Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  “Let’s pack up tonight and leave for the Holy Land, Flora. We’ll send Thomas a cable before we go.” Rebecca hoped to be in Jerusalem by the time Thomas read the message. He would have no way to voice his displeasure or pressure Flora to return. “The easiest way to get to Jerusalem,” she continued, “would be to take a boat down the Nile and across the Mediterranean to the port of Joppa—”

  “And risk getting shipwrecked like the Apostle Paul?” Flora asked with a grin. “Or swallowed by a giant fish like Jonah? That sounds dangerously fun!”

  “Yes, it does. But I also think it would be fun to travel by land like Abraham and Sarah did when they went back and forth from Egypt to the Promised Land. It would be more authentic, and we’d have more freedom to stop and see things along the way.”

  “Wonderful! Let’s do it!”

  Rebecca asked the concierge to engage the services of a traveling agent the next morning while Flora sent a telegram to Thomas telling him their plans. “I can arrange for you to travel with a touring group—” the concierge began, but Rebecca cut him off.

  “No, thank you. You must know by now that my sister and I don’t do things the conventional way.”

  “Yes, mademoiselle. I do. But the road to Gaza can be very dangerous and—”

  “Thank you for your concern. I’m certain we’ll be fine.” It took an extra day to arrange storage for all but their most basic clothing and necessities at the hotel, and for Habib, the guide the concierge hired, to gather supplies and assemble a caravan of horses and mules. Rebecca and Flora left Cairo at dawn, riding sidesaddle on a pair of pretty white horses, grateful for the riding lessons Rufus had arranged.

  With Cairo behind them, they passed through a few scattered villages and settlements along the Gaza Road before it became desolate and deserted. After a while it seemed as though they’d traveled for hours since passing through a town, and they’d seen no other travelers or caravans during that time. Rebecca decided not to mention to Flora that the concierge had called this road “very dangerous.” She had begun to wonder how fast her horse could gallop if trouble arose, and if she could stay in the saddle if it did, when a distant heap of rags alongside the road suddenly leaped up and began frantically fluttering its arms. The drivers seemed wary of the man as they approached, and Rebecca was, too, until she realized that he was shouting in English.

  “Hello, there! . . . Hello! Oh, thank heaven!” he said with a sigh when she drew her horse to a halt. Beneath the dust and sweat was a tall, lean, pleasant-looking man in his thirties, with sandy hair and eyes as blue as the desert sky. “I wonder if you would be kind enough to help me?” he asked in a crisp British accent.

  “What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked from her perch atop her horse.

  “I’m terribly embarrassed to admit it, but it seems I’ve been swindled. The agent and caravan I hired in Cairo to take me to Jerusalem stole all my cash and equipment, then abandoned me along the roadside. I might have known that the price we agreed on was too good to be true, but I was hoping to save a few quid, you see—and now they’ve taken off like Ali Baba and the forty thieves, except there were only a half-dozen of them.”

  Rebecca covered her mouth to hide a smile. The poor man wasn’t trying to be funny, and his situation wasn’t at all humorous, but there was something comical about finding a proper Englishman in the middle of nowhere wearing khaki shorts and the kind of hat that explorers wear when making great archaeological discoveries. She couldn’t help smiling.

  “I’ve been alternating between walking and resting for the longest time,” he continued, groping in the pockets of his shorts. “Well, it seems they’ve stolen my pocket watch, too, so I’m not exactly sure how long it’s been. Certainly since before mid-morning. I’ve been praying that the Lord would forgive my foolishness for trusting myself to brigands and rescue me in spite of it . . . and finally! You’re the first travelers to come along in hours.”

  “You look very hot,” Flora said. “Would you like a drink of water?”

  “Yes, if you’d be so kind. The bit of water they left me is nearly gone.” He pulled a water skin from the canvas bag he wore slung over his shoulder and smiled shyly as he shook it. The water made a faint sloshing sound.

