These children had absolutely nothing. Not even a family. Yet they longed for reasons to celebrate. As if God had knit the need for joy into the fabric of every child. It was one more reason Mary Catherine loved what she was doing. She had the privilege of fostering happiness in each of these children.
For the next half hour Mary Catherine taught the children the first Sunday school song she could remember ever learning. After that, most of the kids could sing along with her. “The B-i-b-l-e . . . that’s the book for me! I stand alone on the word of God. The B-i-b-l-e!”
After singing the song with her students a dozen times through, Mary Catherine was suddenly desperate to catch her breath. One of the volunteer teachers must’ve seen the look on her face. She stepped up and waved her hands at the kids. “Time for recess. Everyone outside!”
The orphanage sat on a newly formed compound. There were three small huts for the workers—one for Mary Catherine, two for the local women who helped with everything from bathing to fixing meals.
The fourth and largest structure was the orphanage itself. It was one story, like most of the buildings in Uganda. One wing was filled with a sleeping area—row after row of bunk beds and two bathrooms. Another wing was the dining hall and kitchen. And the school and play area made up the third wing. In the middle was a gathering space for relaxing and reading. A living room of sorts.
Mary Catherine walked outside and leaned against the wall of the orphanage. Breathe, she told herself. You’re fine. Relax and breathe. She had been in Uganda for seven weeks and for the most part she tried not to think about her health. Still, days like this when she couldn’t catch her breath, when she needed safety pins to hold her skirt up because of her weight loss, she knew the truth.
She was getting worse.
She tried to ignore it, she had even taught herself how to slow her pounding heart, how to get oxygen into her blood even when her lungs felt like they were filled with syrup. Which is what she did now, and her next breath came a little easier. Mary Catherine made her way across the playground to her personal hut. The little dwelling contained a small bathroom and two cots. God was providing for her, and the love in her heart for the children was worth every risk to her health. Helping these kids was a dream come true, no doubt. He would protect her. She believed that no matter how hard it was to breathe.
Today was exciting for another reason. A missionary from London was joining them today, someone intent on living here at least a year. She’d stay with Mary Catherine.
The woman’s name was Ember.
Mary Catherine sat on her cot and let her body find its way back to normal. She had thirty minutes until class resumed. She peered out the single window and admired the block wall surrounding the facility. A group of men from town had finished the work just yesterday. The wall was ten feet high with razor wire. One way to make sure the kids were as safe as possible.
Despite the wall, the place didn’t feel closed in. The orphanage owned two acres, so there was plenty of space for the kids to play. Janie Omer had worked with churches in Tennessee, California, and London to create a stream of funding that had provided for the facility. There was talk of the group opening a second one not too far from here.
The orphanages would work together, teaching the children and giving them more of a community.
Mary Catherine closed her eyes and smiled. Marcus should be running that one, right, Lord? She unplugged her laptop from the generator on the floor. The orphanage had electricity, but it didn’t work all the time. The generator was more reliable.
She opened the computer to her email and easily found the last letter from Marcus. He had sent it a few days after she arrived. Mary Catherine had read it so often she practically knew it by heart. Even so, she let her eyes wander over the text. Somehow reading his words made her breathe better.
He had that effect on her.
Dear Mary Catherine,
I guess in some ways I’m still recovering from seeing you. I know I took you by surprise and I’m sorry for that. Not just showing up like that, but the things I said. One minute you’re headed to security for a trip to Africa. The next you’re sitting next to me and I’m talking about wanting to marry you.
Probably not the way I should’ve handled it.
I don’t know. I guess it was just something I needed to say. I was worried about you . . . and I kept thinking how I’ve told you I want to be with you and that I’ll wait for you and that I want to be more than friends. But you haven’t known me that long. I didn’t want you to think I saw you as just another girl.
You could never be that.
Mary Catherine blinked away tears, the way she always did when she reached that part. The letter made her feel like Marcus was right here, sitting beside her on the thin cot, looking into her eyes. She waited till she could see clearly before finding the spot where she left off.
The truth is, I really do want to marry you. I think we’d be amazing, and in no time you’d forget about not being the marrying type.
But that isn’t how you feel, and I respect you.
That’s why I’m writing. After today I won’t email you or text you . . . I won’t show up running the orphanage next door. You’ve asked me to understand, and after a few days of praying about it, I can tell you this: I will never understand, but I will respect you.
If you want me to leave you alone, I will.
I don’t know how long it’ll take before I stop thinking about you. It’s hard to imagine. Every time I drive by the beach . . . every bicyclist I pass on my drive to the stadium . . . every night when I step out onto my back deck.
Anyway, enough. I’ll pray for you, and if for any reason you change your mind, you know where to reach me.
I love you, Mary Catherine. And I still don’t believe you.
Love, Marcus
She still hadn’t written back. Mary Catherine hated the fact, but what else could she do? If she responded, and if she were honest, she’d have to tell him that he was right. She hadn’t been telling the truth about herself. Of course she was the marrying type. She just never thought she’d find someone like Marcus, someone real and deep and loyal. A man who shared her faith.
