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Authors: Jeanette Windle
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outreach projects. This one offered elementary schooling to children whose basurero parents were willing to spare their labor for a few hours a day. Vicki had little illusion that her patient reading and math tutelage were as big a draw as their daily reward of a nutritious noon meal, which was not far off according to the sun gleaming palely through the haze of smoke almost directly overhead.
Vicki filled an enamel cup from an enormous pottery jar that held boiled water, drank deeply, then splashed the remaining drops across her hot face before murmuring thanks to a plump, black-braided woman in indigenous dress patting out tortillas in front of the cook shack.
This was the third day Vicki had taken over the teaching responsibilities here, replacing a volunteer currently battling a bout of dengue fever. It was also exactly one week since she’d arrived at Casa de Esperanza. In that time she’d visited every one of its neighborhood projects, pored over financial statements, visited extensively with volunteers, and taken every opportunity she could to spend time with the children themselves. An excited Tía Vee-kee now greeted her every time she stepped through the gate of the children’s home.
Far from modifying her first impressions, Vicki remained thus far reluctantly impressed. The work was not easy, as Vicki was experiencing firsthand, but the volunteers seemed genuinely committed to their cause. And more importantly, to the children. Certainly they were not profiting personally. As to wasteful spending, Vicki was instead astounded at just how much these people were accomplishing with the very limited funds they had.
Maybe not all faith-based NGOs were as exemplary as this one. But unless some red flag was raised in the next few days it would take to write her report, Vicki saw little reason to postpone her seal of approval for a partnership between Children at Risk and Casa de Esperanza. And since Evelyn had informed Vicki at breakfast that she’d found a volunteer to fill in, there was nothing to keep Vicki from booking her flight to that long-earned vacation.
But not without seeing Holly.
Annoyed, Vicki strode back across the courtyard. An entire week and not so much as a message from Holly on her voice mail. The second day Vicki had even called the Wildlife Rescue Center’s Guatemala City headquarters. There were no land lines as far up into the mountains as the biosphere, but the local office maintained a radio-phone network. Yes, Holly was back up at WRC, an Australian soprano had informed Vicki. No, she didn’t know when Holly would be back in town. Yes, she’d pass a message on for Holly to contact Vicki.
And there Vicki had left it. She might have worried if she didn’t know her sister so well. Holly was going to show Vicki by doing on her own whatever it was she’d wanted Vicki to do. Vicki likely wouldn’t hear from Holly until she’d succeeded—or thrown in the towel.
One thing Vicki had taken time for was a visit to the American embassy in Zone 10. A Google search had brought up nothing on the deaths of Jeff and Victoria Craig, no real surprise since local news archives from twenty years past were not likely to have made it to the Internet.
So the previous afternoon after finishing with the children, Vicki had taken a cab down to the fortress she’d seen from the air.
The consular office open to the public was staffed in its totality with local hires rather than actual Americans, right down to the guards at the gates. But for a fee, a Guatemalan clerk had unhesitatingly looked up the appropriate Death Abroad file and printed Vicki a copy. To her disappointment, the report added little to what Evelyn had told her except that there had been multiple gunshot wounds involved, so it was definitely no accident. Assailants: unknown. Presumed motive: robbery. An addendum gave the only mention of Vicki and Holly. A note that since no family members had
Vicki filled an enamel cup from an enormous pottery jar that held boiled water, drank deeply, then splashed the remaining drops across her hot face before murmuring thanks to a plump, black-braided woman in indigenous dress patting out tortillas in front of the cook shack.
This was the third day Vicki had taken over the teaching responsibilities here, replacing a volunteer currently battling a bout of dengue fever. It was also exactly one week since she’d arrived at Casa de Esperanza. In that time she’d visited every one of its neighborhood projects, pored over financial statements, visited extensively with volunteers, and taken every opportunity she could to spend time with the children themselves. An excited Tía Vee-kee now greeted her every time she stepped through the gate of the children’s home.
Far from modifying her first impressions, Vicki remained thus far reluctantly impressed. The work was not easy, as Vicki was experiencing firsthand, but the volunteers seemed genuinely committed to their cause. And more importantly, to the children. Certainly they were not profiting personally. As to wasteful spending, Vicki was instead astounded at just how much these people were accomplishing with the very limited funds they had.
Maybe not all faith-based NGOs were as exemplary as this one. But unless some red flag was raised in the next few days it would take to write her report, Vicki saw little reason to postpone her seal of approval for a partnership between Children at Risk and Casa de Esperanza. And since Evelyn had informed Vicki at breakfast that she’d found a volunteer to fill in, there was nothing to keep Vicki from booking her flight to that long-earned vacation.
But not without seeing Holly.
Annoyed, Vicki strode back across the courtyard. An entire week and not so much as a message from Holly on her voice mail. The second day Vicki had even called the Wildlife Rescue Center’s Guatemala City headquarters. There were no land lines as far up into the mountains as the biosphere, but the local office maintained a radio-phone network. Yes, Holly was back up at WRC, an Australian soprano had informed Vicki. No, she didn’t know when Holly would be back in town. Yes, she’d pass a message on for Holly to contact Vicki.
And there Vicki had left it. She might have worried if she didn’t know her sister so well. Holly was going to show Vicki by doing on her own whatever it was she’d wanted Vicki to do. Vicki likely wouldn’t hear from Holly until she’d succeeded—or thrown in the towel.
One thing Vicki had taken time for was a visit to the American embassy in Zone 10. A Google search had brought up nothing on the deaths of Jeff and Victoria Craig, no real surprise since local news archives from twenty years past were not likely to have made it to the Internet.
So the previous afternoon after finishing with the children, Vicki had taken a cab down to the fortress she’d seen from the air.
The consular office open to the public was staffed in its totality with local hires rather than actual Americans, right down to the guards at the gates. But for a fee, a Guatemalan clerk had unhesitatingly looked up the appropriate Death Abroad file and printed Vicki a copy. To her disappointment, the report added little to what Evelyn had told her except that there had been multiple gunshot wounds involved, so it was definitely no accident. Assailants: unknown. Presumed motive: robbery. An addendum gave the only mention of Vicki and Holly. A note that since no family members had
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