Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  Fatima focused on the brown paper bag. If she didn’t hurry, someone else would grab it, leaving her and her sister with nothing. She eyed the road one last time then dashed across the street. She returned to Dinora with her package and quickly dumped out its contents.

  Dinora giggled and clapped.

  Fatima gave her a sideways hug. “For you, my Dulce Din.” She tore open the package with her teeth then unscrewed the lid of the bottle. Handed both to her sister. She opened the other bottle while Dinora guzzled her drink. Once they’d downed the last drop and ate the last morsel, she spread the sheet of paper before them.

  “What is it?” Dinora leaned closer.

  She shook her head, studying pictures, first of a man and a woman standing in a beautiful garden. In the next, a snake twisted around a tree. Another picture of the man and woman followed, only in this one they frowned and hid behind bushes. Like she and Dinora crouched behind cars, garbage cans, and buildings.

  She unfolded the page and studied an image of a man nailed to a beam of wood. Blood trickled from his head, hands, feet, and side. She’d seen the picture before, in the market.

  What did it mean?

  She recognized two words printed on the back in golden letters: Dios Salva.

  If God truly saved, would He rescue her and her sister?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  After dropping the Americans off at their hotel, Ubaldo headed straight to his parents’ village. He followed the dirt road that wound around mud-plastered houses nestled among the trees. When the trail narrowed, he cut the engine. He stared down the hill at the family farm. Maybe it’d be better to talk to his father at night, after his daily chores were through. Except Ubaldo’s schedule wouldn’t allow that. He had no choice but to approach the man while he worked. For a moment, his resolve waned. Perhaps another day, another time would be better.

  There’d never truly be a right time, and he didn’t want to be like the man from the crusade who mended things on his father’s deathbed.

  He grabbed a package of fresh fruit and a bottle of pain reliever purchased earlier and got out. His padre might refuse to see him, might even curse him, but Ubaldo knew what he needed to do. Father, help me be strong, bite my tongue. Maintain self-control.

  Women’s voices and children’s laughter met him as he neared his parents’ house. He rounded the corner. Stopped. His mother and sisters chatted with three other women from the village while their spouses and brothers talked with the men in Ubaldo’s family. A short distance away, his nieces and nephews joined other children in a fútbol game using a coconut for a ball.

  Clearly now wasn’t the time. Ubaldo started to turn away.

  Raquel sprang to her feet. “Ubaldo!” She ran towards him with outstretched arms.

  Everyone looked his way, some smiling, some scowling. When his father glanced up, his smile vanished beneath a deep frown.

  Ubaldo shifted his package moments before Raquel engulfed him in a hug. Ana Rosa followed close behind.

  Chuckling, he pulled back to look into her dancing eyes. “And hello to you, too.” He gave her a sideways squeeze. “Did I forget someone’s birthday?” He handed his package to Raquel. “If so, then I’m glad I didn’t come empty handed.”

  His mother limped forward, favoring her right leg. “Are you going to tell your brother the good news?”

  Raquel grinned. “Your little sister will soon be a wife. Matteos wants me to bear his children, and his family has come to congratulate us.”

  Ubaldo blinked and looked back towards the group, zeroing in on a tall man with broad shoulders and arms chiseled from hard labor. He remembered Matteos. As children, the two often walked to school together, until Matteos dropped out to help his family with their crops.

  “What is the matter with you?” His mother gently slapped his arm. “Are you not happy for your sister?”

  Raquel poked his shoulder. “I believe you are jealous, my brother. But don’t worry, you’ll find a wife soon enough.”

  “Jealous am I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have the feeling you wish to introduce me to yet another one of your friends from the market?”

  She tapped her finger on her chin. “A great idea. Yes, I’d forgotten my plan to see you wed by the end of the year. Thank you for the reminder.”

  He shook his head. “You and your schemes. But I’m glad to see how pleased you are, and I wish you much health and happiness.”