If she wrote to him, her letter would have to admit that and then tell him the rest of the truth. How she missed him every day and longed to see him again. How she replayed the scene in the airport every few hours and how it was one of the highlights of her entire life.
“Mary Catherine. Come, please!” Someone was yelling her name.
She closed her computer and hurried toward the orphanage. Her breathing was better, but she needed to be careful. If she moved too quickly, she would send herself into another crisis. The children still had another fifteen minutes of recess, but as soon as she stepped into the living room of the orphanage she saw the reason she’d been called.
One of the local women who helped with meals was holding a newborn baby. The infant was cradled in blankets, but he or she looked severely malnourished. Mary Catherine felt her heart melt as she approached. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy.” The woman had clearly been crying. “His mama is dead. No daddy.” She peered at the baby’s face. “He is ours now.” The woman held the child to Mary Catherine. “You hold him?”
“Yes.” Mary Catherine took the baby gently in her arms and moved to the nearest rocking chair. The local women returned to the kitchen to work on lunch. Cradling the sleeping infant in her arms, Mary Catherine set the rocker in motion. The woman returned with a warmed bottle of milk, and then disappeared back to the kitchen again.
The baby had been asleep, but now he opened his eyes. As if he could sense there was food for him. Finally. Mary Catherine slid the bottle into his mouth and immediately he began gulping down the milk. Poor baby. Mary Catherine looked into his eyes. He wasn’t a fussy infant, like some she’d seen. This baby probably already knew there was no point in crying. His needs weren’t going to be met right away. Maybe not at all.
At
least until now.
“It’s okay, baby.” She ran her thumb along his brow and over his delicate brown skin. This is how our baby might’ve looked, she thought. If I had a healthy heart. If I could say yes to Marcus Dillinger. Two emotions competed for her attention. A very great love for this little one, concern for his future and his survival. And at the same time an unfathomable joy.
Because though she would never rock a baby of her own, at least she had this.
No matter what happened from here, no matter how many months she had left to live, this baby and others here at the orphanage were the only ones she would ever cradle or feed. No little ones would ever call her Mama except the toddlers running around on the playground outside. Sure, the older kids called her Miss Kat. But the little ones called her Mama. It was another reason she loved being here, loved seeing this dream come true. She wasn’t only a teacher and a worker here in Uganda.
She was a mother.
When Mary Catherine was done feeding him, she handed him back to the local woman. Lunch was over for the students also. Time to get back in the classroom. She was headed to the closet for the math workbooks when she practically ran into a pale-skinned woman with red-gold hair like her own.
“Sorry.” Mary Catherine stepped back. “Are you . . . ?”
“Ember.” The woman reached out her hand. “Yes. I just got in.”
“Wonderful.” Mary Catherine looked out the nearest window. There wasn’t a car in sight, and already the gate to the facility was closed and locked again. Ember’s driver must’ve left quickly. “Welcome.” She shook the woman’s hand, and then gave her a hug. “We’ll be sharing a hut. Might as well be friends.”
“Exactly.” Ember laughed. “Everyone says you’re the best thing to happen to this village.”
Her London accent was as pretty as her face. And her eyes . . . a mix of blue and green and hazel. Mary Catherine hadn’t seen anything like them. “Do you have bags?”
“Yes. By the door.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’ll get them later. I don’t want to interfere with the schedule.”
Mary Catherine nodded. What was it about the woman? She seemed different, somehow. Maybe because she was European. “Follow me. You can meet the children.” She smiled at Ember. “We’re doing math next.”
“I prefer art.” Ember grinned. “But there’s no art without math. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
For a moment Mary Catherine stopped and stared at Ember. “Have you noticed . . . ?”
“We look alike?” She laughed again, and the sound was as carefree as a summer breeze. “Absolutely. The man who drove me from the airport said that. Asked if we were sisters.”
“Yes.” Mary Catherine hesitated. “The kids will probably think so, too.”
They grabbed the stacks of workbooks and took them to the classroom. The children were back in their seats, giggling and talking. The minute Mary Catherine and Ember walked into the room, they stopped and stared. Bacia was the first to say something. She pointed. “Miss Kat . . . your sister?”
Mary Catherine shared a look with Ember and allowed a quick laugh. “No, dear. Ember is our newest teacher. She’ll work with me in the classroom.”
“But she is your sister, yes?” Bacia clearly spoke for the other children, all of whom looked delighted and confused at the same time. Bacia pointed again. “She has your hair.”
It took five minutes for the conversation to let up.
They couldn’t delay math any longer, so Mary Catherine launched into a lesson on addition and subtraction. The children had already studied both subjects. Now they were ready to combine the ideas. Another hour flew by and only then did Mary Catherine realize she was struggling to breathe. Again.
Ember seemed to notice before anyone else. She came alongside Mary Catherine. “Step outside.” She nodded, her expression capable. “I have this.”
Not until Mary Catherine was back outside, leaning against the same wall, forcing herself to relax did a question occur to her. Was her struggle to breathe that obvious? Already the new teacher seemed to notice. The reality made Mary Catherine relax a little quicker this time.
