by Lynn Austin
“Without selling Kate to the Bedouin, I hope?”
Becky looked at her and smiled. “I’m guessing you’d never agree to that—although Petersen might be tempted.”
“Shh!” Flora gave her sister a nudge to quiet her as Kate shuffled over to where they were sitting and sank down beside them.
“I don’t understand why the sheikh wants me,” she said.
“Oh, dear,” Flora said, fanning her face with her straw hat. “Has no one ever explained the facts of life to you, Kate?”
She made a face, as if swallowing a lemon. “If you mean what I think you mean, of course I know what men always want—but why pick me?”
“I think the sheikh is attracted to you because you’re young and pretty,” Flora said.
“Then why didn’t he talk to me himself? Not that I would be interested in him—or that I would even understand a word he was saying.”
“Women are treated differently in his culture,” Flora said, placing her straw hat on her head again. “In this part of the world, a man negotiates with the girl’s father when he wants her for his wife. It’s more of a business deal. There’s no romance involved, as when an American man courts a woman.”
“Some American men, you mean,” Becky added. “Remember Freddy Worthington? That was a business deal if I ever saw one.”
Flora nudged her again. “You’re not helping matters, Becky.”
“Well, what’s going to happen to us?” Kate asked. There was something in her voice that Flora had never heard before. The rough, tough, thieving street girl was scared after all.
“We’ll just have to remain calm,” Flora said, “and wait and see. Worrying won’t help matters but praying will.” She was trying to convince herself as much as Kate. A few minutes later, Petersen returned from the top of the hill and stood in the shade beside them. “Any sign of our friends?” Flora asked him.
“None.” He slid his head covering off and ran his fingers through his pale hair, which had darkened with sweat. “This still doesn’t make sense to me,” he said. “Why didn’t the sheikh just kidnap Kate and disappear if he wanted her?”
“Thanks a lot!”
“Why would they leave her behind with us and all the supplies?” he continued, ignoring Kate. “They could have grabbed her while we slept and took off with the caravan, and no one would’ve ever known what became of us.”
“He’s right,” Becky said. “It doesn’t make sense. Unless they’re angry with us for refusing to sell her.”
“Then why leave all the supplies?” Petersen asked, shaking his head.
“Maybe they’re coming back with more men,” Kate said.
“That doesn’t make sense, either. They already outnumber us.”
“I guess we’ll just have to keep praying for help,” Flora said. “And trust our lives to God’s hands.”
“In the meantime,” Petersen said, as if dismissing any help from God, “maybe we can figure out which direction the monastery is from here. The men prayed facing in that direction when we stopped to rest,” he said, pointing. “If Mr. Farouk has a map or something, I could start walking and try to find help—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Flora interrupted. “You would never make it, Soren. These mountains all look alike. You’d be searching for a needle in a haystack, isn’t that right, Mr. Farouk?” He had descended the hill while they’d talked and stood nearby, wringing his hands. He looked as lost as a turtle without a shell.
“Only sheikh knows where monks live,” he replied.
The little agent was no help at all. Flora was grateful when Petersen suddenly took charge. “Let’s set up the tents. They’ll provide shade so we can stay out of the sun. And we need to ration our food and water to make it last.” He prodded the cook and Mr. Farouk into moving, and they began unpacking the equipment. The tents wouldn’t change their situation, but Flora knew that Petersen needed to keep busy rather than sitting here helplessly. Sweat soaked through his clothes in no time as he cleared stones from the largest level area he could find, creating a place for the tents. He probably wished he could strip off his bulky robe, but his fair skin would burn within minutes. As the men worked, Flora decided to recite Scripture to make everyone feel better, particularly herself.
“‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,’” she began, “‘from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. . . .’” The words did seem to lift everyone’s spirits. Even Kate seemed to relax a bit, so she continued. “‘The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil. He shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall . . .’ How does that last verse go, Becky?”
“‘The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.’”
