“Accident? Like what happened to your parents?”
Brooke frowned and studied the dusty ground.
He touched her shoulder, his expression soft and gentle. “You couldn’t have done anything to prevent their death. God’s in control, and when it’s our time, it’s our time. Don’t forget, He loves your sister even more than you do.”
“Maybe, but I’m not ready to lose her.”
“She belongs to Christ, so you will never lose her, even if she goes to heaven before you. Unless you continue to hold so tightly to her. Then I suspect you’ll drive her away.”
***
Fatima crouched near the edge of the children’s home wall and studied the curb in front of her. A newspaper fragment fluttered in the mid-afternoon breeze. Shards from a broken bottle littered the street, but the curb sat empty. No paper sack, no blue drinks, no candy wrapped in bright red packaging. Though she’d watched for two, maybe three hours, the white van never came. Would it ever return?
She was going to die. Alone. She’d never see her sister again. She was probably lost. Or worse. Fatima thought of the men in the junkyard and cringed, knowing exactly what they had planned to do to her and her sister. Then, once they’d had their fun, they’d use her and Dinora to make money.
The scent of roasting meat and chattering voices drew her to the orphanage. She inched along the wall, her mouth watering, and poked her head through the partially opened door. Inside, long blue benches lined a tiled room, and a wooden counter separated a small cooking area.
Unlike the open fires most village women cooked from, this kitchen had a white stove, like those in the fancy stores near the market. Instead of containers or tubs, a sink area stood in the corner.
A woman with long black hair stirred something in a large, iron pot and two girls, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, set plastic cups on the counter. Another girl scooped steaming food from a large bowl into smaller ones. They sang as they worked, the same song they sang before, with the gringos—of love, power, and a God of every tribe and tongue, who knows each child by name.
Each and every child? Even those who lived in shanties, or on the streets?
A child with pigtails and eyes the color of straw ran in and dashed under one of the tables. She grabbed a green ball the size of Fatima’s fist then inched out. As she rose, she glanced up and caught Fatima’s gaze. Fatima froze, unable to look away. The girl smiled and laughter danced in her eyes. Then, she spun around, and disappeared.
The woman standing behind the counter motioned toward the older girls. “Gather the children. It’s time to eat.”
The girls left. They came back with a large number of noisy children. While niñas continued to file in, climbing onto bench seats and sitting at the long, rectangular tables, others hurried to fill bowls and water glasses. The scent of fried cornmeal and roasted chicken were too much for Fatima’s cramping stomach to bear. She started to turn away when her sister walked in, holding a teen girl’s hand.
Fatima stared as the teen helped Dinora climb onto the bench. Her matted hair had been combed, and her face shone. Even her clothes looked clean.
The teen leaned forward and kissed the top of Dinora’s head then did the same to two toddlers sitting on either side of her. A smile widened her face as she continued down the row, giving a squeeze here, a kiss to the cheek there, before reaching the counter. She returned with three steaming bowls of food. She placed one in front of Dinora, who looked at it with wide eyes, licking her lips.
A moment later, a tall man with broad shoulders entered. Fatima jerked back against the wall. What did he want with those children? What might he do to Dinora? Her racing heart stirred her to flee. But she couldn’t leave her sister. She peered around the corner again. The man glanced at the many faces all around him, and his eyes danced.
The woman behind the counter grabbed a bowl and filled it, then held it out. “Your favorite, empanadas de pollo.”
“Ah.” He raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you get the chicken?”
“As always, God provided. With the help of our friends from the church, of course.”
He made his way toward the woman, took the bowl with one hand and held the back of her head with the other. The two kissed, not the quick customary greeting, but the kind she once saw shared by her parents. Before her dad left.
Fatima studied her sister, only days ago wilted by hunger and thirst. Her shoulders slumped forward, and she cast frequent glances at the children all around her, but she remained seated. By the end of the meal, she even raised her chin with a slight smile.
