Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  A fist squeezed Rebecca’s heart.

  “Edmund isn’t in love with me,” she said quietly. “He’s in love with you. I couldn’t marry him knowing I was his second choice. That he wished you were the woman in his arms every time he held me. I would feel like I’d won second place—like ugly Leah to your beautiful Rachel. And every time we visited you and stuffy old Thomas, I would see Edmund longing for you . . . and I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Edmund has never spoken about marriage. He’s been a bachelor all these years—”

  “He would propose to you in a heartbeat with a little encouragement. I’m certain of it.”

  “But I’m also fond of Thomas, and I promised him—”

  “We all have to make choices in life, Flora. This is a very important one.”

  “Oh, I wish I knew what to do!”

  “Take your time thinking it over, and don’t do anything until your mind is clear. You’ll have the rest of your life to regret it.”

  Part II

  Flora

  Chapter 14

  THE SINAI DESERT

  1890

  For the past week, Flora had been traveling across the Sinai Desert on camelback with her sister, remembering the first time she ever rode on a camel. It was the summer she visited the pyramids, the summer she and Becky met Edmund Merriday. But that was twenty-five years ago, and she was very much out of practice riding one now. When their agent, Mr. Farouk, announced that it was time to take a lunch break after a long morning’s ride, Flora was glad to climb off the beast. The place where the caravan halted looked as desolate as every other place they’d seen that morning, and the sun pressed down on her like a dome of heated brass. Mr. Farouk led her and the other travelers to a sliver of shade beneath an overhanging rock and said in his patchy English, “You must now eat. And drink much water. I think sleep a little.” He left them with water and a box of provisions—dates and figs and flatbread—and joined the sheikh and the caravan drivers as they bowed down to pray.

  Flora was grateful to be here in spite of the heat and barren terrain. Years ago Becky had convinced her to travel after their father died, and it had turned out to be just the change Flora had needed. They had met Edmund Merriday, and what had begun as a tour of Egypt and the Holy Land had become life-changing. This time Flora had agreed because her sister needed her. After everything that Becky had done for her over the years, it was the least Flora could do. “I’ve never been so hot in my life,” she said as she eased down to the rocky ground to rest.

  “Me either!” Becky dug into the provision box and offered a clump of figs to Flora. “As eager as I am to get to the monastery, I’m still glad we stopped to rest just now. I was getting saddle-weary.”

  “So was I. . . . Come and have something to eat, Kate,” she called to their maid. The girl ignored her, embroiled in another argument with Petersen. They argued every day, day after day, over every little thing. “I do wish they would stop bickering,” Flora said. “They make my head ache.”

  “They’re like jackals snarling over their prey.” Becky pulled out a container of olives—the shriveled little black ones that Flora loved. “Petersen is right to assert his authority over her, but Kate resents any authority at all.”

  “I’m very proud of Petersen and how much he has matured during this trip. He has become like a son to me, you know.”

  Becky groaned. “Please don’t tell me Kate is like a daughter to you. I would sooner tangle with an entire nest of vipers than with that girl.”

  “I think this trip has already softened her a little, don’t you?”

  “Not in the least. If anything, the heat has brought her temper to the boiling point. There have been times when I’ve been sorry you ever talked me into hiring her. Sorrier still that we brought her along.”

  Their servants’ argument ended with a shout. Petersen wrapped the end of his white turban over his face and stalked away. Kate flopped down in the shade beside Flora with a huff, her face fiery with indignation. Flora pushed the box of food toward her. “Have something to eat, Kate. And don’t forget to drink plenty of water.”

  “I’m sick of this same old bread, day after day,” she said. “And pretty sick of him, too!” But Flora watched Kate gobble two rounds of flatbread just the same.

  “According to the sheikh, we’ll arrive at the monastery tomorrow afternoon,” Becky said. She had finished eating and was leaning back against the rocky outcropping. “It’s been a long week of travel, hasn’t it? I know it’s been tiring for you, Flora, but we’re nearly there.”

