If you want to see how love works in the hearts of good people, come to Subway in Cambridge, New York, and watch Therese and Faith work together.

This happy story began when I stopped at Subway (I often stop there for lunch sandwiches when we’re too busy to cook) to bring lunch home. The Subway Manager, Therese Balls-Suarez, was cheerful and smiling. She has a trademark greeting when anyone else orders a sandwich; she practically shouts, “You Got It.”

Therese is the heart and soul of the place; she has a name and greeting for almost everyone who enters the shop and makes everyone feel welcomed and special.  I considered her a friend the first day I met her.

Standing beside her behind the corner was a quiet young woman named Faith. Something was different about her; she caught my attention.

I thought Faith was a trainee, and I guess she was. She is very different from Therese, although the two worked efficiently and quickly with one another.

Faith didn’t say much verbally, but she smiled and put my sandwich together in just a few seconds, and it was done perfectly. She seemed to have an excellent memory; Therese said she was brand new to the job but already knew where everything was.

I can’t explain it, but Faith and I immediately hit it off. Something inside me said we were part of the same community and understood one another. That doesn’t happen often.

I was startled, then enchanted. Therese is an angel with extraordinary powers. Subway is fortunate to have her.

Faith seemed hesitant to talk to me at first, something I respected,  but something mystical happened before her sandwich was done. We seemed to be one with one another right away. I could see how much she trusted Therese and then how much she got comfortable with me. We joked and smiled a bit. She made a perfect sandwich in minutes, precisely as I asked for.

I sensed she came to trust me as well. People with disorders need to understand that there are many things they can do well if people give them the chance. Therese is giving Faith that chance.

When Faith stepped away from the counter for a minute, Therese explained that Faith had what is now called an Intellectual Disability and had worked with two other Intellectually Disabled students from the high school to work on a new program at this Subway meant to get “disabled” kids out of the classroom and into the world, proving in the process that they could work as hard and as well as anyone.

Faith, said Therese, was the most instantly capable worker she had ever had. I could see the truth of this. Faith worked fast and efficiently, remembering every world Therese had taught her.

If the students find jobs and do well, Washington County, our county,  will pay the corporations that hire them, at least for a while.

And in one or two visits, Faith had her following. She made great sandwiches, and customers began rooting for her and wanting to help. Business swelled when she was there (she comes once or twice a week for now) along with school officials Marlee Wood and  Tanya Lathrop, who run a unique program to find work for their disabled students.

Marlee and Tanya sent out flyers to dozens of businesses, but only Therese from Subway has responded so far. Therese, I noticed, is a natural teacher – transparent, honest, enthusiastic, quick to praise, and supportive. “I raised an autistic child,” she said, “I have a soft part in my heart for kids who are on the spectrum.”

Faith, said Tanya, “is more than capable of doing anything put in front of her.” Amen, said Therese, “you got it!”

It’s almost impossible not to love Therese; she seems to be bursting with good energy and empathy, two emotions struggling to survive in modern America. The program lit her up from the first, and she immediately earned Faith’s trust and respect.  She fought for her to come to Subway. You are a wonder, I told Therese, “loud and loving.”

I, too, have a soft part for children on the spectrum; I suspect I was one.

Perhaps it was my Dyslexia, but I connected to Faith right away. People with Dyslexia often suffer the same struggles as people with disabilities. We make people nervous, and they often confuse illness with laziness or incompetence. Faith is anything but loud. But she has a movie-class smile.

I asked her a question or two the first time I saw her. I was curious, and she was reluctant to respond but soon began to smile and talk with me.

That was unusual so fast, said Therese. It takes Faith a while to be comfortable with strangers.

I told Therese I’d love to return to Subway on a Thursday when  Faith was there.  Therese jumped at the idea, as did Faith’s mother, teachers, and school officials.

They were eager to get the word out about their children, who, they said, are willing to work and very good at it. It was as if they were waiting for me or someone like me to come along.

Marlee and Tanya said they and Faith practiced being interviewed all week. Faith had never been questioned before, and they practiced a half dozen times.