Fatima continued to watch, not moving, barely breathing, until all the food had been eaten, the tables had been cleared, and scraps tossed into a large tub on the counter. One by one, the children slipped off their benches and left through an open doorway on the other side of the room. Still Fatima stood, until the room before her grew quiet, the image of Dinora eating her fill fresh in her mind.
She thought of the woman’s words as she handed a steaming bowl to the man. “As always, God provided.” Perhaps for Dinora, those words had proven true.
Maybe God hated Fatima, not Dinora—now that she was by herself, she got help. And now that Fatima was alone, the beautiful woman stopped leaving packages of food on the curb. Had her God, the God of Hagar, told her to stop? Not to waste her time on a stupid, dirty field worker like Fatima?
What if she had been the cause of their problems all along? Wasn’t that what her aunt always said? That Fatima was a bother, more trouble than she was worth? That she was lucky her aunt and uncle didn’t kick them out—all of them, with Fatima’s ungrateful attitude and laziness.
If not for her, maybe her father would never have left.
Oh, Dinora, I’m so sorry!
But now, Fatima’s sister would be well cared for. That was all that mattered.
Chapter Thirty-one
On Thursday, with only two more ministry days left, the team decided to visit the San Miguel market. Sitting in the van kitty-corner to Ubaldo, with Aubrey on her left, Brooke wiggled her backpack from beneath her seat.
Aubrey held out her hand, palm up. “How much you got?”
Brooke pulled her wallet out from beneath her hand sanitizer, video camera, and bags of granola. “What happened to your money?”
“I’m a poor, oppressed, under-privileged teen.”
She huffed. “Right. Miss I-never-do-chores and mooch-off-my-sister, who spends most of your time obsessing on Youtube.”
Aubrey grinned. “My point exactly. A tough life. Spot me ten?”
“So you can buy more junk food?”
“Rightamuendo! El Salvadoran junk food. Come on, ten bucks. That’s all I ask. And I’ll pay you back when we get home.”
“At fifteen percent, compounded daily.” Brooke started to fish some cash then stopped. “I’ll give it to you when you need it.” The most effective way to keep her sister from ditching.
Ubaldo, apparently wise to Brooke’s tactics, smiled, and her heart gave a lurch. The man was so handsome. So laid back. Kindhearted. The more time she spent with him, the stronger her reactions to him. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel this way.
He slowed as they turned onto a busy street bisecting the open market area. She pulled out her video camera and caught images of orange and yellow storefronts. Lined along the curb, men and woman sat beneath rainbow-colored pop-up umbrellas, their wares spread before them. Shoppers flowed across the street, traffic weaving around them. Horns blared and music drifted from numerous directions.
The group followed Orfeo as he turned into a parking lot lined with thick metal bars then spilled out.
Pastor T checked his watch. “We’ve got three hours. Y’all need to stick together. This isn’t a place to get lost. And keep your wallets, purses, whatever, close to your persons.”
“That means no tricks, games, or pranks,” Ralph said. “Although … wouldn’t mind losing a roomie or two. Might a
ctually catch some sleep tonight.” He winked then turned to Pastor T. “We gonna split into groups?”
“Good idea. Everyone stay with your room chaperones. Pay attention to the time. We’ll meet here at four.”
Brooke exhaled, her tense nerves uncoiling slightly. The pastor’s instructions accomplished two things—it kept her from playing bad guy while guaranteeing Aubrey stayed close. A win-win … minus the inevitable eye roll, huff, or sarcastic remark inherent to teenagers.
She draped an arm across Aubrey’s shoulder. “Think you and I can stop bickering enough to enjoy our second to last day in El Salvador?”
Aubrey grinned and angled her head. “I don’t know.” Then she laughed and slipped her arm around Brooke’s back. “Of course. You and your hand sanitizer addiction drive me totally bonkers, but I still love you.”
“Ah. So sweet.”
“But only ’cause I have to.”
“Nice.”
Brooke followed the rest of the team past a man selling bags of water and packages of candy and toward the market. Ubaldo joined her and the girls while Orfeo accompanied Ralph and his crew. Pastor T moved to the lead with Barb and the others.
