Leandra's House
Joanne Zaslow
When the front door opened, the fragrance of freshly cut cucumber welcomed Vera and her baby. An ageless woman appeared—blonde, trim, petite—wearing impeccably creased woven slacks. Extending red-lacquered fingernails to shake Vera’s hand, she said, “I’m Leandra. Please come in” (which sounded like “comb een”).
They stepped into Leandra’s home, palatial compared to Vera’s Cape Cod. Vera’s attention split between the velvety living-room furniture and Leandra’s dramatic eye shadow. “Hello, baby,” Leandra cooed, lifting baby Trina from Vera’s arms. Leandra, carrying Trina, led them on a tour of her child-proofed home. Sweeping her free arm like Vanna White, she presented the basement playroom’s shelved baby books and sanitized toys; the bedroom where the children, her charges, currently napped; and the dining-room photo gallery featuring “all my babies I raised—as their babysitter. See? They’re all happy.”
Vera nodded, pretended to whisper in the baby’s ear, then asked “When can we start?”
“Tomorrow,” said Leandra. Over the first weeks, Leandra established their routines. In the mornings, Vera would hand off blanketed, sleeping Trina to Leandra at the front door, then run to catch the VRE train to D.C. In the late afternoons, after wading through plastic bats and balls and Leandra’s husband, Ned, barbequing chicken on the porch, Vera’d walk into a tranquil scene: Leandra on the sofa holding Trina, the older kids sitting on the carpet watching Telemundo. As Vera grabbed the diaper bag and baby bottles, Leandra might proffer a saucepan of Green Stew or a plate of empanadas, saying, “This is from a Persian friend” or “This recipe’s from my country.”
“What’s your country?” Vera once asked.
Winking, Leandra said, “I’m from New York,” without elaborating.
One steamy summer afternoon, Leandra invited Vera to sit and chat at the kitchen table. They talked about the kids, the weather, the news. Vera observed as Leandra effortlessly spoon-fed noodles to a toddler, monitored spaghetti sauce on the stove, and played Candy Land with Kaleem, a chatty six-year-old. Vera, who mostly listened, couldn’t help admiring Leandra, who, even at day’s end, was fresh, almost glamourous, in her pressed tailored shirt, hair in an updo. She was nothing like Vera’s mom, all blue jeans and plaited hair. Yet Leandra made Vera feel more cared for than she had since her mom died just before Vera’d announced her pregnancy.
A few weeks later when Vera arrived at Leandra’s for afternoon pickup, she was met by a young woman in a headscarf and a long black skirt who’d cracked open the front door and peered at her questioningly.
“I’ve come to get my daughter, Trina?” Vera said tentatively. Upon hearing Leandra speak, the woman smiled then threw open the door like a stage curtain, revealing a regal Leandra sitting on the sofa crocheting. Vera scanned the room until she finally located Trina watching the other kids roll a ball back and forth in the dining room. Leandra sprang up, and Vera followed her into the kitchen, where she asked about the woman.
Leandra said she’d hired her new assistant, Neesha, to help with the babies. “You make everything look so easy. I had no idea you needed help,” said Vera. Trying to shrug off her concern, Vera decided Trina appeared happy playing with the other kids, and Neesha seemed attentive to them.
The next morning when Vera got on the train, her friend Shanon had saved her a seat. Vera dropped into it, saying “Should I be worried?”
“What’s up?” asked Shanon.
“Leandra, my sitter, hired an assistant. I found out when the assistant greeted me yesterday afternoon. Leandra hadn’t mentioned anything in advance.”
“So? What’s the big deal?”
“Maybe nothing. Actually, I should trust Leandra; she’s sharp. I guess it’s that I don’t know this new assistant, and she’ll be watching my kid. You remember how tough it was to find a sitter I could trust and actually liked.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks to your cheap ex-husband you had to hire an unlicensed sitter. I’ll remind you that your sitter’s name was on the church bulletin board. Vera, you’ve dealt with a lot worse than that. Stay involved. It’ll be fine.”
“Good advice,” said Vera. She’d get better acquainted with Neesha along with Leandra, and everything would work out.
However, Vera learned close to nothing about Neesha. Neesha couldn’t speak English, so out the window went the comfy, private conversations over tea Vera’d planned. Equally frustrating was that all she got out of Leandra was a generic description of Neesha as someone who liked babies and hated the outdoors.
Vera’s knowledge of Leandra, meanwhile, grew in dribs and drabs during their now-regular table chats—Leandra’s extended family in Manhattan, the candlelit Virgin Mary icons in her bedroom, her evening Salsa dancing lessons. Vera noted Leandra was hungry for the news—local, national, world—and kept up with all of it. She played a radio news station all day and quizzed Vera about the headlines. To illustrate a point, she might dart over to consult her neat stacks of The Washington Post, EFE, or People magazine. And, rather than looking bedraggled like the other potential sitters Vera’d met, Leandra looked stylish, ready for the office. Wasn’t daycare an odd profession for someone with Leandra’s interests? No matter, Vera could picture Leandra dancing with the kids or showing them world maps spread out on the kitchen floor. And, wouldn’t it be nice if Vera could pick up some of Leandra’s poise? The woman had the bearing of a queen. Conversely, Vera’d been struggling to rebuild her self-esteem ever since her husband had abandoned her when he learned she was pregnant.
One morning when the leaves had started turning, Vera pulled up to Leandra’s and saw in her rear view mirror a black sedan between Leandra’s and the house next door. Although it was mostly covered by a prickly bush, Vera could see several people crowded inside, its driver furtively looking around. She snatched Trina from her car seat and ran to Leandra’s door. While handing Trina to Neesha, Vera leaned into the house and stage whispered (so as not to wake the babies), “Leandra, there’s a carload of people sitting out front; could they be waiting for someone?”
“Oh,” Leandra said, walking toward Vera from the kitchen. “They’re probably waiting for my neighbor, a carpool or something,” she whispered back, waving away Vera’s concern with a dish cloth.