  “Help us dismount,” Rebecca commanded the driver in Arabic, “and give the man some water.” The driver gripped her waist as she slid to the ground, then helped Flora dismount. Habib untied an extra water skin from their mule’s supplies and offered it to the stranger. The Englishman held it to his lips and drank long and deep. He looked like the very definition of an exotic explorer. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and the sun had toasted every inch of exposed skin on his arms, face, and bare legs. He might pass for a Cherokee Indian if he’d hidden his sun-bleached hair beneath a feathered headdress. He was pleasant-looking, Rebecca decided, and his blue eyes seemed kind.

  “Ah. Thank you, my dear ladies,” he breathed as he wiped his lips. “I do believe you have saved my life. You are fortunate to speak Arabic. My lack of foresight in learning the language was what led to my being swindled. I’ve traveled this part of the world many times, but this has never happened before.”

  “How unfortunate that it happened now. My name is Rebecca Hawes,” she said, extending her hand. “And this is my sister, Flora. We’re from Chicago, Illinois.”

  “Edmund Merriday from Cambridge, England. How do you do?” His grip was strong as he shook hands.

  “We do very well, thank you,” Rebecca said, “While you, Mr. Merriday, seem to be having a hard time of it.”

  He laughed heartily, as she’d hoped he would. “I was reading the parable of the Good Samaritan as I was sitting here, and I decided I fared a little better than that ancient traveler did. I may have been robbed, but at least I wasn’t beaten and left for dead.”

  “Nor did you lose your sense of humor, I see.”

  “Would you like to join us, Mr. Merriday?” Flora asked. “We would be happy to help you along to the next village or perhaps to Ashkelon, if you’d like. We certainly can’t leave you stranded all alone out here.”

  “That would be very kind of you,” he said with obvious relief.

  Rebecca ordered the driver to reposition the saddles and the loads so she and Flora could ride the same animal, leaving a horse for Mr. Merriday.

  “What brings you ladies along just in time to rescue me?” he asked.

  “We’re indulging our love of travel,” Rebecca replied. “After visiting Egypt and the pyramids, we decided to see the Holy Land.”

  “Are you with a tour group?” He shielded his eyes to look down the road behind them. “Where’s the rest of your traveling party?”

  “It’s just Flora and me. Our agent, Habib, takes care of the horses and supplies and hires drivers for us.”

  “Bravo for you!” He didn’t seem the least bit shocked that they were traveling unescorted. “You were fortunate to find a good agent. The one I hired in Cairo turned out to be a scoundrel.”

  When the horses were ready, Habib boosted Flora into the saddle, then helped Rebecca mount behind her on the horse’s rump. It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but Rebecca had wanted an adventure. Mr. Merriday hoisted himself onto the horse as if accustomed to riding. They started on their way again, their horses walking side by side.

  “What brings you to this part of the world, Mr. Merriday?” Flora asked.

  “Please, call me Edmund,” he said with a grin. “Mr. Merriday sounds much too stuffy, don’t you think?”

  “Then you must call us Flora and Rebecca,” she replied.

  “Very well, Flora. To answer your question, I’m on summer holidays at the moment from Cambridge University, where I work as a research librarian. I dabble in amateur archaeology on the side, so I’ve been poking around this part of the world looking for items to add to my collection.”

  “What sort of collection?”

  He opened his dusty canvas bag again, and pulled out bits of broken pottery, st
ones, and scraps of paper, holding up each item for them to see. “I collect potsherds like these. And fragments of biblical scrolls. I’m interested in ancient manuscripts, in particular. Thank heaven the thieves didn’t see any value in these relics and took only my money.”

  “Most men I know would be horrified at the thought of losing ‘only’ money,” Rebecca said with a laugh. “But those pages of yours . . . they look a lot like something I purchased in Cairo. May I show it to you?”

  “Certainly.”