  He spent the next hour popping in and out of various discussions and watching his father for the best time to initiate a conversation. But whenever he caught his father’s gaze, the man scowled. Eventually, Ubaldo gave up.

  ***

  Fatima and her sister returned to the children’s home each day. They crouched behind parked cars and peered around buildings, waiting for their daily package. At night, they hid in doorways and alleys, lying on cardboard or slabs of wood. Most often, Fatima slept in spurts, jerking awake at the slightest sound. The lack of sleep only added to her dizziness. She needed food. Real food. And a quiet place to sleep.

  As evening fell over the streets of San Miguel, she began her nightly search for a place to rest. If only they could return to their hiding place in the forest. She’d been so stupid to leave the woods for the city. And now, she didn’t know how to get back.

  Car exhaust pricked her nose. She lifted her chin and walked faster. A few more minutes and she could close her gritty eyes and rest her spinning head.

  They rounded a corner and traveled down a narrow alley until they found a row of caved-in cardboard and metal slabs lying with a heap of rubble.

  Dinora stopped. “Where are we?”

  “I’m not sure, but we can use those to make a shelter.” She pointed and nudged Dinora forward. They climbed over splintered wood, mounds of trash, and piles of bricks. Ahead of them stood a large sheet of metal resting on two crumbly brick walls. Inside there was a small amount of debris, but Fatima soon cleared an area for sleeping. Once finished, she leaned against the brick wall. Dinora scooted to her side, laid her head on Fatima’s shoulder. Not long after, she fell into a shallow sleep.

  She awoke to the sound of gruff voices. Rubbing her eyes, she slid out from under Dinora, and inched toward the shelter opening. Two shadowed forms came near in the pale moonlight. They spoke loudly and staggered as they walked. When the taller of the two turned her way, she darted back inside.

  Not quickly enough.

  “Hey, who’s there?” The guy slurred his words.

  She held her breath.

  “Where? What are you talking about?” The second voice, deeper.

  Fatima’s heart thrashed. She sat stock still.

  “Shut up, you bruto!”

  As the footsteps drew closer, the memory of her cousin standing before her, gripping her neck, resurfaced. She trembled. Shook her sister and whispered, “Dinora, wake up! Wake up!”

  She moaned. “What is—”

  Fatima pressed her hand over Dinora’s mouth. “Quiet.” She scanned the openings on either side of them and squatted on the balls of her feet. Dinora gripped her arm, fingernails digging into her flesh.

  Fatima tried to quiet her raspy breath as her tight lungs fought for air.

  A shadow fell over the ground in front of their entrance. She clutched Dinora’s hand and inched backward. A darkened form poked inside. Fatima gasped and spun around. Pulling Dinora with her, she ran out the other side of their shelter. A tall mountain of garbage loomed before them. Trembling, Fatima searched for a way to escape.

  The young men laughed—a deep, throaty sound that raised the hair on Fatima’s neck and arms.

  “Look what we have here, two bonita chicas, one for each of us.” The boys rounded the metal structure. Moved closer.

  Fatima stepped back, pulling Dinora with her.

  “Ah, don’t run away. We want to have some fun, isn’t that right, hombre.”

  His friend chuckled. “Si, muey divertido.”

  They lun
ged forward.

  Fatima whirled around. “Run, Dinora!”

  They made a hard right and scampered over piles of debris. A shard of glass sliced Fatima’s hand.

  “Mamacita, why do you run? Come back.” Harsh laughter followed them, growing nearer.

  She tripped over a wooden board, let go of her sister’s hand as she fell forward. A sharp pain shot through her knee and her palms burned. The man was now only ten feet away.

  Dinora turned back.

  “Go, Dinora! Run, hurry!” Rotating, Fatima stared into a pair of dark eyes. “Please, I don’t want any trouble.” The faint scent of alcohol pricked her nerves as he shortened the distance between them.

  “No trouble. No trouble at all.” He lunged forward, and she darted out of his reach.