Carnival music mixed with techno. Voices clamored above the din, bartering for deals. A male voice carried above all the others, repeating something in Spanish again and again, much like the peanut sellers during American baseball games.
They turned a corner and entered a narrow passageway between stalls packed with everything from bolts of fabric to hand-carved trinkets. It was like being in an overcrowded flea market.
“This is so awesome.” Aubrey paused in front of a table covered in knives of all sizes. “How much?”
The merchant wrinkled his brow and shook his head.
Ubaldo stepped forward. “Cuanto?”
“Diez, quince, y este es de viente.” He pointed to different items.
Ubaldo translated as Aubrey eyed the wares. “Can we barter?”
He nodded, but Brooke grabbed Aubrey’s wrist. “Oh, no. You’re not taking a knife on the airplane.”
“Duh.” Aubrey flicked her head like a diva. “I’ll pack it in my suitcase.”
“Uh-uh.” Brooke planted her hands on her hips. “I’ve got to go through customs with you, and I’m not alerting any red flags.” The scowl on Aubrey’s face indicated an argument simmered beneath the surface, not how Brooke wanted to spend their day. “Tell you what. How about we see what else there is, then if you still want this before we go, we’ll talk about it.”
Aubrey crossed her arms and studied Brooke. She sighed. “Whatever.” Two stalls later, she forgot all about the knives and absolutely had to have a hand-carved figurine keychain. Although tempted to remind her she didn’t have a car, Brooke clamped her mouth shut and enjoyed the fight-free moment.
While Aubrey and her friends admired various trinkets, Brooke and Ubaldo lingered in the walkway, shaded by canvas stretched across metal frames.
“Have you enjoyed your stay in El Salvador?” he asked.
“Honestly, I’m sad our trip is almost over.” And that they’d have to say goodbye, never to see one another again.
“I am, too.” His gaze fell to her mouth, and her pulse stuttered. “Perhaps you will come again.”
She swallowed. “Perhaps.” If only that were true.
Later that night, after Ubaldo and Orfeo dropped everyone off, the team meandered to their rooms to prepare for the evening devotion. While her roommates spread their newly purchased treasures upon Brooke’s bed, she grabbed her Bible.
She paused with her hand on the door. “Don’t forget tonight’s devotional. And put on bug spray.” She slipped out into the moist evening air and closed the door behind her.
A soft breeze stirred her hair. As usual, vibrant stars glimmered in a sea of black, drawing her heart to her Creator. She settled on the curb and pulled out her study notes. Thought of the last question printed on the page. “Nothing happens by accident. God has a plan in everything, and is always working out His plan. What role do you play? Why did God bring you here, to El Salvador?”
She had no idea. To bring temporary comfort by placing packages on a curb? To fall in love with the beautiful girls in the orphanage, and … She shook her head. Her feelings for Ubaldo were nothing short of childish. Like a summer fling, or a silly schoolgirl who falls for a boy she meets while on vacation, soon forgotten when someone else comes her way.
Why, Lord? Why would You allow me to see such pain? To feel such intense emotions, such love for a people group I’ve known for but a blip, and quite likely will never see again?
Or maybe God gave her a glimpse of what He saw everyday as mankind struggled to live in a sin-cursed world, calling His children to help while they filled their minds with television, instead of His word, focused on fashion and prestige instead of setting the world on fire with His love.
But what could she, a woman from Southern California, with little money and no connections, do?
And yet, she had to do something. She couldn’t witness such poverty and brokenness first-hand and simply walk away. And as to Ubaldo? Somehow she’d have to prepare her heart to say goodbye.
***
Fatima lingered near the children’s home for the rest of the day, catching glimpses of her sister whenever she could. Most often, the door separating the kitchen from the street hung open, allowing her to see into the concrete courtyard on the other side. Unfortunately, the children were usually just out of sight.
She moved to the side of the building to catch a better view. The long metal doorway there remained shut. She studied the road on either side of her. Where was the white van and the beautiful woman who once brought food? And yet, why should she return, now that Dinora was well cared for?