  Rebecca gripped Flora’s jacket to keep from falling off the horse as she dug through the saddlebag for the page of parchment she’d purchased. She unwound the wrappings and held it out to him. “Can you tell me anything about it?” He studied it carefully, holding it up to the light, squinting at the tiny writing, scratching the edge of it with his fingernail, sniffing it as she had done, all while balancing on the moving horse. He seemed very athletic for a man who worked in a library all day.

  “I’m very impressed,” he said at last. “I think this may be ancient parchment, but I would have to examine it with a magnifying glass to be certain.”

  “Do you know what it says? Can you read it?”

  He rummaged in his bag and produced a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. “The writing appears to be Syriac. I’m guessing from what’s left of the binding that it’s a page from a very old codex. May I ask where you purchased it?”

  “Flora and I were exploring one of the back streets in Cairo when an oily little man asked if I wanted to buy it.”

  “Do you remember which part of Cairo?”

  “Yes, it was in the souk near Shepheard’s Hotel. Why do you ask?”

  “I would love to know if there are any more pages from this codex. Fragments like this have been showing up for sale on the streets of Cairo ever since tourists started visiting Egypt and the pyramids. Local scavengers and thieves find or steal priceless scrolls and codices, and slice them up to sell piecemeal to tourists. Valuable artifacts are destroyed in the process.”

  “Is there a way one might save these documents from destruction?”

  “Yes, by purchasing them—hopefully before they’re cut into pieces—and bringing them to a proper university or museum for scholars to study. I would buy them myself if I could afford it.”

  Rebecca’s heart sped up at the thought of saving precious historical documents. “I would love to learn more about it from you if you can spare the time,” she said, “I would especially like to learn how to tell if something is authentic. I’m a student of ancient history, so I understand their importance.”

  He smiled, and the wrinkles on his tanned face fell into place around his eyes and mouth as if he smiled often. He was very charming in a bumbling sort of way. “I would be happy to teach you everything I know,” he said. “It’s the very least I can do in return for your kindness.”

  “You’re traveling on your own, obviously,” Flora said. “But do you have a family back home in England?”

  “Two married sisters and a father who is a country rector. But I’m married to my passions, a quality not many ladies appreciate in a husband. I spend all of my holidays on treks like this one, sleeping in tents and exploring ancient ruins. I have yet to find a woman who is interested in joining me.”

  “It sounds heavenly to me,” Rebecca said. “Flora and I have no family back home. Sadly, our parents have both passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But if you ladies enjoy trekking from Egypt to Gaza on horseback, you are the exception to the rule, I assure you. I typically travel alone. That way I can wander wherever I like, stay as long as I like, and see what I want to see without anyone slowing me down. Although I do miss engaging in intelligent conversations in the evening. I envy you ladies for having each other for company.”

  “I couldn’t agree more about enjoying the freedom to wander,” Rebecca said. “That’s why Flora and I set our own itinerary without all the bother of a tour group. We’ve wanted to travel to this part of the world for some time, but the American War Between the States made it impossible until now. May I ask where you’re headed in the Holy Land?”

  “I was hoping to visit Galilee and see the ruins of the first century synagogue in Capernaum, but that’s clearly out of the question until next year. Those vandals stole everything but my traveling papers and my steamship ticket home.”

  “We read about those ruins in the newspaper. There are so many wonderful things to see and places to explore. Our list grows longer all the time, doesn’t it, Flora?”

  They talked all afternoon and arrived at their destination shortly before sunset. Rebecca’s knees felt wobbly after dismounting, and Edmund had to grab her to keep her from falling over. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m still not used to riding a horse all day. The swaying made me a little dizzy.”

  “I can’t thank you dear ladies enough for your help. I fear I would still be sitting under an acacia tree and perishing from thirst if not for your kindness.”

  “What will you do now?” Rebecca asked.

  “I have an acquaintance in Joppa who might loan me funds to return to Cairo. I trust I can exchange my steamship ticket once I’m there and sail back to England.”

  “So this is the end of your vacation?”

  “I’m afraid so. For this year, at any rate.”

  “Where will you sleep tonight?” Flora asked. “What will you eat?”