  “I haven’t minded. I’ve had plenty of time to daydream along the way and do some reminiscing.”

  “I can barely wait to get to that library and have a look at those manuscripts—assuming the monks will even let us near them, that is. I’ve been thinking about the St. Catherine library ever since Edmund first told us about it years ago, remember? The idea of finding an ancient copy of the Bible is what keeps me going through this heat and desolation. It’s fun to travel, yes, but this trip has a greater purpose. A big one for me. And I’m so glad you’re with me, Flora. I can’t thank you enough for coming.”

  Flora smiled at her older sister. All her life, Becky had hungered for adventure—and she usually managed to convince Flora to come along. Here they were in the Sinai Desert, riding camels, journeying to Mount Sinai like the ancient Israelites. Flora hoped this quest would lead to happiness for Becky in the end. She had always been unlucky in love, yet now, when she’d finally stopped looking for it, romance had found her at last. “You’ve sacrificed so much for my sake,” Flora told her, “the least I can do is repay you by coming on this trip. Besides, it has given me a chance to ponder what’s next for my life. Our journeys together have always given me a larger perspective.”

  “I’ve been reminiscing along the way, too, and I recalled a secret that I never told you, Flora. The only secret I’ve ever kept from you.”

  “This sounds intriguing!”

  “Yes, well . . . I’m feeling guilty after all these years, so I want to confess.” Becky drew a deep breath, then let it out in her usual dramatic fashion. “Remember Widow Worthington?” she asked.

  “How could I forget her?”

  “Well, it’s my fault Father never married her. I asked him not to.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did. I made him promise to wait until we both finished college and were married and on our own. I didn’t want our life disrupted.”

  “Oh, Becky. I always wondered why he didn’t marry her. I think he really cared for her. She added spice to his otherwise dull life, and he seemed so much happier in the years after they met, remember? I never understood why you didn’t like her.”

  “Because she kept trying to change me, Flora, and turn me into someone I’m not. That’s why I fought back so hard. If I hadn’t discarded everything about the Worthingtons and their values and their way of life, I never would have become the woman God created me to be. As far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Worthington nearly ruined my life by trying to turn me into a socialite and marrying me off to her nephew.”

  “She was right about one thing, though. Our manners did need polishing. And I don’t know about you, Becky, but I longed for a mother back then. I think that’s why I went along with everything she wanted us to do. Mrs. Worthington was the closest thing we ever had to a mother.”

  “She disappeared from our lives pretty quickly after Father died. On the prowl for another wealthy widower, perhaps.”

  “I don’t believe that. But tell me, does it bother you that Father kept his promise and then died before he had a chance to marry her?”

  “He didn’t have to give in to me . . . but I’m glad he did. We would still be stuck with her as our stepmother if he had, not to mention stuck with all her dreadful relatives.”

  “Like Freddy Worthington? You nearly married him.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly how I feel about Freddy Worthington. Remember all those
stories that circulated after the war about how a soldier dodged a bullet by mere inches or avoided a deadly wound because he had a Bible or a packet of love letters in his pocket? I made a miraculous escape where Freddy is concerned—and dodged a bullet that surely would have killed me.”

  “You’re outrageous. But I love you for it.”

  “I doubt if either of us would be here today if I had married Freddy.”

  “That’s for certain!” Flora said, laughing.

  They finished eating and settled back in the stingy patch of shade to nap and let the camels rest. Flora quickly fell asleep and was dreaming about Mrs. Worthington when something awakened her. She sat up and looked around, listening for any sound. The utter stillness of the camp struck her as unusual. She’d become accustomed to the near-constant jingling of the little brass bells on the camels’ harnesses and the low muttering voices of the drivers. Now the total silence seemed ominous.

  Becky and Kate were still asleep, so Flora stood and walked around the campsite by herself, the hot air moving against her skin like a wool blanket. The first thing she noticed was the heap of equipment piled on the ground where the camels had been tethered. The drivers never unloaded the caravan when they paused for a noon break. Never. They always left it intact until they camped for the night. But the tents and equipment and food supplies had been unloaded and piled in a heap. Flora walked a little farther and saw Mr. Farouk, Petersen, and the cook napping beneath another band of shade, but there was no sign of the drivers. And where were the camels?

