She sighed—happily—he hoped and leaned back against him, seeming to retreat into her own thoughts.
A sharp ascent in the road heralded their arrival in San Miguel, a small town springing from a steep mountain hillside. As the unmistakable vibration of stone cobbles replaced paved road, Spencer looked out the window with interest. He saw soaring silhouettes of gothic structures. Stars blazed down from the sky like those little silver prayer things Miranda talked about. He hadn’t seen stars once in the City.
The van bumped along narrow, winding streets. He’d earlier instructed the driver to drop them at a higher end hotel. The van came to a gentle stop at the top of a steeply sloping street.
Miranda’s head lolled against him as he eased toward the van door. She blinked in the dome light as the driver opened the sliding side door. Spencer clambered out of the van and took a moment to stretch his muscles after the long drive, noticing the cool temperature. While the driver unloaded their luggage, Spencer helped Miranda out onto the street. In the anemic light of the hotel, she looked dead on her feet.
He put his arm around her and they walked into the dimly lit hotel lobby. He was aware of colorful tile and shiny plants, but beyond that he didn’t notice much. Right now, only the thought of a soft bed occupied his thoughts. After paying for two rooms, they were led up a flight of stone steps to a short hallway. The velador opened both rooms and ushered them inside.
Spencer led Miranda into the first one. After the van driver deposited their luggage and was paid for his trouble, they were alone. Miranda tossed her purse onto a nearby chair and yawned.
“I think I’m too tired for that dinner.”
He felt the same way. She peered up at him and smiled. Then, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. Spencer held her close as he returned her kiss. He was stunned by the purity and simplicity of her touch. There was nothing complicated in her expression of affection. Spencer wondered if he deserved such unspoiled warmth.
When she stepped away and said goodnight, Spencer left her room and returned to his own, his thoughts in disorder. He quickly undressed, brushed his teeth, and crawled between the sheets of the bed. By the pale light suspended outside the hotel, he tried to make sense of the way he felt about Miranda.
***
Miranda sat at a small painted vanity table and stared at her reflection. Morning sunlight flooded the room, revealing the vibrant watermelon pink and sunflower yellow colors of the décor. An enameled vase of agapanthus was reflected in a mirror framed by hand carved wood, sparkling with tiny shards of mirrored glass.
Earlier, she’d stood on the wrought iron balcony, looking out at the church spires and domes, the winding streets and pastel painted walls, listening to the church bells ringing, and sounds of voices and traffic. Spencer probably waited for her in the lobby, but she wasn’t ready to walk out the door just yet.
She pulled her cotton cardigan tightly around her frame against the chill air. The woman in the mirror looking back seemed uncertain. Hesitant. Afraid.
And not just for reasons of failure. Even if she did find Soledad, it would be the end of other things. Miranda sensed she stood on the threshold of something big, but she didn’t know what it was. It was like feeling along the edges of something in the dark, wondering if it would be recognizable by day.
She faced a possible future with her sister. The thought was heady and heartrending at the same time. What about Spencer? Just because two people mentioned words of love, it meant nothing in this day and age. Did they have a chance in the real world? Did they have a chance if Spencer knew the truth?
What about her wrestling with God? She felt weary with the struggle. A part of her had dared God to help her, while the more dominant part knew she had no right to demand anything of Him. How did He figure in it all?
Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Remembering Spencer was on the other side of that door—waiting to support her no matter what happened—helped her to stand and finally leave the room.
Miranda’s heart gave a little lurch when she saw him waiting for her as she expected. Descending the steps to where he stood waiting in the lobby, she couldn’t help but notice the soft light in his eyes when he looked at her. It thrilled and petrified her at the same time.
He reached out his hand and took hers in its warm clasp.
“I talked to the driver and got directions to the orphanage.”
Miranda smiled, though her stomach churned. Either outcome was fraught with disappointment. By the end of the day, her life might be changed, for better or for worse.
“Let’s have breakfast first,” Spencer said, tugging on her hand.
Miranda followed him along the cobble-stoned streets lined with colorful, sun-drenched Baroque and Franciscan buildings leaning at odd angles.
Bougainvillea spilled from terra cotta pots and the pungent smell of cooking from nearby restaurants. She had to admit it was beautiful. And after the frenetic velocity of the City, the slower pace here calmed her somewhat.
In a café next door to the hotel, Spencer led her to a small table under the shadow of an awning. When they were seated, she looked out at the passersby, sometimes accompanied by a donkey or two, walking up and down the narrow sidewalks. A little green and white taxi ground its gears in an effort to chug up a particularly steep street.
Miranda glanced back at Spencer and found him watching her face. She lifted a plastic bottle of water to her lips.
“Nervous?” he asked softly.
The bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the tabletop. Water pulsed through the opening, soaking the tablecloth.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Spencer said, lifting up the bottle and setting it right. He tossed his cloth napkin on top of the puddle and smiled.
“Sorry,” Miranda said, feeling like an idiot.
The waiter rushed over and ushered them to a different table, while busboys cleaned up the wet one. They sat closer to the street, out in the full sunlight. Miranda was thankful for its warmth, wishing the heat would warm her soul the way it did her skin.
