Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  “You mean you want to help me turn my disorganized pile of notes into a coherent book?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” She rushed on without giving him time to reply. “I share your love of Scripture and your outrage at what’s being done to the Christian faith by so-called scientists. Scientific inquiry was made possible in the first place because the people studying the natural world believed they would find patterns and rules and laws that had been put there by the Creator. They weren’t seeking to undermine Scripture but to unravel the mysteries of Creation. As for Charles Darwin’s theories, it takes more faith to believe we evolved from apes than to believe that a loving God created us in His image.” She paused to take another breath to continue, but Edmund reached across the table and covered her hand with his, stopping her.

  “Say no more, Miss Rebecca Hawes! For a second time this summer, you are the answer to my prayers. I cannot believe that an intelligent woman like yourself would truly want to collaborate with me on this wild project, but if you’re serious . . .” He looked like a child who was afraid to believe that the gift before him was really his.

  “Of course I’m serious!”

  “Then, yes! I would love your help!”

  “Thank you!” Rebecca knew as surely as the sun shone in the blue Jerusalem sky that she’d found her purpose at last. She leaped up and threw her arms around him, planting a kiss on his shaggy, sun-browned cheek. The smell of his fresh, clean skin and the damp warmth of his body beneath his khaki shirt left Rebecca feeling light-headed. Even more surprising was the longing she felt to feel his tanned arms surrounding her in return, holding her close. He had granted her wish to allow her to work with him, yet she found herself wishing for more, to feel the touch of his lips on hers. Rebecca could no longer deny that somewhere between the Gaza Road and Jerusalem, she had fallen in love with Edmund Merriday. Had she just revealed that truth to him and to the rest of the world? Her impulsive act seemed to surprise Edmund as much as it did her.

  “Well . . . my goodness . . . um . . . you’re certainly very welcome. . . .”

  Flora saved her from further embarrassment by pushing back her chair and saying, “Well, now that it’s settled, let’s go. There’s so much more I want to see.”

  Rebecca traveled the dusty roads from Jerusalem to the town of Tiberius overlooking the Sea of Galilee in a daze. Her emotions seemed to rise and fall as much as the rocky terrain did, climbing to heights of joy because she had found her purpose at last, working with the man she loved, and then descending into melancholy at the hopelessness of that love. Not only did she and Edmund live separate lives an ocean apart, but it became more and more apparent once she acknowledged her feelings for him, that he didn’t share them. The truth struck her like a blow as she stood with Edmund and Flora on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, gazing out at the sparkling water dotted with tiny fishing boats.

  “Oh, it’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Flora said.

  Edmund murmured in reply—but he wasn’t looking at the lake. He was gazing at beautiful Flora. And no wonder; Flora’s natural beauty was enhanced by the sunshine that gilded her hair and turned her complexion the color of peaches. Back home in Chicago, rules of etiquette and whalebone corsets made Flora seem stiff and cold. But her chilly reserve vanished as she relaxed in the summer sunshine. Flora’s beauty had blossomed a little more each day like a rosebud bursting into flower. This is my real sister, Rebecca thought, not the phony version the widow created. No wonder Edmund Merriday was falling in love with her. For the first time in her life, Rebecca wished she was beautiful, too.

  In the days that followed as they explored the region where Christ performed miracles, Rebecca became aware of how much time Edmund spent gazing at her sister. He always managed to sit beside Flora and look out for her comfort. Slowly, a subtle change took place, and by the time their trip to the Holy Land ended and they were sailing back from Joppa to Cairo, Rebecca noticed Flora looking at Edmund the same tender way he looked at her.

  In the end, Rebecca was forced to pull out an imaginary white flag and wave it in surrender. Edmund would never love her the way she loved him. It would have to be enough to work with him on his book—their book. She would find joy and contentment in that. Yet as hard as she tried—and Rebecca did fight with everything in her—she couldn’t stop loving Edmund Merriday. She was twenty-one years old, thousands of miles from home, and helplessly in love for the first time in her life. She knew her heart would be broken, but like a runaway freight train on a mountain slope, she could do nothing to stop it.