  Flora climbed a small rise for a better view, slipping and sliding in the dry, crumbling dirt. Perhaps the drivers had found a larger patch of shade on the other side of the hill. But when she reached the top, sweating and winded, her shirtwaist glued to her skin, Flora saw nothing but desolate scenery and wrinkled brown mountains fading into the hazy distance. The camels, the sheikh, and the Bedouin drivers had vanished.

  Her stomach went hollow with fear. She understood how Edmund had felt all those years ago when he’d been robbed and abandoned on the Gaza Road. At least he’d been stranded along a caravan route. There were no discernable roads in this wasteland, no markers to point the way. The sandstorm had been disconcerting, but now, for the first time since beginning this journey, Flora felt truly afraid. She hurried down the hill, the loose dirt filling her shoes, and nudged Rebecca awake.

  “Something’s wrong, Becky. Wake up.” She spoke in a breathless whisper so she wouldn’t disturb their maid. “The drivers and camels are gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean?”

  “They’re not here! Look—they unloaded everything over there, but the sheikh, the camels, and the drivers are nowhere in sight!”

  “I’m sure there must be a logical explanation.” Becky leaned against the rock face for support as she rose to her feet, then turned in a circle as she scanned the area just as Flora had done. She wouldn’t see any sign of them, either. Flora watched a trickle of sweat roll down Becky’s face. Her fearless sister looked shaken. “Did you talk to Mr. Farouk?” she asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”

  “No, maybe we should wake him.” They walked to where Mr. Farouk lay dozing, his head-covering pulled over his face like a curtain. Petersen and the cook snored nearby. Flora shook Mr. Farouk’s arm, and he jolted to attention with a loud cry, waking the other two men. “I’m sorry for startling you, Mr. Farouk. But do you know where the sheikh and all the drivers went?”

  He surveyed the campsite with a glazed look in his eyes, as if still disoriented from sleep. “They must be here. . . .”

  “But they aren’t. They unloaded the caravan and piled our belongings over there. See?” Mr. Farouk continued to blink and shake his head as if the scene might change if he stared long enough.

  Petersen, on the other hand, leaped to his feet. “What’s going on? Where are the camels? How can they be gone?” He bounded around in circles as if he might find the animals hidden beneath a rock. Flora would have found the butler’s efforts amusing, like a child playing a game of hide-and-seek, if she weren’t so alarmed.

  “When did you last see the sheikh, Mr. Farouk?” Rebecca asked.

  “We finish praying . . . the sheikh say to let everyone sleep. He say too hot to travel . . .”

  “Perhaps the cook saw them leave?” Flora suggested. The little cook sat on the ground looking bewildered, but he jumped to his feet, flinching as Mr. Farouk shouted at him in Arabic. Flora thought the Arabic language made everyone who spoke it sound angry, but this time Mr. Farouk’s frantic shouts could probably be heard for miles. The cook took a few steps back, shaking his head so hard Flora worried it might come loose. It was clear that the cook knew nothing. He was as frightened as they were to learn they’d been abandoned in the desert.

  Mr. Farouk stormed away from the man and scuttled up the same rise Flora had climbed, Petersen right behind him. Becky thought Mr. Farouk resembled a beetle with his short legs, stocky build, and glistening black hair—and at the moment, he was a very frightened beetle. Flora and Becky followed the two men up the hill to scan the horizon with them. Not even a speck of movement was visible in any direction. As she made a slow turn, Flora spotted a mirage shimmering in a low spot in the distance, the earth reflecting the sky like water. These phony pools of water had fooled her nearly every day of their journey, and only after eight days of travel and disappointment was she convinced that the pool she saw now was a mirage.

  “I do not understand,” Mr. Farouk mumbled. “Where they go . . . ?”

