Rosmerta was confused when she and Galina returned to their room one day and the twins told them that Sister Margaret wanted to see Rosmerta. This has to be a mistake, she thought. Who would be looking for her?
She entered the office to find Sister Margaret sitting behind her desk with a single candle burning. Rosmerta remembered thinking that Sister Margaret had the best job in the world. Today, she couldn’t help but notice how exhausted the nun was. Sister Margaret took her job very seriously and made it her personal mission to reunite as many families as possible. To achieve this, she stayed up long hours making phone calls and writing letters. The strain was beginning to show. Margaret smiled when Rosmerta entered, but her energy seemed depleted. Rosmerta noticed Margaret’s reserve and took it as a bad sign.
“You called for me?”
“Yes,” Margaret said, rubbing her eyes. “Please have a seat. Rosmerta, I understand you are alone here—you have no family members with you, I mean.”
“Yes, sister.”
“Do you have an uncle in America?
“No,” replied Rosmerta. Her heart sank. She had been right all along. It had been a mistake. It was only then that Rosmerta realized how much she had gotten her hopes up. It seemed stupid now—after all, there was no one left. It was all too easy to cling to hope, any hope, even when you knew there wasn’t any real hope to cling to.
“Are you sure? There’s a Margos Elmassian who claims you are his niece.”
Rosmerta was startled. “Uncle Margos? He’s alive?”
“You do know him. I have an address for you. You can write to him and confirm that he is your uncle. He wants to bring you to America to live with his family. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Here is the information. You should write right away. Please remember that even if this is your uncle, it will take time and money to get you to America.”
Rosmerta left Sister Margaret’s office in a daze. After all this time, after so much misery, Uncle Margos had found her and wanted her to go to America to live. It was all so surreal.
Galina was ecstatic when Rosmerta told her. “See?” she said. “And soon my brother will contact me and then we’ll both get out of here. I told you it would all work out.”
Rosmerta wrote a letter to Margos, telling him all about her travels and that she was the last of the Bedrosians. She told him about the day of the deportation, about her father being taken away with the other men never to be seen again. She told him about the endless days of trudging across Anatolia, the heat, the cold, the lice, the scabies, and the sunburn. She told him about the mountains and the desert. She told Margos about the attacks by the Special Organization but also about the kindness of Rasim Sengor. She wrote about the people who saved her life and helped her to find her way when she could no longer do it on her own. She didn’t mention the rapes. Somehow, she still found that too embarrassing.
Rosmerta knew she had to tell Margos what he wanted to know most. She had to tell him that Shushawn and Boghos were dead. She also had to tell him how his brave son had fought and struggled to survive and how he had helped so many others in the face of such overwhelming odds. Without him, Rosmerta knew, she would not be alive to write this letter. But how could Rosmerta tell his father that?
She found the process of writing down her story to be somehow liberating. The world had conspired against her and thrown everything it had at her and she was still here. This was her story. She owned it now. She didn’t need to share it. Not yet anyway.
She threw away her letter and started over.
Dear Uncle Margos,
It is a great joy to learn that you are well. It is my sad duty to inform you that I am the only survivor in the family. Shushawn died protecting her baby Megerdich, and Boghos was with me until a year ago. He died as he lived since you last saw him—helping others.
Yours in love and hope,
Rosmerta
It was six weeks before Rosmerta heard back from Margos. She was concerned that her blunt approach had upset him and maybe he wouldn’t write back. When the letter arrived, Margos said that he was glad Boghos had been with family to the end and thanked Rosmerta for telling him what had happened. He had, of course, hoped for better news, but was glad now that at least he knew his son’s fate.
The letter had instructions for Rosmerta. Margos explained how he would get money and tickets to her, what she needed to do to get the proper paperwork for travel, and everything she needed to do when she arrived in the United States.
Another five weeks passed before the money arrived. There was enough for Rosmerta to pay the fees for all the necessary documents for travel from Aleppo to Latakia, where she was to book passage on a ship to Portsmouth and then on to New York.
When the day of her departure arrived, Rosmerta was uncertain. For weeks she had planned, worried, and planned again. She had thought about her life on the march and how much better it would be in America. Of course, she also thought about her life in Bayburt. She remembered the simple joy of sitting on her father’s lap and watching the sunset. She even remembered fondly how she used to sit on the ground with her second father Rasim and watch the birds fly off to their new lives.
That was it, wasn’t it? Her old lives were over. There was no way back. Of course, the constant trudging through the desert and over mountains and across rushing rivers was over, too. Yes, it was time for Rosmerta to leave the nest. America was a new adventure full of its own challenges. At least it was not a camp or another march. She did still have family, and it was time to go to them.
