Mission: Motherhood

“Yes, of course.”

“Ali Tabiz was orphaned and injured in the fighting. We’ve been contacted by Dr. Mike Montgomery, a surgeon with the army currently stationed in the Middle East. We’ve worked with him for a while. Little Ali may need heart surgery, and Mike wants him brought here to see a pediatric cardiac surgeon. That’s your job.”

So she was supposed to get a minor foreign national out of a war-torn country and bring him to Texas for treatment. She couldn’t even begin to ask the questions that flooded her mind.

“Don’t panic,” Anna said. She pulled out a black three-ring binder. “Our last coordinator was very organized, and we’ve done this sort of thing many times. She’s outlined a step-by-step process with all the things you’ll need to do.”

Caitlyn grasped the binder as if it were a life preserver and she were sinking under the waves. “Good. I’m going to need it.”

“You’ll be fine. And I’m just across the hall. Come to me with any questions.” She frowned slightly. “Dr. Mike is usually in touch via e-mail, but sometimes things get pretty hot where he is.”

“You think that’s why you haven’t received any other information?” That must mean that the child was in a dangerous place, as well.

“Probably, but we won’t waste time. You can start by alerting the medical facilities and personnel we normally use that we’ll have a case coming their way. Once we know more, you can get the details nailed down.”

Someone tapped on the frame of the open door, and Caitlyn turned to see Sarah, the kindergarten teacher. “Anna, you’re needed on the phone. It’s some CEO who wants to make a donation and won’t talk to anyone else.”

“Okay, I’ll take it. Never turn down an eager donor.” Anna was gone in an instant, leaving Caitlyn with her mouth still open to say goodbye.

She looked at Sarah, who stood there smiling, probably at her expression. “You didn’t tell me she was a whirlwind.”

Sarah laughed. “How else would she get everything done? Don’t worry—you’ll get used to it.” She waved and disappeared, leaving Caitlyn staring blankly at the computer screen.

She found she was still clutching the binder. All right. She could do this. She needed a job, and here it was. She wouldn’t let anything keep her from succeeding at it.

An hour later she was feeling far more confident. As Anna had said, her predecessor had been organized.

She’d already made several calls, and she’d been pleasantly surprised by her reception. The physicians and hospital administrators had obviously worked with Children of the Day in the past and were perfectly ready to jump into the new project. As soon as she had some more information—

That was the sticking point. No one could do anything until they learned a bit more about the case. She checked the e-mail inbox again, feeling a flutter of excitement at a message from Dr. Montgomery. Maybe this was what they needed.

She clicked it open, and a small face appeared on the screen. This, clearly, was Ali Tabiz.

Big brown eyes, short dark brown hair, an engaging smile. According to the brief statistics attached, the little boy was five, the same age as the twins, but he looked—what?

She grappled for the right word. He was small, maybe suffering from the shortages that went along with having a war in your backyard, and there was a bruise over one eye. But he didn’t look younger than the twins. In a way, he looked older, as those dark brown eyes seemed to hold a world of sorrows.

“Cute kid.” The voice, coming from behind her without warning, startled her so much that her hands jerked from the keys, and she swung around. It was Steve Windham again, this time in uniform. Somehow it made him seem even taller, his shoulders even broader. Or maybe that was because she was sitting down.

She shoved her chair back, standing. “Steve, hello.” She noted the bars he wore. “Or should I say Captain Windham?”

He shook his head, giving her that easy smile. “I’m Chaplain Steve to everyone. Since we’re old friends, I’m just Steve to you.”

She wouldn’t, she decided, exactly call them old friends. “First the elementary school, now Children of the Day. Are you following me?”

His grin widened. “Afraid not. Not that that’s not a good idea.”

Maybe it was safest to ignore the comment. “What are you doing here?”

“I coordinate all the military volunteers who work with Children of the Day, so I’m in and out of the foundation office all the time.”

“Painting at the elementary school, volunteering here, counseling the grieving—surely a chaplain’s not expected to do all that.”

“All that and more.” He shrugged. “An army chaplain has a surprising amount of autonomy. His or her duties are what he or she makes of them, outside of regular services. I follow where the Lord leads me to minister, and He led me here.”

Which meant she’d be tripping over him, apparently. He’d been right to remind her. Prairie Springs was a small town.

He nodded toward the computer screen. “Is this little guy your first project?”

“Yes.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not a state secret, you know. Tell me about him.”

“Look, Steve, I’m not trying to kick you out, but I have work to do. I just don’t see why you need to know about my project.” It was her project, after all.

“If that child has to be brought to the States from a war zone, then I need to know.” Now his smile had developed an edge. “I also coordinate any military involvement in Children of the Day projects—which probably will mean getting that child out.”

“Sorry.” That didn’t sound very gracious, did it? “I am sorry. I didn’t realize that you were involved to such an extent.”

He shrugged. “Now you know. So, are you ready to tell me about him now?”

“Of course.” She managed a smile. “I don’t know much yet. His name is Ali Tabiz, and he’s five years old. He was referred to Children of the Day by a Dr. Mike Montgomery.”

He nodded, his eyes intent as he studied the face on the screen. “I know Mike. If he wants our help, he has good reason.”

“I suppose so, but he hasn’t gotten back to us with much information on the boy’s condition yet. It’s apparently a heart problem that may need surgery. Oh, and we do know he’s an orphan.”

“Poor little guy.” Steve reached out and touched the screen. “What do you say we send him a message?”

“A message? Well, I suppose we could ask Dr. Mike to tell him something.”

“We can do better than that.” He nodded to her desk chair. “If you’ll let me use your computer for a minute, that is.”

In an effort to seem more congenial, she slid out of the chair and watched as he started an e-mail. But the letters that appeared on the screen were Arabic.

Her mouth was probably hanging open in surprise. “How did you do that?”

He grinned. “All the computers here are equipped to switch to an Arabic alphabet. It’s necessary, given where the greatest need is at the moment.”

“But how do you know Arabic?” Steve seemed to be full of surprises.

He shrugged. “I have a knack for languages, I guess. And I was in the Middle East in an earlier offensive.”

“I didn’t know.”

An awkward silence followed, making her wonder what war had been like for a chaplain.

He frowned at the screen. “Since he’s only five, he’s probably not reading much yet, so let’s keep it simple and say we love him and want to see him.”