Fatima searched the road on either side of her for one of those fancy restaurants that sold cheeseburgers and fries and had running water. Maybe just around the next corner, or perhaps a few blocks over. But it felt like they were walking in circles. They needed to find something to drink, and soon.
They crossed the street and headed toward a small café nestled beneath pop-up umbrellas. Outside, women stood over long metal griddles, flipping steaming papusas, while customers sat at plastic tables behind them. Fatima stood at the doorway and looked through the tiny café, toward a group of women hunched over a tub, washing dishes. Water! They had water!
She lunged forward, pulling Dinora alongside, but a tall man with a long mustache blocked her way.
He scowled. “Do you have money?”
The rich scent of toasted flour and melted cheese made her mouth water. “I … We … We are thirsty, Señor.” She held up her empty water bottle.
A woman in a grease-splattered apron marched over, waving her hands. “Out. Out of here. You disturb our customers.”
Fatima stumbled backward, mouth slack, as curses flew from the woman’s mouth.
The man crossed his arms and mumbled something about street children, no better than dogs.
Fatima dipped her head and urged Dinora back toward the street. Clearly they weren’t welcome here. So they’d go somewhere else. Someone would help.
Laughter and the aroma of roasted chicken drifted toward them. Clutching Dinora’s hand, Fatima followed the sound to a rectangular mud-brick building.
She peered through an opening in the metal door. Inside, light-skinned men and women, teenagers, were surrounded by giggling, bouncing, hand-clapping children. And amid them all sat a girl more beautiful than any Fatima had ever seen.
“What is it?” Dinora asked.
Fatima whirled around. “Hush!” She turned back to the scene before her. Looked for signs of food or water. Her breath caught when her gaze fell on a tall man with skin half a shade lighter than hers and hair cropped close to his scalp. That man. It was the man from the path—the one who’d offered to help.
He turned around, and she jerked back and crouched against the wall.
She shook her head and blinked, then peered through the doorway again. What was he doing here, and what did he plan to do with all those children?
Chapter Twenty-three
“Okay, okay. I give up.” Brooke looked down into the smiling faces gathered around her and laughed. “You girls are much too clever for me.” She inched her way to the brick wall and dropped her backpack onto the ground. The girl’s sleeping quarters, a two-story brick building with barred windows, stood behind her.
Everyone drew close while Pastor T removed various items from a large maroon suitcase. He handed Amanda a poster board with Spanish lettering then pulled a guitar from its case. While he strummed, the orphans started to sing. Brooke sat at a picnic table along the far edge of the courtyard, clapping and sputtering, tripping over the Spanish words.
A warm hand touched hers and she glanced over to see a girl in pigtails with long, dark lashes looking up at her. Brooke smiled and raised her arm. Dimples dotted the girls cheeks and her face lit up. She scooted under Brooke’s embrace and rested her cheek on Brooke’s chest, her thin arm reaching around Brooke’s back. Rocking slightly, Brooke held the girl close. It was clear—the poor child craved attention. Love. Like she should’ve received from her mother.
“You’re up.” Pastor T motioned Brooke forward.
When she stood, the young girl clung to her, one hand grabbing Brooke’s arm while the other gripped her shirt. Brooke froze. Then she leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Un momento. I’ll be back.”
With slumped shoulders, the girl released her grip and stared at the ground.
Brooke rummaged through her backpack until she found the spiral notebook tucked inside. On the drive over, all she could think about was how lame her lesson was, and how she wished she could get out of leading today’s VBS. But as she stared at the expectant eyes gathered in front of her, her concerns waned.
It wasn’t about making them laugh or capturing their attention with some funny or unexpected object lesson. These children didn’t need to be entertained. They needed to know, more than anything else, how deeply loved they were.
She looked at her notebook once again. “Pastor T, would you mind if I changed the lesson?”
He studied her with a wrinkled brow then shrugged. “I trust you.”
Setting her notebook aside, Brooke sat upon the ground and motioned for the children to come closer. They gathered around, some climbing in her lap, others pressing to her side.
“Today I want to tell you about a woman rejected by man, but loved by God. Her name was Hagar.” While she spoke, Ubaldo translated. “Not much is known about her past, except that she came from the land of Egypt, and was later given to a beautiful woman named Sarai. With no family to rely on, and no hope for better, Hagar spent each day doing whatever Sarai told her to do. Eventually Sarai asked, or maybe demanded, Hagar have husband’s child in her stead.”
Silence fell over the orphanage as she went on to tell about the birth of Ishmael, now called Sarai’s son, and the tension that soon developed between the two women.
Aubrey lifted a toddler with almond shaped eyes and a cleft pallet onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her.
Brooke’s heart pricked and she smiled. Sweat trickled down her face, neck, and back, as hot bodies pressed in on her. The introvert within cringed, and her body stiffened. But then she took a deep breath and smiled. This was why she was here. To step out of her comfort zone, and to love on these precious children. “Then one day, once Sarai, now called Sarah, had a child of her own, everything came unraveled. Angry, she told Abraham to ‘Get rid of that slave woman and her son.’”
The children gasped.