  Chapter 13

  If the manager of Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo was surprised to see Rebecca and Flora returning from their travels with a strange man in tow, like wild game hunters carrying a trophy of elephant tusks, he was too well-mannered to show it. He never blinked as they reserved a room for Edmund and had it added to their account. But as they waited outside the elegant dining room for Edmund to join them for dinner the first night, Flora and Rebecca were informed that Edmund would not be welcome in his rumpled khaki shorts.

  “Let’s take him out and buy him some clothes,” Rebecca suggested. “Or better still, the concierge can have them delivered.” She started across the lobby toward the concierge’s desk, but Flora stopped her.

  “Edmund will never agree, Becky. He already feels bad about all the money we’ve spent on him this summer. He’s been keeping track of it in that little notebook he carries in his rucksack.”

  “He hasn’t!”

  “I’ve seen him writing down the cost after we’ve eaten together, and the prices at all the inns where we’ve stayed. That’s why he balked at staying here. It took a lot of convincing to talk him into it.”

  “He has no idea how wealthy we are, does he?”

  “I don’t think he could imagine that much money even if we did tell him. Nor would he want any of it.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, we’ll simply have to eat someplace else while we’re in Cairo.”

  Edmund knew all the best places, of course, ones that didn’t require a jacket and tie. He had acquaintances everywhere he went—Egyptians and Moroccans and Syrians and Abyssinians—and he asked them to spread the word on the street that he and his American friends were interested in purchasing ancient manuscripts for souvenirs. They didn’t have long to wait. As they drank tea in a café near the souk one day, a man wearing baggy Oriental trousers and a fez told Edmund to visit the Turkish carpet booth in the souk. Edmund scrambled to his feet, spilling the tea and nearly knocking over the table in his haste to leave. Then he turned to Flora and said, “It might be better if you took a carriage back to the hotel.”

  “Not on your life, Edmund Merriday! I go wherever Becky goes. And you need her to translate.”

  “But my dear, it may be dangerous. They know we’re carrying money, since we’re interested in buying souvenirs and—”

  “The danger is what makes it so exciting.”

  Edmund reluctantly agreed when it became clear Flora wouldn’t back down. “You should know that Middle Eastern men have a great deal of pride,” Edmund said as they walked through the souk to the rug merchant’s stall. “They refuse to deal with women on any sort of equal basis.”

  “It was a man who sold the page to me,” Rebecca pointed out.

  “Even so, it might be best if we pretend you’re interpreting for me and that I’m the one who’s bargaining with him.”

  Rebecca handed him her little purse. “In that case, here’s our money pouch.”

  The Turkish rug merchant sat on a pile of cushions outside his booth, wearing a white turban and smoking a hookah pipe. When Edmund told him why he was there, he clapped his hands and summoned his servant to bring more cushions, a small table with a mosaic top, and tiny cups of strong coffee. Rebecca grew impatient with the ritual formalities and annoyed that no cushions or cups of coffee had been offered to her and Flora, but she dutifully played the part of interpreter. Eventually, th
e same oily man who had sold Rebecca the parchment page joined them. “Good,” Edmund said when she told him. “Maybe now the little thief will sell us the rest of the codex.” Edmund showed him the page Rebecca had purchased and said, “Ask him if he has any more pages like this to sell.”

  Rebecca did, then waited for his reply. “He says he might . . . he’s being very cagey, Edmund.”

  “Tell him that if this was taken from a folio, with many pages, I would like to buy the entire thing. I don’t care what condition it’s in. But we need all of it, not loose pages. They’re worthless.”

  Rebecca frowned at Edmund. “I thought even the scraps were valuable.”

  “They are. But he doesn’t need to know that.”

  She turned back to the man and relayed Edmund’s words. He told them to wait, then disappeared. The men drank more coffee, and the merchant offered Edmund a puff on his hookah pipe, which he politely refused. Meanwhile, Rebecca and Flora remained standing in the narrow alleyway, choking on clouds of smoke.

