their home is very fine. Too fine for girls who might break things or make noise. The children should be thankful for what they have there. I wish Elena could accept this.”

  “Do you think your aunt would let Elena and Victoria live with you and her in Todos Santos?”

  Francesca smiles and sighs. “Yes, I think so. Tia Lenora showed me her house. It is big enough. Even if we three girls shared one bedroom, it would be more room than any of us has now. Elena sleeps in a room with eleven other girls. It is crowded. I think my aunt would like my sisters.”

  “I like them,” I tell her. “I think all three of you girls would make your parents proud.”

  She nods. “I hope this is true.”

  “So, have you made your decision?” I ask. “Will you go live with your aunt now?”

  “Yes. I most certainly will. I have her phone number, and I will call her from the hotel on Monday. And I will tell them I am quitting.”

  “Even if they don't give you a letter of reference?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She nods firmly.

  “I meant what I said,” I remind her. “Sid and Ian and I will all write letters of recommendation if it will help you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  It's about five when Francesca pulls into our resort. “We leave Cabo on Monday,” I tell her, though she might remember this.

  She looks sad. “So soon.”

  “I know. But if there's anything we can do before that, just call us at Casa del Sol.”

  “I have the number.”

  “And we'll drop those letters by at your work.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles with more tears in her eyes. “Thank you for everything, Maddie.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “This has been a totally great day.”

  “I am thinking about what you said, Maddie. That you are a Christian and that is why you are such a good person.”

  Now I'm not really sure I said those exact words. “I try to live my life the way I think Jesus wants me to live,” I say. “But I still make a lot of mistakes.”

  “Well, I am Catholic,” she says, “but I am not a good Catholic. I miss Mass because of work and going to see my sisters, and I have not been to confession for a long time.”

  “I think God understands,” I say. “And it looks like your life is going to be changing. Maybe you will change too, Francesca.”

  She smiles brightly. “Oh, I hope so!”

  “I'll see you later,” I promise.

  She nods. “Yes. I hope so.”

  Then I wave, and she drives away in a car that looks like it should ve been retired long ago, with a trail of blue smoke curling behind it. I don't even know why, but as I walk away, I feel the warmth of tears in my eyes. And I wonder how I can care so much for someone I've known less than a week.