“Don’t sweat it,” Therese told me,” she’s tougher than you are.”

This advice turned out to be true.

Faith could hardly be more relaxed and articulate than she was when we sat down together to talk.

She answered every question I asked quickly and articulately. The only one that slowed her down was when I asked her what she wanted most in her life: “I want to work here at Subway,” she said.

I could see the interview was important to her. It meant something to me, too.

Faith had an older sister who had worked at Subway, and “I want to be like her,” she said.

She doesn’t know what she wants to do far down the road; I sensed she’d love to be Therese one day. I told her that after speaking with her, I really couldn’t imagine too many things that she couldn’t do if she wanted to.

I knew she was nervous about the interview, so I told her a half dozen times that she had done beautifully without a hitch. I was impressed, I told her.

She was sweating it, but never showed it.

As she got up, she broke into a huge grin and gave a big thumbs up to Marlee and Tanya, sitting two tables away and watching closely.

I could see that Faith needed to hear that, and I was happy to say it. It was the truth. I kept the interview short, but we made plans to talk more next Thursday when she comes to work again.

She surprised me. There was nothing disabled in her that I could see, and I’ve interviewed many people. While I watched, she made sandwich after sandwich, fast and perfectly. Therese beamed over her shoulder like a loving mom. Every time I looked at Faith, she was smiling. I gathered she doesn’t smile a lot.

I returned today (Maria came with me; she loves this idea) to write about her and follow her work and evolution at Subway.

I met at first with Marlee and Tanya to go over any questions and make sure everyone involved had agreed to let me take pictures and talk to Faith. I also wanted to know her sensitivities so I wouldn’t upset her by asking something that might bother her.

This is not something I ever did as a reporter; I just jumped in and asked away. But Faith is different.

(Marlee and Tanya (above) are hero teachers; they reminded me of Sue Silverstein and her fantastic work with traumatized refugee children. Great teachers all have a haunted, worn-out, loving, and vigilant look. They work hard, are little recognized, are poorly paid, don’t sleep much, never rest,  and are utterly devoted. They love their students dearly, even if their hard work is little acknowledged. I wish everyone had teachers like them. It took a lot of effort to get Faith to Subway.)

I said I wanted to follow her as she moved from this program to a regular job, which Therese said she was eager to offer her. Faith is 18 years old; she can remain in school until age 24 or leave earlier if she chooses. “People don’t know what these children are capable of,” Marlee told me,” that’s the point of the program, to let them know.”

“She’s as good as any worker I’ve ever had her,” Therese said, “she’s smart, has a photographic memory, and loves to work. I have a lot of young people coming through here,” she said, “and I’ve never had a quicker learner or a better worker. I want very much for her to work here.”

Therese said Subway executives are excited about the program.

There was a lot of love, patience, and kindness around Faith and her work at Subway today. I saw several customers say hello and tell her what a good job she was doing. Therese says her customers are behind the program, rooting for Faith and eager to help her if they can.

There is another hero in this story: Therese, who has the heart of a skyscraper and lives to do good. She needs to be acknowledged for changing the lives of at least one young person. As long as people like her are around, no one will ever persuade me that there are not many good and compassionate people in America.

I asked Therese if I could come in regularly and follow Faith’s story and see if perhaps the Army of Good or I could help her if needed. I want to be there. Maria is aboard. Faith said sure, so did Marlee and Tanya.

I felt the same way about Faith as the other customers.

Before we left, Maria and I invited Faith and the other program students to visit the farm, bring some carrots for the donkeys, and meet Zip and the sheep, donkeys, dogs, and chickens.

Faith looked a little hesitant. “Is something the matter?” I asked.

She paused for a minute. “I like horses,” she said as if I might be offended.

Then, after thinking about it, “But I could like donkeys too.”

That’s good news, I said, “because Lulu and Fanny will almost certainly love you. They love young people. ” She said she loved their names.

Stay tuned. This is a story I am keen to follow.