Missionary Daddy (2 page)

The teenagers appeared as startled as Sam. Eric clapped his hands and motioned toward the awning being erected by staff members. The chattering children crowded in to sit on the hard-packed ground.

During the next few minutes, Eric, with children in his lap and hanging over his back, spoke to the group about Jesus’s love for them. The simple, sweet, spiritual message brought a lump to Sam’s throat. She hoped it was true. These precious babies needed someone big and strong to love them.

Two of the teenagers from the mission team presented a children’s song, urging the sea of faces to sing and clap. Laughter and energy rippled through the clearing. For all the despair, these people could still find joy, something sorely missing in her life most of the time.

A child no more than three had chosen Sam’s lap and cuddled close to play with her shining bracelets. Flies swarmed, the sun scorched and dirt was everywhere. But Sam was oddly content.

When the brief Bible lesson ended, a makeshift table was loaded with an enormous pot of porridge-looking stuff.

“Can you handle this?” Eric asked, offering the ladle to Sam.

“I may not be able to hammer but I can dip,” she said and was rewarded with his wide grin.

“I knew you were a talented woman. Today the dipper. Tomorrow the roof.”

Tomorrow. She didn’t know how to tell him there would be no tomorrow.

A sea of thin, hungry faces swarmed the table, bowls upraised, amazingly considerate of one another. Though clearly in need of food, no one pushed the other out of the way. Most even took their meager rations and headed home to share with other family members. When Sam heard that, she almost cried.

The rest of the group handed out slices of white bread while she filled containers. Eric worked beside the orphan children, quietly directing them to be of service to the others. Not a one argued or insisted on eating first.

Sam dipped until the pot emptied. Still the children came.

“We need more,” she said.

The van driver shrugged. “There is no more.”

With a sinking feeling, she scraped the remains into one final cup and watched with heavy heart as the latecomers trudged away empty-handed but uncomplaining. The message was clear: such was the way of life in Africa.

Eric appeared at her side and draped an arm comfortingly over her shoulders. He brought with him the pleasant scent of healthy, hardworking male. “You can’t let it get to you.”

Hot and sticky and sad, she stared bleakly at the last child ambling down the dusty road, empty container dangling from his fingertips. “Some went away hungry.”

“But many didn’t. You have to look at the good you’ve done instead of what you can’t do. That’s Africa.”

“Can’t we get more food out here?” She had money. She could buy whatever they needed.

“The town missionaries bring what they can every day, but they have people inside the city to feed, as well.”

She had to find a way to help. To make a difference in these precious lives. Maybe she couldn’t change things today, but some day…

“Come on,” Eric said. “Zola has lunch for the rest of us inside.”

Food held no appeal for Samantha. These children needed to eat far more than she did. She pinched the skin on her upper arm, dismayed to find a fleshy strip of triceps. The negative voices started up inside her head.
Too fat. Ugly. Worthless.

With the skills she’d developed over several years of coping, she pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on feeding the orphans. According to the doctors, her weight was finally at a semi-healthy level, whether she believed it or not.

Along toward sunset, a van rattled down the road to take the teenagers back to their base camp inside the city.

Sam didn’t go with them.

“The driver who brought me is coming back later,” she said.

That was fine with Eric. He could use her help getting the kids washed, read to and down for the night. And he enjoyed the prospect of spending a little one-on-one time with the sweet and lovely Samantha. Broken fingernails aside, she’d proven herself to be a real trooper all day.

“I’ve never seen anything quite so brave and wonderful as these children,” Sam said later as they settled outside in the evening with bottles of clean water. Even the water struck her as more significant than ever before. Here, water was at a premium all the time.

Eric angled toward her in the semidarkness, water bottle dangling from one hand. “They were fascinated with your hair. I doubt they’d ever seen so much long, straight, white hair. It was nice of you to let them touch it.”

Her ponytail had long since pulled loose on the sides and Eric was as tempted as the children to get his hands on the flowing blond silk.

She brushed the strands back with both hands. “I didn’t mind. The kids are adorable.”

“So what do you think of Africa so far?”

The easy smile disappeared. “The people are gentle and friendly, but the poverty is unbelievable. And the orphans…”

Eric knew exactly what she meant. Sometimes the conditions overwhelmed. If God hadn’t called him here, he would have given up a long time ago. But the Lord and his heart wouldn’t let him.

