Read Online Stranger in the Night by Catherine Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Palmer
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“We’ve got refugees starting to come to Haven, and we need help figuring out how to handle them. Nobody on staff speaks Spanish or Swahili or any of that, and some of those kids talk like lightning in the strangest gobbledygook I’ve ever heard. Sam’s in the office. C’mon, Liz. Follow me.”
Despite her urgency to get away, Liz could do nothing but accompany Terell to the youth center’s office with its long windows overlooking the main room. A striking man wearing Haven’s requisite white T-shirt rose from behind a desk as they entered.
“Sam, meet Liz Wallace. Duff’s lady.” Terell lifted Brandy off his shoulders and set her on the floor. “Liz, this is Sam Hawke. We run Haven.”
“Us and a slew of volunteers. So you’re the woman.” Sam smiled in a way that made Liz even more uncomfortable. “Duff was right.”
“That’s what I told her,” Terell confirmed.
“I’m glad you’re filling our resident Marine sergeant in on the refugee situation,” Sam continued. “We hope he’ll stick around and help us out. The refugees are starting to trickle in here, and I have a feeling we’re going to be inundated before long.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Several resettlement agencies have contracts with apartment managers in this area. Refugee Hope placed families from Burundi and Congo right around the corner. We’re negotiating with a manager to place some incoming Somali immigrants in a building down the street. Terell mentioned that Reverend Rudi is interested in planting a church in the area. I hope you’ll encourage that.”
“A church where they talk Swahili. ” Terell enunciated the word.
Liz smiled. “Refugee Hope has learned that children from our African families assimilate to city street culture very quickly. It’s a way of coping that often leads them into gangs—and then into a lot of trouble. As a faith-based agency, we do all we can to help our immigrants build a stable lifestyle. Any intervention you could provide at Haven would be great.”
“Your visit here tonight can’t be an accident, Liz.” Sam crossed his arms. “The Rudi family must be the tip of an iceberg we’ve just begun to notice. If families are moving into the area at the rate you’re describing, we need to let Haven’s board of directors know about it and put some strategies in place.”
“You have a board?”
The corporate sound of the word contrasted with the pile of dirty white T-shirts in one corner of the room and the row of ancient computers on a long table near the desk. Brokentrophies littered a shelf. A large metal barrel labeled Lost & Found overflowed with jackets, caps, mittens and flip-flops.
“Thanks to the legal help of one of our sponsors, Haven went nonprofit a few weeks ago,” Sam explained. “We’re all set up now. We have a grant writer, too.”
“We’re a 501 (c)(3) charitable organization,” Terell clarified. “You can get grants even if you’re faith-based, which we are.”
“Sounds like Haven and Refugee Hope have similar goals.” Liz reached into her purse and pulled out a business card for each man. “Call me if you run into any problems. I’ve given Sergeant Duff a stack of information about our agency and the people we resettle. We have a lot of resources at our fingertips. And please support Pastor Stephen in his effort to start a church. It’s the best thing that could happen to this neighborhood.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam said. “Thanks again for coming by, Liz. You’re welcome anytime.”
“I’ll be back on Saturday. I promised to let Shauntay braid my hair.”
His grin broadened. “Good—you’ll get to meet my fiancée. Ana teaches a writing class on Saturdays.”
Dreading the thought of any deeper involvement with Joshua’s friends, Liz gave the men a nod of farewell and turned to go. “You aren’t planning to walk to your car by yourself, are you?” Terell accompanied her out of the office, Brandy clutching his
Despite her urgency to get away, Liz could do nothing but accompany Terell to the youth center’s office with its long windows overlooking the main room. A striking man wearing Haven’s requisite white T-shirt rose from behind a desk as they entered.
“Sam, meet Liz Wallace. Duff’s lady.” Terell lifted Brandy off his shoulders and set her on the floor. “Liz, this is Sam Hawke. We run Haven.”
“Us and a slew of volunteers. So you’re the woman.” Sam smiled in a way that made Liz even more uncomfortable. “Duff was right.”
“That’s what I told her,” Terell confirmed.
“I’m glad you’re filling our resident Marine sergeant in on the refugee situation,” Sam continued. “We hope he’ll stick around and help us out. The refugees are starting to trickle in here, and I have a feeling we’re going to be inundated before long.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Several resettlement agencies have contracts with apartment managers in this area. Refugee Hope placed families from Burundi and Congo right around the corner. We’re negotiating with a manager to place some incoming Somali immigrants in a building down the street. Terell mentioned that Reverend Rudi is interested in planting a church in the area. I hope you’ll encourage that.”
“A church where they talk Swahili. ” Terell enunciated the word.
Liz smiled. “Refugee Hope has learned that children from our African families assimilate to city street culture very quickly. It’s a way of coping that often leads them into gangs—and then into a lot of trouble. As a faith-based agency, we do all we can to help our immigrants build a stable lifestyle. Any intervention you could provide at Haven would be great.”
“Your visit here tonight can’t be an accident, Liz.” Sam crossed his arms. “The Rudi family must be the tip of an iceberg we’ve just begun to notice. If families are moving into the area at the rate you’re describing, we need to let Haven’s board of directors know about it and put some strategies in place.”
“You have a board?”
The corporate sound of the word contrasted with the pile of dirty white T-shirts in one corner of the room and the row of ancient computers on a long table near the desk. Brokentrophies littered a shelf. A large metal barrel labeled Lost & Found overflowed with jackets, caps, mittens and flip-flops.
“Thanks to the legal help of one of our sponsors, Haven went nonprofit a few weeks ago,” Sam explained. “We’re all set up now. We have a grant writer, too.”
“We’re a 501 (c)(3) charitable organization,” Terell clarified. “You can get grants even if you’re faith-based, which we are.”
“Sounds like Haven and Refugee Hope have similar goals.” Liz reached into her purse and pulled out a business card for each man. “Call me if you run into any problems. I’ve given Sergeant Duff a stack of information about our agency and the people we resettle. We have a lot of resources at our fingertips. And please support Pastor Stephen in his effort to start a church. It’s the best thing that could happen to this neighborhood.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam said. “Thanks again for coming by, Liz. You’re welcome anytime.”
“I’ll be back on Saturday. I promised to let Shauntay braid my hair.”
His grin broadened. “Good—you’ll get to meet my fiancée. Ana teaches a writing class on Saturdays.”
Dreading the thought of any deeper involvement with Joshua’s friends, Liz gave the men a nod of farewell and turned to go. “You aren’t planning to walk to your car by yourself, are you?” Terell accompanied her out of the office, Brandy clutching his
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