“They’re not for you?”
“Naa,” she said, but Vera noticed Leandra’s eyebrows twitch.
Vera ran back to her car, waving over her shoulder. While driving off, she saw the sedan pull up in front of Leandra’s but didn’t turn around and see if anyone got out. She’d convinced herself by then that she took her job training for the law enforcement agency too seriously.
As they grew friendlier, Vera started doing personal favors for Leandra. She’d borrow library books, run to buy milk, and drive Leandra’s neighbors to the mall on her way home.
“My English is good, but I don’t write it so good,” Leandra had said one afternoon as she’d asked for another favor: putting a want ad in the local paper to replace the kid transferring to kindergarten. She asked Vera to sign the ad.
“But I should sign your name. It’s for your work.”
“No, no,” Leandra said, “I don’t have time to answer the phone. You can take messages and bring them to me.”
So, Vera was puzzled when on her own, Leandra hired another assistant. When Vera saw him working on the old Ford pickup in Leandra’s garage, she introduced herself. The beefy guy, wearing a gray mechanic’s coverall, tweaked his dark chevron moustache and grinned at Vera. Leandra explained Carlos was a friend of her ex-husband’s helping him with the car and other things.
“Your ex? I haven’t met him.”
“Yes you have, dear. It’s Ned.”
“Ned’s your ex?”
“Yes, dear,” she said quietly. “We’re still friends. He lives here on the main floor, and I live in the basement next to the children’s playroom. Please keep it to yourself.”
A bit unusual, Vera thought. Leandra must have thought so too or wouldn’t have hidden it.
Recently a replacement for Neesha had begun receiving Trina in the mornings. In the afternoons, Trina and Vera left hand-in-hand, waving goodbye to everyone. One afternoon, they waved to Ned and a slim, bearded young man who had joined Ned barbequing on the porch. The two men nodded silently as hickory flavored smoke wafted toward the house gutters.
“Who’s that with Ned?” Vera asked Leandra.
“Oh. That’s Salman. He and his wife, Kiva, live here now. They’re doing all the cooking, you know.”
No, Vera didn’t know. Two more. How many now? The assistants, all ages and a variety of nationalities, would be at Leandra’s for a few weeks, then suddenly, poof! Gone! New assistants, always non-English speaking, would straightaway replace them. Vera couldn’t even remember all their names. Her stomach roiled as she imagined Kiva, Salman, and the other strangers conspiring in the kitchen. She clenched a sweaty palm and looked down at Trina who was clutching her other hand. Then she squared her shoulders and blurted, “Leandra, you have too many assistants,” which she immediately feared had come off as rude. God knew, she needed this competent woman and just wanted a logical explanation that would make her feel better about keeping Trina here.
Backpedaling, Vera said “Maybe too many assistants for me to feel comfortable? I don’t know who they are or why they’re here.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Leandra said a couple octaves above her normal voice. “Because I have many children here, and there’s a lot to do. None of the other parents have complained.”
“I’m just asking. This is way more help than you started with. And besides, I don’t know them. At least I should know more about them.”
Leandra sneered at Vera as if she’d seen Vera’s mental images, and they were ridiculous. Clasping Vera’s elbow through her wilted suit, Leandra said “My dear, you’ve met them all. Why are you so worried? You know me. You know everything’s fine. You see Trina is happy. Trust me.” Then she said “OK, you’ve got to go now” and waved bye as she ran into the living-room to ready the next kid for his parents. Vera, although feeling dismissed, wanted nothing more than to trust Leandra, who was almost family.
When snowflakes started mounting one afternoon, Vera left work early and went to get Trina. She knocked on the door, then pounded, and when no one answered tried unsuccessfully to open it. She walked around the outside of the house to look in the backyard, peering through or banging on windows en route. No one was home. Vera phoned her friend Shanon as bile rose in her throat and her mind raced to an image of Leandra, Ned, and the assistants corralling all the charges in an open field.
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” Shanon said. “I can be there in a few minutes. Don’t do anything drastic.”
“Where the hell do you think they are? They’re not supposed to leave the house.” Vera clicked off and race-walked to the front of the house just as Leandra and an assistant rolled up in Leandra’s Chevy van. They helped the charges, including Trina, out of the van. At least they were all wearing coats.
“Ah, hello! You’re home early,” said Leandra pleasantly.
“Where were you?” Vera accused as if speaking to an errant teenager.
“We just went to the mall. I needed to exchange an outfit at J.C. Penny for little Sammy. And we got hot chocolate.”
“But they could have run from you,” Vera accused as Trina worked her way to her mommy and tugged her suit skirt.
“Kiva was with me and kept an eye on the children, too. No big deal.” Leandra shrugged and shook her head slightly, and Vera knew she’d taken trips like this before.
“Well, don’t do it again. Please. I don’t like it. Our contract says you can’t take the kids off the premises, and I don’t want to be worried about it.” Vera hated using this bossy tone—Leandra might take it out on her kid—but she was getting better at standing up for herself. To avoid saying more, she lifted then hugged Trina tightly on her hip, Trina flapping both hands in bye-bye as Vera charged away. Vera got to her car just as Shanon pulled up and started getting out of hers. When Shanon looked up, Vera pointed at Trina and grimaced. Shanon shook her head and got back in her car.
Shanon clearly thought Vera’d let her imagination carry her too far. But, Vera considered, how did Shanon know? Maybe Vera was clairvoyant. Or, maybe her fear proved she was a good mother, somebody who cared, who was always on the lookout for possible harm. In any case, she’d have to figure things out, because in the meantime, she’d still need to take Trina to Leandra’s.
While grocery shopping, making a snowman with Trina, or scrubbing the dishes with green-apple-scented detergent, Vera considered the goings on at Leandra’s. She’d seen Salman give Trina cookies and Kiva brush Trina’s flyaway auburn hair. A new assistant made sure the other kids included Trina in their chasing games. Ned shared savory barbequed sausage links with Trina, and Leandra teased her like Vera’s Aunt Rosa did. Should Vera not worry because they were kind? Kindness was comforting, but not enough. There were still too many strangers.
