Treasure of Eden

by Sherer, B. K. ; Linnea, Sharon

  The stubble on his chin felt rough, and intimate.

  “No recriminations.” He pulled her to him in a gentle hug. “Thanks for that. Meanwhile, we have this local couple who must have graduated from therapeutic massage school at the top of their class.”

  “That’s great. Because I happen to have an opening in my schedule just now.”

  He grinned. “Then let me show you the way.”

  January 25, 2007, 10:05 p.m.

  (1 day, 12 hours, 25 minutes until end of auction)

  Judean wilderness west of the Dead Sea

  Israel

  * * *

  The Hajj had asked three well-known jewelers in Tel Aviv to show him their finest work, that he might choose a gift for his new bride. Two of the jewelers had already met with the Hajj to show him their wares. The jewels they’d brought were breathtaking, each in its own way.

  The Hajj knew that without money from the sale of the box he would not have the purchase price for any of them.

  But he very much wanted to give a gift, a special gift, to Yasmin. He wanted to somehow let her know that he valued her, thought her special–his own precious jewel.

  When he had gone back to her camp to meet with her, a week after speaking to her uncle, the chief, about marriage, she had surprised him yet again.

  Her mother and aunts had been there, all heavily veiled, and she had been veiled herself. Yet her eyes above the veil had been the eyes that had first captured him.

  In Bedouin culture, marriages were arranged, the deals made, the bride-price agreed upon, by the men. It was not unheard of that a prospective groom meet with his intended and her family before the bargain was made. What made it unusual was that the Hajj had wanted to speak with her to make sure she favored the match. Traditionally, if the girl’s father or guardian agreed, that was enough.

  When Yasmin’s uncle brought the Hajj into the clan’s big tent to meet her, the female relatives had formed a half circle around her. Her mother sat closest. The Hajj sat down in front of Yasmin, a good three feet away. He had studied her face briefly, although her eyes were on the ground. “I have come to ask if you would like to marry me,” he said, not loudly, but firmly enough that everyone gathered could hear.

  “Inshallah, and if it pleases you,” she answered, not looking up.

  “I promise your mother and stepfather a good bride-price,” he said. “You will be cared for all the days of your life.” And then, before anyone could fully grasp what was happening, he leaned forward and said, for her ears only, “And this is really what you wish?”

  Then the girl took a risk and also leaned forward. In reply, also in a quick, soft voice, she had said, “My cloth of honor will not be stained.”

  The brutal, unexpected honesty of that remark sent him reeling. In any normal circumstance, such an admission would be enough to not only cancel the engagement but also besmirch the honor of every male relative she had. Yet the way Yasmin had said it, the gentle pleading in her voice, the flash of her eyes as she looked up at Omar–it was as if she could trust him, and him alone, to save her. Her very life was dependent on his kindness. If he repeated out loud what she’d told him, she would be killed. For some reason, she had chosen him, risked everything to trust him.

  She had treated him as a good, kind man. As her savior.

  In that moment, he knew he would die to keep her secret, to defend her honor.

  “Then it shall be,” he said, again loud enough to be heard by all.

  Her mother and the other aunties bowed and retired from the tent, taking the prospective bride along with them.

  The Hajj then settled in to talk to the chief, and so it would be known that the girl Yasmin had brought the highest bride-price of any girl in the clan.

  January 25, 2007, 10:30 p.m.

  (1 day, 11 hours, 0 minutes until end of auction)

  Manor Villers

  Lac-Argent, France

  * * *

  Jaime lay under a crisp, cool sheet on one of the massage tables in the room next to the Jacuzzi. The room had well-tended indoor plants, a small sauna, a heated tile floor, and dual massage tables. She felt as far from a combat zone as she could possibly be.