Flora recited her entire repertoire of memorized verses as the tents were set up and the supplies put away. Then Petersen, Mr. Farouk, and the cook took turns standing on the little rise and scanning the horizon for signs of life.
Flora was looking forward to sunset and the end of the searing heat and blinding sunlight when Petersen, who was taking his shift, called to them from the top of the hill. Becky scrambled to her feet and offered Flora a hand to help her up. “Come on, we’d better see what it is.”
“Does that look like a dust cloud in the distance to you?” he asked when they reached the top. “See it? Could another sandstorm be coming?”
Flora blotted sweat from her face with her handkerchief and shaded her eyes. “If it is, I’m glad you set up the tents, Petersen.” The growing disturbance sped closer. When Flora was finally able to distinguish what it was, she felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. It was worse than a sandstorm. A large mob of people were approaching on camels.
“The Bedouin are coming back,” Petersen said. “Lots of them.”
“I don’t know if that qualifies as good news or bad,” Becky said.
“The Lord knows when the hour of our end will be,” Flora said. “We don’t need to fear.” But she was afraid nonetheless. Her heart thudded in time with the hoofbeats.
“I think we should all go down to our campsite to wait,” Petersen said when the approaching band was close enough to be seen distinctly. He led the way down the hill, taking charge again. Normally either Flora or Becky would have issued orders, but they both knew how much it meant to Petersen to be their protector. “Kate, get inside the tent and stay there,” he ordered. “Don’t come out unless I tell you.”
She dug in her heels as he tried to push her toward the opening. “Hands off me! Who made you the boss of everyone? Don’t I have any say in this?”
“Do you want to be the sheikh’s wife?” he asked.
“’Course not. I want to tell him to get lost.”
“And that’s exactly where your answer would leave the rest of us—lost!”
Flora draped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and nudged her forward. “Petersen is right, Katie. You’d better stay out of sight for now.”
“But I want to know who’s coming and what’s going on.”
“I’ll stand right outside the tent and tell you everything that’s happening, but you need to stay inside.” Flora tied the tent flap closed behind Kate—as if that would keep intruders out, or Kate in.
They could hear the jingling bells on the Bedouin camels now. Petersen dug through the supply crate and pulled out three knives, keeping the largest butcher knife for himself and handing the other two to Mr. Farouk and the cook. “I’ll take a knife, too,” Becky said when she saw what he was doing. He gave her the cleaver that Cook used to chop the heads from the chickens.
The caravan halted in a plume of dust a short distance away. Flora’s heart pounded like galloping horses when she recognized the sheikh barking orders to the others. Dozens and dozens of others. “The sheikh is back, Katie dear,” Flora told her. “With what looks like an entire village of people. I see Bedouin women in their long robes and gold jewelry, and little children, too. They seem to have anim
als with them—sheep and goats.”
“Are they coming here?” Kate asked. Once again, Flora detected fear in her voice.
“No, not at the moment. They’re all staying about a hundred yards away.”
Becky came and stood beside Flora, and they watched the activity for several minutes. Flora’s shoulders ached with pent-up anxiety and fear. “Just what exactly are you planning to do with that silly cleaver?” she asked Becky, trying to diffuse the tension.
“Protect you, of course. After all, this misadventure is my fault.”
“Do you really think a cleaver is going to do much against a dozen Bedouin men?”
“No . . . that’s why I’m praying, too.”
“My fierce big sister,” Flora said, shaking her head.
At first the Bedouin seemed to be doing little more than milling around and talking amongst themselves. Then Flora saw the first tent go up, a hulking, black mound held up with low poles. Then a second one appeared, and a third.
“It looks like they’re setting up camp, Kate,” Flora told her. “They have several black goat-hair tents.”
“Petersen, fetch the stools,” Becky said after a while. “We may as well all sit down while they build a little village over there. I don’t think they’ll start negotiating with us or slaughtering us, whichever the case may be, until they’re finished.”