Where were they from? How did Leandra find them? Vera couldn’t ask them; they didn’t speak English, only Portuguese, Farsi, Urdu. Remarkably, Leandra spoke with each assistant in their own language. Only when Vera looked at Leandra probingly would Leandra smirk and say something like “Oh, she asked when to serve dinner” or “He said he needs a glass of water.” But Vera saw their discussions were often animated by gesticulations, eyes popping open with what? Surprise? Fear? Fraught with…something. She knew more than “Have a nice day” was being communicated. Vera didn’t have to be psychic to know Leandra was hiding something from her. She’d pay even closer attention to everything and insist Leandra answer her questions.
When Vera next dropped off Trina, instead of just racing for the train, she took careful measure of her surroundings. The porch light was off although the clocks had been turned back to standard time. In the dark, Vera tripped over a leg of the covered barbeque grill. Trina, dozing on her shoulder, snorted softly then went back to sleep. Kids’ toys weren’t out yet. While handing over Trina, Vera saw the lights were down low, probably to keep the kids asleep or quiet. People weren’t bustling around as they would be in the afternoon. Vera left placated.
It was dark again when Vera went to gather Trina. The porchlight was off and no one was barbequing, but the grill cover had been removed. Through the windows, Vera could see the inside of the house was also dark. That was odd. She tapped on the door. Kiva opened it and beckoned Vera into the dark.
“What’s going on?” Vera asked, her breathing suddenly shallow. Kiva signaled for Vera to follow her. They went down the basement steps then into the playroom, lit only by a couple flashlights.
“Is the electricity out?” asked Vera.
Little Kaleem said, “Yup. The man will come to fix it soon.”
Kiva nodded coolly.
“Where’s Leandra?”
Kaleem answered, “She went to the bank. She said she’ll be right back.”
The other kids were playing flashlight tag, and Trina, who was too little to understand, was running with a dark flashlight, a smile playing on her lips. The window shades were all pulled down.
“Well, we’ll go now. Come on Trina, Sweetie. On second thought, let me use the bathroom first,” Vera said as she started walking down the hall. Kiva then pushed in front of her and swung her palm up in a hard stop. “Wait,” she said. Vera jerked her head back in disbelief and laughed, “I can’t,” and stepping around Kiva, strode toward the bathroom. As she passed Leandra’s dark room, she glanced inside. The lit candles on the Virgin Mary altar flickered, and Vera discerned shadows on the wall. People! Vera turned her head slightly and spied three burka-sheathed women as they primly folded their hands on their laps and huddled closer to each other.
Despite her alarm, Vera flashed an “everything’s fine” smile but thought, What the hell?! I knew it! Skipping the bathroom, she turned on her heel back to the playroom and shouted “Kiva! Who. Are. Those. People?”
“Wait for Leandra!” Kiva yelled back bobbling her head, all calmness abandoned.
A couple kids started crying. Vera was agitated, but she hadn’t meant to scare anyone. To soothe the kids, she leaned over and automatically clicked on the overhead light switch so they could see. The light came on.
“Turn it off!” shrieked Kiva.
Vera quickly turned it off and pivoted to Kiva.
“They’re hiding! I knew something was going on! Tell me! What is it?!”
“Leandra will explain when she returns,” Kiva said in clear, coherent English.
“Wait! You speak English?!”
“Yes,” Kiva admitted half-heartedly.
How many of the others also spoke English?
“I won’t wait. Tell me who those women are. Why is the house dark? Where’s Leandra, really?”
“Like Kaleem said, Leandra went to the bank. Please just wait.”
Vera paced, her keys jangling in her hand as she watched the kids resume their games in the dark. Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Maybe the assistants were being kidnapped and sold into slavery! While keeping an eye on Trina, she conjured up visions of Leandra and Ned tying up the women and carting them to a waiting SUV. After a few moments, she threw her handbag over her shoulder and grabbed Trina to head out.
Just then Leandra whooshed down the basement steps holding bags with plush blankets and terrycloth bath towels popping out the top. Not seeing Vera, she whispered to Kiva, “They’ll be here soon; please just keep watching the children.”
“Who will be here?” asked Vera.
Leandra started. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she said, “Vera. Sorry. I didn’t see you.” Then, she said softly, “Listen. Let me tell you tomorrow, okay?”
Vera said, “If you can’t tell me now…No. I don’t think so. We need to go.”
“But, Vera, no. I need to explain. It’s nothing bad.”
Vera said firmly, “No. I’ll come back by myself sometime.”
As Vera hurried out of the house carrying Trina to their car, she saw a beat-up grey SUV pull into Leandra’s driveway. Vera buckled Trina into her car seat, jumped into their car, and bolted without buckling her own seatbelt, all the while pursing her lips to keep the vomit down.
The next day, Friday, Shanon babysat Trina while Vera arranged appointments with daycare centers. So far only two had openings before fall. Leandra called Vera at lunchtime and urged her to come over. Vera didn’t want to go, but Shanon coaxed her into going, if nothing else to pull together her belongings.
When Leandra opened her front door, Vera stood there taut, arms crossed. Leandra stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Kiva will watch the children. Let’s sit here,” Leandra said, pointing to the porch steps, then tossing down two seat cushions.
“We missed you this morning,” said Leandra when they sat. “You were mad when you left yesterday.”
“I still am.”
“It’s okay,” said Leandra. “Everybody gets mad sometimes.”
“Just so you know,” said Vera, “Trina will not be coming back.”
Leandra stared down at her purple fingernails shimmering in the sunlight. “Have I done something wrong?” Her lips quivered uncharacteristically as she spoke, belying her composure.
Was she kidding? “Yes, you’ve done something wrong,” Vera spat out. “You’ve lied. You didn’t answer my questions about your assistants. You didn’t tell me who they were, that they spoke English, why there were so many…”
“Hold on,” Leandra cut in, tapping her warm hand on Vera’s wrist.