  Which didn’t mean her emotions weren’t in turmoil–and now not solely because of Yani. The memories Mark had brought up were both painful and exquisite. She well remembered the June when she and Paul–who were dating at the time–had joined Mark and Ondine at their place in the French Antilles. Ondine had been battling pancreatic cancer for over six months. She’d just been in New York for tests to see how the latest rounds of therapies had done. Paul and Jaime had joined her on Mark’s private jet for the trip down to the islands, Paul on a two-week break between the school year and summer classes, Jaime on a two-week vacation.

  They were hopeful of good news, and had spent the first full day relaxing, swimming, and listening to some of Mark’s new music. Mark and Paul had met shortly after Mark’s band had released its first album, and Mark had joined him on a trip sponsored by an organization working for peace and justice in the Middle East. The two young men had hit it off immediately, and had become friends. Paul was impressed by Mark’s talent but never by his fame. Mark was impressed by Paul’s passion and understanding of international issues. As the years passed, Mark was grateful to have someone who didn’t treat him like a rock star. Paul was equally glad to have someone who didn’t treat him like the Reverend Doctor Professor Atwood.

  The two couples were in the spacious living room, all done in whites, with vast windows open to the ocean breezes, when the call came. Ondine talked for a while before hanging up.

  “What news?” asked Mark, and she smiled a tremulous smile.

  “Not good, I’m afraid. The cancer’s back, more virulent than ever. He says I have a month, maybe two.”

  For half a minute, there was complete silence.

  “We’ll fly back with you tomorrow,” Paul said gently.

  “No,” she said firmly. “No.” Ondine had always been tall and graceful, with dark brown hair in a fashionable short cut and large brown eyes.

  She continued, “I’ve told the doctors I’m not coming back. If two months is all I have left, I have no intention spending it feeling sick and weak from the ‘cure.’ I’m going to grab on to life with both hands while I can, and go home with a smile on my face.”

  “But, Ondine–” Mark’s voice was plaintive.

  “And no more of that holistic crap, either. I’m eating the good stuff,” she said.

  Jaime hugged her first. The four of them had prayed together for strength, and love, and fun. Then it seemed clear that Mark and his wife needed some time alone.

  Paul headed outside to the beach. “Richards,” he said, and Jaime followed him out.

  When Jaime joined him on the beach, she was surprised to find him wiping a tear from his cheek. “Oh, Paul,” she’d said, “this is so hard.”

  Paul stood gazing out across the oranges and pinks of the sunset behind the endless waters, where egrets swooped and danced, heedless of the affairs of humans. “Richards…”

  “I’m here.”

  “I don’t…you know I’ve said I never expect to marry. I need to be free to go anywhere and not worry about whether or not I’m in harm’s way. I can never give a wife a stable nine-to-five life, and kids.”

  Jaime was quiet. She’d heard this speech often before, and didn’t know why she was hearing it again. She knew that’s what Paul thought, who he was. She’d come to terms.

  “The thing is…what this makes me realize…is that the only thing more dangerous than something awful, like losing your wife…is not having her because you never had the courage to marry her in the first place.”

  She hadn’t seen that one coming. The sand beneath her feet suddenly felt uncertain, like it could shift at any moment.

  But he didn’t say anything else.

  Jaime was fine with the way things were. She loved her career. She had just been promoted. Pa
ul had always seemed like a knight-errant to her. Could she love a knight-errant who had a wife–even if she was the wife?

  Did she want to marry Paul? Did she want to marry anybody?

  “Richards?”

  “Atwood, are you saying you want to get married?”

  “What do you think? I wouldn’t change…There’s still a chance something could happen to me…”

  “Uh, Paul, you’re talking to someone who’s in the Army?”

  “I know; I know. The thing is I’ve always thought something could happen to one of us. But now I see that even if it does, I want to have you before I lose you.”

  “That’s probably one of the more cheerful proposals on record.”

  “God, I’m sorry; I’m doing this all wrong. What do you think? Or am I a fool even to ask?”

  “Is this your way of saying you love me?” She didn’t mean to goad him, but she was trying to buy time.