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Saying goodbye to Galina was hard, of course. Galina’s endless optimism made it easier. Rosmerta wasn’t convinced by her story about a brother in Paris. Did he even exist? Rosmerta wasn’t sure what to believe, but she didn’t see the point in pressing the matter. She hugged her friend and wished her well.
Now the really hard part, she thought. She found Mina sitting by herself, leaning against the outer wall of the orphanage near the jasmine plants.
“I like it here,” Mina said.
“I like it here too,” replied Rosmerta. “Mina, I have to tell you something.”
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” The little girl had tears in her eyes.
“Yes, I’m leaving.”
“And you’re not coming back?”
“No,” said Rosmerta. “I’m going to live with my family in America. I won’t be able to return.” Rosmerta reached across Mina and grabbed a fist full of jasmine. She twisted it up, leaving a clump of flowers at one end and slid the stems into Mina’s hair. “Goodbye, Mina. I will always think of you whenever I smell jasmine.”
Mina pulled the flowers from her hair and brought them to her nose. She inhaled deeply. “Goodbye,” she said. She sat quietly, no longer making eye contact.
Next, Rosmerta went to the office to say goodbye to Mrs. Lincoln.
Tears were running down Rosmerta’s face. “How can I thank you enough?” she said. “Without the orphanage, I would still be crawling around the streets of Aleppo looking for food. You saved my life.”
“Rosmerta,” said Mrs. Lincoln as she pulled her into an all-encompassing embrace. “It is I who should be thanking you. You have been an excellent teacher. I don’t know how we’ll manage without you.” She put her hands on Rosmerta’s shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “I wish you all the best, Rosmerta Bedrosian. You deserve a little peace in your life.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln.”
“I’m afraid I must ask you one last favor,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a touch of desperation that made Rosmerta uneasy. “Sister Margaret has worked incredibly hard to get the outcome that you are fortunate enough to be experiencing. Could you please go and say goodbye to her? It would mean so much to her.”
“Oh, yes, of course! I should have gone to her first. I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay, dear. Go see her. And do enjoy your life in America. I hope you realize how lucky you are to have relatives who want you so much. It is a great gift.”
When Rosmerta got to Sister Margaret’s office, the nun was sitting at her desk writing a letter.
“Sister?” said Rosmerta, not sure if she should be interrupting. There was no response. “Sister,” she said a bit more loudly.
“Rosmerta! What can I do for you?” Margaret smiled, but there was no joy in the expression. Rosmerta could see the strain that Margaret was under. There were black circles around her eyes and deep lines cut into her face.
“Sister, I wanted to say goodbye. I’m leaving for America. Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have arranged this without you.” As she said it, she realized how true it was. She hadn’t even known that Uncle Margos was out there. Margaret had found his information and somehow managed to connect it to Rosmerta. She completed all the paperwork with the US embassy and organized her travel. Without Margaret, there would be no reunion in America and no place for Rosmerta to go. And the kindly nun did this for several people every day.
Margaret stood up. “My dear child,” she said as she came around the desk with her arms extended. “It was my pleasure. I am delighted that we were able to create a happy ending for you. It is such a rare event. I wish you all the best in your new life.”
Rosmerta knew that everything Margaret said was heartfelt. Still, she saw sadness in her eyes. She hugged Margaret as hard as she could. “Thank you,” she said.
“You are very welcome.” Margaret was crying now. They were happy tears. “And thank you for coming to see me. It is always a joy to see one of my success stories. Do you have your tickets?”
Rosmerta understood now why Mrs. Lincoln asked her to do this. Sister Margaret needed a win and Rosmerta was glad she could provide it. “Yes, Sister. Thanks to you, I have everything.”
Rosmerta returned to the front gate and climbed into the back of a truck. Wooden side panels held her and several other travelers in the open bed with their luggage. The vehicle moved into the city. Aleppo seemed smaller now, and somehow less intimidating. The vibrant city was full of frantic activity and seemingly random motion, but was still comfortable in a familiar way. While Rosmerta was excited about her trip, she couldn’t help feeling a little nostalgic. Not that Aleppo held any particular place in her heart; it was just that leaving the city meant leaving behind the last vestiges of her old life. She was leaving any hope of returning to anything she had once called home. Not that she had any illusions about returning to Bayburt—she knew there was nothing there for her. Now even the possibility was gone.
They skirted the edge of the camp, past the spot where Boghos was shot, and around the train station. The truck passed through the city and veered west towards Latakia.
They moved quickly through the countryside. The scenery was the familiar barren desert for most of the trip. All at once, as if they had been magically transported to another land, everything was green. The change in color increased Rosmerta’s excitement. She was really leaving the desert behind.
Rosmerta smelled the salt air before they reached Latakia. This was her first experience of a seaside town, so the saltiness didn’t hold any meaning for her except that she recognized it as being different. And different was bound to be better. She liked the smell. She took this as a good sign. She knew that many things would be different from now on.