Dr. Allison Chase lay in a small, filthy cell in Velapas, Cuba. She felt the slight stir in her womb underneath her dark blue dress, the dress she had worn for the past three weeks. When they had arrested her, her dear Robert, and Sister Annie and Sister Claire, the soldiers had not been as rough with her as they had with the other women, because she was with child.
Robert's child.
She had seen the lusty, cold-eyed soldiers force Annie and Claire up against the wall and touch them-they said they were looking for drugs. Allison knew there were none; pretty, blue-eyed Annie and pious, joyful Claire were being molested.
Allison saw Annie's small mouth tremble as the soldier felt underneath her thin grey skirt; Annie struggled to cover her upper legs and knees, tried to push his hands away. Claire sobbed openly as the soldier touched her-hot tears mixed in with the wisps of brown hair that clung to her face from the Cuban heat.
Allison turned away, long braid swinging over her small shoulder, and hid her face in Robert's chest. Robert tried to get the soldiers to stop, bus he was overpowered and thrown to the floor.
They were in this prison because they were Christians, and would not be silent.
She could feel the baby moving, the life God gave her to raise in His image.
She began to write.
Dear Robert:
Loving greetings in Jesus' name!
I hope you are well; I and the child are fine. I've been sick in the mornings,
but one of the soldiers' wives has been kind and holds me as I retch.
I hope you are safe. I keep you in my prayers; I ask that you keep me in yours.
In His Love,
Your loving wife,
Allison
"Maria?" Allison asked. Maria was the soldier's wife who had been especially kind.
"Si, Allison?"
"Could you see that my husband gets this?"