Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  Since there wasn’t any hot water, there was no sense delaying the inevitable. She undressed and draped her nightclothes over the back of the chair she’d retrieved from the living area. Stepped into the cold spray. She shivered.

  This trip was going to be much tougher than she thought. To think, she used her vacation time for this. Two full weeks of it. Enough time for Mr. Echo to find someone to replace her.

  ***

  Sitting in the van, Ubaldo rubbed his eyes and yawned. If only he’d had the time to stop by his mother’s this morning. But at least she had medicine, and hopefully, a few remaining coconuts. Assuming one of his family members took the time to hack them open for her.

  He pulled a folded sheet of newspaper from his pocket and spread it open over the steering wheel. Scanned, yet again, the numerous ads circled in red. A few apartments seemed reasonable enough, but more than likely, they’d be rented by the time he had a chance to check them out.

  God, I’d love a little help with this. And if You could please watch over my mother, ease her pain, and keep her strong.

  Someone tapped on his window, and he jumped. One of the North American teenagers, dressed in mesh shorts and a navy T-shirt, flashed a toothy smile. Other teenagers milled out of hotel rooms and gathered in the center of the parking lot.

  Ubaldo got out. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

  “I think I left my water bottle in your van last night. You didn’t happen to bring it, did you?”

  “Sorry, but I cleaned all the vehicles and threw all the trash away.”

  The kid frowned.

  “Ubaldo, my man.” Pastor T sauntered over, initiated a fist bump. “You sleep well?”

  He shrugged. “I’m young.” Sleep and North American mission trips appeared to be contradictory terms.

  The pastor laughed and slapped him on the back then jumped into the adjacent truck bed. A pack of kids climbed in after him, leaving a few lingering.

  Wearing black shorts that hit her just below the knee and a mint green top that accentuated her tan, Princess trailed her sister to the truck. Her hair was pulled up, a few loose ringlets framing her face. She reached the vehicle as a redhead with pigtails slid into the last seat. Frowning, she trudged to the van, peered through the windows, then climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  He offered a smile. “I guess in this case, the late bird catches the worm, or more accurately, the best seat.”

  “Good morning. I’m Brooke, and if memory serves, you’re Udalbo.”

  “Ubaldo.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She glanced back at the rest of the team, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee. “The last shall be first?”

  Now, perhaps, but by the end of the week, their altruistic behavior would wear thin and all of these casual, consumer-saturated Christians would be vying for whatever comfort they could find.

  He stifled a sigh and glanced again at the clock on the dash. 7:30. Only twelve, maybe thirteen, more hours.

  ***

  The blare of a horn jolted Fatima awake. She slid Dinora off her arm, laid her upon the damp, leaf-covered forest floor, and stood.

  “Fatima?”

  She spun around, her heart aching at the tremor in her sister’s voice. A soft hand reached for hers.

  Kneeling by Dinora’s side, she brushed tangled hair from her face. “Good morning, Dulce Din. Today we’ll go to the market then I can buy some hot plantains for your morning meal.”

  She grabbed her bundle of belongings and searched for her satchel of beads. Where were they? They were their only source of money. Her pulse quickened. She searched again and again. Finally, she dumped everything onto the ground and stared. They weren’t there.

  She plunked on her rear and replayed the events of their departure. In her haste, had she dropped her beads? Had she remembered to bring them at all?

  A deep sob rose within her, but she shoved it down. There was no time for tears. She lifted her chin and focused a steady gaze on her sister. “You rest while I find something for us to eat.”

  “No.” Dinora grabbed her sleeve and yanked her back. “Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me!” Tears slid down her dirty cheeks.

  Fatima drew her close. She rested her chin on Dinora’s head. Questions too heavy for her mind to bear pressed down on her.

  “Everything will be okay.” But her past said otherwise.

