with little Rahela, the child whose prosthesis they were bringing along this morning. He was betting that a whole new onion layer of Tal Culver’s would be revealed, and he, for one, could hardly wait to see it happen.
T AL FELT HER heart burst open with so much joy as she watched Rahela take her first tentative steps with her new prosthesis in place. They had arrived near 0900, the morning coolish, the sky cloudless. The black-haired girl with sparkling brown eyes and a heartbreaker smile made Tal grin. Her mother was shadowing her, hands near her daughter’s small shoulders, but allowing her to walk proudly on her new leg.
Across the table from her, Wyatt was dealing with a crying two-year-old boy, his anxious father hovering nearby as Wyatt carefully examined the thin tyke between his latex-gloved hands.
Rahela’s laughter made Tal feel giddy, and she had to laugh too, from the pure joy of having helped make this child happy. The girl confidently walked around, delight written cross her small features. Tal caught her mother’s gaze for a moment and saw tears in the woman’s eyes.
Tal rearranged the green scarf she wore over her head, smiling along with Rahela’s mother as the girl broke into an awkward trot with her new leg. The village had about a hundred and fifty people living within the five-foot mud and rock walls built around it. There were two entrance/exit gates that were opened at sunrise and closed and locked at sundown. The men of the village, except those with sick male children, were out in the fields that surrounded the village on three sides. It sat near a river, the water siphoned off into hand-dug ditches to irrigate the corn, the wheat, and the newest crop, soybeans, brought in by U.S. forces.
The mothers of daughters stood patiently in line, waiting for Tal to help their children. Tal had laid out her rucksack on the large wooden table next to Wyatt’s, and they had been working nonstop since their arrival.
Rahela’s high voice filled with laughter, her arms waving as she balanced herself at an awkward trot. Several other little girls raced around her, celebrating her liberation from crutches. Rahela’s mother placed her hands on her cheeks in sheer awe and gratitude. Tal told the mother that Rahela was doing well and to let her daughter go play. The prosthesis fit her perfectly, and the child was already galloping off with her friends to the other side of the village.
Tal turned and walked toward where they’d set up the medical table. The sun felt warm on her, and she was glad that the chief of the village had supplied two canvases tied to trees that hung over the tables to provide shade. Wyatt had warned her that by noon, it was going to get hot. There was a long line of women holding their babies, or with shy daughters clinging to their skirts at their sides, as Tal walked up to her medical station. She was glad she knew Pashto, so she could speak in these people’s native language.
Tal felt wonderful, and her warmth toward Wyatt was growing hourly. It wasn’t anything he said; it was what he was doing. This man had a huge heart, she was beginning to realize. Maybe it had to do with his large-scale Texas roots, which magnified everything about him. Because of her father, she already knew about larger-than-life men from that cowboy state.
Sometimes, with her back turned to Wyatt, she’d hear him speak in Pashto to a frightened child. She’d lift her head, turn, and look across the table to see the boy suddenly relax within Wyatt’s gentle hands as he checked the child from head to toe.
It was that crooning voice of Wyatt’s, the same one he’d used on the frightened mustangs. And on her, last night. There wasn’t a time when Tal didn’t see him smiling. Both of them knew full well that a warm smile could place a troubled child at ease.
More than anything, Tal liked his low, husky laughter, in which he was often joined by a relieved father or child. This was a happy
T AL FELT HER heart burst open with so much joy as she watched Rahela take her first tentative steps with her new prosthesis in place. They had arrived near 0900, the morning coolish, the sky cloudless. The black-haired girl with sparkling brown eyes and a heartbreaker smile made Tal grin. Her mother was shadowing her, hands near her daughter’s small shoulders, but allowing her to walk proudly on her new leg.
Across the table from her, Wyatt was dealing with a crying two-year-old boy, his anxious father hovering nearby as Wyatt carefully examined the thin tyke between his latex-gloved hands.
Rahela’s laughter made Tal feel giddy, and she had to laugh too, from the pure joy of having helped make this child happy. The girl confidently walked around, delight written cross her small features. Tal caught her mother’s gaze for a moment and saw tears in the woman’s eyes.
Tal rearranged the green scarf she wore over her head, smiling along with Rahela’s mother as the girl broke into an awkward trot with her new leg. The village had about a hundred and fifty people living within the five-foot mud and rock walls built around it. There were two entrance/exit gates that were opened at sunrise and closed and locked at sundown. The men of the village, except those with sick male children, were out in the fields that surrounded the village on three sides. It sat near a river, the water siphoned off into hand-dug ditches to irrigate the corn, the wheat, and the newest crop, soybeans, brought in by U.S. forces.
The mothers of daughters stood patiently in line, waiting for Tal to help their children. Tal had laid out her rucksack on the large wooden table next to Wyatt’s, and they had been working nonstop since their arrival.
Rahela’s high voice filled with laughter, her arms waving as she balanced herself at an awkward trot. Several other little girls raced around her, celebrating her liberation from crutches. Rahela’s mother placed her hands on her cheeks in sheer awe and gratitude. Tal told the mother that Rahela was doing well and to let her daughter go play. The prosthesis fit her perfectly, and the child was already galloping off with her friends to the other side of the village.
Tal turned and walked toward where they’d set up the medical table. The sun felt warm on her, and she was glad that the chief of the village had supplied two canvases tied to trees that hung over the tables to provide shade. Wyatt had warned her that by noon, it was going to get hot. There was a long line of women holding their babies, or with shy daughters clinging to their skirts at their sides, as Tal walked up to her medical station. She was glad she knew Pashto, so she could speak in these people’s native language.
Tal felt wonderful, and her warmth toward Wyatt was growing hourly. It wasn’t anything he said; it was what he was doing. This man had a huge heart, she was beginning to realize. Maybe it had to do with his large-scale Texas roots, which magnified everything about him. Because of her father, she already knew about larger-than-life men from that cowboy state.
Sometimes, with her back turned to Wyatt, she’d hear him speak in Pashto to a frightened child. She’d lift her head, turn, and look across the table to see the boy suddenly relax within Wyatt’s gentle hands as he checked the child from head to toe.
It was that crooning voice of Wyatt’s, the same one he’d used on the frightened mustangs. And on her, last night. There wasn’t a time when Tal didn’t see him smiling. Both of them knew full well that a warm smile could place a troubled child at ease.
More than anything, Tal liked his low, husky laughter, in which he was often joined by a relieved father or child. This was a happy
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