Refuge Cove (6 page)

I looked at my mom like she was some kind of traitor. I went and sat down beside Tamara.

Wilkins took off his coat and sat on a wooden chair. He started to open his briefcase as he began to speak, but my mother stopped him.

“There have been others,” she said, speaking directly to Tamara. “The government is aware of who you are. No one wants to send you back.”

She sat silently as Tamara translated to be sure her parents understood.

Wilkins shuffled some papers in his briefcase. “I can't officially say that you have refugee status, but if you are who you say you are, we already know your situation. We can do the first step of processing you in St. John's tomorrow. Then we will put you on
a plane to Toronto. There you can join other people from your country who can sponsor you. You need a sponsor to look out for your financial needs.”

Tamara translated again. But I could tell she didn't like what she was saying. They seemed to be arguing. Something was still wrong.

Then Tamara spoke up. She seemed very nervous now. “We want to stay here.”

“In Deep Cove?” The man seemed flabbergasted.

“In Deep Cove,” she repeated. Her father nodded.

“We have standard procedures …” Wilkins began. Before he could get another word out, the door flew open. In walked Harold, who had obviously been listening at the door.

“The hell with standard procedures,” he told Wilkins. “If they want to stay, let “em stay.”

Wilkins looked up, a bit startled by this wild-haired old rum smuggler. “Who are you?” he asked.

“It don't matter who I am,” he said.

“No, it certainly doesn't.” Mr. Immigration turned back to my mother as if she would support him. “What I'm offering these people is a chance to move to a city where there is opportunity. Where they can be with others from their country. And, of course, there is also a matter of financial support.”

“I don't understand,” my mother said.

“Money,” Wilkins said, rubbing his thumb and index finger together. “If these people want to stay, they need sponsors. People who will provide money and support while they get on their feet. We can connect them with such organizations in Toronto.” He said it as if we'd all understand right away. The bottom line was money.

“We can sponsor them,” I said, looking at my mother. “We can support them.” But I knew that my mom was just about broke. We'd spent most of the money we had on the house. Dad's life insurance was barely enough to live on.

Wilkins looked around at our humble
surroundings. “I don't think that is possible,” he said, almost laughing. “I think you are all being unreasonable. Our studies indicate that a large urban center is the best place for Asian immigrants.

“What would you have if you stayed here?” he asked of Tamara. She translated.

Her father got up and walked up to the man. For a second I thought he was going to pull out his knife again. Instead, he said, “Friends. We have friends here.” His English was perfectly clear.

“Look outside,” Harold said. We all got up to look.

The drenching rain had finally stopped. The wind was easing. The gravel road up to our place was crowded with people. Everyone in Deep Cove must have been out there on the road. As we looked, they all began to swing flashlights so that lights danced off the dark night sky.

Wilkins didn't quite know what to make of this. He folded his papers back into his briefcase. “I think I'll just head on back to
the city. You'll have a chance to reconsider this. Perhaps things will look different to you in a day or so.”

“Thank you,” Tamara said, this time looking at me. “But I think we will always feel the same.” Wilkins shrugged and closed the door behind him. He had to ask people to move aside so he could get to his car and drive away.

Ten months have gone by since then. We survived a long, hard winter. There was a house to be fixed up for the new family of Deep Cove. Everyone in town pitched in to make it livable. It turned out Ravi had a way with wood and he proved to be a very good carpenter. With the leftover lumber he has started to make furniture. There has even been some interest in his delicate chairs and tables from the mainland.

Today I am getting my Laser ready for the first sail of the season. Tamara will be coming along. It's warm for a change and the sun is out. My boat always makes me think of my father. The pain never really goes away. You just learn to live with it.

But when I spot Tamara, making her way down to the boat launch, the pain starts to fade. My father always told me to trust my instincts. And that is what I did when I first came upon Tamara and her family on the open ocean. I
knew
what I had to do. I think that decision was a gift from my father.

It's a lot like sailing. There is no such thing as a straight path to a destination. You have to tack—back and forth—working the wind for all it's worth. And watching Tamara walk towards me, I already feel like I'm flying over the waves, leaning far over the side. The sail is full, stretched tight. And all I have to do is hang on tight and remember what my father taught me—never fight against the wind. Find its strength and make it work for you.

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Beth Goobie is an award-winning author of a number of books for teens. Her most recent book,
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Orca Soundings is a new teen fiction series that features realistic teenage characters in stories that focus on contemporary situations and problems.

Soundings
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For more information on the Orca Soundings series or other Orca titles, please call Orca Book Publishers at 1-800-210-5277.