by Lynn Austin
After their stormy steamship voyage, Flora was thankful that their adventures on the Nile were very few—although one of them involved rats. The ship was plagued with them until Becky forced the captain to stop at a village along the way and acquire three cats to keep them under control. And there were several days on the journey upriver when the wind died; Flora and Becky sat in the doldrums with slackened sails, waiting for a breeze. They passed the time by reading aloud from the book of Exodus.
“I realize now why the Israelites grumbled against Moses and looked back on their days in Egypt with such fondness,” Flora said as she waved a paper fan to cool herself. “Look how lush and green everything is along the Nile. And remember how desolate the Gaza Road was where poor Edmund was stranded?”
“We must be careful not to do the same thing that the Israelites did,” Becky replied. “After losing so much, it’s going to be hard for us not to look back at what we lost instead of moving forward.”
“You’re right,” Flora said. “Although I confess that I keep thinking of things we lost in the fire. Nearly every day something pops into my mind—like Father’s old desk. It always reminded me of him and brought him back to life whenever I looked at it.”
Becky looked away as if she were seeing it, too. “We must think of this upheaval as a new beginning,” she said, “just like the new beginning the Israelites had when they left Egypt. That temple we saw yesterday with all the Egyptian idols made me wonder if I have idols I need to leave behind, too.”
Flora closed her eyes, remembering her wardrobes filled with gowns and accessories, now nothing but ash. “I won’t need nearly as many gowns and shoes and hats as I had before. Goodness, what a waste of time and money. You were right about that, Becky.” She watched a tourist ship chug toward them and glimpsed the well-dressed people lounging in style on the main deck. Becky grinned at them and waved. “I’m glad we’re not traveling in luxury like they are,” Flora said, “even if we are stuck here with slackened sails. You’re always so wise, Becky.”
At last the wind picked up, and they landed at Thebes, where they spent hours exploring the sprawling ruins of Egyptian temples. Flora walked with Becky down a long avenue lined with hundreds of statues of rams. They reached the immense hall in the Temple of Amun-Re, impressive even in its abandoned state. Becky darted around the dusty space, running her hands over the carved walls and towering columns, her eyes dancing with excitement. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?” Flora asked. “I can almost hear your gears turning like the inside of a clock.” That was another thing Flora would miss—the tall clock that had stood in their foyer, patiently announcing the hour with its deep, resonant chime.
“I think it’s coming to me, Flora! I think I’m starting to see what my next book project is supposed to be.”
“Sit a minute, and tell me about it.” Flora found a seat on one of the huge stone blocks, leaving room for her sister, but Becky had too much restless energy to sit.
“It’s going to be about all of this,” she said, spreading her arms. “The kingdom of Egypt, the grandeur of these temple complexes and elaborate tombs, the power of pharaoh—and how very different idolatry is from what God revealed about Himself. The walls of these temples describe the elaborate rituals the people performed in order to placate their gods—”
“But weren’t we just reading in Exodus about all the laws God gave the Jewish people, and the intricate details of the sacrifices they were supposed to make?”
“Yes, but there’s a huge difference between the two. None of this,” she said, twirling in a circle, “brought the Egyptians closer to their gods. The rituals were performed in order to keep the gods happy and to avoid disaster. And whenever we work to try to please God, we’re thinking just like the Egyptians. God gave us the Temple sacrifices—and eventually the sacrifice of His Son—in order to draw us closer to Him. We don’t serve Him to avoid disaster.”
“Ever since the fire,” Flora said, “I’ve heard people asking how a loving God could allow us to suffer through that nightmare and experience such loss.”
Becky gestured to the wall-carvings again. “Egyptian thinking would say that we must have angered Him. That He’s punishing us. But our faith asks us to trust Him and to believe that He has a plan for our good, even in the midst of disaster.”
“I wish I could see His plan,” Flora said. “I keep thinking about our Sunday schools, of all the books and supplies that were lost. It doesn’t make sense when we were accomplishing such good things with those children.”
“And the Israelites might have looked back at Egypt and mourned everything they left behind,” Becky said, “even though they were slaves to it. But God brought them into the wilderness to rebuild them into a nation that would serve Him. Maybe the lesson for us will be in the rebuilding, Flora. Maybe God wants to teach us to work together and share what we have. Maybe seeing His church in action will be a greater lesson to those children than a dozen Sunday school lessons.”
“I never thought of that,” Flora said. “Now I wish I was back home so I could be part of it.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll still be rebuilding Chicago when we get home. But I think God shakes things up sometimes just to show us our faulty thinking. The Israelites lived here in Egypt for hundreds of years, so they probably began to think like Egyptians and adopt their gods in order to get what they wanted. I want to write a book that shows how God used the plagues and the long journey in the wilderness to change the way His people thought and to restore them to Himself.”
“So the disaster in Chicago might be God’s way of teaching us something, too?”
“Yes, if we take time to listen to Him.”
Flora was quiet a moment, considering her sister’s wise words. “Becky, I’m glad you talked me into coming.”