  He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug, but before he could reply, Rebecca said, “Our agent has booked a room for us in this inn. Let me see if he can arrange another one for you.”

  “I couldn’t possibly accept. I have no way to repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We can’t have you sleeping in the street. You might get robbed again.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I promise to repay you as soon as I arrive home. But you must promise to keep an account of my debt.”

  “For now, you may repay me by telling me more about ancient manuscripts in general and mine in particular,” Rebecca said.

  Habib had unloaded their overnight bags and stood ready to escort them into the squat, fieldstone inn while the drivers took the horses away to be boarded for the night. He was casting suspicious glances at Edmund, and his dark brow furrowed in disapproval when Rebecca asked him to book another room for him. Habib was still scowling as he led the way inside, carrying their bags.

  “This building looks like something right out of the New Testament,” Flora said. It was made entirely of beige stone, with stone walls and floors and an open-air courtyard in the middle. The innkeeper led them to their room, which had a colorful Turkish rug on the floor and two wooden beds, piled with Moroccan blankets. “You don’t suppose these beds have fleas, do you?” she asked.

  “This is an adventure, Flora. You can’t worry about fleas. ”

  The innkeeper led Edmund to a much smaller room with a straw-filled pallet on the floor that likely served as a servant’s room. “Are you sure this will do?” Rebecca asked him.

  “It’s much better than I dared hope for. Thank you.”

  Before they parted, he turned to them and asked, “Do you ladies enjoy Moroccan food? The last time I was here I found a wonderful place to eat, and I would love to have dinner there again—if it’s still in business, that is.”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever had Moroccan food, have we, Flora?”

  “I’m willing to try it if you are.”

  “I am,” Rebecca said. “Give us an hour to rest and wash up, Mr. Merriday, and we’ll meet you downstairs in what passes for a lobby.”

  Edmund reached into his pocket as if to pull out his watch, then sighed when he remembered it had been stolen. “Oh, dear. . . . In any event, I’ll meet you out front in about an hour’s time.”

  The sun had already set an hour later as Edmund led them through the narrow, winding streets and past a souk that was closing for the day. The smells were amazing—foul and delicious and rotten and spicy all at the same t
ime. Edmund could have been leading them to some out-of-the-way place to rob them or accost them, but Rebecca didn’t think so. His tanned face looked honest, and the evening promised to be unique.

  “Ah, here it is!” he said at last. He led them through a dark, dingy room that might well have been someone’s house, then into an outdoor courtyard open to the sky. The proprietor smiled and bowed as he seated them on a rug on the stone floor near a low table. Edmund did all the ordering for them in French, and they watched the cook prepare their meal in a wood-fueled oven across the courtyard. The oven also provided light and heat as they ate.

  It was a marvelous dinner, the best Rebecca had eaten on the entire trip. They watched the stars come out as they consumed fluffy flatbread spread with mashed chickpeas and a deliciously spicy chicken served with something called couscous. The meal came in a brightly-colored earthenware bowl with a conical lid, and they all ate from the same dish, using their fingers and pieces of bread for scooping. How different this was from the stuffy, formal dinners Rebecca had endured with Freddy Worthington, juggling a multitude of cutlery. She listened as Flora laughed at Edmund’s colorful stories and wondered if her sister also noticed the difference between dining with Edmund and with the Worthingtons. They talked about where Rebecca and Flora were headed next until late into the night, with Edmund describing all of the places they must see. No one wanted the evening to end.

  “I suppose we have no way of knowing if Edmund Merriday is telling the truth or swindling us, do we?” Rebecca asked after they’d returned to the inn for the night. “It’s much like this fragment of parchment I purchased—is it real or fake?”

  “He carries a Bible in his bag, Becky. He was reading it when we found him.”

  “Maybe he stole the Bible, and he carries it around as a ruse.”

  Flora smiled and dismissed the thought with a wave. “I have a good feeling about him, don’t you? He seems very kind. And he has a wonderful sense of humor.”