  The little man returned a quarter of an hour later carrying a filthy cloth bag. He pulled out what appeared to be a book without a front cover. At least half the pages were missing, but the remaining ones were the same size and shape and condition as the page Rebecca had purchased. Edmund looked it over as if examining a piece of trash that he’d found littering the street. She wondered if he was deliberately disguising his true opinion or if it really was worthless. “So, what do you think?” she asked when she was unable to stand the suspense.

  “We may be about to rescue a priceless manuscript,” he said, still frowning. “But you should also know that we may be buying a worthless fake. I would hate to waste your money.”

  “I’ll take that chance. Let’s barter with him.” The haggling began, growing louder and more vigorous as time passed, with Rebecca taking her cues from Edmund. At one point, the little man snatched the book from Edmund’s hands and strode away, insisting he could go no lower in price. “Shall I call him back?” Rebecca asked in a panic.

  “No. Just wait.” Before he reached the end of the alley, the man turned back, and they settled on a price. “Tell him if he has any more books like this one, I would be interested in buying them,” Edmund said. The little man shook his head and hurried away.

  Edmund rose, and after exchanging a few more pleasantries with the rug merchant, he offered Flora one arm and Rebecca the other as they walked back through the souk toward the main street. Rebecca wanted to linger, perusing the shops, experiencing the splendor and vulgarity of the marketplace and the souk’s noisy clamor, enjoying Edmund. But he continued walking until they reached the lobby of the hotel. He halted and handed the book to Rebecca. “Congratulations,” he said, “You’ve just purchased the very first artifact for your collection.”

  “Isn’t she amazing?” Flora asked.

  “Yes, quite!” Edmund agreed. “Rebecca and I are going to be full partners in our writing endeavor, with her name on the cover of our book right alongside mine.”

  Rebecca couldn’t have said which was the greatest thrill—knowing that he viewed her as an equal partner or carrying what was possibly a priceless artifact . . . or simply being close to Edmund. Yet the moment was bittersweet. While he viewed her as a fascinating companion whose ideas he valued and whose collaboration he welcomed, Flora was the sister he loved. And his devotion to Flora was also bittersweet; Edmund knew she was engaged and that he had no hope of winning her away from her fiancé in Chicago. Even so, he seemed content to love Flora in silence until it was time to part, enjoying each remaining moment with her the way a man stranded in the desert treasures each precious drop of water. Rebecca understood exactly how he felt.

  “I wish we could find out where he got that codex,” Edmund said as they lingered in the lobby.

  “I asked him,” Rebecca said, “but he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “If we can spare one more day here, I would like to wait and see if he turns up with more artifacts.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Rebecca said. “But realistically, Edmund, what should I do with this new codex, other than stash it on a shelf in my father’s library?”

  “If you truly don’t mind parting with it for a while, I would like to show it to the document experts at Cambridge. They can study it and tell you what you have. I’ll make certain it’s returned to you in due time.”

  “If it’s worthless, I would like it for a keepsake. But if it’s valuable, I’ll be happy to let the experts study it for as long as it takes.”

  “I’ll see that you’re given credit for the discovery, and for making a charitable contribution to the university or the British Museum.”

  Two days passed without a word from the shifty little man with the manuscripts. Edmund could no longer delay returning to his job at Cambridge for the fall term. “Flora and I have decided to take you up on your offer to return with you to Cambridge,” Rebecca told him. “You can give me all the notes you’ve gathered for your book.”

  “Splendid! But it will be our book, Rebecca. Yours and mine.”

  She couldn’t bear it when Edmund smiled at her that way. She was trying so hard not to feel anything for him except brotherly affection, but it was impossible. How she wished Edmund loved her instead of Flora. But he didn’t, so that was that. She was grateful for the wide expanse of ocean that would soon stand between them.

