by Lynn Austin
“Just the two of us?”
“Well, I won’t need a lady’s maid when I’m sailing down the Nile River in a dahabeeah, but you may bring your maid along, if you wish.”
“Would we be part of a tour group?”
“I’d rather not. The clerk at Cunard’s said we can hire a traveling agent to make hotel reservations and arrange ground transportation once we settle on an itinerary. We’ll hire a local tour guide for each place we visit—like we did when we went to France and Italy with Father, remember?”
Tears filled Flora’s eyes at the mention of their father. Rebecca knew her sister very well, and knew before she spoke that she would refuse. “Thomas wouldn’t like me to travel all that way without a chaperone.”
“I’m willing to hire one, if you’d like. But Thomas has no right to make decisions for you. You aren’t married to him. You haven’t even officially announced your engagement, yet.”
“I would hate to displease him.”
“I doubt he would risk losing your inheritance—or your love—by arguing with you. I’m not asking you to cancel your engagement to Thomas. Just take one last trip with me before you marry him.”
Flora laid aside the ticket as if it burned her fingers. She stared down at her empty plate, her hands folded in her lap. “It seems so strange that we can’t ask Father for advice. Maybe I should talk to Thomas or Mrs. Worthington first.”
Rebecca resisted the urge to shake sense into her. “We’re on our own for the time being, and we need to think for ourselves, make our own decisions.”
Flora finally looked up. “Why do you want to go so badly, Becky?”
How could she explain it? Rebecca knew she had to try. “The urge to travel has never gone away—never!—despite all of our etiquette lessons, my disastrous courtship with Freddy, and even earning my college degree. It’s like a voice in my heart that won’t stop nagging me. And so I’ve come to believe that the voice must be important. That it’s leading me to something important.”
“What do you suppose that might that be?”
Rebecca took a moment to reply. “Remember when I talked you into going to the poorest part of Chicago? And how that led to our crazy scheme to work in the factory? Those experiences were what made you realize that you had a calling to help the poor, and you’ve been pursuing it ever since. I know I have a passion for history, but I need to find out what I’m supposed to do with it. That’s what I hope this trip will accomplish.”
Flora was truly listening to her. She was the only person besides their Father who ever had. “I understand,” Flora said. But she still looked hesitant.
“Look, I’ll find someone else to go with me if you don’t want to. But there’s no one else in the whole world I would rather share this journey with than you. You’re my sister, my best friend. The trip will give us a chance to mourn Father without any distractions. He would love that we’re finally going. And it will give us the gift of time together before you leave home to marry Thomas.”
Flora picked up the ticket again. She studied it for a long moment before looking up at Rebecca again. “If I’m reading this right, our ship sails in less than a month. We’d better get packing if we’re going to be ready on time.”
Rebecca let out a very unladylike cheer.
Chapter 11
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
Their ship encountered a storm three days at sea, but while the other first-class passengers hunkered in their cabins or huddled on deck chairs, swaddled in blankets, Rebecca and Flora gripped the rail on the passenger deck and watched the waves crash against the side of the ship. Each time the wind brought a spray of salt water that dampened their faces, they laughed aloud. “I love the freedom of the open seas!” Rebecca shouted above the wind. “This invigorates me, Flora! I’m thriving out here! Yet I can’t wait to get to shore and start exploring new places!”
“You were right to plan this trip, Becky. I’m glad we’re doing this together. It brings back so many good memories of traveling with Father. And I can have one last adventure before I settle down with Thomas.”
“Have you talked with Thomas about traveling after you’re married? Is he interested?”
“I mentioned it, but he doesn’t care to. He complained about how terribly hot it was in Atlanta during the war, and he has hated warm climates ever since. Besides, I hope to have children right away. Dozens of them. I want so much to be a mother.”
Rebecca watched the churning waves and gray water for a long moment. “We don’t really know what a mother is like, do we? And yet I never felt as though I missed anything.”
“I did. And I want to be the very best mother in the world to the children Thomas and I will have.”
