Chapter 5: The Raid and Escape

But things change fast. When I turned fourteen, I don’t know what Mr. Westfield did wrong, but the family was raided. Red and blue lights flashed against the windows. Somewhere outside, a neighbor’s dog barked. I froze, heart hammering, as the sirens got louder. Everyone over fifteen was thrown in jail, except for the daughters who’d already married out.

The night before the raid, Mrs. Westfield gave us back our contracts and handed each of us a wad of cash, telling us to get out while we could.

She pressed the envelope into my hand, her voice shaking. “You have to leave before dawn. Don’t look back.” I knew she was risking everything for us.

The Westfields hadn’t been rich for long, so most of the help was newly hired. In one night, everyone scattered.

By sunrise, the house was empty. I heard the echo of footsteps and slamming doors as everyone grabbed what they could and disappeared into the city.

I took the money I’d saved over the years, planning to go back to my hometown. But when I looked at the second daughter, already nine but still so naive, I couldn’t bear to leave her.

She gripped my sleeve so hard her knuckles turned white, eyes wide as saucers. “Don’t go,” she whispered. I promised I wouldn’t.

The Westfield house was confiscated. The second daughter and I had nowhere to go, and she couldn’t use her old name, Natalie, anymore. I gave her a new name: Pearl.

We left with only a suitcase between us, walking through the early morning mist. I picked the name Pearl because she was precious—something small and bright in a rough world.

She was my little sister now. My name is Bonnie—Bonnie Chen.

I said it out loud for the first time on the steps of a rundown motel: “We’re sisters now, okay? Just you and me.” She nodded, trusting me completely.

The Westfields were locked away in county jail. Even if I spent every dollar, I might not see them. I had to take care of Pearl and survive. To survive, we needed food and a roof over our heads.

There were nights when I’d count our cash under a bare bulb, heart pounding as I made lists of groceries and rent, determined to keep Pearl safe no matter what.

I’d learned to muscle through just about anything. Hard work didn’t scare me—going hungry did. In the past few years, I’d learned some reading and basic bookkeeping.

I scrawled figures on the back of receipts, practiced writing my name, and kept careful notes in a battered notebook I carried everywhere.

I rented a small boat and started selling homemade wine on the river. Of course, wine needed snacks. In summer and fall, I sold shrimp cocktail and crab cakes; in winter, I made hearty stews.

Old timers would tip their hats as they bought a bowl of stew, trading gossip while the river breeze tangled my hair.

After paying rent the first year, I actually made a pretty good profit.

There were nights I’d come home exhausted but proud, laying out my day’s earnings on the table and dreaming of sending something—anything—home.