“No,” said Vera firmly, words continuing to tumble out of her mouth, “why all the lights were off last night, who those women were, why they were hiding. I don’t care what you’re doing, but not with Trina here.”
Leandra cried out, “I’ll tell you everything. But first, no one has or ever will hurt your baby or you.”
Vera, dabbing the corner of her eye with her thumb, said, “I think I know that. But I don’t understand, Leandra. If you can tell me now what you’re doing, why couldn’t you tell me before?”
“I haven’t told you or any of the other parents because it’s not safe to tell. It’s critical to keep things discreet. Here is where they are safe for now.”
“Safe from what? Why do they have to be safe? What have they done?”
“Slow down,” Leandra said, “I’m going to tell you something, but don’t share it with anyone. You know I trust you.”
“I’m listening,” said Vera.
“Before I watched children,” Leandra said, “I had another important career: I took pictures in my country, the Dominican Republic.
“One night I was in a bar doing my job—talking to the men, and, when they were not looking, taking pictures of them to send to my bosses. That night, someone from my network put a folded note next to my glass of rosé. It said that bad men who wanted to destroy my country were coming after me. If I didn’t leave my country that night, they were going to kill me.
“I left right away. I took nothing with me. Families concealed me in their homes until I came here—to the U.S. And here I am.”
“You were… a spy?” Vera asked, a hard lump forming in her throat.
“Yes.”
“And people hid you just like you’re hiding your assistants?”
“Yes.”
“Are your assistants spies?”
“Not professionally like I was. The women you saw yesterday and all my assistants—my boarders—have escaped from their countries. They are brave individuals who aided their countrymen. They took too many risks. Their governments are after them. So is ours, because they aren’t here legally yet. If they go home, they’ll be killed, but they’re not safe in this country yet either.
“And, so?” Vera prodded, despite feeling queasy.
“They’re transported here in secrecy. There are safe cars, safe routes. Trusted people who help with this. They bring them to this safe house or to other safe houses, where they stay until they can get a green card, find work, find a more permanent place to stay. They have different needs, but they all need somewhere to learn and work things out. Eventually, some go back to their countries; others become U.S. citizens—like me.”
Everything fell into place for Vera: the revolving door of assistants, their diverse nationalities, Leandra’s passion for the news (Was her name really Leandra?). As they talked, Vera understood that having the runaways pose as house and child care assistants had been successful for years. Ned and Leandra were friendly with their neighbors, but not social. Their community was older than the surrounding neighborhoods, the lawns encircled by ancient trees and bushes that obstructed neighbors’ scrutiny. By happenstance Vera had enrolled Trina at Leandra’s at the end of safe-house planning season—right when new boarders started moving in then out.
Although Vera was relieved that what Leandra was doing was for good, she still wasn’t sure she could bring Trina back. She bear-hugged Leandra and said, “Thank you for telling me. We’ll think about coming back if you’re sure we’re safe?”
“Yes,” said Leandra emphatically, then beamed.
Monday, Vera drove to Leandra’s with Trina, having made the decision to not go back. She needed to collect their personal items, but she was also intent on leaving her good relationship with Leandra intact. Gifting Leandra with a finger painting by Trina, a framed photo for her wall of babies, and a gold bangle couldn’t hurt.
When she arrived, Vera spotted red and blue lights flashing carnival-like on police cars parked on the road in front of Leandra’s. Fire engines blocked the entrance to the driveway. Oversized black sedans were arranged as a barricade on Leandra’s lawn. Uniformed police, ICE in bold white print across their black slickered backs, swarmed the place; tall firemen on the lawn and driveway impeded Vera’s view of the house. Hyperventilating, she parked haphazardly across the street, grabbed Trina, and hurried toward the house and Leandra. As she shoved her way through the police shouting “Leandra! Leandra!” an officer stopped her by grasping her shoulders and ordering “Ma’am, stop! Stop! Step back off the property, ma’am….Ma’am.” Vera stopped abruptly. She stared up at the officer’s face but saw only what was behind him—yellow tape everywhere, smoldering heaps of baby crib mattresses, charred shoes and onesies, melted hunks of primary colors, and an ash-covered foundation where the house once stood. She screamed, “Where’s the house?” What happened?! Where is everyone?”
“Ma’am, it will come out in the report, or you can look at our Twitter feed for information.”
“That’s my babysitter’s house! Where is she? Our Leandra!”
“Ma’am nobody was here when we got here.”
“They’re dead?”
“We don’t know, ma’am; but the house was empty, and we’ve found no human remains.”
Vera, dumbfounded, stumbled away from the scene, embracing Trina close to her chest like a rag doll. Seeing some of the daycare parents and their children standing on the sidewalk across the street, Vera joined them. She spotted Kaleem’s dad and shouted “What happened? Do you know anything? How’d the fire start?”
“Don’t know. We’ve been here talking for at least an hour—the fire’d been out for a while when we got here. That neighbor,” he said pointing, “the one wearing the pink silky robe? She said somebody called ICE.”
“ICE?! Why? Did she call them? Do they have something to do with the fire?” Vera asked, praying no one had listened in on hers and Leandra’s conversation.
“No, she didn’t call them. She said ICE police showed up at her house around 2:00 a.m.”
“2:00 a.m.?”
“Yep. Must have been an emergency. ICE police were going up and down the street looking for Leandra and Ned. The police had already been at Leandra’s, and nobody was home.”
“Nobody was home before the fire?”
“That’s what it sounds like. While they were at the ‘pink robe lady’s’ house having coffee and asking questions, they all heard a BOOM that sounded like a bomb.”
Could Vera hope they were all safe?
Daily, Vera followed the police department’s Twitter feed, read the papers, listened to the news. Even as Trina got used to the new daycare and Vera got her first promotion, nothing was revealed, no ICE or police department report published.
A year after the event, Vera received a vintage picture postcard of blissful cherubs flitting about a radiant Virgin Mary. It had no return address and was postmarked Austin, Texas. The only text was the signature “Your friends.”