She turned out to be right. An orderly Bedouin settlement sprang up in the desert with a cluster of tents and makeshift pens for the animals. Smoke rose from cooking fires and the tantalizing aroma of exotic spices drifted over to Flora’s camp. Along with the sheikh, she recognized several of the drivers who had traveled with them. Moments before sunset, the men gathered to pray, bowing down toward the east. Flora made a mental note of the setting sun’s position. If nothing else, it told her which direction to walk to return to the gulf. Mr. Farouk and the cook went behind their tent to pray, too—and they were likely the most fervent prayers those two men had ever uttered.
Petersen sat down to talk with Flora and Becky. “With all due respect, I think we should tell the sheikh that I’m in charge, not Mr. Farouk. It’s his fault the sheikh is mad at us, and from what you’ve said, I’m guessing the Bedouin won’t negotiate with you because you’re women.”
“You’re right,” Becky said. “We’ll let you do all the talking, Petersen. I’ll stay close by since I understand the language and make sure Mr. Farouk is translating everything accurately.”
Flora’s stomach rumbled with hunger and unease. She grew more and more apprehensive as they waited for evening prayers to end. “When can I come out?” Kate whined. “It’s like an oven in here.”
“Not yet,” Petersen said. “Not until we find out what’s going on.” He bent to whisper to Flora, “We can’t take a chance that she’ll do something stupid.”
“I know.”
When their prayers ended, the Bedouin men gathered in a huddle for a moment, then the sheikh led the band of men across the desert toward Flora and Becky’s camp. Petersen rose to his feet, the butcher knife tucked beneath his robe. “Tell the sheikh I’m in charge, Mr. Farouk.” He prodded the little man forward to meet them, with Becky and Flora close behind. Mr. Farouk looked as though he might pass out, but he did as was told. The sheikh looked somber, his dark face half-hidden behind his head covering. But his words, after being translated, were surprisingly friendly.
“Come. A meal has been prepared for you. Enjoy my hospitality.”
“All of us?” Petersen asked.
Mr. Farouk translated his question and then the sheikh’s reply. “Yes. The women will eat in the tent with our wives. And bring the red-haired woman.”
“Can we trust them?” Petersen whispered.
“We have no choice,” Becky replied. “We’re badly outnumbered. Besides, they could have murdered us by now if that was their intention.”
“Well,” Flora said with a sigh, “let’s go.”
“It’s about time,” Kate said when they fetched her from inside the tent.
They crossed the rocky desert to the Bedouin encampment where a banquet of food and fresh bread was spread on a rug in front of one of the tents. The sheikh invited Petersen and Mr. Farouk to sit down with him, while Flora, Becky, and Kate were ushered inside one of the low black tents where a second banquet had been spread. The Bedouin women gestured for them to sit, reserving the largest pile of cushions for Kate. They offered each platter of food to Kate first, as if she were a queen, urging her to eat her fill. Since there was no cutlery, everyone used her fingers and pieces of bread to scoop from the common platters. Flora found the food surprisingly delicious, seasoned with a mixture of spices that she’d never tasted before. The centerpiece of the banquet was a platter of roasted meat.
“What are we eating?” Kate asked. “What kind of meat is this?”
Flora guessed it was goat, but said, “Don’t ask, dear. You’re better off not knowing.”
“It’s delicious,” Becky said, licking her fingers. “The bread is wonderful, too. Warm and smoky and crisp on the outside, yet soft on the inside.”
Flora heard the men’s voices outside and wondered what was going on. “Can you hear what the sheikh is saying?” she asked Becky.
Becky tilted her head and listened. “He’s bragging about how rich he is. How he can offer Kate a good life.”
“So this is all a show? To convince us to let him have her?”
“It seems so.”
“Ha!” Kate said. “As if I’d want to live here! This tent stinks like dead animals.”
“And what will happen if we refuse?” Flora asked.
