Child of Grace

“We live in a difficult world, Lord, one where young people can easily be led astray. Here, in our program, they can find acceptance and love and guidance. We ask that You give us fortitude and inspiration as we go about Your work. We thank You for letting our lives be touched by an inspiring young man like Carlos Fernandez. And we thank You for sending Captain Taylor to us with a plan that will honor him by helping us carry on the work that changed his life.”

After a chorus of “amens,” Father Joe turned the meeting over to Luke, who pulled his notes from his briefcase and gave the board an outline of the project he and Father Joe had corresponded about over the past few weeks.

Although Carlos’s pastor had assured Luke the board was receptive to his idea, the enthusiastic response of the members was heartening.

But also a little unsettling.

Because, while Luke had come here to get the ball rolling for a youth center, the more the board members talked, the more it sounded as if they expected him to deliver said center in the short six weeks he would be in the area.

Catching his eye during an animated discussion about one fundraising idea, Father Joe smiled.

“Gentlemen—I think we’re overwhelming our benefactor. Why don’t we let him tell us what he would like to accomplish during his stay here, and see what we can do to assist him?”

Seven sets of eyes focused on him and the room grew quiet.

Luke cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. “I’d be thrilled if we could break ground for this center before I leave. But realistically, that event may be a year or two down the road. If I learned one thing in the military, it was that nothing happens fast when a committee is involved.”

A knowing chuckle rippled around the table.

Luke flashed them a smile. “What I hoped to do during my stay was work with you to set everything in motion. That would include developing a fundraising plan, spreading the word about the project and helping line up appropriate resources and benefactors to support the project long-term. I’m not an expert at this sort of thing, but I’m hoping we can draft the assistance of some local people who are.”

“I agree we need to pull in experts.” A thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline spoke. Reverend Matthew Howard, Luke recalled. “None of us have the time or expertise to make this center happen. But there are plenty of experts in our own community who could take on pieces of this. One in my own congregation, in fact. She’s a relative newcomer to the area. Kelsey Anderson. She runs a quilt shop in Douglas, but until earlier this year she was the director of public relations and corporate promotions for a large firm in St. Louis.”

When the man named the well-known company, Luke’s eyebrows rose. “That’s impressive. She sounds like just the kind of person we need.”

“I agree.” Father Joe leaned forward. “I haven’t met Ms. Anderson, but I’ve heard about her. One of the women in my congregation mentioned taking some classes at her shop. Would you like to approach her, Matt?”

“I’ll be happy to lay the groundwork. But I think the appeal would be more effective coming from Captain Turner.” The man opened a file and removed a letter. A copy of the first one he’d sent to Father Joe, Luke noted. “Father Joe shared your initial query letter with all of us. It was quite moving. No one would be able to speak as passionately—or convincingly—as you about how your friendship with Carlos motivated you to take this on. If I set up a meeting with Kelsey, would you be willing to pitch your idea and solicit her involvement?”

“That’s just the kind of thing I was hoping to do while I’m here.” Luke encompassed the group as he spoke. “If any of you want me to meet with possible supporters, I’m happy to do so. And Ms. Anderson sounds like the perfect person to talk with first.”

By the time the meeting broke up half an hour later, the board had compiled a list of resources, from the owner of the piece of property they hoped would someday be the site of the youth center, to the mayor of Saugatuck, to the manager of the hotel where Carlos had worked during his high school years.

As Father Joe led him out after all the others had left, the pastor paused in the small foyer, a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you weren’t planning too much R & R during your visit to Michigan. With the to-do list we’ve already compiled, you won’t have a lot of downtime. We clerics are great delegators, you know.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at Luke’s lips. “That’s okay. I didn’t come here to play.”

“Good thing.” The man studied him, his hand on the knob. “Not many people would take on a selfless job like this, Luke. I know you and Carlos worked together, and I understand that strong friendships can be forged on the battlefield. But I can’t help thinking there’s more driving you to take on this project.”