“The next morning, Abraham prepared food and water, and strapped them upon Hagar’s back.”
Where did they go?” A little girl with big, brown eyes the color of milk chocolate, asked. “Who would take care of them?”
Brooke held a finger to her lips, quieting everyone. “Then, he sent her away to wander around in the wilderness of Beersheba. The sun beat down on her, and every clump of weeds began to look alike. Eventually, Hagar’s water ran out. With parched throat, she laid her son in the shade of a bush. Then she rose on weakened legs, and walked one hundred yards away. She couldn’t bear to watch her son die. Everything seemed hopeless. But you know what?”
The children shook their heads.
“God saw her. He came to her, and He loved her. You see, although man had rejected her, God hadn’t. He loved her with a forever love. With the same love He has for each of you.” She turned to a girl nestled beside her and lifted her chin. “God sees you. He knows when you’re sad or happy. When you’re afraid. He’s made each one of you a promise in Hebrews 13:5. He said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’”
When she finished, the children remained quiet for a moment longer, watching her closely. Pastor T stepped forward to close in prayer. Brooke glanced up to see Ubaldo watching her with an odd expression. Blushing, she looked away.
“¿Tienes hambre?” Carmela approached wiping her hands on a checked dishtowel.
She looked to Ubaldo. “Excuse me?”
“She wants to know if you are hungry.”
Did they have food to spare? Regardless, would it be rude to decline?
“Sí. Gracias.” She stood and brushed the dirt from her shorts.
Carmela rallied the children into the kitchen. They soon returned carrying plates of fish and rice. While the mission team sat around the picnic table, the children scampered about, setting plates before them. They placed two liters of soda and platters of steaming tortillas in the center of the table then darted back into the kitchen. This time, they returned with whole cooked fish, tails, fins, and all.
Aubrey plopped down and flashed Brooke a smile, patti
ng the bench beside her. “Sit by me. I want to watch you maneuver your fork around those fish eyes.”
“Very funny.” She swallowed down a gag. So she’d eat the rice. “Contrary to what you might think, I’m not here for your amusement.”
“Sure you are.” Aubrey grabbed a glass and lunged for a two-liter, snatching it away from Eddie.
“Hey!” He scowled and reached for the soda again. This initiated a table-wiggling tug-of-war.
Pastor T stepped in to referee, and Brooke excused herself to wash her hands. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of two young girls peering around the metal door leading to the street. Then in a flash, they disappeared.
Ubaldo came to her side. “Is everything okay?”
She watched the opened doorway a moment longer. “There were two young girls standing over there, watching us.”
“Probably someone who lives nearby curious to see foreigners.”
***
“The bathroom’s there.” Ubaldo pointed to an open door on the far wall.
Brooke looked at a metal hook hanging from the trim, peeked her head in. “It locks from the outside?”
He nodded. “That’s how all the bathrooms are here. Many of the girls try to commit suicide when they first arrive. This way, Carmela can check on them. You go ahead,” he motioned with his hand. “I’ll lock the door for you.”
“I’m fine. Just washing my hands, thanks.”
She entered the bathroom, and Ubaldo lingered in the short hallway outside. He told himself he was waiting to see the children were settled or if Carmela needed help. Not to spend more time with the beautiful woman less than fifty feet away. So close, yet so unreachable.
The princess was full of surprises. Reserved one moment, but incredibly tender the next. The orphan girls seemed to awaken something within her. Something soft, maternal.
The bathroom door creaked open, and she stepped out. Captured his gaze, offering a slight, almost shy smile. The vulnerability peaking beneath the surface drew him.
“You get what you needed?” Stupid. Could he have asked a more ridiculous question?
Laughter danced in her blue eyes—the color of the El Salvador sea. “I did. Thank you.” After a moment’s hesitation, she faced the archway leading to the courtyard.
“Ven aquí!” A little girl with long, black hair tugged Brooke toward the table. As she gazed down at the child with wide yet smiling eyes, a handful of others joined her, pleading and pulling.
He laughed. “It’s useless to resist.”
“I see that.” She allowed the girls to pull her to the table then sat between an eleven year old with pigtails and crooked bangs and a toddler with wild, curly hair.
Ubaldo couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy as he watched the light banter that formed between Brooke and the children. As he noted the boldness with which they drew her. But thinking this way would do him no good. Besides, he hardly knew the woman.
Though he liked what he was seeing. And that was a problem.
“You do not wish to eat with your friends?” He grabbed a bowl and sat across from her.
She dipped her spoon in the rice then blew on it. “I figured Carmela and Alberto could use some help.” She rotated toward the girl sitting beside her, a toddler named Rosi with light skin and long black hair that reached to the center of her back. Brooke held up the spoon.
The girl giggled, mischief flashing in her eyes.
Brooke turned to Ubaldo. “How do you say ‘eat’ in Spanish?”
“Comer.”
With one quick nod, she raised her spoon to the little girl’s mouth once again. “Comer.”
Rosi laughed again and pointed at her. “Tu comes!”
Brooke tickled the girl in the ribs. “No, you comer!” And although Rosi continued to play games, with lots of giggles and squeals, by the time the others began cleaning up, she’d eaten half her bowl.
