Child of Grace. Irene Hannon

of the car. The small adjacent church looked just as Carlos had described it—traditional in design, with elongated panels of stained glass on each side and a steeple that soared toward the blue sky.

      This was where the medical corpsman had turned his life around.

      This was where he’d hoped to return and make a difference in the lives of other young people.

      This was where his funeral had been held two short months ago.

      Luke swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing back a surge of emotion. The time for tears was past. He was here to look to the future. To do his part to fulfill a young man’s dream. To keep a promise.

      With one more look at the soaring steeple, he strode toward the door of the rectory and pressed the bell.

      Thirty seconds later, a middle-aged man dressed in black and wearing a clerical collar answered. His smile created a fan of wrinkles at the corner of each eye as he stuck out his hand.

      “Captain Turner, I presume. Or do you prefer Doctor?”

      “Luke is fine. Father Reynolds?”

      “Make it Father Joe. Come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to your visit. Everyone is here, eagerly waiting to meet you.” He closed the door and led the way down the hall. “May I offer you a beverage?”

      “Coffee would be good, if you have it.”

      “Always.” The man grinned and veered to his left at a T in the hall, leading Luke into a small, homey kitchen. He headed straight for the coffeepot on the counter, pulled a mug off a hook and filled it. “There’s a carafe of coffee and disposable cups in the conference room, but the guest of honor deserves the real thing.” He lifted the ceramic mug. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

      “I like it black.”

      “So do I.” The clergyman handed him the coffee and retraced his steps, continuing past the T. “We rotate our meetings among participating churches, and it happened to be my turn. Appropriate, since this was Carlos’s church.”

      A few seconds later, the man ushered him into a small conference room dominated by a large rectangular table. Six people of various ages sat around it. As he entered, their conversation ceased and they all looked toward him.

      “My fellow clerics, our guest of honor has arrived.”

      As Father Joe went through the introductions and Luke shook hands with each of the board members, he did his best to file away their names.

      Once the formalities were finished, Father Joe gestured Luke toward the seat at the end of the table, then took his place at the other end.

      “First, on behalf of the Greater Saugatuck Interdenominational Youth Fellowship, I want to thank you for initiating this project and for making such a personal investment in it. Your willingness to devote a significant amount of time to the planning and organizing has impressed all of us.” Father Joe beamed at him.

      Heat rose on Luke’s neck, and he shifted in his seat. “I appreciate your kind words, Father, but my sacrifice is small in comparison to Carlos’s. I’m giving time. He gave his life.”

      “Yes. Saving others. ‘No greater love…’” The priest grew somber and folded his hands on the table. “Before we begin, shall we join our hearts in prayer?”

      As they bowed their heads, the pastor spoke. “Father, we thank You for giving us the opportunity to gather here as Your family. Like all families, we are diverse. And we don’t always agree. But You have opened our hearts and minds to allow us to seek our commonalities, and to unify behind the shared goal of supporting our youth and helping them grow in faith.

      “We live in a difficult world, Lord, one where young people can easily be led astray. Here, in our program, they can find acceptance and love and guidance. We ask that You give us fortitude and inspiration as we go about Your work. We thank You for letting our lives be touched by an inspiring young man like Carlos Fernandez. And we thank You for sending Captain Taylor to us with a plan that will honor him by helping us carry on the work that changed his life.”

      After a chorus of “amens,” Father Joe turned the meeting over to Luke, who pulled his notes from his briefcase and gave the board an outline of the project he and Father Joe had corresponded about over the past few weeks.

      Although Carlos’s pastor had assured Luke the board was receptive to his idea, the enthusiastic response of the members was heartening.

      But also a little unsettling.

      Because, while Luke had come here to get the ball rolling for a youth center, the more the board members talked, the more it sounded as if they expected him to deliver said center in the short six weeks he would be in the area.

      Catching his eye during an animated discussion about one fundraising idea, Father Joe smiled.

      “Gentlemen—I think we’re overwhelming our benefactor. Why don’t we let him tell us what he would like to accomplish during his stay here, and see what we can do to assist him?”

      Seven sets of eyes focused on him and the room grew quiet.

      Luke cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. “I’d be thrilled if we could break ground for this center before I leave. But realistically, that event may be a year or two down the road. If I learned one thing in the military, it was that nothing happens fast when a committee is involved.”

      A knowing chuckle rippled around the table.

      Luke flashed them a smile. “What I hoped to do during my stay was work with you to set everything in motion. That would include developing a fundraising plan, spreading the word about the project and helping line up appropriate resources and benefactors to support the project long-term. I’m not an expert at this sort of thing, but I’m hoping we can draft the assistance of some local people who are.”

      “I agree we need to pull in experts.” A thin, middle-aged man with a receding hairline spoke. Reverend Matthew Howard, Luke recalled. “None of us have the time or expertise to make this center happen. But there are plenty of experts in our own community who could take on pieces of this. One in my own congregation, in fact. She’s a relative newcomer to the area. Kelsey Anderson. She runs a quilt shop in Douglas, but until earlier this year she was the director of public relations and corporate promotions for a large firm in St. Louis.”

      When the man named the well-known company, Luke’s eyebrows rose. “That’s impressive. She sounds like just the kind of person we need.”

      “I agree.” Father Joe leaned forward. “I haven’t met Ms. Anderson, but I’ve heard about her. One of the women in my congregation mentioned taking some classes at her shop. Would you like to approach her, Matt?”

      “I’ll be happy to lay the groundwork. But I think the appeal would be more effective coming from Captain Turner.” The man opened a file and removed a letter. A copy of the first one he’d sent to Father Joe, Luke noted. “Father Joe shared your initial query letter with all of us. It was quite moving. No one would be able to speak as passionately—or convincingly—as you about how your friendship with Carlos motivated you to take this on. If I set up a meeting with Kelsey, would you be willing to pitch your idea and solicit her involvement?”

      “That’s just the kind of thing I was hoping to do while I’m here.” Luke encompassed the group as he spoke. “If any of you want me to meet with possible supporters, I’m happy to do so. And Ms. Anderson sounds like the perfect person to talk with first.”

      By the time the meeting broke up half an hour later, the board had compiled a list of resources, from the owner of the piece of property they hoped would someday be the site of the youth center, to the mayor of Saugatuck, to the manager of the hotel where Carlos had worked during his high school years.

      As Father Joe led him out after all the others had left, the pastor paused in the small foyer, a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you weren’t planning too much R & R during your visit