Joanne Zaslow
When the front door opened, the fragrance of freshly cut cucumber welcomed Vera and her baby. An ageless woman appeared—blonde, trim, petite—wearing impeccably creased woven slacks. Extending red-lacquered fingernails to shake Vera’s hand, she said, “I’m Leandra. Please come in” (which sounded like “comb een”).
They stepped into Leandra’s home, palatial compared to Vera’s Cape Cod. Vera’s attention split between the velvety living-room furniture and Leandra’s dramatic eye shadow. “Hello, baby,” Leandra cooed, lifting baby Trina from Vera’s arms. Leandra, carrying Trina, led them on a tour of her child-proofed home. Sweeping her free arm like Vanna White, she presented the basement playroom’s shelved baby books and sanitized toys; the bedroom where the children, her charges, currently napped; and the dining-room photo gallery featuring “all my babies I raised—as their babysitter. See? They’re all happy.”
Vera nodded, pretended to whisper in the baby’s ear, then asked “When can we start?”
“Tomorrow,” said Leandra. Over the first weeks, Leandra established their routines. In the mornings, Vera would hand off blanketed, sleeping Trina to Leandra at the front door, then run to catch the VRE train to D.C. In the late afternoons, after wading through plastic bats and balls and Leandra’s husband, Ned, barbequing chicken on the porch, Vera’d walk into a tranquil scene: Leandra on the sofa holding Trina, the older kids sitting on the carpet watching Telemundo. As Vera grabbed the diaper bag and baby bottles, Leandra might proffer a saucepan of Green Stew or a plate of empanadas, saying, “This is from a Persian friend” or “This recipe’s from my country.”
“What’s your country?” Vera once asked.
Winking, Leandra said, “I’m from New York,” without elaborating.
One steamy summer afternoon, Leandra invited Vera to sit and chat at the kitchen table. They talked about the kids, the weather, the news. Vera observed as Leandra effortlessly spoon-fed noodles to a toddler, monitored spaghetti sauce on the stove, and played Candy Land with Kaleem, a chatty six-year-old. Vera, who mostly listened, couldn’t help admiring Leandra, who, even at day’s end, was fresh, almost glamourous, in her pressed tailored shirt, hair in an updo. She was nothing like Vera’s mom, all blue jeans and plaited hair. Yet Leandra made Vera feel more cared for than she had since her mom died just before Vera’d announced her pregnancy.
A few weeks later when Vera arrived at Leandra’s for afternoon pickup, she was met by a young woman in a headscarf and a long black skirt who’d cracked open the front door and peered at her questioningly.
“I’ve come to get my daughter, Trina?” Vera said tentatively. Upon hearing Leandra speak, the woman smiled then threw open the door like a stage curtain, revealing a regal Leandra sitting on the sofa crocheting. Vera scanned the room until she finally located Trina watching the other kids roll a ball back and forth in the dining room. Leandra sprang up, and Vera followed her into the kitchen, where she asked about the woman.
Leandra said she’d hired her new assistant, Neesha, to help with the babies. “You make everything look so easy. I had no idea you needed help,” said Vera. Trying to shrug off her concern, Vera decided Trina appeared happy playing with the other kids, and Neesha seemed attentive to them.
The next morning when Vera got on the train, her friend Shanon had saved her a seat. Vera dropped into it, saying “Should I be worried?”
“What’s up?” asked Shanon.
“Leandra, my sitter, hired an assistant. I found out when the assistant greeted me yesterday afternoon. Leandra hadn’t mentioned anything in advance.”
“So? What’s the big deal?”
“Maybe nothing. Actually, I should trust Leandra; she’s sharp. I guess it’s that I don’t know this new assistant, and she’ll be watching my kid. You remember how tough it was to find a sitter I could trust and actually liked.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks to your cheap ex-husband you had to hire an unlicensed sitter. I’ll remind you that your sitter’s name was on the church bulletin board. Vera, you’ve dealt with a lot worse than that. Stay involved. It’ll be fine.”
“Good advice,” said Vera. She’d get better acquainted with Neesha along with Leandra, and everything would work out.
However, Vera learned close to nothing about Neesha. Neesha couldn’t speak English, so out the window went the comfy, private conversations over tea Vera’d planned. Equally frustrating was that all she got out of Leandra was a generic description of Neesha as someone who liked babies and hated the outdoors.
Vera’s knowledge of Leandra, meanwhile, grew in dribs and drabs during their now-regular table chats—Leandra’s extended family in Manhattan, the candlelit Virgin Mary icons in her bedroom, her evening Salsa dancing lessons. Vera noted Leandra was hungry for the news—local, national, world—and kept up with all of it. She played a radio news station all day and quizzed Vera about the headlines. To illustrate a point, she might dart over to consult her neat stacks of The Washington Post, EFE, or People magazine. And, rather than looking bedraggled like the other potential sitters Vera’d met, Leandra looked stylish, ready for the office. Wasn’t daycare an odd profession for someone with Leandra’s interests? No matter, Vera could picture Leandra dancing with the kids or showing them world maps spread out on the kitchen floor. And, wouldn’t it be nice if Vera could pick up some of Leandra’s poise? The woman had the bearing of a queen. Conversely, Vera’d been struggling to rebuild her self-esteem ever since her husband had abandoned her when he learned she was pregnant.
One morning when the leaves had started turning, Vera pulled up to Leandra’s and saw in her rear view mirror a black sedan between Leandra’s and the house next door. Although it was mostly covered by a prickly bush, Vera could see several people crowded inside, its driver furtively looking around. She snatched Trina from her car seat and ran to Leandra’s door. While handing Trina to Neesha, Vera leaned into the house and stage whispered (so as not to wake the babies), “Leandra, there’s a carload of people sitting out front; could they be waiting for someone?”
“Oh,” Leandra said, walking toward Vera from the kitchen. “They’re probably waiting for my neighbor, a carpool or something,” she whispered back, waving away Vera’s concern with a dish cloth.
“They’re not for you?”