  They spent the rest of the morning scouring the forest floor for something to eat—plants, roots, anything. Soon, they had gathered a small mound of coconuts. But without a machete, they were nothing but hard, fuzzy balls. After trying and failing to break them open, she hurled one into the forest and flumped onto the ground.

  She sat with her chin on her knees for quite some time, scanning the thick bark, colorful mushrooms, and flowering vines all around her. If only she knew what was okay to eat.

  She returned to Dinora to find her pouting.

  “I want to go home.” She crossed her arms.

  “We can’t.” Fatima looked back towards the main road, remembering her mother’s blank stare the night before they left. The one who should’ve loved them, protected them. “They don’t want us.”

  “Why not?” Tears pooled behind her long, black lashes.

  “I don’t know, Dinora. I don’t know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After a quick stop at Wendy’s, Brooke followed the rest of the mission team to the parking lot where everyone clambered into two vehicles.

  “You want?”

  She turned to see a young boy holding up a sheet of glitter-dinosaur stickers. His hair stuck out in clumps and a layer of dirt covered his hands and settled into jagged and broken fingernails. More dirt darkened his bare feet and dulled his torn jeans.

  Brooke swallowed past a lump in her throat and searched her backpack for her wallet. “How much for one sheet?”

  The boy wrinkled his brow and raised his wares again. “You want?”

  Ubaldo came to her side. “Caunto cuesta?”

  A faint glimmer sparked in the boy’s hollowed eyes. “Veinticinco centavos.”

  Brooke gave him a quarter and took the stickers, feeling like a thief. He clutched the coin in a grimy hand and darted away. His bony frame disappeared in the throng.

  “Vomanos, muchachos!” Eddie sat on the bed rim of Orfeo’s pickup and slapped the metal frame. “Got places to go, people to see, and testimonies to share.”

  Pastor T laughed. “Listen to you, all revved to do ministry.” He patted Eddie on the back. “Love to see it, man.”

  The remaining teens scampered into the truck, filling the bed and cab.

  With all other seats full, Brooke once again climbed into the passenger’s seat of Ubaldo’s van. He slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine.

  They turned onto the busy street, and he wove around three women wearing long floral dresses. They balanced metal tubs on their heads. Cars zipped in and out, lurching ahead, tapping on brakes, honking.

  Brooke watched the market recede through her side-view mirror, still thinking about the sticker-boy with the dirtied face. She turned back around to find Ubaldo studying her. An odd flutter swept through her stomach.

  “That child was a street boy.” He focused on the road once again. “He probably works for someone else. Most likely he won’t see any of the money he earns.”

  She started at her clean, manicured hands. She probably spent more on her nails than the child made in a given day. Perhaps even a week. “Are there a lot of children living on the streets of San Miguel?”

  “Sadly, yes. Our civil war in the 1980’s created much devastation. A large number of fathers abandoned their families, forcing our women to care for their children by themselves without any way to do so. Then Hurricane Ida, and several earthquakes, left many others homeless. In the worst of cases, children are abandoned and others run away from unspeakable abuse. Many turn to, or are sold into, prostitution.”

  Her stomach convulsed. Those
poor children. How could people be so evil? She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  Why, God? Why do You allow this? If You are sovereign and loving, then why must the children You love suffer so?

  Where were You the night my parents died? Why did You take them from me?

  ***

  Ubaldo pulled along the curb outside of Faith’s Fortress Church and cut the engine. He glanced at Brooke seated beside him. So quiet. Reserved. Like she wanted to be anywhere else. So why had she come? Didn’t matter. These “missionaries” would pay him well, then return to the states. Forgetting all about El Salvador and its poverty.

  What could a woman from the States possibly know about hard? Or heartache?

  He checked the time on his phone then stepped out.

  Brother Juan approached with an extended hand. “God bless you.” They shook then he turned to the North Americans lingering near the entrance of the sanctuary. He spoke blessings to each in turn. “Dios te bendiga. Welcome to El Salvador. Are you enjoying your visit?”