  “It’s my way of saying that life is all about love and Ondine is right, we’ve got to grab it with both hands, while we can.”

  Now that the moment was here, could she do this? Could she marry Paul Atwood? She’d fallen in love with him when she was his student, but now they were out in the world. Was this for real? Was it forever? Why was love so ethereal? She wanted it to be something you could test, and prove, and hold in your hands.

  But if Paul had been the one to say he had two months to live, it would kill her. He was her world.

  “All right,” she finally said, quietly. “I want to have you while I’ve got you, too.”

  They told Mark and Ondine after dinner, sitting on the veranda. Mark clapped Paul on the back, and Ondine leapt to her feet.

  “But this is marvelous! You’re engaged! When is the wedding?”

  “We hadn’t gotten that far,” replied Paul.

  “How about…let’s see. A week from this weekend. Not Friday, that’s the Fourth of July. But how about Saturday the fifth? Or Sunday the sixth?”

  “Wait a minute…you mean next week?” Jaime asked.

  “Yes! Why don’t you get married here? I always wished we’d had this place when Mark and I were wed. It’s perfect! Either the local chapel, or down on the beach!”

  “Ondine, that’s so nice of you…such an overwhelmingly kind offer…,” Paul sputtered.

  “I’m…not exactly a barefoot on the beach with flowers in my hair kind of person,” Jaime said, surprised.

  “Did you want a military wedding, with the swords and everything?”

  “No. No. But–”

  She turned to Paul. “Would you be sorry not to have a wedding back home, so the rest of the faculty and your students could come?”

  The look on Paul’s face was comical. “My students? You mean miss having a shivaree?” he asked, tongue in cheek.

  Ondine said, “Paul. I’ve known you since I’ve known Mark. I love you to pieces. I also know you’re completely capable of still being engaged when you’re seventy-three. Which would mean I’d miss the wedding. So if you’re serious about marrying this extraordinary woman, why don’t we go for it?”

  Paul, Jaime, and Mark sat, blindsided by Ondine’s energy and passion.

  “We’d need to start right away. But we could do this. I’d help you plan everything. You’d start by calling your family and friends and seeing how many of them could get here during the next week. We’d send the plane to pick them up. Couldn’t we, mon ami?” Ondine asked her husband.

  “Well, yes, I suppose. You’re sure…this wouldn’t be too much for you?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I’ve had enough of the three of you sitting around watching me die, and it’s only been since dinner. Give me something else to focus on. Something about the future. About life. Let Mark and me give you a wedding.”

  “I suppose,” said Paul.

  “I suppose,” said Jaime.

  “Great! Then let me get my list of caterers!”

  “I think this calls for brandy and cigars,” said Mark, and Paul agreed immediately.

  It was later that night, when the house was quiet and Paul was asleep, that Jaime had come down, alone, to stand by the wall of windows that faced out over the ocean. She’d been standing there for a minute before she realized Mark was in the room, sitting on the sofa.

  “Richards,” he said, and she’d turned and gone over to him.

  Even in the moonlight, she could tell he’d been crying. “Mark…the wedding…if this is all too much for you, just say the word, and I can explain to Ondine…it would cost a fortune, just to bring in our families and close friends.”

  Mark motioned her to sit, and she sank onto the edge of the sectional that was at a right angle to his.

  He had a glass in his hands–scotch–but he wasn’t drunk.

  “The thing is…,” he started. “The thing is, none of this means anything.” He gestured with the drink in his hand. “The house. The jet. None of it. It’s times like this that you see money means nothing. Ondine is my only treasure. She’s about to be snatched away, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. All the money in the world wouldn’t help. It means nothing.”

  “I know,” Jaime had responded softly. “You’re right.”

  “So all I can do…if she wanted to go to the moon in the time she has left, I’d somehow get her on a goddamned rocket. If it makes her happy to throw you two a wedding, Jaime, the expense of picking people up is not a concern. If you and Paul are willing to get married–this quickly–please, let her go for it.”