“Naa,” she said, but Vera noticed Leandra’s eyebrows twitch.
Vera ran back to her car, waving over her shoulder. While driving off, she saw the sedan pull up in front of Leandra’s but didn’t turn around and see if anyone got out. She’d convinced herself by then that she took her job training for the law enforcement agency too seriously.
As they grew friendlier, Vera started doing personal favors for Leandra. She’d borrow library books, run to buy milk, and drive Leandra’s neighbors to the mall on her way home.
“My English is good, but I don’t write it so good,” Leandra had said one afternoon as she’d asked for another favor: putting a want ad in the local paper to replace the kid transferring to kindergarten. She asked Vera to sign the ad.
“But I should sign your name. It’s for your work.”
“No, no,” Leandra said, “I don’t have time to answer the phone. You can take messages and bring them to me.”
So, Vera was puzzled when on her own, Leandra hired another assistant. When Vera saw him working on the old Ford pickup in Leandra’s garage, she introduced herself. The beefy guy, wearing a gray mechanic’s coverall, tweaked his dark chevron moustache and grinned at Vera. Leandra explained Carlos was a friend of her ex-husband’s helping him with the car and other things.
“Your ex? I haven’t met him.”
“Yes you have, dear. It’s Ned.”
“Ned’s your ex?”
“Yes, dear,” she said quietly. “We’re still friends. He lives here on the main floor, and I live in the basement next to the children’s playroom. Please keep it to yourself.”
A bit unusual, Vera thought. Leandra must have thought so too or wouldn’t have hidden it.
Recently a replacement for Neesha had begun receiving Trina in the mornings. In the afternoons, Trina and Vera left hand-in-hand, waving goodbye to everyone. One afternoon, they waved to Ned and a slim, bearded young man who had joined Ned barbequing on the porch. The two men nodded silently as hickory flavored smoke wafted toward the house gutters.
“Who’s that with Ned?” Vera asked Leandra.
“Oh. That’s Salman. He and his wife, Kiva, live here now. They’re doing all the cooking, you know.”
No, Vera didn’t know. Two more. How many now? The assistants, all ages and a variety of nationalities, would be at Leandra’s for a few weeks, then suddenly, poof! Gone! New assistants, always non-English speaking, would straightaway replace them. Vera couldn’t even remember all their names. Her stomach roiled as she imagined Kiva, Salman, and the other strangers conspiring in the kitchen. She clenched a sweaty palm and looked down at Trina who was clutching her other hand. Then she squared her shoulders and blurted, “Leandra, you have too many assistants,” which she immediately feared had come off as rude. God knew, she needed this competent woman and just wanted a logical explanation that would make her feel better about keeping Trina here.
Backpedaling, Vera said “Maybe too many assistants for me to feel comfortable? I don’t know who they are or why they’re here.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Leandra said a couple octaves above her normal voice. “Because I have many children here, and there’s a lot to do. None of the other parents have complained.”
“I’m just asking. This is way more help than you started with. And besides, I don’t know them. At least I should know more about them.”
Leandra sneered at Vera as if she’d seen Vera’s mental images, and they were ridiculous. Clasping Vera’s elbow through her wilted suit, Leandra said “My dear, you’ve met them all. Why are you so worried? You know me. You know everything’s fine. You see Trina is happy. Trust me.” Then she said “OK, you’ve got to go now” and waved bye as she ran into the living-room to ready the next kid for his parents. Vera, although feeling dismissed, wanted nothing more than to trust Leandra, who was almost family.
When snowflakes started mounting one afternoon, Vera left work early and went to get Trina. She knocked on the door, then pounded, and when no one answered tried unsuccessfully to open it. She walked around the outside of the house to look in the backyard, peering through or banging on windows en route. No one was home. Vera phoned her friend Shanon as bile rose in her throat and her mind raced to an image of Leandra, Ned, and the assistants corralling all the charges in an open field.
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” Shanon said. “I can be there in a few minutes. Don’t do anything drastic.”
“Where the hell do you think they are? They’re not supposed to leave the house.” Vera clicked off and race-walked to the front of the house just as Leandra and an assistant rolled up in Leandra’s Chevy van. They helped the charges, including Trina, out of the van. At least they were all wearing coats.
“Ah, hello! You’re home early,” said Leandra pleasantly.
“Where were you?” Vera accused as if speaking to an errant teenager.
“We just went to the mall. I needed to exchange an outfit at J.C. Penny for little Sammy. And we got hot chocolate.”
“But they could have run from you,” Vera accused as Trina worked her way to her mommy and tugged her suit skirt.
“Kiva was with me and kept an eye on the children, too. No big deal.” Leandra shrugged and shook her head slightly, and Vera knew she’d taken trips like this before.
“Well, don’t do it again. Please. I don’t like it. Our contract says you can’t take the kids off the premises, and I don’t want to be worried about it.” Vera hated using this bossy tone—Leandra might take it out on her kid—but she was getting better at standing up for herself. To avoid saying more, she lifted then hugged Trina tightly on her hip, Trina flapping both hands in bye-bye as Vera charged away. Vera got to her car just as Shanon pulled up and started getting out of hers. When Shanon looked up, Vera pointed at Trina and grimaced. Shanon shook her head and got back in her car.
Shanon clearly thought Vera’d let her imagination carry her too far. But, Vera considered, how did Shanon know? Maybe Vera was clairvoyant. Or, maybe her fear proved she was a good mother, somebody who cared, who was always on the lookout for possible harm. In any case, she’d have to figure things out, because in the meantime, she’d still need to take Trina to Leandra’s.
While grocery shopping, making a snowman with Trina, or scrubbing the dishes with green-apple-scented detergent, Vera considered the goings on at Leandra’s. She’d seen Salman give Trina cookies and Kiva brush Trina’s flyaway auburn hair. A new assistant made sure the other kids included Trina in their chasing games. Ned shared savory barbequed sausage links with Trina, and Leandra teased her like Vera’s Aunt Rosa did. Should Vera not worry because they were kind? Kindness was comforting, but not enough. There were still too many strangers.