“Every day the problem grows worse. More parents die of AIDS or malaria. More children left alone. The African people take care of one another when they can, but most barely survive. How can they take in an orphaned child?”

He shook his head, aware that the worry he hid from the kids had seeped through.

Sam’s smooth, soft hand touched his. “Your work here is wonderful, Eric. You’re doing all you possibly can.”

But it wasn’t enough.

Sweet Sam was trying to encourage him and the thought both moved and amused Eric. He was generally the comforter, the strong one. But he was grateful that God had sent this particular missions’ worker halfway across the world just when he needed encouragement.

“If only those with the financial means would do more,” he muttered. But in his experience, the rich just got richer. Africa was proof of that. “You drove through the townships to get here. You saw the line between the haves and have-nots—a mansion on one side of the road and hovels on the other.”

“It’s shocking, isn’t it?”

Resentment burned the back of his throat like acid. “There are people in this country wealthy enough to solve the hunger problem, yet they won’t even cross the road to offer a loaf of bread to a needy family.”

It was the regular working folks, grandmas on fixed incomes, people of modest means who supported the fatherless. They were the ones with compassion. The wealthy of the world were too busy blessing themselves.

“The Bible said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. All you have to do is look around to understand that.”

Sam had grown very quiet and Eric regretted his outburst. He bumped her hand with his water bottle. “Sorry. I didn’t need to dump my worries on you.”

“It’s okay.” But her soft voice held a sadness he couldn’t interpret.

For the past few months he’d been contemplating a decision about his work here. He’d prayed and studied the Bible, asked for opinions from the missions’ board and the African consulate. Still, he hadn’t decided how best to help the orphans he loved so much. Sometimes the frustration with people who
could
give and didn’t built up until he said too much.

“The orphanage meets the basic needs,” he said. “We teach them about Jesus, love them all we can, but children need more. They need families.”

“Matunde and Amani seem to think you
are
their family.”

He chuckled softly. “I guess I am. They’ve been with me since their mother died when Matunde was born. Afterward, I won their father to the Lord. When he got sick, too, he brought baby Matunde and his big brother here.”

“And you took them in.”

He took a swig from his water bottle, remembering the desperately ill man, weak and gaunt, who’d walked miles to ensure his children would be cared for. “It was their father’s last request. I couldn’t refuse, even though we normally refer infants to a baby hospital. In fact, Matunde was the first and only baby we’ve had here.”

“That’s why he’s crazy about you. You probably diapered the little guy.”

“I did. Clumsy as an ox, but he and I muddled through until Zola came along to help.”

Perhaps that was the reason he was so attached to the two brothers. He was the only parent they remembered. The thought of leaving them behind tore at him like tiger’s claws. The boys were part of his indecision.

“What you do is amazing. A true gift. I wish—” She let the thought trail away, saying instead, “How much longer until the construction is complete?”

“A week maybe. Mission teams generally work fast. All of you are doing a great job.”

She held up her bruised thumb. “You call this great?”

“Sure,” he said, bumping her with his shoulder. “A regular,
bang-up
job.”

She rolled her silvery eyes, but they both chuckled softly at the joke.

“Why do you call the orphanage Ithemba House?”

“
Ithemba
means hope in several African languages. Sometimes hope is all I can give them.”

“Hope is everything, Eric,” she said in a soft voice. “Absolutely everything.”

And he knew that Sam understood what so many others didn’t about missionary work. Without the hope that God had a plan and purpose even for the lowliest, humankind was lost.

Night sounds closed in around them. The symphony of a dozen frog species. The clear, pure trill of night birds. The calls and cries of nocturnal creatures on the move. Noises as familiar to Eric as the lilting cadence of the many African dialects.

A scream ripped the darkness. Sam yipped and clutched his arm. “What was that?”

The eerie howl and piercing scream came again.

Sam had moved so close, Eric was reluctant to answer. But in fairness, he admitted, “A jackal. No harm to us.”

He felt her relax, but she didn’t scoot away and he was glad. They sat close, her hand on his arm.

“The stars look so near,” she whispered. “I feel as if I can reach out and touch them.”

“Want me to get one for you?”

She turned her head the slightest bit, bringing her face close. Her full, bowed lips lifted in a soft smile.

“Would you?”

He was a missionary, a man not given to impulse, a man very careful not to overstep his bounds, but he wanted to kiss the lovely Sam.