Doing his best to keep his features neutral, Luke clenched his fingers around the handle of his briefcase. “I saw a lot of death overseas, Father. A lot of wasted potential. A lot of soldiers whose dreams died when they did. I can’t change that. But it is within my power to make one man’s dream come true. It seemed like a fitting way to end my military career.”

“Ah. Closure.” The older man nodded. “Well, you picked a worthy dream to pursue. And a fine young man to honor.”

“The best.” Luke’s voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.

Father Joe opened the door and scanned the blue sky, giving Luke a chance to regain his composure. “What a beautiful day. Why don’t you take advantage of it before Matthew calls and sends you off to see Kelsey Anderson?”

“I think I’ll do that.” Luke stepped past him, then turned to shake his hand. “Thank you for coordinating this.”

“The thanks are all ours.” The man clasped Luke’s hand within both of his. “God go with you, Luke.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“You may. He never fails those who put their trust in Him.”

As Luke strode toward his rental car, he raised his eyes to the heavens above the church, tracing the outline of the cross that soared toward the sky. God had gone with him so far. While many of his comrades had lost their faith amid the carnage of war, his had held fast for years. But finally, bone-weary from the constant onslaught of senseless death and man’s inhumanity to man, his faith had faltered, too.

In the end, though, God had sent Carlos into his life. A young man whose heart burned with love for the Lord. Who had reminded him that in the midst of trauma and tragedy, good survived. Hope endured. Dreams flourished. Working with him day after day, watching him give tirelessly with a compassion that put the Good Samaritan to shame, had reinvigorated Luke’s own faith.

Even as he lay dying, the young medic had been a source of inspiration. His eyes had been filled with the kind of peace that only comes from knowing you’ve done your best to follow the precepts of the Lord and are ready to meet Him face-to-face. His one regret, he’d told Luke, was that his dream to help young people back home would never be realized.

As he’d held the young man’s hand, watching his life slip away while artillery shells burst around them, Luke had choked out a promise that his dream wouldn’t die.

Gratitude had smoothed the lines of pain from Carlos’s face, and he’d summoned up the last of his strength to speak. When Luke leaned close, he’d whispered, “Thank you.”

And then the medic had tightened his grip and uttered two short sentences Luke would never forget.

“Let not your heart be troubled, my friend. God will bring good from this.”

Moments later, Carlos’s hand had grown slack in his.

The outline of the soaring cross blurred, and Luke blinked to clear his vision. His faith wasn’t as strong as Carlos’s. Especially after ten brutal years of treating battlefield injuries. But he intended to make certain at least one good thing came from the young man’s death.

And as he unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel, he renewed the vow he’d made that day in Afghanistan. Before he left Michigan in six weeks, the youth center Carlos had dreamed of would be well on its way to becoming a reality.

Whatever it took.

Chapter Three

The bell over the front door of the shop jingled behind her, and Kelsey checked her watch as she typed the final figures into the spreadsheet on the computer. Ten o’clock. On the dot. It had to be the army doctor her pastor had called about yesterday. He’d said the man would stop by around ten. And the military was nothing if not regimented.

“Give me one sec.” She threw the comment over her shoulder as she hit Save. She wasn’t thrilled about dusting off her PR skills or opening the door to her old life, but it was hard to say no to a godly man like Reverend Howard. And the youth center project did sound worthwhile. Besides, it wouldn’t kill her to consult with the doctor for an hour, considering the amount of time he was investing.

Summoning up a smile, she swung around in her chair. “I’m sorry to keep you wai—”

The breath whooshed out of her lungs.

Her new neighbor stood six feet away. The one with the broad shoulders and impressive biceps.

Not that his biceps were on display today. Instead of a chest-hugging T-shirt and shorts, he was wearing a sport coat with a subtle herringbone pattern, tan slacks and spit-and-polished dress shoes. He looked professional. Reputable. Honorable.

And as stunned as she was.

“Kelsey Anderson?”

She opened her mouth to respond.

Nothing came out.