She had a feeling Ember was going to become a very good friend.
11
TYLER HAD ASKED SAMI to bring a nice outfit for dinner. So after the game, the two of them changed clothes, and Tyler took Sami to the Mark Hopkins Hotel at 1 Nob Hill—a spot he’d scouted last time he was here. They rode the elevator to the nineteenth floor and he led her to a secluded restaurant called Top of the Mark. The maître d’ was expecting them.
“A special night, Mr. Ames. Miss.” The maître d’ grinned.
“Yes, it is.” Tyler smiled at Sami. He loved her so much.
“Very well.” The man nodded. Then in no particular rush, he took them to their table alongside a floor-to-ceiling window with panoramic views of the San Francisco Bay. He handed them their menus. “Enjoy.”
So far the night was like something Tyler’s heart had scripted the first time he and Sami walked on the beach, after they’d found each other again. Back then he had dreamed that one day they might have a night like this.
And now it was playing out just as he had prayed it might.
They ate filet mignon and grilled salmon and after the waiter cleared their plates they laughed about how young they’d been when Tyler first knocked on her grandparents’ door—just a ten-minute drive from here. “I thought you lived in a palace.” Tyler reached across the table and took her hands. “And you were the princess.”
She eased her fingers around his. “You were the best thing about that summer.” Her eyes lit up. “Cutest boy I’d ever seen.”
“I definitely couldn’t focus on my summer league games.” He angled his head, seeing all the way to her soul. “Knowing you were back at your grandparents’ house.”
A comfortable quiet filled the space between them, but never once did they look away. Tyler thought about his mistakes, the decision to pass up the UCLA scholarship and ride out a few terrible seasons in the minor leagues. He had walked out of her life and become someone he didn’t recognize.
Not until he was homeless, out of baseball, and working at the retirement center in Florida did Tyler see Sami again. And then he was too embarrassed to really talk to her. If it hadn’t been for dear old Virginia and her words about forgiveness and grace, Tyler might never have believed he could have a second chance.
He looked out the window. Only You could’ve done this, God . . . given me this girl again after all the heartache I put her through.
“Tyler.” She giggled. “So serious.”
“Sorry.” He turned to her and found his smile again. “I guess I still can’t believe I’m here with you. That you’re really mine.”
Her expression became deeper. “God moved heaven and Earth to make it happen.” She smiled. “At least it feels that way.”
“It does.” He paid the bill and then took her hand again. “You ready?”
“What?” She laughed. “There’s more?”
“Definitely.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “I want to take you somewhere.”
She looked out the window. “You just did.” Her eyes found his. “This place is amazing. I’ve never been anywhere like it.”
“Me, either.” He paused. “Still . . . ” He held her hand as they started walking toward the exit. “I have a feeling our next stop will be your favorite.”
“As long as I’m with you.” Sami stayed close by his side while the valet found Tyler’s rental car. “This has already been the best night ever.”
Tyler smiled, anything to hide his racing heart. He sure hoped it was her best night ever. He had a lot riding on the next few hours. Not just the success of the night.
But his entire future.
AFTER THE ROSES at the airport and the intimate dinner on Nob Hill, Sami had no idea how Tyler could top the evening. It was just after ten o’clock as they set out and after a few minutes she knew where th
ey were headed.
When he pulled into the driveway of her grandparents’ Bay Area house, Sami drew a quick breath and turned to him. “What’s this?”
“They’re not here. I called them.” He grinned, thankful she couldn’t see the way his knees trembled. “They said it was okay if we stopped by.”
“I can’t believe this.” Sami let the reality wash over her.
The last time she and Tyler were here they were seventeen, with an ocean of uncertainty ahead. Sami had lived with her grandparents since she was five, the year her parents died in a motorcycle accident. Her grandpa had been part owner of the Giants for many years, so he and Sami’s grandma owned a house here and a second one in the San Fernando Valley.
Not far from where Tyler had been a star high school baseball pitcher.
But they never would’ve met at all if it weren’t for that San Francisco summer. That year her grandparents signed up to host a summer league baseball player. Tyler was assigned to them.
The night was getting later. They parked and Tyler hurried around to open her door. He helped her out and then slowly took her in his arms. “I had to bring you here.” The moon shone in her eyes. “Where it all began.”
They hugged for a long time and then together they faced the stunning house. “So many memories.” Sami breathed in the smell of the fir trees that surrounded her grandparents’ estate. The place was beautiful. Sami had almost forgotten how much so. “You planned this?”
Tyler shrugged. His voice held a sense of mischief and anticipation. “Maybe.” He bent down and picked up a small piece of paper from the ground. Only as soon as he held it to her in the palm of his hand, Sami could see she was wrong. It wasn’t paper.
It was a rose petal. She looked down and saw something she had missed until now. A path of rose petals formed a walkway from where they stood to somewhere behind the house. Her heart skipped a beat. “Tyler . . . what is this?”
He smiled, watching her, like he was lost in her eyes. “Let’s follow it and see.”
Brush of Wings Page 10