He shifted around toward her, lifting one hand to brush a stray lock behind her ear. As he’d expected, her hair was silk. In the moonlight, their eyes met and held.

Then the sweep of car lights found them and Eric moved away, both thankful and sorry for the interruption.

“There’s my ride,” Sam said. Eric leaped to his feet and helped her up. Her skin, even after a hard day’s work, was as silky as her hair. Regretfully, that would change by the time her mission team left Africa.

They walked to the car, still holding hands.

“Thanks for your help today.”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I learned so much. I never—” Her voice choked. Eric moved closer, but Sam backed away and reached for the car door. “Bye, Eric. Today was wonderful.”

As the car pulled out, Eric raised a hand. “See you tomorrow.”

But he didn’t. In fact, Samantha never returned to the orphanage again. Eric was not only disappointed, he was bewildered to learn that Sam was not a part of the missions’ team. The team didn’t know her any more than he did.

No one could figure exactly what had happened. One thing for certain, she’d made an impression on him.

Eric spent a couple of days talking to God about the incident. Because for that one, beautiful day, he had almost believed in love at first sight.

And he didn’t even know her last name.

Present day, Chestnut Grove, Virginia

H
is dream was coming true.

Eric Pellegrino sat at the desk inside the offices of Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency reading the home study of a prospective adoptive family.

Last year, after much prayer and counsel, he’d resigned his work in Africa to take the job as assistant director in charge of developing an international adoption program for Tiny Blessings. Now that the director, Kelly Van Zandt was pregnant and had cut back on her hours, he was heavily involved in all aspects of the agency, but his dream of finding permanent families for the orphans of Africa never left his thoughts.

Matunde and Amani were waiting. And the paperwork to make them his official children now awaited approval from the South African government. If all went well, other orphans would also soon be crossing the waters to loving families.

He completed his notes on the prospective parents and slid their information into a file. They, too, were interested in adopting from Africa.

As much as he missed the children, he liked his job here, although he sometimes chafed at wearing a suit and living by an alarm clock.

The Tiny Blessings agency was a good one, committed to doing Christ’s work, though an ugly scandal had rocked the place over the last couple of years. Kelly, with her meticulous organizational skills had nearly killed herself to set things right. Or rather someone had tried to kill her to keep things quiet.

Thank God, the insane woman had been caught and dealt with. Kelly, Pilar and all the other staff members worked diligently, not only to move new adoptions forward, but to right the wrongs of the past.

But every time they doused one firestorm of trouble, another seemed to flame up. Someone still didn’t want Kelly’s husband, Ross, to investigate the old falsified adoption records and had recently sent a threatening letter to the agency.

As a newcomer, Eric often had trouble keeping up with events that had happened before he’d arrived. But he’d been blessed with a great new church and new friends, and was knee-deep in fund-raising efforts for his African projects. Life was good. Different but good.

Anne Williams, the agency’s bookkeeper, appeared from the back of the long, narrow building. Eric liked the shy gentle woman, and he was glad she had married an old missionary acquaintance of his, Caleb Williams. In fact, Caleb, now a youth pastor, was the man who had recommended Eric for his current position.

A newspaper tucked beneath her arm, Anne said, “Andrew Noble called while you were conferencing with that new family.”

Eric reached for the telephone. “Should I call him back?”

Anne shook her head. “He only wanted to thank you again for chairing the youth-group committee for the upcoming fund-raiser.”

Every year the Noble Foundation held a picnic to raise funds for charitable groups. Eric was thrilled because this year the fund-raiser was earmarked for orphanages in Africa.

“Considering it’s a project close to my heart, I’m glad to do it. And the kids at the youth center are full of ideas. A good bunch, too.” He already knew most of them from his Sunday school class at the Chestnut Grove Community Church. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a note to get snacks for tonight’s meeting. Teens worked better when food was part of the deal. “Did Andrew mention if he or Rachel had found a cochair?”

The new international adoption program was taking a lot of his time. Add his already busy schedule, church and an occasional night out, and Eric wasn’t sure he could swing the full responsibility of organizing the youth’s portion of the fund-raiser. He hoped that Andrew and his cousin Rachel would soon pick a cochair for the event.

“Andrew says Rachel has someone terrific in mind and is awaiting a call back.” Even though the pregnant Rachel was on bed rest, she remained involved with foundation work by telephone and computer.

