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  “Enrique, your mother wants you to marry that rich lady from Mexico City.”

  He was silent.

  “I saw the photo of you two. Your mother had the society magazine open to the page the last time we met. She wanted to be sure I saw it. You two looked very nice together.”

  Enrique sighed. “My mother is very old school.”

  “She loathes the ground I walk on.”

  “She does not hate you. She . . .”

  “She thinks you would be better with the society lady on your arm. What do the Americans call it? Eye candy.”

  “The event in Juárez is in four days. Say yes.”

  She did not need to check her calendar. “In four days I have appointments at the clinics in Potrero del Llano and El Mangle. I am meeting with the doctors and bidding on the new clinic. I want to supply everything, and I think they might—”

  “Oh, very well. I suppose I’ll just have to call the eye candy in Mexico City.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “She meant nothing, that one. She is the daughter of my father’s oldest friend.”

  “You have told me all this before. Where are you today?”

  “A fund-raiser Chihuahua City, then I dedicate a new dam. Then a city council meeting that will go very late. I will miss seeing you.”

  Sofia saw her brother’s truck pull up in front of the shop. “Pedro has just arrived.”

  “Let me have a word with him, please. And Sofia, think hard about what I have said, please. Think very hard.”

  Pedro considered himself a keen observer. It was a talent, like his singing, something that held a special significance to very few. But it helped him immensely. Enrique claimed it made him indispensable. The mayor tended to exaggerate sometimes, which was a failure of most politicians Pedro had met. But in this instance, he had the impression that Enrique meant what he said.

  Pedro knew the instant he stepped through the office doors that his sister was on the phone with Enrique. He saw the tight slant to her gaze, the way she studied the sunlight on the glass, as though drilling for faults that Pedro did not believe were there.

  Enrique had proven his worth a hundred times over since coming to office in Ojinaga. He had stood up for the people of Ojinaga when no one else had, not the police or the army or any former politician.

  Pedro could not understand why his sister did not leap at the chance to marry Enrique. He worried that she might delay and fret until Enrique grew impatient and moved on. He had not felt more helpless since childhood. “I need a word with Enrique.”

  She handed him the phone. “He has just said the same thing.”

  Pedro exchanged greetings, then listened as Enrique sketched out several matters requiring urgent attention. Finally Pedro said, “Padron, there is a matter we need to discuss.”

  “I should be back in my office by six.”

  “This cannot wait. And you do not want to discuss this in your office.” Pedro described the trip to the professor’s house. And the attack with the same hunter that had been after Simon.

  When he was done, Enrique’s good humor had been replaced by a weary grimness. “It was a bad idea, taking the American to the home of Vasquez.”

  “With respect, I disagree.”

  “You put yourself at risk. You endangered Señor Simon, when we already knew the bad ones sought him. You might have brought them back to the orphanage. How could this possibly have been a good idea?”

  “Señor Simon said he could possibly make the apparatus work. But to do so, he needed information that only Vasquez had.”

  “The police tell me the home has been thoroughly searched.”

  “Simon found something the hunters missed.”

  Enrique huffed in surprise. “How is this possible?”

  Pedro described the globe Simon had recognized from Vasquez’s MIT office. And the secret compartment that opened with the key Simon still carried around his neck. “Inside were the professor’s Bible and two pages of data. Simon tells me the information could prove vital.”

  “Perhaps we should move the American somewhere else.”

  “Harold wants him to stay at the orphanage.”

  Enrique let out a loud sigh. “We must ensure the children’s safety.”

  Pedro relaxed. This was what he had been after all along. For Enrique to take responsibility for the orphanage’s protection.

  Enrique asked, “You truly think the American can accomplish what the professor could not?”

  “Vasquez was certain of this. Harold thinks the same.”

  “I will make the necessary arrangements. For five days. Once he obtains his new passport . . . one way or the other, our world will go back to the way it was before he arrived.”

  Pedro hung up the phone very softly. His sister’s face had the pinched expression she wore before an explosion. “What were you thinking, taking Simon to Armando’s home?”

  Pedro remained silent. Any response was futile. As was any possible reason he might give.

  But for once, the tirade did not begin. Instead Sofia closed her eyes. “Do you really think Simon is part of God’s plan?”

  He grinned. He could not help it. “Harold thinks so.”

  “I asked what you think.”

  His grin grew broader still. “I think the changes in this gringo have only just started. And when God has time to grow in him . . .”

  A faint tremor touched his sister’s voice. “Yes? What then?”

  Pedro leaned across her desk and whispered, “Boom.”

  Chapter 18

  That day Sofia had a long hard drive, and in two different directions. The two-lane desert highways were ribbed with constant repairs. In the mountains the steep inclines and sharp curves were rimmed by rusting guardrails or none at all. But there was little traffic, and Sofia knew the roads very well. Once she was through the mountains, she settled into a comfortable speed and cruised. Her thoughts made for noisy companions.

  She did not reach any conclusion. But she had not expected to. So she prayed. Again. She had been praying about it daily since Enrique had asked her to get married. And as usual, there was no sense of guidance from above. All she knew was the same silence, as vast and nebulous as the desert that surrounded her.