They went outside again, stopping in the doorway. Becky pointed to the barren mountains and desolate wilderness in the distance. “We’ve seen the clear dividing line between the green fields along the Nile and the wasteland beyond it. Now imagine that you’ve lived in the lush part all your life, and God suddenly asks you to leave it behind and head into the desert to worship Him. Would you trust Him?”
“Probably not,” Flora said, laughing. “I would ask, ‘What will we eat? Where will we get clothes?’ The same questions we all asked after the fire.”
“But God said, ‘Trust me.’ And those sound like Jesus’ words, don’t they? He said don’t worry about what you’ll eat or what you’ll wear, but seek His kingdom first, and all those other things will be added on.”
“You and I are wealthy enough not to worry about food and clothes,” Flora said. “And I know that the charities we’ve set up will help the poor get a new start. But I still feel like there’s something more I should do, some other way to show His love besides giving money away.”
“He’ll show you what’s next, Flora.”
They returned to the boat after a long day beneath the sun and ate dinner aboard their ship, watching the sun sink into the desert in flames of red and gold. Flora guessed that her sister longed to go into her cabin and make notes for her new book, but Becky took her time eating, slowly winding down as they sat together in the stillness, listening to the croaking frogs and buzzing insects. After dinner, they stood outside on the deck to gaze up at the stars.
“Do you think Edmund will be willing to work on this new book with me?” Becky asked. “I wouldn’t dare tackle it without him.”
“I’m certain he will. He’s always been fascinated with Egypt. And the story of the Exodus is one of his favorites.”
“Flora, look!” Becky said, pointing up at a shooting star. “Make a wish!”
The stars blurred through her tears as Flora wished for a child. After six years of marriage, God still hadn’t answered her prayer. “Tell me yours first,” she said.
Becky sighed. “Well . . . here it is. . . . I long for what you and Edmund have. But as an old spinster of twenty-seven, I suppose
it’s too late to find love now. Mrs. Worthington was right when she called me a bluestocking and said I’d never find a husband if I continued my studies.”
Flora heard the deep sadness in her sister’s voice and pulled her into her arms. “Oh, Becky! I had no idea you felt that way. You seem so strong and independent, not caring what anyone thinks. And you’ve been so successful as you’ve followed your passions. I always thought you were content with your life.”
“I am—most of the time. But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a companion to share my life with. Someone to talk with at the end of the day. Someone to love.”
“Oh, Becky . . .”
“Let’s not get maudlin,” Becky said, freeing herself from Flora’s embrace. “That’s enough self-pity from me. Tell me your wish.”
Flora felt embarrassed to admit it now, but she knew her sister would hound her until she confessed. “Well . . . I wished for a child. My life is so complete and rich and full, and yet . . . why has God denied me this one thing?”
“We’re just like the Israelites, aren’t we? God gives us manna from heaven and water from the rock, and we want the leeks and melons of Egypt. Why aren’t we ever happy with what God gives us?”
Flora couldn’t answer that question. She sat down on a crate as the boat rocked gently on the waves, listening to the mumbling voices of the crew, the scratching of the rats below deck. She caught a whiff of the captain’s strong tobacco as he puffed on his cigarette, blending with the fishy aroma of the Nile. “Becky? . . . Shall I ask Edmund if there’s someone at the university you could meet—”
“No, please don’t. The Egyptians used their rituals to try to manipulate the gods into giving them what they wanted, and I need to leave my life in God’s hands and be content. I admit I haven’t found contentment yet, but I’m trying. Meanwhile, I need to keep doing His work without expecting to be rewarded with all of my wishes in return.”
Becky’s words pierced Flora’s heart. Was she trying to use God that way? She thought of all her hard work for the poor, especially for poor children, and her hours of volunteer work in the Sunday schools. Was she doing it to win God’s approval so He would give her and Edmund a baby? Deep in her heart, she had to admit that was part of her motivation. “I’m going to bed now,” she told Becky. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. And I have a feeling you want to start outlining your ideas. Am I right?”
Becky turned to her and smiled. “You know me so well. Good night, Flora.” But Flora hadn’t known her well after all. She’d had no idea that her brilliant, independent sister still longed to find love.
The next morning Becky told the captain he could turn the ship around and begin the journey back up the Nile to Cairo. The river’s current would carry them now, and the return trip would be much faster since they no longer relied on the wind. As Flora sat with her sister beneath the canopy on the upper deck, wrestling with her will versus God’s will as she had all night, she wondered what was next for her when they returned to Chicago. Becky had found a renewed purpose with an idea for her next book, but Flora continued to wonder what God had in store for her. She was daydreaming about the long, hard work of rebuilding when she heard shouts and the sound of splashing water nearby.
“Flora, look!” Becky said. She stood and pointed to several bare-chested Egyptian men who were trying to haul a crocodile they had snared onto the riverbank. The beast snapped and thrashed wildly as it tried to break free, revealing rows of sharp teeth in its wide-open mouth. Flora winced when one of the men barely missed being snatched into the animal’s jaws. “That strikes me as a very perilous occupation,” Becky said. They continued watching the dangerous battle until the men finally prevailed, driving a spear into the crocodile and killing it.
