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from the trafficking operation. He told her about the soldiers at the outpost, and she asked about Paul Reichart, an aid worker.
    â€œHe’s from GlobalConnect,” Bacha said flatly. She asked if Paul had handled property matters for the children or village.
    â€œHe helped return children to their families.” Parsaa was curt and hid his puzzlement. “There was no property.”
    She pleaded with him, explaining her group had access to funding, too. “Has Paul told you how much money is available for villages like yours?”
    Parsaa pointed out that the villagers did not discuss money with Paul. Bacha glanced at her colleague and spoke softly. Then she shook her head. “You are making a mistake.”
    â€œIt should not be easy for Afghan families to give up their children.” Parsaa stood and asked if the women worked with Paul.
    â€œNot yet,” Bacha said, adding that they were trying to arrange a meeting with him. He was supposed to provide contacts. “But he doesn’t want others working in this area.” In the meantime, the women were assisting children of women serving prison sentences. “One of the women is from Laashekoh,” she added. “Leila?”
    At hearing the name, the other villagers were no longer restless and listened closely. Sofi, his wife, made a small choking noise, and leaned against Karimah. Leila, the daughter of his dearest and lifelong friend who had since died. Her delayed marriage had disrupted the village. A woman whose beauty was destroyed overnight with an acid attack even as her marriage contract was under negotiation. She, along with her parents and husband, had helped organize a trafficking ring, shipping children to Pakistan.
    Leila had also shoved his oldest son off a cliff the night before Ali was supposed to leave for school.
    Parsaa didn’t stop the woman, though he didn’t want to listen.
    â€œShe has an attorney who advises her, and they have welcomed our support. Leila’s attorney advised us that there were too many girls here for a small village to handle.”
    The woman referred to “girls,” not Leila’s sisters who were being raised by village families. A relief. Sofi would be panicked about losing Komal, the youngest of the sisters. But Leila had already been convicted and was in prison. She had no claim and couldn’t know how the villagers felt about her sisters. Parsaa didn’t understand her need for an attorney. He wanted to shout, explain how Leila deserved no assistance or comfort, but instead he moved close to Bacha and kept his voice low. Only Ahmed, Sofi, and Karimah could hear. “Have you spoken with Leila?”
    Bacha was eager and did not wait for Pir. “Do you know her? We are not allowed near her. Not yet. Her attorney describes her as a hero. She was trying to rescue the children and give them a better future.”
    â€œYou cannot believe all that you hear.” Parsaa’s laugh was harsh. “Her attorney should look into her other crimes.”
    â€œMany donors want to help her.” Bacha looked around. “They would help here, too, but only if you let them.”
    Laashekoh would have nothing to do with groups that supported Leila, and Parsaa offered a warning. “Leila is young, but she is treacherous. The attorney, anyone else who deals with her, should be careful.”
    Pir’s pale eyes sharpened as Bacha translated. “My friend claims you don’t want the children hearing us talk about Leila,” Bacha said. “Do others in the village feel the same about her?”
    Karimah spoke up. “If anything, he is too kind. She is evil, and we do not speak her name.”
    The visitors were stubborn. “Villages often find it too easy to blame a young woman,” Bacha said. “Refusing to talk buries truth.”
    Parsaa leaned in close. “The American soldiers investigated and that is why she is in prison. You can