Fatima was totally alone. Forgotten.
The sun dipped behind the adjacent buildings. She licked her lips. She needed something to drink, but her head hurt too badly, and her legs felt too weak to search for anything.
She shuffled toward the plot of land fringing the building, started to climb over the barbed-wire fence. She wasn’t tall enough, nor did she have the energy to try. Instead, she sank against the warm, dry earth and wiggled under on her belly. Once on the other side, she laid prostrate, face to the side, pebbles pressing into her cheek. Oh, to give into the darkness settling around the corners of her mind.
Trembling, she pushed first on all fours then struggled to her feet. Holding her now empty package save the glossy brochure tucked inside, she lumbered to the pile of twigs that now served as her home. She crumpled to the ground and pulled the colorful paper from the paper bag. Stared at a picture of a man dressed in white embracing a group of children until the darkness pulled her under.
Chapter Thirty-two
As Ubaldo drove, he watched Brooke from the corner of his eye. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. A paper bag filled with snacks and drinks lay in her lap. He offered a silent prayer for her, the girl in Carmela’s care, and the one they never found.
Pastor T, slathered in a thick layer of purplish sunscreen and wearing a goofy safari hat, caught Ubaldo’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “So, how far’s this beach, anyway?”
“Forty-five minutes. And it’s not really a beach like you might have in the states, but I believe you’ll enjoy yourselves.”
He nodded and returned to his map while three of the youth launched into a rapid-fire tongue twister. Hot air flowed through the open windows, whipping their hair about their faces.
Ubaldo glanced at Brooke again. He longed to squeeze her hand, to hold her, comfort her. “Did you get all the footage you wanted when we visited the market?”
She looked his way. Tiny red lines fanned from her blue irises. “I think so, thanks.”
“Will you use the video in your work?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. My boss and our audience seem to prefer the extreme and exotic, but I have a feeling they expect the high-dollar variety.”
<
br /> “I see.”
“I’d love to be surprised, and I have to believe God brought me here for a reason.”
So did he. “Perhaps He’ll have you return.” His heart pricked at the thought, as unlikely as it was.
She chuckled. “Yeah, like Susan Hays from World Vision.”
“Why not?”
She stared at her hands. Was she considering the idea? A glimmer of hope warmed his chest. And if she did return? But she wouldn’t. What could he possibly have to offer her? He didn’t have a car, would soon be out of an apartment.
By the time they made it to the beach, the sun had neared its zenith. Cotton-ball clouds dotted the sky. He turned onto a dirt-packed, potholed street lined with coconut palms and wide stretches of yellowed grass. A white picket fence bordered a resort on the right. An unpainted wooden barn area stood a hundred or so feet to the left.
Brooke turned in her seat as they passed a cluster of grass-hut gazebos. “Is this a vacation hot spot?”
He nodded. “It’s very popular in January. The hotel is closed now, but the beach area will be open.” He continued until the road dead-ended in a circular gravel lot then parked beside two outdoor shower spigots attached to a bamboo pole. Orfeo pulled behind him. The teens grabbed their backpacks and duffel bags and spilled out of the truck and van.
Brooke looked at her paper bag, then frowned and set it on the floor.
“You can bring it to the orphanage tonight, when you say goodbye to the girls,” he said.
If only they had more time. If only she didn’t have to leave at all.
“You don’t think Pastor T changed his plans, with us getting such a late start and all?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” The girls would be anxiously awaiting the mission team’s return.
She grabbed her backpack and slid out. He followed her and the others toward picnic tables beneath a palm-thatched roof. A long bamboo counter manned by three women paralleled the last row of tables.
Pastor T gathered everyone together. “We’ll have about two hours, three at the most. You guys can order when you’re ready. Ralph’s got the cash.” He shielded his eyes and studied pictures of food items tacked to a board behind the counter. “Looks like they’ve got burgers, hot dogs, fried chicken, and coconuts.” He pointed toward two roofless shed-like areas separated by thick concrete. “I’m thinking that’s where you’ll need to change.”
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