  The voyage from Cairo across the Mediterranean Sea to France was an exotic vacation in itself, with so many interesting people aboard that Rebecca found welcome distraction from her feelings for Edmund. Late one starry night, after lingering to talk with one of their dinner companions, Rebecca went in search of her sister on the passenger deck and found her in Edmund’s embrace. He was kissing her.

  Rebecca fled back to their stateroom in tears. She would still research and write a book with him, even if she couldn’t marry him. But Edmund had set a new standard for her, and she would never marry, she decided, unless she found a man who respected her intelligence and shared her love of travel. A man who would look at her the way Edmund looked at Flora.

  She closed the stateroom door behind her and hugged herself, longing to feel his tanned arms around her. When she heard Flora unlocking their door a few minutes later, she quickly wiped her tears.

  “I’m sorry for staying out so late,” Flora said, “but I won’t get to enjoy Edmund’s company much longer. I’m going to miss him terribly.”

  “He’s fascinating, isn’t he? And intelligent? And open-minded about women and their roles?”

  “Yes, he’s all of those things,” Flora said with a little frown. “Why are you bringing it up?”

  “There’s quite a difference between Edmund and Thomas, isn’t there?”

  Her frown deepened. “It would be very unfair to compare the two—”

  “Because you know Thomas would come up short.”

  Flora turned away and started preparing for bed. “Maybe it’s the novelty of Edmund,” she said, “and the fact that I’ve been away from Thomas for so long, but I feel like I’m a different person when I’m with Edmund. He sees me as a partner rather than a mindless little ornament who isn’t allowed to think.”

  “I’ve been hoping you would reconsider your engagement to Thomas while you’re apart. To be honest, it’s one of the reasons I wanted you on this trip.”

  Flora sank down on her bunk across from Rebecca, their knees nearly touching in the tiny stateroom. “There have been times this summer when my life with Thomas in Chicago seems like a dream I once had. But I suppose that when I’m home with Thomas, this trip will seem like the dream.”

  “You need to decide which one is real and which isn’t and make a choice, Flora. Never mind what others expect you to do or what you feel obligated to do. What do you feel in your heart? Marriage is a lifelong commitment. You’ll have to live with your choice for a very long time.”

  “It sounds like you think I should choose Edmund. He hasn’t proposed to me, you know. I
doubt he ever will. He has his own life to live. And he’s sixteen years older than me.”

  “Any fool can see he’s in love with you. I saw him kissing you tonight.”

  Flora lowered her head as if she wanted to hide. “Edmund and I got a little carried away in the moonlight. Please don’t tell Thomas.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  Flora stood again and walked to the tiny porthole, gazing at her reflection in the dark circle. “It’s just that Edmund is so much more . . . exciting than Thomas.”

  “Then why settle for less?”

  “Because I already accepted Thomas’ proposal. We’re going to be married when I return home. If I break our engagement, Thomas could sue me for breach of promise.”

  “So? Let him sue you. Would paying him off be the very worst thing that could happen? Or would marrying a man you’re not sure you love be much worse?”

  “Oh, I just don’t know. I can’t think!” She lowered her face again and covered it with her hands. When she looked up again she asked, “What do you think I should do, Becky?”

  “My opinion doesn’t matter. It’s your life.”

  “You never liked Thomas, did you? Don’t shrug your shoulders, Becky, I know it’s true.”

  “Very well, I admit it. I think Thomas Worthington lacks an imagination, and that he’s marrying you for your inheritance. It grieves me to think that you might spend the rest of your life with him. You deserve so much better. He’ll drench all the golden sunshine in your spirit beneath a monsoon of obligations and expectations. You’re so much happier when you’re with Edmund. . . . See? You blush like a rose every time you hear his name.”

  Flora felt her cheeks as if to see if it was true, then grew serious again. “But so do you, Becky. I can see by the way your eyes light up when you talk to him, the way you hold tight to his arm and glow in the light of praise. . . . You’re in love with Edmund, too. Maybe you’re the one who should marry him, instead of me.”