Where were they from? How did Leandra find them? Vera couldn’t ask them; they didn’t speak English, only Portuguese, Farsi, Urdu. Remarkably, Leandra spoke with each assistant in their own language. Only when Vera looked at Leandra probingly would Leandra smirk and say something like “Oh, she asked when to serve dinner” or “He said he needs a glass of water.” But Vera saw their discussions were often animated by gesticulations, eyes popping open with what? Surprise? Fear? Fraught with…something. She knew more than “Have a nice day” was being communicated. Vera didn’t have to be psychic to know Leandra was hiding something from her. She’d pay even closer attention to everything and insist Leandra answer her questions.
When Vera next dropped off Trina, instead of just racing for the train, she took careful measure of her surroundings. The porch light was off although the clocks had been turned back to standard time. In the dark, Vera tripped over a leg of the covered barbeque grill. Trina, dozing on her shoulder, snorted softly then went back to sleep. Kids’ toys weren’t out yet. While handing over Trina, Vera saw the lights were down low, probably to keep the kids asleep or quiet. People weren’t bustling around as they would be in the afternoon. Vera left placated.
It was dark again when Vera went to gather Trina. The porchlight was off and no one was barbequing, but the grill cover had been removed. Through the windows, Vera could see the inside of the house was also dark. That was odd. She tapped on the door. Kiva opened it and beckoned Vera into the dark.
“What’s going on?” Vera asked, her breathing suddenly shallow. Kiva signaled for Vera to follow her. They went down the basement steps then into the playroom, lit only by a couple flashlights.
“Is the electricity out?” asked Vera.
Little Kaleem said, “Yup. The man will come to fix it soon.”
Kiva nodded coolly.
“Where’s Leandra?”
Kaleem answered, “She went to the bank. She said she’ll be right back.”
The other kids were playing flashlight tag, and Trina, who was too little to understand, was running with a dark flashlight, a smile playing on her lips. The window shades were all pulled down.
“Well, we’ll go now. Come on Trina, Sweetie. On second thought, let me use the bathroom first,” Vera said as she started walking down the hall. Kiva then pushed in front of her and swung her palm up in a hard stop. “Wait,” she said. Vera jerked her head back in disbelief and laughed, “I can’t,” and stepping around Kiva, strode toward the bathroom. As she passed Leandra’s dark room, she glanced inside. The lit candles on the Virgin Mary altar flickered, and Vera discerned shadows on the wall. People! Vera turned her head slightly and spied three burka-sheathed women as they primly folded their hands on their laps and huddled closer to each other.
Despite her alarm, Vera flashed an “everything’s fine” smile but thought, What the hell?! I knew it! Skipping the bathroom, she turned on her heel back to the playroom and shouted “Kiva! Who. Are. Those. People?”
“Wait for Leandra!” Kiva yelled back bobbling her head, all calmness abandoned.
A couple kids started crying. Vera was agitated, but she hadn’t meant to scare anyone. To soothe the kids, she leaned over and automatically clicked on the overhead light switch so they could see. The light came on.
“Turn it off!” shrieked Kiva.
Vera quickly turned it off and pivoted to Kiva.
“They’re hiding! I knew something was going on! Tell me! What is it?!”
“Leandra will explain when she returns,” Kiva said in clear, coherent English.
“Wait! You speak English?!”
“Yes,” Kiva admitted half-heartedly.
How many of the others also spoke English?
“I won’t wait. Tell me who those women are. Why is the house dark? Where’s Leandra, really?”
“Like Kaleem said, Leandra went to the bank. Please just wait.”
Vera paced, her keys jangling in her hand as she watched the kids resume their games in the dark. Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Maybe the assistants were being kidnapped and sold into slavery! While keeping an eye on Trina, she conjured up visions of Leandra and Ned tying up the women and carting them to a waiting SUV. After a few moments, she threw her handbag over her shoulder and grabbed Trina to head out.
Just then Leandra whooshed down the basement steps holding bags with plush blankets and terrycloth bath towels popping out the top. Not seeing Vera, she whispered to Kiva, “They’ll be here soon; please just keep watching the children.”
“Who will be here?” asked Vera.
Leandra started. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she said, “Vera. Sorry. I didn’t see you.” Then, she said softly, “Listen. Let me tell you tomorrow, okay?”
Vera said, “If you can’t tell me now…No. I don’t think so. We need to go.”
“But, Vera, no. I need to explain. It’s nothing bad.”
Vera said firmly, “No. I’ll come back by myself sometime.”
As Vera hurried out of the house carrying Trina to their car, she saw a beat-up grey SUV pull into Leandra’s driveway. Vera buckled Trina into her car seat, jumped into their car, and bolted without buckling her own seatbelt, all the while pursing her lips to keep the vomit down.
The next day, Friday, Shanon babysat Trina while Vera arranged appointments with daycare centers. So far only two had openings before fall. Leandra called Vera at lunchtime and urged her to come over. Vera didn’t want to go, but Shanon coaxed her into going, if nothing else to pull together her belongings.
When Leandra opened her front door, Vera stood there taut, arms crossed. Leandra stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Kiva will watch the children. Let’s sit here,” Leandra said, pointing to the porch steps, then tossing down two seat cushions.
“We missed you this morning,” said Leandra when they sat. “You were mad when you left yesterday.”
“I still am.”
“It’s okay,” said Leandra. “Everybody gets mad sometimes.”
“Just so you know,” said Vera, “Trina will not be coming back.”
Leandra stared down at her purple fingernails shimmering in the sunlight. “Have I done something wrong?” Her lips quivered uncharacteristically as she spoke, belying her composure.
Was she kidding? “Yes, you’ve done something wrong,” Vera spat out. “You’ve lied. You didn’t answer my questions about your assistants. You didn’t tell me who they were, that they spoke English, why there were so many…”
“Hold on,” Leandra cut in, tapping her warm hand on Vera’s wrist.