  She turned to run but found herself cornered. Shaking, she reeled around and stared, unblinking, at her attacker.

  His eyes flashed. “I’m sorry your friend had to leave, but we can still have fun. One is better than none.” He flicked the other guy on the arm. “So, who goes first?”

  His friend shrugged. “A girl with this much fire?” He gave a low whistle. “I’d say she’s worth the wait.”

  She scanned the ground. Zeroed in on a metal pipe glimmering in the moonlight. The kid reached for her. She bolted for the pipe. Gripping it with both hands, she swung with all her strength. A dull thud sounded as it connected with her attacker’s head, jarring her bones on impact.

  The guy cursed and fell backward, holding his head. “Nina estupida! Get her!”

  She threw the weapon aside and sprinted, not looking back. She dashed around a cluster of bushes, across an alleyway, then around a corner. Gasping, she crouched behind three trashcans and stared into the dark alley for the slightest hint of movement. Sobs rose in her dry throat as she crumpled on the ground.

  But there was no time for tears. She needed to find her sister.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Ubaldo slowed as he neared the orphanage. A child lay curled on the ground, face hidden by long, matted hair. He pulled to the curb and gaped.

  Questions filled the van.

  “What the—?”

  “Is that one of the orphan girls?”

  “Dude, look.”

  “Who is that?”

  He cut the engine and jumped out. Jogged to the child. The girl lifted a teary face, stared at him with wide eyes.

  A door slammed shut. “Is it…?” Brooke rushed to his side.

  “I think so. Yes, I’m pretty sure she’s one of the street girls we saw. But where is the other one, and why would they separate?”

  He searched the surrounding area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl he prayed for each night. Nothing. The other Americans gathered around. The child trembled, but made no attempt to flee.

  “What should we do?” Brooke asked.

  He crouched down. “Are you thirsty?” The terror in her eyes wrenched his heart. He leaned closer. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. We’re here to help. It’s all right.” He repeated this again and again until her trembling subsided.

  “My sister. I lost my sister.” Tears welled behind her lashes. “Can you ask your God, the one who found Hagar, if He will find my sister?”

  Hagar? Who was—oh! The story Brooke told about the Hebrew slave wandering in the Palestinian wilderness. But how could this child have heard that? How long had her and her sister been hanging around outside the orphanage?

  As if asking for help.

  He looked right, then left, inspecting every shadow, every parked car, every garbage can. The girl wasn’t there. Was she hurt? Or worse?

  “We’ll find her.” Brooke spoke in broken Spanish.

  The child looked from her to Ubaldo, tears streaking her face. “My sister! I need my sister. Please ask your God to find her.”

  He nodded and placed his hand on her. “Holy Father, please watch over this child’s sister and bring her to us.” He scooped her up.

  The metal door to the orphanage slid open, and voices stilled to hushed whispers as the girls stared at Ubaldo and the child in his arms. This wasn’t the first time a child had been left outside the orphanage, nor would it be the last. And although it sickened him to think of a parent abandoning a helpless child, at least now, this little one would be safe.

  ***

  Ubaldo sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the closed door across the room. Everyone gathered in the sparsely furnished living room while Carmella saw to the young girl’s needs. She was so thin, and her cracked lips suggested dehydration, but Carmella would do her best to nurse the child.

  Brooke’s brow furrowed. “Should we try to find her sister?”

  “How can we know where to look?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “We should wait to see what Carmella says. She’s handled situations like this before.”

  As if on cue, the bedroom door creaked open and Carmella slipped out, carrying rags and a bowl of dirty water. She’d left a glass and pitcher in the room.

  He sprang to his feet.

  “The child is resting,” Carmella said. “Poor thing is so very hungry and thirsty. But she must drink slowly, or it’ll all come back up. Most likely her stomach isn’t used to food. I shudder to think how long it’s been since she last ate a good meal. At least she is here, thanks be to God. We will give her what she needs.”