“Did he say who?” Not that it mattered. Eric would work with anyone who desired to help his kids.

“You’re going to like this.” Anne placed the newspaper on the desk in front of him and tapped a picture. “If Rachel can convince her, this is your cochair.”

Eric looked down at the newspaper photo. All the air whooshed out of his lungs.

Samantha Harcourt.
The woman he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to. The woman who disturbed his dreams and whose memory sent waves of humiliation flowing over him. He’d nearly made a fool of himself in Africa. Had actually prayed for God to send her back after that first amazing day. Had spent many late nights standing outside the orphanage, listening to the call of the jackal, and wishing he could forget her.

But how could he?

Now that he was back in the States, he found her picture was literally everywhere. Billboards, magazines. Sam Harcourt, ad model for Style Fashions, the hottest trend in America.

As a man who’d lived most of his adult life in Third World countries, he’d had no idea the sweet missions’ worker was a top fashion model.

Once he’d discovered her identity, he’d felt like a total idiot. He’d also understood why she’d never returned to the orphanage. She wasn’t a missions’ worker at all. Like celebrities everywhere, she loved publicity and what better press than to say she’d worked among the poor, starving orphans of Africa?

Wasn’t this photo proof enough? He remembered when she’d asked one of the kids to take it. She had both arms wrapped full of children, Matunde and Amani in her lap. The unfinished orphanage served as background.

A souvenir, she’d claimed. Yeah, right. Publicity, plain and simple.

He hissed in a slow, anxious breath.

Sam Harcourt was back in town.

Lord forgive him, but he prayed Sam would be too involved with herself to serve as his cochair.

Eric faked to the left, then bounded down the court, dribbling past two boys, both determined to slay him in their weekly game of Eric and the girls against the guys. Tonight was the first meeting of the picnic committee, but important things like basketball had to come first. He was ready to go up for the short jumper when the girls on his team suddenly gasped and stopped playing.

“It’s her,” Gina squeaked. “It’s Samantha Harcourt.”

Eric’s heart stumbled. So did his feet. Sam was here.

He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“Walk!” Caleb Williams blew his whistle, clapping his hands for the ball, but Eric forgot all about the game.

He stared at the entrance of the Youth Center. A tall, gorgeous blonde had come into the room, accompanied by her sister, a young mother Eric knew from church.

“I didn’t know she was back in town,” Gina gushed, eyes sparkling with admiration. Every teenager in the place was staring, drop-mouthed. Eric worked hard not to do the same.

Get it together, Pellegrino. You know what she really is. Another rich girl gone slumming.

Wasn’t that what everyone back in his college days had said about Katrina before she’d dumped him for the country-club set? The same warning applied here.

“Is she going to help out in the center?” Nikki, another of the youth group, asked with that same sound of adulation.

Eric’s lip curled, even while his traitorous heart slammed against his rib cage. “I think she’s here for the meeting.”

“No way,” one of the kids said in hopeful disbelief.

“Way,” he admitted, trying not to show his reluctance. “Rachel Cavanaugh asked her to work as my cochair.”

He was not too happy about it, but he knew better than to say anything negative in front of a bunch of teenagers. In truth, he was ashamed of his negative reaction, but he’d been burned before. With Sam, he’d had no warning and she’d left her mark on him.

Gina, the shy, quiet one of the bunch, stared at Eric. “You know her?”

Though the rest of them were sweating like pigs, the slender teen wore a baggy sweater.

“Know her?” He shook his head. “Not really.”

Which was perfectly true. The beautiful, compassionate woman he’d met in Africa clearly did not exist, and he felt like an idiot for building up this fantasy that she was his one and only, sent by God. Man, what a joke.

“If she helps with the fund-raiser, maybe we can get her to stick around here and help with other things.” As youth director, Caleb was always on the lookout for more adult volunteers.

Eric stifled a protest. More time with Sam was the last thing he wanted. If he wasn’t so committed to the work in Africa, he’d drop out of this fund-raiser himself.

“Maybe she’ll start a fitness class,” Gina said hopefully. “Models are usually great at staying in shape, and some of us need to work out more.”

Eric found the remark amusing. Gina didn’t have an ounce of fat on her.

“Whoa baby!” seventeen-year-old Jeremy murmured. “If Sam starts a class, I’m joining.”

To everyone’s amusement, Gina elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs.

When the nonsense died down, Caleb nudged Eric. “Are you going to welcome your helper?”