“I hope that means letting them go off and explore the world. You won’t tie them down with all the things they ‘must’ do, will you?”
“No, I’ll be sure to let them travel the world with their wonderful Aunt Becky.”
A huge spray of water caught both of them off guard, drenching their faces and the front of their coats. Flora squealed and Rebecca gasped, then they hugged each other, laughing like schoolgirls. “We’re on our way to Egypt!” Rebecca shouted. “We’re going to see the pyramids—just like we dreamed of doing.”
According to Murray’s Guidebook to Modern Egypt and Thebes, which Rebecca consulted religiously, there were three main routes for travelers to get from France to the pyramids. She chose the most adventurous one so they could see as much of Europe as possible. After landing in France, they traveled east by passenger train and carriage to the Danube River. From there they took a steamboat downriver to the Black Sea, pausing to spend time in beautiful Vienna before entering the Ottoman Empire. A local steamer took them across the Black Sea to Constantinople, where they stayed and explored the city for three days. They hired a guide to show them the best sites, ate in authentic local restaurants, and slept in the best hotels available. They didn’t worry about running out of money since they’d arranged for their father’s attorney to wire funds to them along the way.
“I’ve loved traveling through the Ottoman Empire,” Rebecca said as they finally boarded another ship to cross the Mediterranean Sea to Alexandria, Egypt. “Freddy was so against it, saying it would be dangerous.” They stood at the stern, watching until Constantinople’s skyline with its many domes and minarets faded from view. “It’s so exotic here! Doesn’t it remind you of The Arabian Nights? I remember reading that book when we were schoolgirls, and now we’re finally visiting these strange lands.”
“I’m going to read the book all over again when we get home,” Flora replied. “Now I can really picture everything.”
The first thing that struck Rebecca when they disembarked from the ship in Cairo was the stench, a potent mixture of stale sweat, human filth, rotting melons, and fish left out too long beneath the sweltering sun. Flora yanked her handkerchief from her sleeve and held it over her nose. The abundance of flies was the second thing Rebecca couldn’t help noticing. She tied her bonnet tighter around her face, grateful for the veil netting as fat black flies swarmed and buzzed around her head. “Well, this is certainly an adventure!” she said as they waited for the porter to fetch their baggage.
“Do you suppose we’ll get used to the smell?” Flora asked.
“Try not to breathe too deeply,” Rebecca replied. She scanned the fascinating array of people, the ships in the harbor, the carriage drivers clamoring for their business, and said, “Let’s hire that open carriage, Flora. I want to see everything!”
“Are you sure you want that one, Becky? That poor horse looks ready for the glue factory.” But Rebecca hurried over to it and allowed the toothless driver to help her onto the seat.
“Take us to Shepheard’s Hotel, please,” Rebecca said when their baggage had been piled high onto the narrow ledge behind them and tied down with ropes. The raggedy driver cracked his whip and the ancient horse lurched forward.
The crowded streets of Cairo contained
more enthralling sights than Rebecca ever dreamed of seeing. They passed a display of Turkish rugs for sale, the owner seated on a wooden chair smoking a hookah. Barefooted girls in long robes and winding head-coverings carried earthenware jars on their heads. Bearded men in turbans trotted past on child-sized donkeys, their feet nearly dragging on the ground. She heard a drum banging and turned to see a dark-skinned man leading a donkey with a monkey on its back. “A monkey, Flora!” she said, laughing. “And it’s wearing a little fez!”
“You don’t see that on the streets of Chicago.”
“Nor that,” Rebecca said, drawing Flora’s attention to a group of soldiers on horseback, dressed in the baggy trousers and headgear of Zouaves. “They look like they just arrived home from the Crusades.”
The streets became broader, the buildings more European-looking as they neared Shepheard’s Hotel. “I’m a little embarrassed by our transportation,” Flora said when they halted in front of the elegant hotel where men and women in Western dress lounged on the broad veranda.