  Jaime took Mark’s hand, and he didn’t pull back.

  But he looked at her then and she could tell he’d switched gears. “Paul is one of my best friends. I know you love him. Do you truly want to marry him, Jaime? Will you be good to him?”

  “Yes,” Jaime answered. “And yes, I will.” As she said it, she knew it was true.

  So Jaime and Paul got married, barefoot on the beach, Jaime with flowers in her hair, with two dozen friends and family members in attendance. One of Paul’s colleagues officiated. Mark Shepard sang. It was a glorious day. Ondine was glowing.

  A month later, she was dead.

  Three months later, Paul was dead, the victim of a suicide bomber on the Pedestrian Mall in Jerusalem.

  Nine and a half years had passed. And now Jaime lay on a massage table in Mark’s manor house with Mark on the nearby table. And her emotions were in turmoil, yet again.

  January 25, 2007, 11:05 p.m.

  (1 day, 10 hours, 25 minutes until end of auction)

  Lac-Argent, France

  * * *

  Long leaded windows looked out over the landing of the main staircase in the manor. The rich tones of the carved wood gave the room that housed the landing a warm glow. Mark had shown Jaime how he’d lovingly restored the house, which had been run-down and falling apart when he’d bought it. He’d kept many original details, while updating it with modern wiring and green sources of energy.

  The result was that what was once a large, imposing manor house now felt welcoming and homey. From the window, she could see past the gardens and trees to where the stone bell tower still rose above the village’s tenth-century stone church.

  “Hey.”

  She turned around to find Mark, in long flannel pajama bottoms and a Think Green, Think Global T-shirt. “Great nightgown.” He grinned.

  She had to smile. Whatever little elf had shopped for her in Zurich had bought a satiny white sheath nightgown, with a diaphanous white robe to be worn over it. Her shoulder-length blond hair fell free. Iraq seemed a million miles away.

  “Could I interest you in a nightcap by the fire?”

  “Sure. Has Mrs. Halpern gone home?”

  “Yes. No one here tonight but us. Well, us and Derrick, my security man. Where I am, there’s always a security man.” He shrugged. “Is your guest room comfortable? That used to be our wing–Ondine’s and mine. I, well, switched things around. Redid the rooms.”

  “It’s great, thanks. The shower
was heavenly. Warm water and everything. I’ve learned not to take anything for granted.”

  He took her hand and led her down the hallway toward his rooms, past the door to the bathroom suite where they’d had their Jacuzzi and the next room, where they’d had their massages. Behind double arched wooden doors, they entered a spacious living room. At the far end was another tall set of wooden doors, which sat slightly ajar. She guessed it must lead to his bedroom beyond. A large stone hearth opened off the same chimney as the walk-in fireplace downstairs. A cheerful fire was roaring. No lights were on; instead small votive candles dotted the room. Lush classical music emanated from an unseen source.

  “Dear God. You have no idea how much I’ve needed this,” Jaime whispered.

  “You and me both,” he answered.

  He sat down on a white rug in front of the fire, and Jaime sat beside him. Whatever the rug was made of, it was soft and luxurious. Mark opened his arms, and Jaime let herself lean back against him. His chest was rugged and well muscled. It was clear he worked out.

  He put his arms around her, and leaned against an armchair, watching the flames dart through the logs before them.

  “It’s all so beautiful. What you’ve done with the house,” she said.

  He didn’t answer. She sat slightly forward and turned her head to look at him.

  “It’s you that’s beautiful,” he said. He closed his eyes. “You’re so lovely, and I’m dying to kiss you, but I’m terrified.”

  “Terrified?” she asked quietly.

  “I need you so much. I need you to be the friend of my heart. I would never do anything to jeopardize that. If I came on to you romantically, but it wasn’t right, and I lost you…or even if things became awkward…I couldn’t stand it. So tell me if it isn’t right, Jaime. Please, tell me.”