“No,” said Vera firmly, words continuing to tumble out of her mouth, “why all the lights were off last night, who those women were, why they were hiding. I don’t care what you’re doing, but not with Trina here.”
Leandra cried out, “I’ll tell you everything. But first, no one has or ever will hurt your baby or you.”
Vera, dabbing the corner of her eye with her thumb, said, “I think I know that. But I don’t understand, Leandra. If you can tell me now what you’re doing, why couldn’t you tell me before?”
“I haven’t told you or any of the other parents because it’s not safe to tell. It’s critical to keep things discreet. Here is where they are safe for now.”
“Safe from what? Why do they have to be safe? What have they done?”
“Slow down,” Leandra said, “I’m going to tell you something, but don’t share it with anyone. You know I trust you.”
“I’m listening,” said Vera.
“Before I watched children,” Leandra said, “I had another important career: I took pictures in my country, the Dominican Republic.
“One night I was in a bar doing my job—talking to the men, and, when they were not looking, taking pictures of them to send to my bosses. That night, someone from my network put a folded note next to my glass of rosé. It said that bad men who wanted to destroy my country were coming after me. If I didn’t leave my country that night, they were going to kill me.
“I left right away. I took nothing with me. Families concealed me in their homes until I came here—to the U.S. And here I am.”
“You were… a spy?” Vera asked, a hard lump forming in her throat.
“Yes.”
“And people hid you just like you’re hiding your assistants?”
“Yes.”
“Are your assistants spies?”
“Not professionally like I was. The women you saw yesterday and all my assistants—my boarders—have escaped from their countries. They are brave individuals who aided their countrymen. They took too many risks. Their governments are after them. So is ours, because they aren’t here legally yet. If they go home, they’ll be killed, but they’re not safe in this country yet either.
“And, so?” Vera prodded, despite feeling queasy.
“They’re transported here in secrecy. There are safe cars, safe routes. Trusted people who help with this. They bring them to this safe house or to other safe houses, where they stay until they can get a green card, find work, find a more permanent place to stay. They have different needs, but they all need somewhere to learn and work things out. Eventually, some go back to their countries; others become U.S. citizens—like me.”
Everything fell into place for Vera: the revolving door of assistants, their diverse nationalities, Leandra’s passion for the news (Was her name really Leandra?). As they talked, Vera understood that having the runaways pose as house and child care assistants had been successful for years. Ned and Leandra were friendly with their neighbors, but not social. Their community was older than the surrounding neighborhoods, the lawns encircled by ancient trees and bushes that obstructed neighbors’ scrutiny. By happenstance Vera had enrolled Trina at Leandra’s at the end of safe-house planning season—right when new boarders started moving in then out.
Although Vera was relieved that what Leandra was doing was for good, she still wasn’t sure she could bring Trina back. She bear-hugged Leandra and said, “Thank you for telling me. We’ll think about coming back if you’re sure we’re safe?”
“Yes,” said Leandra emphatically, then beamed.
Monday, Vera drove to Leandra’s with Trina, having made the decision to not go back. She needed to collect their personal items, but she was also intent on leaving her good relationship with Leandra intact. Gifting Leandra with a finger painting by Trina, a framed photo for her wall of babies, and a gold bangle couldn’t hurt.
When she arrived, Vera spotted red and blue lights flashing carnival-like on police cars parked on the road in front of Leandra’s. Fire engines blocked the entrance to the driveway. Oversized black sedans were arranged as a barricade on Leandra’s lawn. Uniformed police, ICE in bold white print across their black slickered backs, swarmed the place; tall firemen on the lawn and driveway impeded Vera’s view of the house. Hyperventilating, she parked haphazardly across the street, grabbed Trina, and hurried toward the house and Leandra. As she shoved her way through the police shouting “Leandra! Leandra!” an officer stopped her by grasping her shoulders and ordering “Ma’am, stop! Stop! Step back off the property, ma’am….Ma’am.” Vera stopped abruptly. She stared up at the officer’s face but saw only what was behind him—yellow tape everywhere, smoldering heaps of baby crib mattresses, charred shoes and onesies, melted hunks of primary colors, and an ash-covered foundation where the house once stood. She screamed, “Where’s the house?” What happened?! Where is everyone?”
“Ma’am, it will come out in the report, or you can look at our Twitter feed for information.”
“That’s my babysitter’s house! Where is she? Our Leandra!”
“Ma’am nobody was here when we got here.”
“They’re dead?”
“We don’t know, ma’am; but the house was empty, and we’ve found no human remains.”
Vera, dumbfounded, stumbled away from the scene, embracing Trina close to her chest like a rag doll. Seeing some of the daycare parents and their children standing on the sidewalk across the street, Vera joined them. She spotted Kaleem’s dad and shouted “What happened? Do you know anything? How’d the fire start?”
“Don’t know. We’ve been here talking for at least an hour—the fire’d been out for a while when we got here. That neighbor,” he said pointing, “the one wearing the pink silky robe? She said somebody called ICE.”
“ICE?! Why? Did she call them? Do they have something to do with the fire?” Vera asked, praying no one had listened in on hers and Leandra’s conversation.
“No, she didn’t call them. She said ICE police showed up at her house around 2:00 a.m.”
“2:00 a.m.?”
“Yep. Must have been an emergency. ICE police were going up and down the street looking for Leandra and Ned. The police had already been at Leandra’s, and nobody was home.”
“Nobody was home before the fire?”
“That’s what it sounds like. While they were at the ‘pink robe lady’s’ house having coffee and asking questions, they all heard a BOOM that sounded like a bomb.”
Could Vera hope they were all safe?
Daily, Vera followed the police department’s Twitter feed, read the papers, listened to the news. Even as Trina got used to the new daycare and Vera got her first promotion, nothing was revealed, no ICE or police department report published.
A year after the event, Vera received a vintage picture postcard of blissful cherubs flitting about a radiant Virgin Mary. It had no return address and was postmarked Austin, Texas. The only text was the signature “Your friends.”