“I’m not. This hardworking man and his horse need to earn a living, too.” But when three hotel porters came running to help, she guessed it was to prevent the ragged Egyptian from stepping his sandaled feet in their fashionable hotel. Rebecca paid the fare, adding a liberal tip. The driver looked shocked, but whether it was from her generosity or the fact that she thanked him in Arabic, she couldn’t tell.
“I believe you just gave him enough money to buy a new horse,” Flora whispered.
“I believe he could use one,” she whispered back.
They stepped into the hotel and into a different world. The exotic streets of Cairo might have been hundreds of miles away. The porters and waiters spoke English and French, the guests wore Paris fashions, and the food and accommodations had been tailored to Western tastes. Rebecca hated it, but tolerated it for Flora’s sake. At least they could have a hot bath.
The first thing Rebecca did after settling her sister in their room was speak with the concierge about visiting the pyramids. “Certainly, mademoiselle. We have a carriage tour leaving the hotel tomorrow morning after breakfast if—”
“I don’t want a tour or a carriage. My sister and I would like to travel by camelback to see the pyramids. And we would like to leave before breakfast so we can watch the sunrise.”
His obliging smile seemed to slip a bit but he said, “Very well, mademoiselle. And will there be others with you? A gentleman, perhaps?”
“Just the two of us.” She could see she had shocked him and knew it wouldn’t be the last time that she would do so.
The timing the next morning turned out to be perfect. The sun was just bursting above the horizon, setting the eastern sky aflame, when Rebecca saw the great pyramids of Giza for the first time. The sight, from her perch atop a camel, took her breath away. “I had no idea how enormous the pyramids are, Flora! Aren’t they magnificent?” They arrived before any of the other tourists and had the vast, rocky plain and towering views all to themselves. Flora swiveled around in the saddle as if trying to take it all in.
“I can barely speak, Becky!”
They asked the guide to take them closer, and as the sun continued to rise above the distant Nile, they reached the base of the Great Pyramid. “I feel as small and insignificant as an ant,” Flora breathed. “How in the world did they build something this enormous?”
“Let’s try to climb it,” Rebecca said. They dismounted, and Rebecca asked the guide and one of the camel drivers to take their hands and lead the way up the huge, step-like stones. Many of the blocks were nearly as tall as she was. They climbed only to the height of a rooftop when they had to stop. “Confound these useless skirts!” Rebecca fumed. “We could make it all the way if we had worn our bloomers.”
“Wouldn’t that have shocked Cairo society!” They sat down on one of the huge stones, their feet dangling, and gazed down at the Plain of Giza. The colossal head of the Sphinx sprouted from the ground in the distance, its body trapped beneath the rocky earth.
“I can’t believe we’re finally here, Becky. We’ve dreamt about this all our lives. I only wish Father could see this.”
“I know. I do, too.” Rebecca felt dizzy with joy as she pondered what a significant moment this was for her. “I have a degree in history, yet I still can’t comprehend how very ancient these pyramids are. They were already here when Abraham and Sarah traveled to Egypt. Joseph might have seen them when he labored here as a slave and when he saved Egypt from the famine. The Hebrews would have seen them when they worked to make bricks—and Moses, too, when God ordered him to challenge Pharaoh’s power and deliver the Hebrews from slavery. Even the infant Jesus may have seen them when Mary and Joseph fled here with Him to escape from King Herod. I can’t grasp all those thousands of years of history, can you?” Flora shook her head.
Rebecca had believed that seeing the pyramids would bring satisfaction—and it had, to a certain measure. Yet something more still called to her. “I feel like this is only the beginning, Flora,” she said, stretching her arms wide. “There’s something I’m supposed to do in response to this. Something meaningful. I just have no idea what it might be.”
“Then we’ll simply have to keep asking and searching until you figure it out.”