After ordering, Spencer reached across the table and took her hand.
“What are you thinking about?”
Miranda shook her head, not wanting to talk about it.
He ran his fingers along the inside of her wrist. “I would’ve thought you’d be chomping at the bit to see Soledad.”
Miranda couldn’t think when Spencer touched her, and right now she wanted nothing more to seek the shelter of his arms. She took a deep breath, struggling to emotionally distance herself from him.
“What if she’s not there?”
Spencer was silent for a moment. “Then, we look somewhere else.”
“What if—” Her voice came out in a low throb. “What if we do find her?”
Spencer gazed at her with a curious expression. “I don’t understand. That's what you’ve wanted all along.”
Miranda eased her hand away and tucked it in her lap. “Yes, of course.”
“Are you worried about the legalities of an adoption?”
“That’s part of it,” she hedged.
“What else is there?”
Her thoughts swam around in her head. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What will happen to us?”
Spencer leaned back in his chair. Miranda tried to discern what his blank expression could mean. What was he thinking? Unable to meet his gaze any longer, she looked away.
The waiter arrived with their orders. Miranda bit back the urge to burst into tears. She didn’t know if she could finish this step on the journey—even though so much depended on it.
Spencer bowed his head and said a quiet prayer, placing the unknown into the hands of the One who knew all. Miranda wondered at his choice of words. It gave her no glimpse of his feelings.
He began eating without answering her question. Miranda’s heart plummeted within her. She picked at her fruit salad, fighting a sensation of dizziness.
>
The van driver appeared at their table. “Everything ready,” he said in broken English.
Spencer glanced at her. “Are you finished?”
She nodded, knowing she couldn’t eat anyway. They walked back to where the van was parked at the hotel and climbed in. Miranda sat apart from Spencer, needing to keep space between them. He leaned back against the window seat, seeming to understand her need for emotional privacy. Either that or he wanted nothing to do with her. The knot in her stomach tightened in a painful spasm.
The drive to the outskirts of San Miguel didn’t take long. Pale, dusky hills spotted with trees and scrubby desert plants stretched toward the unknown. Flocks of black birds wheeled overheard in a sky so blue it almost hurt her eyes.
The van went around a bend in the road, bringing into view a small building set back from the road. Miranda had learned that Soledad had been placed in a small, privately run Christian orphanage. Mesquite and oak trees surrounded the courtyard, shading it from the brunt of the sun. On one side, several children ran around in a playground area.
Miranda pressed her fingers against her lips. Her lungs couldn’t get enough air. Oh, God.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Spencer leaned forward. “I called this morning to see if they had any information on Soledad. The supervisor wasn’t available, and the person I spoke with refused to acknowledge whether or not she was there. I suppose it has something to do with privacy issues, but they may be open to telling you something if you have some kind of paperwork.”
“I brought what I have,” Miranda said faintly. She never considered the staff might not let her see her sister if she was indeed there.
“I’m sure it’s only for the children’s protection,” Spencer said.
Miranda nodded, keeping her gaze fastened on the building as it grew in size the closer they came. A low groan escaped her lips as the van turned onto the dusty drive leading to the orphanage.
***
Spencer experienced a ripple of alarm. Miranda looked as if she were about to swoon. He tensed, ready to catch her at any moment.
He understood a little of the enormity of what she was about to face. Please, God, let Soledad be here. If this was another dead end, he didn’t know if Miranda had the strength to deal with it. She’d been through so much already.
He also worried that his lack of response to her question added to her anxiety. But what could he say? There were delicate issues in the balance, and he just didn’t think this was the right time to trot them out for discussion. Besides, he didn’t have the answer she sought.
The van lurched to a stop. He sent up another prayer for wisdom. Dust boiled around the vehicle as they clambered out. Spencer hastened to take Miranda’s arm, determined to offer her whatever support she needed. He only hoped it was enough.
He told the driver to wait, and led her up the stone path.
The building, stucco with red tiled roofing and a brick courtyard, looked well tended. A myriad of desert flora grew around the foundation. As they approached the wrought iron gates, colorful flowers spilled out of urns and terra cotta pots. The sound of children’s voices rose and fell around them, high, piping, and happy. He felt a measure of his tension ease.
He rang a bell that hung outside the gates. After a moment, a small, elderly Hispanic man shuffled out from large wooden doors. He wore baggy pants and shirt, with a frayed straw hat. The man looked through the bars with mild interest and addressed them in Spanish.
Miranda grabbed the bars of the gate, pressing her face against the metal. She rattled off what seemed like a long-winded explanation. The man’s expression remained unchanged. Spencer recognized the words Soledad Perez.
When Miranda finished speaking, she stepped back, imploring the man with her eyes. Spencer decided a person had to have a heart of stone to resist her appeal. Finally, he opened the gates. They gave an eldritch screech in the dry air as they swung open.
Miranda surged forward, stumbling. Spencer took her arm to help her. He would’ve given anything to take this burden from her shoulders, but he could only stand by her side while it played out. Another prayer dislodged from his heart and bubbled to the surface. Please, God!
