Free Santiago Sol by Niki Turner Page B

anything you need, for the church, I mean?” Sebastian said.
    Tansy gave a soft intake of breath.
    The pastor smiled. “Things are going well, but we can always do more for outreach.”
    Sebastian shook his head, gestured toward the exposed pipes overhead. “For a new building, or for your sanctuary?”
    To his shock, the pastor laughed. “You mean because we’re meeting in a section of a warehouse in one of the worst parts of the city?”
    Sebastian nodded.
    The pastor extended his hand. “Please, let me show you something.”
    Sebastian and Tansy followed the minister through a plain door behind the platform where he flipped a switch. Industrial overhead lights buzzed to life, and Sebastian’s brows rose.
    A forklift, loaded with shrink-wrapped crates, crossed in front of them. On both sides and as far as the eye could see, scaffolds, loaded with boxes and crates, rose from floor to ceiling.
    “What is this?” Sebastian asked.
    “We own the building. The vision of the church’s founders was for the poor and the lost, not to build a kingdom with their name on it. We keep the sanctuary small and unassuming, so that we can pour those funds into this.” He gestured toward the endless rows of boxes.
    “What’s in them?” Tansy asked.
    “Non-perishable food, mostly, and baby supplies. The owner of a South American furniture store chain donates mattresses and slightly damaged furniture. We have a partner in the U.S. who ships in small kitchen appliances and office equipment. The other side of the warehouse is full of building materials, everything from lumber to bathroom fixtures.”
    “That’s impressive,” Tansy said.
    “It’s what the founders of the ministry wanted. Their vision, and their bylaws, were very clear. I’m privileged to be a part of what they put in place,” the pastor said. “I didn’t catch your names.”
    Tansy stuck out her hand. “Tansy Chastain, and this is my friend Sebastian.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I hope you’ll come back to fellowship with our church family,” the pastor said. “Shall we?” He pointed toward the door they had come through.
    Tansy led the way back into the now-empty sanctuary.
    They said good-bye to the minister and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
    Sebastian was relieved to see his car still parked outside, and still in one piece.
    “Why did you do that?” Tansy demanded once they were on the road again. “Why did you ask what they need?”
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
    She turned those changeable eyes on him. “You really would like to help?”
    He sighed. “I think what they are doing is admirable. I’d like to see their distribution reports, of course, to know how they manage what comes in, but they seem to be doing a good work, and it’s worthy of support.”
    “Something your friend would be proud of,” she murmured.
    He shifted into a higher gear as they merged onto the highway. It was a full minute before he responded. “The good that is being done is something you should include in Eva’s memoir,” he said. “A high price was paid for this ministry to be established.” He fell silent.
    The service had moved him, and not just because of his familial connection. He would see to it that the church’s outreach was added to his charitable contributions before he lost his right to have a say in how the Sandoval family monies were dispensed.
    “So where are we off to?” Tansy asked.
    Sebastian shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What would you like to do?”
    “You’re the tour guide, Señor MacKenna.”
    Sebastian glanced around, made a last-minute decision, and took the next exit. It was time for Tansy to meet his abuelo. And time to tell her the truth about his identity.
    “Los Dominicos for lunch and shopping.”
     
     
     
     

9
     
    Tansy had read about Los Dominicos online. The former monastery was now a kind of open-air shopping mall, filled with the wares of local artisans. The size of the place surprised