They spent all day exploring the pyramids and returned to Cairo late that afternoon sticky, hot, and coated with a layer of dust. After a warm bath and a dinner of English-style roast beef and potatoes, they decided to explore the open-air souk on their own tomorrow. The concierge seemed alarmed when Rebecca asked for directions, and offered to send a guide along to accompany them. She relented for Flora’s sake, and the three of them set off to see the market after breakfast, she and Flora wearing their sturdy shoes. They smelled the souk before they saw it. The blended aromas of cumin and mint, baking bread and donkey droppings, strong tobacco and even stronger coffee filled the narrow, shop-lined streets. Buyers and merchants shouted angrily as they bartered for wares, and Rebecca halted in front of a silk shop to eavesdrop on a conversation, trying to see how much she understood. At first it sounded as though the two men might come to blows any minute, but when she finally deciphered what they were saying, she laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Flora asked. “What are they so angry about?”
“They’re bartering over that bolt of silk, but the amount they’re dickering over is a matter of pennies.” The same scene played over and over as they wandered down the street, whether it was for a turquoise necklace or a bag of pistachios.
“Bartering seems to be a way of life here,” Flora said.
“Yes, and I’d love to try my hand at it.” The opportunity came a few minutes later when an oily little man approached with what looked like a page from a very old book. Their guide tried to wave the man away, but the ancient-looking document aroused Rebecca’s curiosity. The souk’s dark alleyway didn’t offer much sunlight, and Rebecca had to squint to get a good look at it. “This writing isn’t Hebrew, but it’s similar. I’d like to know if this is parchment or maybe papyrus, but I have no idea how to say either word. It certainly looks old, though.”
“It could be a clever fake.”
“True. I don’t think I’ve ever seen real parchment. It’s supposedly made of animal skins.” She held the page to her nose and sniffed, then laughed and made a face. “Oh, my! That smells rotten! But I think I’ll try bartering with him.” Their guide offered to do the bartering for her, but Rebecca declined. “I need to make good use of my Arabic lessons.”
“How will you know if you’re paying too much?” Flora asked.
“I won’t. But he’ll probably start exorbitantly high, so I’ll start ridiculously low, and maybe we’ll meet in the middle.” A curious crowd of Egyptian men in turbans and fezzes and small boys in long tunics and skullcaps gathered around to watch, amazed to hear a young Western woman speaking their language. Judging by the expressions on their faces, they were shocked that she dared to barter with a m
an—and with her face uncovered, no less. To Rebecca, the process was great fun. “I can see why these people enjoy haggling so much,” she told Flora after she’d agreed on a price several minutes later. It was much closer to the Egyptian’s starting price than to hers, but Rebecca felt elated as she walked away with a lighter purse and a scrap of something that looked and smelled very old. When they returned to their hotel room late that afternoon to wash off the dust and sweat of Cairo, Rebecca examined it more closely.
“Can you tell what it is? Is it authentic?” Flora asked.
“I have no idea. I’ll try to find out when we get home. But that was fun, wasn’t it? I might try bartering for everything when we get back to Chicago.”
They spent a week in Cairo, exploring the city on foot or sometimes by carriage, eating warm bread from street vendors and sipping coffee in tiny cafés. The other hotel guests seemed shocked when Rebecca described their exploits over dinner in the evening. “This has been the trip of a lifetime, Becky,” Flora said at the end of a wonderful week. “I’m so glad you talked me into coming. I won’t forget the sight of those magnificent pyramids as long as I live. Or how poor and filthy this part of the world is. The slums of Chicago seem clean in comparison—and that’s saying a lot.”
Rebecca went over to the window where her sister stood gazing down at the street in front of the hotel. “Listen, Flora, I’ve been thinking. . . . I’m not ready to return to Chicago, are you? We’ve only been traveling for a little more than a month.”
“Well . . . I am enjoying myself immensely. I would be willing to stay a little longer, but I should send Thomas a cable to let him know we changed our plans.”
Rebecca didn’t reply. Flora’s response reminded her that soon she’d be losing her sister. Their lives would diverge in opposite directions once they returned home and Flora became Mrs. Thomas Worthington. Rebecca neither wanted nor expected to be invited to Worthington family events after refusing Cousin Freddy’s marriage proposal; she would need to steer her life in a different direction.