Paper Wedding, Best-Friend Bride. Sheri WhiteFeather
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nodded. “The kids call her Mrs. Losa.”
“So is that her first or last name?”
“Her first. It means Rose in their native tongue.”
That seemed fitting, with all the other flowers Lizzie had encountered today. “Is there a mister? Is she married?”
“She’s widowed. She started the orphanage after her husband died. They were together for nearly forty years before he passed away.”
She couldn’t imagine being with the same person all that time. Or losing him.
“She has five kids,” Max said. “They had three of their own, but they also adopted two from their village, orphaned siblings whose extended family wasn’t able to care for them. But those children weren’t adopted in an official way. Losa and her husband just took them in and raised them.”
“Really? That’s legal here?”
“Yes, but mostly it’s the country folks, the traditionalists who still do that. They live in small communities where the people are tightly knit, so if there’s a child or children in need, they band together to help. Losa and her husband used to be farmers. But she sold her property and moved to the capital to open the orphanage when she learned how many kids on the mainland were homeless. Her entire family supported her decision and relocated with her. All of her children and their spouses work there, along with their kids. She has two grown granddaughters and three teenage grandsons.”
“They must be quite a family, taking on a project like that. Do they have any outside help?”
“At first it was just them, but now they have regular volunteers. And some who just pitch in when they can.” Max drank his juice. “I volunteered when I was here before. That’s how I spent the last three months of my sabbatical, helping out at the orphanage.”
Lizzie hadn’t realized the extent of his commitment. She’d assumed he’d merely visited the place. “No wonder you know so much about it.”
He offered more of his knowledge by saying, “Nulah didn’t used to allow international adoptions. But they finally decided it was in the best interest of the children. Otherwise, finding homes for these kids would be even more difficult. There aren’t enough local families who have the means to take them. The older folks are dying off, and most of the younger ones are struggling to raise their own children.”
He paused to watch a pair of colorful seabirds soaring along the shore. Lizzie watched them, too, thinking how majestic they were.
Then he said, “Not all of the kids at the orphanage are up for adoption. Losa is fostering some of them, keeping them until they can return to their families. But either way, she devotes her life to the children in her care, however she can.”
“She sounds like a godsend.”
“She is. She spent years lobbying for the international adoption law here. Without her, it might never have happened.”
Clearly, Losa had strength and fortitude, seeing things through to the end. “When we’re on the mainland, I’d like to stop by a florist and get her a rose.”
“You want to give her a flower that matches her name?”
“Mama always taught me that you should bring someone a gift the first time you visit.” She paused to reflect. “I should bring something for the kids, too. Not just for Tokoni, but for all of them. How many are there?”
“The last time I was here, it was around thirty. It’s probably still about the same.”
“And what’s the age range?”
“It varies, going from babies to young teens.”
“That’s a wide margin. I’m going to need a little time to shop for a group like that. We should leave for the mainland soon.” Lizzie was anxious to get started. “We can take the next boat.”
He grinned. “Then maybe we should eat a little faster.”
She knew he was kidding. He’d already wolfed down most of his meal. Hers was nearly gone, too. “It’s delicious.” She raised her fork. “These crepes.”
“This island is paradise.” He stopped smiling. “If only everything on the mainland was as nice as it is here.”
“Yes, if only.” She’d caught glimpses of the capital city yesterday and had seen how poverty-stricken some of the areas were, the places where the kids from the orphanage had come from. And if anyone could relate to their ravaged beginnings, it was Max. He’d been born in South Dakota on one of the poorest reservations in the States, before his mother had hauled him off to an impoverished Los Angeles neighborhood.
As lonely as Lizzie’s childhood had been, she’d never known the pain and fear of being poor. But that hadn’t stopped her and Max from becoming friends. They’d formed a bond, regardless of how different they’d been from each other.
Trapped in emotion, she said, “Thank you.”
He gave her a perplexed look. “For what?”
For everything, she thought. But she said, “For inviting me to take this trip with you.”
“I’m glad you’re here, too.”
Their gazes met and held, but only for a moment.
Returning to their food, they fell silent, fighting the ever-present attraction neither of them wanted to feel.
* * *
Max and Lizzie got to the mainland around eleven, and he hailed a cab. Taxis weren’t metered here, so they had to agree on the price of the fare before departure. Max arranged to keep the taxi at their disposal for the rest of the day. Their driver was a big, broad-shouldered twentysomething with a brilliant smile. As pleasant and accommodating as he was, he drove a bit too fast. But tons of cabbies in the States did that, too. As for the car, it was old and rickety, with seat belts that kept coming unbuckled. But it was better than no transportation at all, Max thought.
As they entered the shopping district, the car bumped and jittered along roughly paved roads. The still-smiling cabbie found a centrally located parking spot and told them he would wait there for them. To keep himself occupied, he reached for his phone. Max, of course, was consumed with technology, too. It was his world, his livelihood, his outlet. But he never buried his face in his phone when he was with Lizzie. She hated it when people ignored each other in favor of their devices, so he’d made a conscious effort not to do that to her.
Behaving like tourists, they wandered the streets, going in and out of small shops. Some of the vendors were aggressive, trying as they might to peddle their wares. But Max didn’t mind. He understood that they had families to feed. He went ahead and purchased a bunch of stuff to ship back home, mostly toys and trinkets for his nieces—his foster brothers’ adorable little daughters.
Lizzie wasn’t faring as well. Although she’d already gotten a stack of baby goods for the infants and toddlers at the orphanage and placed them in the taxi for safekeeping, she couldn’t make up her mind about the rest of the kids.
Finally she said, “Maybe I can put together a big box of art supplies that all of them can use.”
“That’s a great idea. Tokoni would appreciate it, too, since he loves to draw. There’s an arts and crafts store around the corner. They also have a little gallery where they sell works by local artists. I always wanted to check it out.”
“Then let’s go.” She seemed interested in the art, too. “But first I want to get what I need for the kids.”
They walked to their destination. The sun was shining, glinting beautifully off her ponytailed hair. He’d teased her earlier about her looking like a socialite who was trying to go incognito. In his opinion, Lizzie wasn’t the type who could downplay her breeding. She’d already spent too many years perfecting it, and by now it was ingrained into the woman she’d become.
When