“You know,” Flora said as they continued sailing, “for years I’ve been reading the story of baby Moses floating in the Nile in his little wicker basket, yet it never occurred to me that crocodiles lived in this river. It makes his mother’s faith in God even more amazing.”
“I can’t understand the cruelty of the Egyptian culture—or any culture—that fails to value their children,” Becky said. “That’s another area where Egyptian thinking is so different from how God wants us to think. When He gave His law on Mount Sinai, He made sure there were provisions for society’s most vulnerable members and affirmed the dignity of all people because we’re made in His image. Jesus emphasized the same things when He blessed the little children and said that when we meet the needs of the very least, we do it for Him.”
Something stirred in Flora’s heart as she listened to her sister. “Those children who worked in the uniform factory and who come to our Sunday schools . . . it’s as if society has tossed them into the Nile to die. But what if we built a lifeboat for them, Becky? A place where orphans could find new homes, like baby Moses did? A place where families in need could safely leave their children for a while and know they’d be fed and clothed and have a warm bed to sleep in at night?”
“You could build that place, Flora.”
Flora stared into the distance as countless fears and objections quickly rose to the surface. “I—I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“Nonsense! You begin by taking one step forward, trusting God to part the waters.”
“Will you help me, Becky?”
“No,” she said with a grin. “I have my own work to do. But I’m certain God will.”
The scenery went past Flora in a blur as they traveled downriver to Cairo. She couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of starting an orphanage in Chicago, planning all of the things she needed to do to bring it to life. But as eager as she was to start the journey home, she also knew how important it was to spend time in Cairo searching the black market for ancient manuscripts and codices like the one Becky and Edmund had rescued.
“I can’t think of a better use for my inheritance than buying lost biblical documents,” Becky said as they waited to meet with a seller in the rug shop where they’d made the purchase five years ago. Flora tried to quiet the unease in her stomach, knowing how vulnerable they were without Edmund to protect them.
“Maybe the reason God made you and me so different,” Becky continued, “is because the needs of His kingdom are so different. You have your work with the poor, while my task is to write books for intellectual historians who’ve rejected the Bible.”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it,” Flora said. She scanned the dark shadows for movement, wishing her heart would slow down, wishing Becky wasn’t so oblivious to the danger they might be facing while carrying a purse full of money. In the end, Flora’s fears were unfounded. Becky purchased several ancient-looking manuscripts and parchment fragments, then returned to the safety of their hotel.
“I have no idea if I just threw my money away on worthless fakes or not,” Becky said as she studied them beneath a lamp.
“Is it time to head home now?” Flora hoped the answer was yes, but judging by the serious expression on Becky’s face, she feared it wasn’t.
“Well . . . I’ve been thinking. . . .”
“Oh, dear. I’m not sure I like the sound of that. Please don’t tell me you’re planning another trip for us.”
“No, but I think it may be time for you and me to go our separate ways. Would you mind terribly if you sailed home by yourself?”
“I am not leaving you alone in Cairo, Becky. Don’t even suggest such a thing.”
“No, nothing as foolish as that,” she said, waving her hand. “But I don’t want to keep buying artifacts in ignorance. I need to learn more about identifying a document’s age, and how to tell a real one from a fake. What I’d really like to do is spend the winter in Cambridge learning from the experts. I can afford private tutoring. And they can repay me for my purchases by indulging my academic pursuits for a few months.”
Again, Flora felt afraid for her sister, a young woman traveling and living alone in a foreign country. And for herself, traveling al
one to Chicago. It simply wasn’t done—and probably for good reason. But if she’d learned any lesson on this trip, it was to trust God. Whether she was running from the flames in Chicago or suffering through the violent storm at sea, God remained in control. It was up to Him to decide when or if she would have a child, and when or if Becky would find a husband. Flora could trust Him to part the seas for her sister in Cambridge and to make a path for her to start an orphanage in Chicago.
“So what do you say?” Becky asked, still waiting for her answer.
“I say we travel together as far as Southampton, then each get busy with God’s work.”
Chapter 19
THE SINAI DESERT
1890
Well, I wonder what’s going to happen next,” Flora said as she sank down in the patch of shade beside Becky. The blinding sun hung high above them, baking them like biscuits. The view of brown rocks and wrinkled mountains was the same no matter which direction she looked, so she finally stopped looking. Petersen and Mr. Farouk had climbed the hill again and were scanning the horizon in all directions for any sign of the Bedouin. The cook sat alone on a nearby rock, shaking his head and mumbling in Arabic. And poor Kate Rafferty walked around in circles, kicking stones and stirring up dust.
“I don’t know why or how it’s possible,” Becky replied, “but I feel calm in spite of our circumstances. I do feel responsible for this turn of events, since I’m the reason we’re all out here to begin with. But God led me on this quest and opened many doors so far, so I have faith that we’ll reach the monastery, one way or another.”