  A handful of teens launched into travel horror stories of almost losing their passports or inadvertently brushing their teeth with tap water. Ubaldo joined Pastor Sanz, his wife, and Pastor T near the front of the church.

  The pastor conveyed his plans and Ubaldo translated them to Pastor T. “He says they would like someone from your team to talk about how to teach children.”

  Pastor T nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He motioned Brooke and her sister—Aubrey, they’d called her—over. “You ladies have had experience with children, right?”

  They looked at each other then glanced to a group of niños playing near the doorway.

  “I guess,” Brooke said. “I’ve subbed a few Sunday school classes.”

  “And hovered over me for the past ten years.” Aubrey grinned and hooked her arm through Brooke’s elbow.

  Pastor T threw a thumbs-up sign. “Perfect. Think the two of you can plan a few craft ideas and get supplies this afternoon? Then come back to give an informal presentation? We should have a three hour break between the morning service and our afternoon activities.”

  Aubrey smacked her gum. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m supposed to be practicing the human video, remember?”

  “Right.” He gave Brooke a sheepish grin. “So, I guess it’s all on you. Can you handle it?”

  “Anyone bring a curriculum book I can peruse?”

  “Doubt it.”

  A flicker of a frown graced her forehead before a stiff smile fell into place. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

  People continued to mill in, filling the plastic seats lined in rows in front of the stage. A few of the North Americans followed suit, tucking backpacks and water bottles below their seats. Brooke hung back and off to the side, scanning the sanctuary. Although Ubaldo wanted to let her hover, his sense of obligation won out.

  He slid a chair towards her then motioned for her to sit. He settled beside her as three mission team teens lumbered to the stage lugging electric guitars. They joined the El Salvadoran praise band. While they sang in English, Spanish words filled the screen, initiating a multi-cultural chorus.

  Ubaldo contemplated the words of the song, taken from Revelations chapter seven, “From every nation, every tribe, every tongue, we bow before You, seated on the throne.” For a brief moment, a sense of unity overrode his distrust for North Americans.

  After service, everyone gathered in groups as the pastor’s gang attempted to chat with church members. Children skittered between them. Giggling averted Ubaldo’s attention to the outer courtyard. He strolled over to the opened doorway. Brooke sat on the ground in her Sunday dress, surrounded by bouncing children.

  She held a capirucho, a favorite El Salvadoran toy, in her hand, making quite a spectacle of herself, much to the amusement of the snickering children. An inverted top with a peg attached to a string, the toy required practiced skill, which she clearly lacked. She smiled and handed the toy to a boy wearing a Superman T-shirt, gave a girl with vitiligo a sideways hug.

  “Show me.” She spoke in broken Spanish.

  The children inched closer, big brown eyes centered on her shiny blues.

  Ubaldo cleared this throat. “Perhaps we should leave to buy craft supplies now.”

  She nodded and hurried to her feet, attempted to explain her departure only to receive confused looks.

  Ubaldo filled in the details, and the children nodded. He and Brooke walked through the sanctuary and to the van. When he opened the door, a rush of stifling hot air swept over him. He turned the engine, cranked the air conditioning. Brooke slid in, causing his nerves to go into full alert.

  He frowned. There was no reason for him to react to her like this. So the woman was beautiful. He wasn’t interested. Nor was there any reason to even entertain the idea.

  She pulled her backpack onto her lap. Sifted through its contents. A moment later, she retrieved a rose-scented lotion and rubbed it into her hands.

  He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the road. She came for missions all right.

  “So, how’d you get into translating?” She dropped her lotion back into her bag, which she returned to the floor.

  “Happened by accident, I suppose.” A bus jerked in front of him, and he hit his breaks. “What about you? Do you work?”

  “I’m in the television industry. Up until recently, I did grunt work, but I’m starting to get more camera time.”