  Petersen grabbed the front of Mr. Farouk’s robe, giving him a little shake. “You were supposed to be in charge of those people! You’re supposed to know where they are and what they’re up to!”

  Flora hurried over to soothe him. “Let’s not panic, Petersen. I’m sure they can’t be far.”

  “Leaving us all alone out here is a death sentence, Miss Flora,” Petersen said, releasing Mr. Farouk’s robe. “And he knows it!”

  “We still have water, and it looks like all our supplies are here. I understand we’re nearly to the monastery, isn’t that right, Becky?”

  “Yes. Less than a day’s ride away.”

  “For all the good it will do us,” Petersen said. “Even if we could walk there, we have no idea which direction it is!” He strode down the hill again, kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt as he went.

  Flora refused to panic. “I’m certain the Bedouin will return. After all, we’re paying them for their services in increments, and they won’t receive the full payment until we’re back where we started.”

  “Mr. Farouk,” Rebecca said, “if you have any idea what might be going on, you need to tell us.”

  “Has there been any trouble with the Bedouin that you’re aware of?” Flora added. “Has the sheikh mentioned anything to you?” She had seen the two men arguing several times over the past few days but didn’t know the source of it.

  Farouk wouldn’t meet her gaze. He closed his eyes and lowered his chin. Flora felt her skin prickle. Becky started to speak, but Flora held up her hand to shush her. She linked her arm through her sister’s, dragging her down the hill away from him. “What are you doing, Flora? He thought of something, I could tell.”

  “I know. But Edmund once warned us that Middle Eastern men like Mr. Farouk have a great deal of pride. He’ll never admit his failings, especially to two women. He might be more forthcoming if Petersen speaks with him.”

  They found Petersen sitting on a rock, his shoulders hunched with defeat. “This is a desperate situation,” he mumbled. “Desperate! I promised to protect you and—”

  “Petersen,” Flora interrupted, “we believe Mr. Farouk has thought of something, and he may prefer to explain it to you rather than to us.”

  Petersen rose and looked up the hill where Mr. Farouk stood alone. “Try not to yell at him, dear. It will only make matters worse.”

  The broiling sun and hot air made it difficult for Flora to breathe, especially after marching
up and down the hill twice. She and Becky returned to the slender patch of the shade where they’d napped, while Petersen climbed the hill to talk with Mr. Farouk. Flora couldn’t see the butler’s face, but his rigid posture and Farouk’s flailing arms told her that whatever news the little agent was relating wasn’t good.

  “I’m so sorry for dragging you here with me, Flora,” Becky said. “I never should have involved you.”

  “Hush. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Kate awoke from her nap and stretched like a cat as she sat upright. “What’s all the whispering about? What’s going on?”

  “We’re not exactly sure,” Flora said.

  “Well, isn’t it time to move on? Why are we still here?” Before Flora had a chance to reply, Kate leapt to her feet, saying, “Hey! Why’s all our stuff heaped up in a pile? We aren’t camping here for the night, are we? Where are the camels? And all the drivers?”

  “We’re not sure of that either, Katie dear. We’re waiting for them to return—”

  “Return? Where did they go?”

  “We don’t know, but—”

  “I knew it! I just knew it! We’re all going to die out here, aren’t we? Aren’t we!”

  “And . . . she’s off!” Becky mumbled as they listened to their hot-tempered maid’s panicked tirade.

  “We never should have trusted those sneaky Bedouin! I told you so, didn’t I? I told you! Now look what’s happened!”

  Flora rose and took Kate’s arm, trying to pull her back into the shade. “Listen, dear. It won’t help to get overly excited, especially in this heat.”

  “But what are we going to do? Are they really gone without a trace?”

  “I suppose they left a trail of camel droppings we could follow if we put our noses to the ground,” Becky said.

  Flora couldn’t help laughing as she pictured Petersen and Mr. Farouk sniffing the dirt like bloodhounds. “How can you laugh at a time like this?” Kate shouted.