  It was dark when she finally parked in front of her apartment. She was too late for dinner at the orphanage, so she fixed a salad and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. She loved the counter. It was made of Mexican cedar, shaped and planed by hand and left unfinished. Every time she used it, she smelled a hint of the wood’s fragrance, like a distillation of everything that was good and fine in her desert land.

  After dinner, she walked across the square, greeting two of her neighbors who were minding their grandchildren and letting them run around a bit before putting them down for the night. She entered through the gates and stood there. She often did this at the end of a long day. She breathed the fragrances that had shaped her world as a child, the evening meal and the dust and the children and the same cleanser Harold had always used. She considered it as beautiful a bouquet as the cedar counter.

  Her biggest goal in life was to be there for others. Just like Harold had been there for her. She wanted nothing more than to be that someone, at that point in time when they were most alone.

  That was what drove her relationship with Enrique. He helped propel her to do greater things. He invited her to step forward and stand upon the national stage. Beside him. With him.

  But she was troubled by the absence of love.

  She told herself that many good marriages had begun on friendship and shared goals. And she was fond of Enrique. She really was. She often tried to tell herself that she loved him, at least a little.

  But deep in her heart she yearned for more.

  And yet . . . and yet, what right did she have, a
n orphan with no family and no name and no title, to ask for even this? Enrique was rich and powerful and destined for greatness. What was she doing dragging her feet and yearning like a child, seeking a love that might not even exist?

  No matter how hard she prayed, no matter how many times she begged and pleaded for guidance, God remained silent.

  Then she noticed something out of place.

  She walked across the orphanage’s courtyard. In front of the last classroom stood the front table. In the moonlight glinted bits and pieces of what looked like electronic devices. Just sitting there. Out in the open.

  She realized none of the lights were working. Which was hardly unusual. They had been restricting power usage since the money became tight. But there was not even a lamp glowing in Harold’s office. “The power company cut us off?”

  “This afternoon.” Simon bustled out of the classroom. “And you are exactly what we need, another set of hands. Juan, give her the flashlight.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making solar lanterns.”

  “But they don’t work.”

  “I’m pretty sure I solved the problem. Can you move over about three feet? No, the other way. Now bring the flashlight in, closer, okay, stop. Keep it steady. Juan, you got that piece?”

  “Here, Señor Simon.”

  “Great. Grab that wire. Okay, hold it steady while I solder, that’s it. Good job.”

  Juan’s teeth flashed in the dim light. “You want the bulbs?”

  “Where did I leave them?”

  “The box is under the long table.”

  “My man.” As Juan scampered into the classroom, Simon swept the hair from his forehead. The bandage glinted white in the light. “He’s one amazing kid.”

  “Why can this not wait until tomorrow?”

  “Because—”

  His reply was cut off by a thin wail. It was a tragic sound, a faint warbling of childhood woe. A broken heart unable to even shape a word.

  Juan hurried back out. “Gabriella, she is starting again.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Sofia, aim that light on my hands. Good. Okay, hold it steady, let’s see if it fits.” There was an audible snap. “Bingo. Where’s the housing?”

  “Here, Señor Simon.”

  There was a trio of further clicks, then, “Here goes.”

  A soft light pushed back the dark, illuminating two tired and sweaty faces. Simon and Juan shared a huge grin. Simon said, “High-five. No, no, raise your hand. That’s it.” They slapped palms.

  Simon wiped the device with his shirttail and headed for the girl’s dorm. “We’ve been charging the lantern batteries all afternoon while I worked on the circuitry. The lantern should glow now until daybreak.”

  Juan explained, “Gabriella is afraid of the dark.”

  Sofia followed Simon across the courtyard and up the stairs and across the veranda. Harold sat in a chair beside Gabriella’s bed. A lone candle burned on the bedside table. He blew it out as Simon set down the lantern and asked the little girl, “Can you thank the gentleman?”

  Gabriella looked so small, lying there. So beautiful. She was a fragile little bird with enormous dark eyes that darted from one adult to the next. Fearful. Alone even in the midst of all these people.

  Harold said, “Simon and Juan have worked all day, just so you would not be afraid. You are surrounded by people who care very deeply for you. And who will do everything to keep you safe.”

  He rose from the chair and motioned them out. Simon looked both exhausted and immensely pleased with himself.

  Sofia stopped in the doorway and turned back. Gabriella still lay there, watching. Sofia walked back over and bent down and kissed the girl’s forehead. “Sleep and do not dream.”

  When she emerged from the dormitory, she found all three men waiting for her. Harold had one arm around Juan’s shoulders, the other rested upon Simon’s arm. As though he wanted her to see this act, and understand.

  She needed to accept that Simon was becoming one of them.

  Simon woke up to the pale wash of a new day. He carried a fragment of an idea with him as he rose and washed his face and dressed. He flipped the bathroom switch, and when the light did not come on, he slipped downstairs and across the courtyard and into the boy’s dormitory. The beds were separated by chest-high wooden barriers, like stalls with their fronts open to the central aisle. He touched Juan’s shoulder. The boy came instantly awake. Simon turned and walked back outside.