  He studied her from the corner of his eye. So that’s why she came—to drum up some sort of humanitarianism publicity. She’d get her snapshot and sound bite then return to her luxurious lifestyle.

  Although he attempted to make small talk, the conversation dwindled from there. Less than an hour later, they exited the store loaded with packages. He’d also purchased another tube of Aspercreme.

  Crossing through the parking lot, he paused to study a barefooted niña with long black hair rifling through a straw bag. An image of the girl he encountered along the village path near his parents’ house came to mind, and he froze.

  Brooke stopped beside him. “Are you okay?”

  The girl spun around, and he held his breath.

  The heart-shaped face and thin lips belonged to someone else.

  The girl turned and walked away, rounded the corner.

  “Do you know her?”

  He shook his head. Would he ever see the thin, frightened girl from the path again—the one he prayed for nightly and thought of daily?

  Chapter Twenty

  Fatima and Dinora dropped handfuls of various seeds onto the pile and sat on the forest floor. Leaning forward, Fatima pushed her hair from her face and studied their collection.

  Dinora fingered a pacun seed. “What are these for? Can we eat them?”

  “I don’t know.” The sun beat down on them. “We’ll go into the city to see what we can find.”

  If they went to the market, would they meet the kind lady with the plantains—the one who asked God to bless them?

  Fatima snorted. Bless them indeed. If this was God’s way of showing blessing, she’d rather He forget all about her and her sister. Most likely, He already had.

  Had she made a mistake in leaving? It didn’t matter. What’s done was done. It was too late to return now.

  She eyed the thicket before her. She searched the ground for a sign of a footpath, strained her ears for the sound of voices—anything to lead them to a water source. When no sound came except the buzz of mosquitoes, she grabbed Dinora’s hand and trudged forward.

  They continued through the forest, moving toward the city of San Miguel, and soon came upon a trodden trail. The path widened and a shelter made from mud and sticks came into view.

  Fatima quickened her step. Drawing near, she turned to Dinora and touched a finger to her lips. Her sister nodded, and they tiptoed closer and peered around a cluster of vines. Clothes hung on nearby branches and a hammock stretched between two tall palm trees. A rocker, made from
twigs tied with twine, sat near the front door.

  “Where are we?” Dinora asked.

  Fatima whirled around and clamped her hand over Dinora’s mouth. “You stay here. And be very, very quiet. Promise?”

  Dinora nodded, her eyes wide.

  Fatima left everything but their water bottle with her sister and tiptoed toward a metal tub shining in the sun. She stared at the murky water inside, soap scum clinging to the rim. She licked her dry lips. And yet, drinking water used for cleaning could make her and her sister ill.

  She left the tub and gazed across the property. A goat stood tied to a wooden post centered near a cluster of vines. Her heart lightened as she hurried closer, only to find the animal’s teats dry. She cast another glance around then dashed inside.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim room, but she needed to hurry. If caught, the owners wouldn’t care how hungry she and Dinora were.

  Three tall containers lined a far corner next to burlap sacks. How could she take from another family? Likely they had nothing to spare. But what choice did she have? Dinora, who was thin to begin with, needed water soon. With the mid-afternoon heat, she might not make it much longer. Besides, Fatima wouldn’t take much. Only what they needed.

  She reached into the tallest container, grinned when she touched something cool and wet. Stuck her fingers in her mouth for a taste—water! She plunged her bottle inside, filled it, gulped it down, then filled it again. Next, she moved to the burlap sacks. Inside, she found rice and beans.

  She filled her pockets and then, with her water container under her arm, used the bottom hem of her shirt to carry more. Then, she hurried outside, reaching her sister as voices drifted toward them. They waited, crouching amid the trees, until a woman carrying a baby on each hip and a tub on her head, disappeared behind the hut.

  “Let’s go.” Fatima whispered, and the two ran back toward the main road. As soon as they were a safe distance away, Fatima handed her sister the water.