The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,82
at the forefront, and it is easy to forget that ordinary people have been caught in the crossfire, that they’re suffering on a scale the rest of us simply aren’t. Most of us in Havana are shielded from the things you see on a daily basis, from what you are living. I can only hope that one day we will all be free, that Evangelina is just the beginning. She shares our passion for independence. She has sacrificed a great deal for Cuba’s future, too.”
“You admire her.”
The emotion in his voice when he speaks of Evangelina is clear, the affection contained there evident.
“It is difficult not to admire her. She’s smart, she’s passionate, she’s brave, and she’s loyal.”
Growing up, my father was close friends with Carlos Carbonell; as far as I know except for one near miss with marriage, he’s always appeared to be the consummate bachelor. Now he looks like a man in love. That Evangelina Cisneros was able to capture his heart in such a short amount of time is quite the feat.
* * *
—
On my way back to the camp, I stop at a market and use the money Carlos gave me to buy extra food for Isabella and Luz.
There is little to be had, the destruction of the countryside affecting the food supply in the cities now, but I am able to find a bit of dried meat even if I pay dearly for it. It’s been so long since my daughter has eaten meat; it’s hard to believe that once we lived off the land we farmed and the animals we raised.
It’s hard to believe that once we were happy.
I return to the camp, seeking out Luz and Isabella to share the good news of the food with them, but when I arrive another danger awaits me.
Twenty-Six
Evangelina
On Saturday morning after I arrive in New York City, I dress in a long white gown that makes me feel like a princess. Karl Decker meets me at the Waldorf-Astoria and escorts me to a waiting carriage along with a woman from the Ladies’ Cuban Relief Association of New York. Karl has visited me a few times since he first appeared on my doorstep, and I am reassured by his presence today. Throughout our journey, he turns and checks on me, asking me if I am all right and squeezing my hand.
A guard of soldiers and naval cadets in gleaming uniforms flanks me as I am paraded through the streets of New York City. Thousands line the streets cheering my name; I’ve never seen anything like it in all my life.
We stop at a large banquet room in an elegant restaurant called Delmonico’s where I am asked to give a little speech in front of the august gathered crowd of Cuban patriots, American dignitaries, and Journal newspaper staff. The crowd rises to their feet when I walk into the room, their applause thunderous. As much as I struggle to find the right words to say, I fear I don’t do justice to their kindness.
“You were wonderful,” Karl says when I have finished speaking, and then he looks past me, his gaze settling on someone in the crowd, his smile deepening. “Ah, the man we all have to thank for your rescue.” Karl waves the man over, and he walks toward us.
“Miss Cisneros,” he says, introducing himself to me. “I’m Will Hearst.”
For a moment, I am unable to speak. I have spent so much time in the company of Journal reporters, but this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the man who did so much to secure my release. He is younger than I imagined, and handsome to boot.
Mr. Hearst extends his hand to me.
Emotion fills me. “Sir. I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me, for saving my life.”
He doesn’t speak, but he nods in response, taking my hand and shaking it.
Before I can open my mouth to speak again, he has taken his leave from us and is gone as quickly as he came, leaving me staring after his retreating back.
“I wish I could have said more to him,” I whisper to Karl. “He must think me ungrateful for all of his efforts on my behalf.”
“No, that’s just Will. He’s happy to take the glory for his paper, but he hates being in the limelight.” Karl clasps my hand. “Come on, we’ll be late for the event at Madison Square.”
A group of soldiers, sailors, and policemen in uniform