  When the boy joined him, Simon asked, “Has the power come back on?”

  “No, Señor Simon.”

  “This can’t be good.”

  “Harold is worried about all the food stored in the freezers.”

  Which meant it was time to act first and ask later. Simon’s favorite way of moving forward. “I need the thickest electrical cable this place has.”

  “There is some in the garage.”

  “Great. And a knife and a pair of pliers and some big alligator clips, you know the kind?”

  “Like when the van does not start, yes?”

  “Perfect.”

  Juan was a kid made to be excited. “Come with me, Señor Simon!”

  According to Harold, the orphanage had once belonged to the wealthiest landowners in the village. They had shared the buildings lining the courtyard with household servants and trusted staff. The garage had originally held a blacksmith’s shop and stables for a dozen horses. The forge and anvil were still there, in the far corner of the huge space, beneath a leaf-strewn skylight. The garages and work space were empty now, save for the dilapidated church van, an ancient Model T that Harold had acquired with the house, and several dozen boxes holding more components of the solar lanterns that did not work. Yet.

  Five minutes later, Simon was unfurling a dusty cable, his hands protected by a pair of work gloves. The gloves’ canvas was cracked and stiff, but they helped in laying out the cable. Simon slung the cable over his shoulders and scaled the rear wall, next to the orphanage’s mains. With Juan feeding the cable, he transitioned to the telephone pole and climbed up to the transformer.

  Simon had studied electrical engineering because it had come naturally to him. The logical step-by-step order was easy for him to memorize. He could do most of the schematics while half asleep. Or hungover. Which he had been, more often than not.

  Vasquez, on the other hand, was a particle physicist. Vasquez and he had linked up Simon’s second year. Vasquez had seen something in him. Twice he had even broached the subject of Simon staying on to do graduate research under his supervision.

  And look how Simon had repaid the man.

  Simon tested the leads and was rewarded with a sizeable spark. He made a note to thank the kid for the gloves and saving him from some nasty burns. He fitted on the clips. “Juan.”

  “Señor Simon!”

  “Go try a switch.”

  The kid vanished and was soon back, dancing in place. “There is light everywhere!”

  “Then we’re good to go.” He could come back later with some rope to hold it all in place. Simon slipped back onto the clay tiles lining the wall, then bounced down to the ground. “High-five.”

  As they slapped palms, Harold emerged from his rooms in the admin wing. He spotted them, studied the situation for a moment, then walked over. Juan instantly froze, his shoulders shrinking down and caving inward, the perfect picture of a guilty teen. Simon’s grin faded, despite how he had a hundred arguments, all of them excellent.

  But Harold did not say anything. He stood there with his arms crossed, studying the cable connected to the mains and snaking up the rear wall and connecting to the transformer. Then he gripped the cable and pulled hard. The clips popped off with a crack and a spark and fell to his feet. “We do not steal.”

  “You’ve got a kitchen full of rotting . . .” Si
mon stopped. There was something in Harold’s gaze that faded his words to nothing. Simon could have handled anger and condemnation. But Harold was not angry. He was disappointed.

  Harold said again, “We do not steal.” He then squatted down beside Juan, bringing himself to eye level. “This is how it begins. The one small act, done for all the right reasons. The act that opens the floodgates. We do not lie. We do not steal. Do you understand?”

  Juan hesitated, then nodded. “I am sorry, Dr. Harold.”

  Harold rose to full height. “Go ring the bell for chapel.”

  When the kid scampered away, Simon said, “I just wanted to help.”

  “My one goal in life is to give these kids a strong moral foundation and to help them realize they are valuable in God’s eyes. I have to shout against the world to be heard.” Harold pointed through the open gates. “Out there, they are seen as nothing. More throwaway kids, destined for the gangs and jail and an early grave. In here, I arm them with the gospel and with an awareness of their own potential.”

  There was no criticism in his words. No condemnation of what Simon had tried to do. Even so, he felt ashamed. More than that. Simon felt as though he stood before a mirror, one that revealed the person behind the deed. The dark corners, the cynical attitude, the easy swagger that led him from one quick high to the next.

  “I don’t hide it from the kids that we’re facing a hard time. I try to shelter them and hold this place together, but what is most important is that they see how the fundamentals of a good life remain in place, no matter what happens. Even if the orphanage has to shut down, even if I go bankrupt, even if they get shipped off to . . .” Harold stopped and massaged the point over his heart. “I hope and pray they’ll carry these lessons with them for the rest of their days. To identify their gifts and reach for the stars. To accept that the Scriptures lay out a path for them to follow, in realizing their full worth.”

  Harold stood there a moment, as though seeking to imbed the words more deeply through silence. Then he turned and walked away.

  As he slipped into the last pew, Simon saw this was not the first time they had lost power. Not by a long shot. A number of the older kids, Juan included, moved around the front, lighting candles and placing them in little stone holders. Juan refused to meet his eye. Simon could understand that. He knew now that he had taken the kid in the wrong direction. It shamed him as well. When Pedro slipped into the pew beside him, Simon could not even bring himself to return the man’s greeting.