man. He’d come from a prestigious family in Colorado Springs. His father was the mayor, and yet, here he was in Venezuela providing health care to the poor in a rustic community so many miles from the comforts of home.
Kate reached the end of the long hallway, turned right for a short distance and entered the dispensary on the left. She scanned the shelves again, concerned. Had she mislabeled the inventory when it arrived? She pulled the ladder to the end of the row and checked the boxes lining the wall.
Perspiration beaded her skin, and with her exertion, moisture collected along her hairline and rolled down her face, stinging her eyes. She blinked and climbed down from the ladder.
Stepping back, she tripped over a pile of empty cartons and gave them a swift kick. A box cart-wheeled through the air and landed near the doorway.
“Take that, Adam Montgomery,” she said, then chuckled at her childishness.
What made her most angry was her attraction to the man. Since they’d arrived, she’d watched him work and had observed his skill as a plastic surgeon. He transformed deformed children into beautiful youngsters—healthy and unscarred by their tragic births or their horrible mishaps. And, though Adam strutted his stuff in the office, she witnessed a humility when it came to working with the families. His kindness touched her heart. Somewhere beneath that arrogance was a true Christian man.
Longing for a breath of air, Kate turned off the dispensary light, locked the door and walked a step farther to the outside delivery door. Once a month a truck pulled up behind the clinic to bring lifesaving drugs and supplies to the volunteer group of doctors, nurses and personnel who worked there.
Darkness enshrouded her as she stepped outside. No convenient streetlight glowed to dispel the gloom. Only the moon’s faint glint flickered from beyond the tree leaves. She stood beside the door, drawing in the humid air. An occasional whiff of breeze rustled the grasses around the stucco building, her home away from home.
Home. She didn’t allow herself to think about home. She loved her small apartment in Colorado Springs. She’d made something of herself despite her difficult past, a past she pushed out of her mind as soon as it entered.
Kate peered into the night until her eyesight adjusted to the darkness. In the moonlight, she could see the silhouette of the wild chinaberry and trumpet trees whose dried rose and white flowers still lay crumpled beneath their branches. Despite the remoteness, Kate felt safe surrounded by jungles, lagoons and mangrove swamps.
Feeling comforted by the night, Kate drew in a calming breath and opened the door, returning to her quandary. She passed the dispensary door and treaded the hallway toward the front office. When she turned the corner, she spotted the local woman who cleaned and did odd jobs at the clinic. Kate hurried forward. “Hola, Carmen,” Kate called.
Carmen stepped backward from an examining room and smiled, her white teeth contrasting her tanned skin. “¿Sí?”
Kate slowed her walk and pantomimed as she spoke. “Did you store medicine somewhere besides the dispensary…la farmacia?”
“¿Mi? ¿Medicina?”
“Sí. Did you?”
Carmen’s eyes widened. “No, señorita. No sé nada.”
I know nothing. Kate peered at the woman, sensing perhaps she did know something.
The young woman’s eyes shifted back and forth, and she clutched her hands to her chest.
They had always trusted Carmen. She’d worked for the clinic the past two months, but… Kate cringed at her suspicion. She had no reason or right to accuse this woman without any more proof than a faint inkling. Kate realized she was looking for a scapegoat for her own mistake. Keeping track of the inventory was her responsibility.
“Está bien,” Kate said, letting Carmen know everything was fine. She waved her hand in the air as if erasing her earlier question.
A look of relief covered Carmen’s concerned face. “Sí. Gracias.”
Kate forced a halfhearted smile, then continued toward the office. Surprised that she’d let her thoughts wander in such a horrible direction, Kate asked the Lord for forgiveness. Why would Carmen steal the drugs? Kate needed to check the computer again. Perhaps she overlooked something.
But she didn’t think so.
Four days later, Adam grasped a moment’s reprieve and looked out the small window of his office, watching the sun set behind the wild chinaberry tree. A coconut palm stood tall, unbending in the windless sky. Heat permeated the room, and a pesky jejen—a small voracious fly—circled past, hoping to sink its stinger into his body, Adam figured. He swatted the insect away, then left the office and headed down the hall.
He stopped at an examining room door and checked the clipboard, then walked inside to greet the mother cradling her infant who had received plastic surgery on a cleft palate three weeks earlier.
“Hola,” Adam said.
The mother murmured a greeting, not lifting her gaze from her child. Anxiety weighted the woman’s expression, and Adam tried to calm her with his limited Spanish.
With the mother standing beside him, he removed the sutures and motioned to the scar. “Luce bien,” he said, hoping she agreed that it looked flawless.
She beamed.
As she watched, he demonstrated how to massage the scar in a circular motion, encouraging her to try her hand at the needed therapy. When she finished, he disinfected the site.
“Señora Fernandez, mírame, por favor.” He gained her attention and pointed to the dressing, demonstrating how she should change the sterile strips.
The woman nodded, seeming to understand.
Adam lifted the infant and cushioned him in his arm, grateful for the skill God had given him to make a child’s life better. Too many children were born with deformities in this land of poverty. Sometimes he wondered how a loving God could allow this to happen, but he’d been raised to trust the Lord and know that all things had a reason.
He turned his thoughts back to the infant and headed to the storage cabinet to locate a supply of plastic strips to give the mother. He knew she would have little money to buy her own.
The cabinet looked almost bare. Why didn’t someone see that supplies were in each room?
A rap on the door jarred the thought from his mind. Adam turned, and his pulse skipped. Katherine. Could she read his mind? She stood in the doorway with a pile of sterile strips and bandage supplies clutched in both hands and piled against her chest.
“Sorry to disturb you.” A curious look washed over her face as her gaze shifted from him to the baby he held cradled in his arm.
“The supplies just arrived, and I know this room is short,” she said. “I imagine you want some of these for Señora Fernandez.”
“Thanks,” Adam said, puzzled by the coincidence. He returned the infant to his mother while Katherine stocked the cabinet with supplies. Before she left, Katherine handed him several sterile strips.
He slid the bandages into a plastic bag and handed them to Señora Fernandez. Gratefulness