“Who knows?” Becky said with a shrug. If she was as frightened as Flora was, Becky was putting on a brave front to hide it, eating heartily and smiling pleasantly at the gathered women. The tent grew dark as time passed and the Bedouin women lit oil lamps. Most of the food was gone when one of the women presented Kate with a lavish array of golden neck ornaments, earrings, and bracelets like the Bedouin women wore. Kate’s eyes widened as she fingered the gold as if tallying their value. “Are these for me?”
“Don’t take them, Kate,” Becky warned. “We don’t know what it means in this culture to accept such gifts.”
Flora saw the reluctance in Kate’s eyes as she pushed away the glimmering jewelry. She had likely never seen such wealth in her life. The Bedouin women persisted, grabbing Kate’s hands and trying to push the jangling bracelets onto her wrists. Flora feared they soon would have her arrayed like one of them if they weren’t stopped.
Suddenly Becky rose to her feet and spoke firmly to them in Arabic. The women froze, staring at Becky as if she had just risen from the dead. She spoke again, and the women dropped Kate’s arms, letting the jewelry fall on the carpet in front of her. Flora wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed or relieved.
“What did you say?” she asked her sister.
“I told them to stop. I said to tell the sheikh we can’t accept his gifts.” Becky laughed and added, “But I think the look of shock you see on their faces has nothing to do with the jewelry. In a million years, they never expected to hear me speaking their language.”
Kate looked like a frightened child as she silently gazed from one woman to the other, and Flora had to resist the urge to hug her. No one seemed to know what to do next until one of the Bedouin women rose, and everyone else quickly followed. They pushed Kate and Flora and Becky from the tent and out to the campfire where the men sat, the remains of their meal still spread before them. All conversation halted as the sheikh stood, his men quickly rising to their feet with him. “What’s going on?” Flora asked as the sheikh spoke to Mr. Farouk.
“He said he’ll take us back to our camp now,” Becky translated. “It’s time for the men to pray before sleeping.”
“Just like that? We still don’t know what’s going on?”
“No. But I’m glad you didn’t put on that jewelry, Kate. It might have meant you’re now his wife.”
&n
bsp; Once they moved away from the campfire, the moonless night was so black that Flora could barely see her own feet. She gripped Becky’s and Kate’s hands as the Bedouin men formed a circle around them to walk them back to their tents, warning of any rocks or holes in their path. “The sheikh wishes you good rest,” Mr. Farouk translated before the men left.
Flora’s heart had been racing for so long she didn’t think she could settle down to sleep. After groping her way to a camp stool and sinking down, she looked up at the night sky and prayed for guidance. The huge band of the Milky Way stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, filling the heavens with more stars than she’d ever seen in her life. “Just look, Becky,” she said, pointing up. “Isn’t that magnificent?” Becky, Kate, and Petersen joined her while Mr. Farouk and the cook prayed nearby.
“What was that meal all about?” Petersen asked, not noticing the jewelry box of stars overhead.
“I think they wanted to impress us with what a good life they’re offering Kate,” Becky replied. “Did the sheikh try to bargain with you for her?”
“No. Unless Mr. Farouk wasn’t telling me the truth. All we did was eat. Did you learn anything from the women?”
Becky shook her head. “They spoke in such low voices most of the time that I couldn’t understand them.”
“Well, they haven’t harmed us,” Flora said with a sigh, “so that’s a good sign. We’ve been treated very well, in spite of the suspense.”
“Yes,” Becky agreed. “I imagine the sheikh will be back to bargain for Kate in the morning. You’d better be ready, Petersen.”
“What should I say?”
“Tell him I ain’t for sale!” Kate said.
Flora patted her arm. “Yes, of course he’ll tell them that, Kate. But it may not be that simple. Becky and I will pray for wisdom. In fact, I suggest we all take our cue from the Bedouin and get down on our knees and pray before we go to sleep tonight.”