“Do I have to?” he asked and instantly regretted the reflexive response.

His friend shot him a strange look. Eric flushed, embarrassed to have Caleb see him so discombobulated. He needed to lope out the side door and get his head together.

“Eric,” Sam called, the perfect smile lighting her face as she crossed the distance between them. “It really is you. I couldn’t believe it when Rachel said we’d be working together again.”

Eric’s stomach sank to his toes. So, it was true. She
had
agreed to cochair. Dandy.

“Hello, Sam,” he said coolly, mouth tight. “How’s the modeling business?”

Samantha’s smile faltered. She felt the chill of Eric’s greeting clear to her bones. Disdain, cold and condemning filled his dark chocolate eyes, eyes that had followed her all over the world. But those same eyes that had once admired and welcomed her had grown icy. Her fear in Africa had been justified. Now that he knew who she was and what she did for a living, he didn’t approve. She wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in Africa. Our shoot wrapped early and we had to catch a plane.”

Her reasons, apparently, didn’t impress him much. She tried again. “I’ve thought a lot about Africa since then.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

Now what did he mean by that?

After one life-changing day at the orphanage with Eric, she’d thought of little else. She even dreamed about the profound despair and the selfless missionary with the teasing smile and the handsome face. Her life since that day had seemed empty and unfulfilling. Most people would think she was crazy, but with her career at its zenith, she’d come home to rethink her future. What did she want to do with the rest of her life?

“I’m on hiatus,” she said, straightening her smile so that only she knew it was no longer real. Obviously, Eric wasn’t as pleased to see her as she was to see him.

“That’s nice.” Eric glanced toward the clutch of gathered teenagers and motioned toward an open door. “Head for the meeting room, guys. Time to start planning.”

And then he turned his back on her and walked away.

The next two hours were both miserable and wonderful for Sam. She liked the kids in the youth group. At first, they seemed intimidated or awed by her, something she hated. But after a bit, they opened up and began tossing out ideas in earnest, no longer focused on the celebrity in their midst.

Scribbling the latest brainstorm on a yellow pad, she glanced at Eric from the corner of her eye. He had not warmed up in the least. With the kids, he was friendly and funny just as he had been in Africa, but with her he was as cold as Antarctica. What had she done, other than be who she was, to warrant his unfriendliness?

“Let’s see, we have nominations for a concession stand, a space walk and pony rides. Does anyone know where we could get ponies?” Eric pointed a pencil at Caleb, who’d sat in on the meeting. “You know most of the townsfolk better than I do. Any ideas?”

“I’ll ask around and get back to you.”

“We have to choose something simple that can be put together easily but will still make plenty of money,” Sam said.

“The concession sounds easiest to me,” Eric answered. “We could make a schedule, work shifts, assign different ones to collect the supplies.” He looked around the table. “What do the rest of you think?”

“Sounds cool to me,” Nikki answered. Of all the teens, Goth girl Nikki was the most outspoken. “I’ll make the schedule of workers.”

Several of the others groaned. Nikki was a tough taskmaster.

“Is there any reason why we can’t run two activities?” Sam asked as an idea hit.

All eyes turned to her, including Eric’s dark chocolate ones. “What do you have in mind?”

“How about a dunk tank?”

“Yes!” Jeremy said and punctuated his approval with a fist in the air. “I can think of a million people I’d pay to dunk. Starting with the school principal.”

A chorus of excited voices pitched in, adding opinions. Sam wrote them down as quickly as possible, feeling pretty good to have come up with a popular possibility. When she glanced at Eric, he was watching her. She smiled. He didn’t return it.

This voluntary position was going to be harder than she’d imagined.

After they had hashed out the initial ideas and responsibilities, Eric announced the next meeting date, then leaned back to gaze around the table. A cute smile danced at the corner of his lips. “Anybody hungry? I brought food.”

With rumbles of approval and a clatter of chairs, the teenagers rushed the pile of snacks like a swarm of hungry locusts. Potato chips and cookies flew off the table while Eric handed out sodas from an ice chest. The man understood the language of kids, whether they were American or African.

“Thanks, Eric.”

“Yeah, thanks, man.”

The kids adjourned to the TV room and plopped down to eat. Sam found a diet soda and settled onto the floor beside the girl named Gina.

“Cold?” she asked.

Gina nodded and pulled a sweater closer to her narrow body.