Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.

      —Hebrews 12:1

      This story is dedicated to my granddaughter,

       Ameline Grace Stewart, with much love

       from Grammy. And, as always, to Brian.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Terry Flanagan flashed a penlight in the young boy’s eyes and then smiled reassuringly at the teenage sister who was riding with them in the rig on the trip to the hospital.

      “You can hit the siren,” she called through the narrow doorway to her partner. Jeff Erhart was driving the unit this run. They had an unspoken agreement that she’d administer care when the patient was a small child. With three young kids of his own, Jeff found a hurt child tough to face.

      The sister’s dark gaze focused on Terry. “Why did you tell him to start the siren? Is Juan worse? Tell me!”

      “He’s going to be fine, Manuela.” She’d agreed to take the sister in the unit because she was the only family member who spoke English. “You have to stay calm, remember?” Naturally it was scary for Manuela to see her little brother immobilized on a backboard, an IV running into his arm.

      The girl swallowed hard, nodding. With her dark hair pulled back in braids and her skin innocent of makeup, Manuela didn’t look the sixteen years she claimed to be. Possibly she was sixteen only because that was the minimum age for migrant farmworkers to be in the fields. The fertile farmlands and orchards that surrounded the small city of Suffolk in southern Pennsylvania were a magnet for busloads of migrant farmworkers, most from Mexico, who visited the area for weeks at a time. They rarely intersected with the local community except in an emergency, like this one.

      “Juan will need stitches, yes?” Manuela clasped her little brother’s hand.

      “Yes, he will.” Terry lifted the gauze pad slightly. The bleeding had slowed, but the edges of the cut gaped.

      The child looked up at her with such simple trust that her stomach clenched. Lord, I haven’t forgotten anything, have I? Be with this child, and guide my hands and my decisions.

      She ticked over the steps of care as the unit hit the busy streets of Suffolk and slowed. She’d been over them already, but somehow she couldn’t help doing it again. And again.

      She knew why. It had been two years, but she still heard that accusing voice at moments like this, telling her that she was incompetent, that she—

      No. She wouldn’t go there. She’d turn the self-doubt over to God, as she’d done so many times before, and she’d close the door on that cold voice. The wail of the siren, the well-equipped emergency unit, the trim khaki pants and navy shirt with the word Paramedic emblazoned on the back—all those things assured her of who she was.

      She smiled at the girl again, seeing the strain in her young face. “How did your brother get hurt? Can you tell me that?”

      “He shouldn’t have been there.” The words burst out. “He’s too little to—”

      The child’s fingers closed over hers, as if he understood what she was saying. A look flashed between brother and sister, too quickly for Terry to be sure what it meant. A warning? Perhaps.

      She could think of only one ending to what Manuela had started to say. “Was Juan working in the field?” It was illegal for a child so young to work in the fields—everyone knew that, even those who managed to ignore the migrant workers in their midst every summer and fall.

      Alarm filled the girl’s eyes. “I didn’t say that. You can’t tell anyone I said that!”

      The boy, catching his sister’s emotion, clutched her hand tightly and murmured something in Spanish. His eyes were huge in his pinched, pale face.

      Compunction flooded Terry. She couldn’t let the child become upset. “It’s okay,” she said, patting him gently. “Manuela, tell your brother everything is okay. I misunderstood, that’s all.”

      Manuela nodded, bending over her brother, saying something in a soft voice. Terry watched, frowning. Something was going on there—something the girl didn’t want her to pursue.

      She glanced out the window. They were making the turn into the hospital driveway. This wasn’t over. Once they were inside, she’d find out how the child had been injured, one way or another.

      Jeff cut the siren and pulled to a stop. By the time she’d opened the back doors, he was there to help her slide the stretcher smoothly out.

      They rolled boy and stretcher quickly through the automatic doors and into the hands of the waiting E.R. team.

      Terry flashed a grin at Harriet Conway. With her brown hair pulled back and her oversized glasses, Harriet might look severe, but Terry knew and respected her. The hospital had been afloat with