  “Did she tell you where she’s from?” Ubaldo asked. “And where we might find her sister?”

  Carmella shook her head. “She said something about two men, boys, I’m not sure, chasing them, and running over a bunch of trash.”

  Pastor T rose. “We’ll head outside. If her sister is nearby, we’ll find her.”

  “Can we pray?” Brooke asked.

  Carmella set her bowl down. “Yes, for this young girl now under our care, for her sister, and for all the other children sleeping on the streets or in garbage dumps. I’m only grateful God brought this precious child here.”

  ***

  Fatima’s legs felt numb, wobbly. The morning sun reflected off the white-bricked building in front of her, burning her dry eyes. Unable to go another step, she leaned against the warm outer wall and slid to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

  “God, if You are there, if You truly are loving like Irma said, please take care of Dinora. I don’t care what happens to me. Kill me if You want. But please watch over her.”

  Resting her head on her knees, she closed her eyes and gave in to the thick darkness.

  She woke to the sound of voices, and swallowed against a dry mouth. Rising on weakened legs, she pressed forward and peered around the building. A group of foreigners, seven or eight of them, walked down the middle of the street. They looked around parked cars and behind garbage cans like farmers searching for eggs.

  Fatima watched them closely, hoping a water bottle or bit of food would drop from their backpacks. When they drew near, she darted back toward the shadows.

  ***

  Brooke waited on the curb for the rest of their crew to return. Aubrey stood beside her, wringing her hands. Behind them, the sliding metal door to the orphanage remained open, allowing the prattle of the orphan girls to drift through. She glanced back to see three girls engaged in kickball with one of the American youths. A few more gathered on the plastic park bench lining a brick wall while others sat on the ground, drawing with chalk.

  “Here they come.” Aubrey ran into the street toward the boys heading back. Brooke followed.

  Her heart sank. Based on their downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, the sister hadn’t been found.

  No. Please, Lord. Please help us find that poor child. Before it’s too late.

  Considering how hungry and dehydrated her sister was, the other one wouldn’t last on the streets much longer. Footsteps shuffled behind her, and she turned to see Ubaldo approach.

  She studied his face—his chiseled jaw, his thick brows furrowed above chocolate eyes. “How is she doing?”

 
; “She’s sleeping.” He faced Pastor T, now a few feet in front of him, surrounded by the rest of his search committee.

  “Sorry, man. We couldn’t find her.”

  “We’ll pray she returns,” Ubaldo said. “It’s likely she’s hiding somewhere. Street children grow quite adept at that. Their survival depends on it.” He glanced at Brooke. “Do you have more candy?”

  She nodded. “I’ll grab it now, and set it on the curb. I only hope the girl gets it.”

  He offered her a smile. “Our job is to give. May God see that the food gets where it needs to.”

  “If that’s the case, then why are those children on the streets in the first place?” Everyone stared at her, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  Ubaldo placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his expression soft. “It’s okay. You’re only voicing the question we’ve all asked, if we’re honest, a thousand times. But Jesus never said life would be easy. What He promised was to stand beside us. To never forsake us.” He looked at the others gathered around him. “That is the hope we proclaim—not in this world, because this world is full of sin, darkness, and pain.”

  She frowned and looked toward a stray dog nosing through a mound of trash. “I suppose we forget that in America.”

  “Here,” Ubaldo swept his arm toward the street. “We cannot. Nor do we forget where our true treasures lie.”

  Everyone grew silent, but then a child poked her head through the orphanage door. “El parque?”

  Brooke chuckled. Such a precious little one.

  “El parque? Quieres ir al parque?” He looked to Pastor T. “Were you still planning on taking the children to Pizza Hut tonight? Carmella and Alberto will watch over the girl.”

  “Did we ever learn her name?”

  “Dinora,” he said. “I think Carmela and Alberto might appreciate the peace and quiet of having the other girls attended to while they try to build Dinora’s trust.”