A moment later, Alicia, a ten-year-old with wild, curly hair, ran in. “The park! The park!”
Soon all the children joined her, rushing out of the kitchen toward the North Americans. Two of the girls grabbed Brooke’s hands and pulled her out the door. Shaking his head, Ubaldo joined Carmela and Alberto behind the counter.
Alberto slapped Ubaldo on the back. “It’s good to see you aren’t blind, my friend.”
“To what?”
“Let me guess, you are beginning to think my friends from the United States are not so bad after all.”
He averted his gaze, his face warm. “You’re talking crazy.”
“Really? And why don’t I believe you?”
“Leave him be, Alberto.” Carmela snapped a dishtowel at her husband.
He grabbed it and pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her waist. “Why? All men need a beautiful wife to fill their hearts. And stomachs.” He planted a kiss on her forehead before releasing her. Then to Ubaldo, “Although you might do better finding someone local. Unless you plan on moving out of the country.”
Ubaldo snorted. “What interest could I possibly have in a North American tourist?”
The smirk on Alberto’s face told him he didn’t believe Ubaldo’s denial any more than he himself did.
Chapter Twenty-four
Voices approached. Fatima yanked Dinora behind a white van and pressed her finger to her lips.
Dinora jerked away. “I want to go home. Why can’t we go home?”
“Because we can’t.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Now be quiet.”
They locked eyes for a moment, Dinora’s chin puckering, her small hands fisted. Fatima held her breath. Now was not the time for Dinora to throw a fit. Finally, she nodded, and Fatima exhaled. They squatted near the van tire and watched a trail of children, teenagers, and adults file out of the building and down the sidewalk chanting, “Park!”
Near the back of the line, two yellow-haired teens tossed a water bottle back and forth while a third teen with hair the color of mangos jumped between them.
They spoke in English, and one of them shouted something then raced ahead. He came back and ran to a white van parked along the curb. He dove inside and reappeared lugging a backpack and a large bag of chips. Fatima’s stomach cramped.
Eating while he went, the kid hurried to catch up with his group. She licked her lips. Perhaps the boy or his friends would drop something, and she and Dinora could have a taste.
As the group continued, skipping, punching one another in the shoulder and yanking ball caps off one another’s heads, a water bottle fell from one of their backpacks. It rolled down the road and under a nearby car. Fatima tensed.
She remembered something the tall man from the path had translated, a promise he said came from God. “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Irma’s mother had said those very words one night, not so long ago, when she’d found Fatima crying outside her home. And what about that slave woman from the story, the one kicked out of her village?
Fatima knew what it felt like to be thrown aside. To have nothing to live for except a child you couldn’t care for. And yet, God Himself had gone to Hagar. Would He come to her and Dinora as well? Would He help them?
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Maybe that was true for the woman with the blue eyes and black hair. Maybe even for all those smiling children who ate their fill. But for Fatima?
She lifted her chin. What did she need of God or His promises? They wouldn’t fill her belly or quench her thirst.
As soon as the foreigners and children rounded the corner, she dashed across the street and scampered under the car. The hot asphalt burned her hands and bit at her knees, but all was forgotten once she gripped the smooth plastic.
She stood, and a wave of dizziness overcame her. She leaned against the car to steady herself. As she looked at the pure water in her hand, so clear you could see through it, a strong urge to drink it all overcame her. She gritted her teeth. Swallowed past a dry tongue and hurried back to her sister.
“Here. Drink.” She held out the bottle, licked her chapped lips as the liquid drained into her sister’s mouth.
After five or so gulps, Dinora held the water out to Fatima. She stared at it for a long time. How she longed to take it. To drink the rest and soothe her scratchy throat. But what if they couldn’t find more? If only she knew of a nearby stream, or a building with running water. She glanced at the concrete structures on either side of her then surveyed the street beyond.
“I want Momma.” Dinora’s voice quavered.
“But Momma doesn’t want us, not anymore.”
“Yes, she does. I know she does.”
“No, Dinora. Momma’s different now.”
Tears welled in her sister’s eyes and she dropped her head, her whole body caving inward. Fatima hated to see her cry, but lying to her wouldn’t help.
She turned toward the building filled with giggling children only moments ago, looked at the sign above the doorway. Though she couldn’t read the words, she recognized the golden cross from a picture Irma once brought home from church.
“Aren’t you going to drink any?” Dinora asked.
Fatima pulled her lips in over her teeth, trying to remember how far they’d traveled. How long it might take them to return to their hiding place in the woods. If only she’d been more careful as they walked.
She hated to finish the last of their drink, but she needed to take care of herself. For Dinora’s sake. She downed what was left in a single gulp.
A car sped by, spraying dust and exhaust in her face and making her eyes sting. She released a long breath. This was too hard. She couldn’t do this anymore. They were going to die out here, and no one would know. No one would care, and it’d be all her fault.
Be strong. You must.
She was all Dinora had left. Her only chance of survival.
She straightened and rose on weakened legs, her focus zeroing in on the van glimmering in the sun—from which one of the foreigners had pulled a backpack and bag of chips. Was there more food inside?
Healing Love Page 12