They followed the man through the heavy wooden doors and into a cool, shaded interior. Large, waxy plants gleamed in the low light slanting through woven blinds. They stood in a hall, which had a long counter running along its length. Framed pictures of childish artwork adorned the walls. Rooms opened off either side. Spencer decided this was once probably a large residence.
He looked down at Miranda, who scanned the area with wide eyes. She trembled, and he resisted the urge to take her in his arms to calm her. The man disappeared through a doorway, leaving them in the quiet space.
Spencer dredged his brain for some soothing words of reassurance to offer Miranda. Before he could form a coherent thought, a woman appeared through the door. She was Hispanic, with bright brown eyes and an efficient manner.
She spoke in Spanish, then English. “I am Maria Torres, the owner and supervisor here. How may I help you?”
Spencer waited for Miranda to speak, but he only heard a squeak emit from her mouth. He put his arm around her and cleared his throat.
“This is Miranda Adams and I’m Spencer Meyers. We’re trying to find a young girl, about twelve tears old, who is Miranda’s half-sister. We were told she was placed in this orphanage as a baby.”
Miranda pulled away from him and clutched the edge of the counter. “Soledad Perez. Is she here?”
Spencer’s heart ached for the anguish in Miranda’s tone. Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. She regarded them both solemnly.
“Do you have paperwork to prove your identity? Until I see some kind of documentation, I cannot say whether the person you seek is here. Sometimes names are changed, which makes identification more difficult.”
Miranda dug in her purse, drawing out a few precious sheaves of paper, which she laid on the counter. Spencer edged closer to peek at the documents, while Miranda fidgeted and watched the woman.
Señora Torres perused each document, apparently reading every word. Spencer sensed tension pouring off Miranda in waves. He could appreciate her show of self-control. He himself wanted to scream, if just to break the oppressive silence.
The sounds of children grew closer. He saw Miranda look toward a window. Spencer turned back to the woman, growing more impatient by the minute. Either Soledad is here or she isn’t. What’s the deal?
At length, the woman rang a little bell sitting on top of the counter. When another person entered, a young man, she whispered something to him and he hurried from the room. A moment later, the boy returned with a Hispanic man who wore a button down shirt with slacks.
“My husband and co-director, Lorenzo Torres,” Señora Torres said.
Spencer and Miranda shook his hand in turn and then resumed waiting while the owners both poured over the paperwork. Miranda walked over to the windows and peered through a space in the blinds. She stood motionless—like a stone statue, as if transfixed by what she saw. Spencer turned his attention back to the couple, who whispered to each other in rapid Spanish.
“Look,” he said, not caring if he would be considered rude. “Can’t you just tell us whether or not the girl is here? Please, just a yes or a no. Then we can go from there.”
The man shuffled the papers and pursed his lips. “What relation are you to the alleged half-sister?”
He blew out a breath, considering his word options. “Friend of the family.”
Señor Torres glanced at his wife. She gave her head a small nod. He turned to him.
“The girl you speak of, I believe is indeed here. However, the paperwork is not satisfactory, and we need to seek legal counsel before proceeding.”
But Spencer only heard the magic words that they’d found Soledad. “Miranda! Did you hear that?” He whirled to see Miranda’s expression at the news.
But he spoke to empty air.
&n
bsp; Thirty-One
Miranda wondered if she was caught up in a dream. Her respiration seemed to slow down to a standstill. The running children faded from her view, their happy cries echoing oddly in her ears. The scent of some exotic flower hung heavily in the air.
She walked forward, focused on a girl sitting on a bench reading a book—the girl she’d seen from the window.
Miranda stopped several feet away and stared at the bent head. The sunlight picked out the highlights of the girl’s dark hair. Her slender brown hands held a paperback book, A Wrinkle In Time. She wore a blue T-shirt and jeans. After flipping a page, she reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
Miranda swallowed. She couldn’t explain what attracted her to this girl. The moment she saw her through the window, she felt a frisson of recognition, a shudder of awareness—something.
Reason told her she was probably mistaken, but the feeling persisted. She scrutinized the girl, wondering what she looked like. Would they resemble each other if indeed this were her sister?
A half-sister surely wouldn’t resemble her at all. Her mother had Soledad by a different man. This girl appeared to be the appropriate age, but that wasn’t enough to propel her outdoors like this, to accost a stranger. Besides, the Torres' acted like Soledad wasn’t among the children they cared for.
And yet, reason became eclipsed by a quickening in her soul. The connection she felt couldn’t be denied. She took a step closer. A small twig snapped beneath her foot.
The girl looked up. Miranda’s breath caught in her throat. Deep brown eyes, almost black, stared somberly back at her.
My mother’s eyes.
Miranda forced air past her vocal chords. “Soledad Perez?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
The girl placed her finger in the book to mark the page and stared at her with a quizzical expression. “Sí?” Her gaze flicked past her as if wondering how a stranger had entered the grounds.
Milagro For Miranda (Book Three Oregon In Love) Page 22
