Margaret squeezed her hand, but Pastor Phillip spoke. “I can envision you as Prince Josiah’s wife. You are a wonderful young lady, Cahri.” He paused, scratching his ear, an indication something was on his mind. “Perhaps Pastor Ezra mentioned your name. He has come from the palace church to visit me here any number of times for our meetings. I believe you spoke with him at length several weeks ago when I was detained.”
“Perhaps.” Maybe Pastor Ezra had suggested her. “He was a nice man, but we didn’t talk about anything extraordinary. My trips to the orphanage dominated most of our conversation.”
Margaret draped her arm over Cahri’s shoulder. “Phillip is right, dear. Any man would be blessed to have you as his wife. You go out of your way to make everyone feel at ease and welcome. And the work you do for the orphanage is extraordinary.” The woman sniffed. “We love you and will miss you when you’re gone.”
“Can we pray with you before you go?” Pastor asked as Margaret grabbed another tissue to dab at her eyes.
Cahri nodded. As if prayer helped anything. God didn't care about her. Her parents had served Him faithfully for many years, and they'd still died. Why would He care about her? Still, she stood there while they rested their hands on her shoulders and prayed. An unexpected peace wrapped around her like a warm robe.
No. She closed her heart to the feeling of comfort. Welcoming God back into her life wasn’t high on her list of priorities.
The warmth disappeared, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead as others skittered down her back. As soon as Pastor Phillip said amen, she stepped away from their touch, inching toward the door. She wiped her cold, clammy hands on her skirt. “I have to go now. Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me these last three years. You have been like a second set of parents, and there aren't words to express my appreciation.”
“Cahri…” Pastor Phillip scratched his ear again. “Don't go just yet. There's something the Lord is leading me to say, and it's best said today rather than later in the week.” He waited while Cahri reclaimed her seat.
She tapped her sandaled foot on the beige carpet and fiddled with her purse.
“For some time now I have sensed your anger toward God.”
She jerked her head around to look at him. How could he know?
“I see I surprised you. I may be older, but I’m not blind. I had hoped over time you would respond to the gentle call of the Holy Spirit and let Him guide you back into the loving arms of your Heavenly Father, but it hasn't happened. I cannot let you walk out of here today without encouraging you to stop blaming God for your parents’ death. Satan is the one who comes to steal, kill, and destroy, not God. God loves you and I’m certain you know it.”
Cahri’s back stiffened, and she clutched her purse straps. She closed her eyes in an attempt to relax. She opened them again and stared straight at Pastor Phillip.
“God could have stopped it. He didn't.” She tried to control her voice, but bitterness laced her words.
“No, He didn't, and I don't know why. Still, you have to trust Him to know what’s best for you. He does love you, Cahri.” Pastor Phillip's face radiated compassion, but she refused to give in to his plea.
God was wrong to take her parents. There's no way anyone would convince her otherwise. “A God who loved me wouldn’t have let my parents die the way they did, leaving me alone.” Clutching her purse tighter, she pushed his counsel from her mind. She couldn’t look at Pastor Phillip again. He didn’t need to see the darkness which enveloped her heart. She stood, more than ready to leave. “Is there anything else?”
They stood as well, and Pastor Phillip rested his hand on her shoulder. “Just think about it, please. You know what I’m saying is true. You're angry, but God still loves you. Even when you're angry, He remains faithful.”
Margaret leaned over and hugged Cahri. “I’ll continue praying for you. Let us know how you are from time to time, if you can.”
Pastor Phillip also pulled her close in a side hug. He held her there for a few more minutes before releasing her. She tensed. He’s not going to pray again, is he?
“May God go with you.”
Cahri ducked her head and left them standing there. As she closed the door she heard Margaret’s quiet sob.
****
The information the steward put together about Cahri Michaels convinced Anaya this young woman would be the right one for Josiah. She could read and speak multiple languages, could be found working with the children in the some of the poorest neighborhoods, as well as in the orphanage, and was well loved by her pastor and his congregation.
Cahri’s response to their unexpected arrival confirmed Anaya’s sense that Miss Michaels was the one. However, the longer Anaya watched her, the further the woman withdrew into herself in response to this life change.
Of course it would be a difficult transition for her — to go from an independent woman, unusual in Belikara, to a dependent one. One who would be in the spotlight far more than she knew. The slight glitch in the plan was Cahri's bitterness toward God, which came out when Anaya had prompted her to talk as they worked.
Anaya was determined Cahri would have an advantage over all the others. This one, who didn’t want to be Josiah’s wife, would be perfect because she didn’t care about moving up in social ranks or status. She didn’t care about the money, the fancy dinners, or the best clothes. This strong woman would be able to stand up to her brother’s temper, during the rare times he displayed it, and also to the demands of being queen.
During her quiet moments in Cahri's apartment, Anaya made plans. Clothes. What colors, besides the teal set she’d already picked out, would look good on her? Black, blue, certain shades of green. Red is possible. No yellow, or pink. Hair. A trim for certain, and a new way to put it up. What else? Diplomacy, patience, and more languages. She doesn’t seem inclined toward bents of crying. Always a positive. Men hate tears, even Anaya’s kindhearted brother.
Anaya spent a great deal of time praying — for Cahri, for Josiah, and for the Bridal March. The need to find Josiah a suitable, loving wife weighed on her heart. She wanted her brother happy, not just wed. He needed someone who would believe in him, especially when he doubted himself.
Had she made the right decision in choosing Cahri?
Chapter Five
Cahri lay on her bed trying to decide what she wanted to keep and what she didn't. Few things mattered so much she couldn't do without them. The two boxes she’d be allowed to keep with her would limit the mementos she’d bring. Most of it she’d pack and leave in storage, except the picture of her parents and the figurine her brother had sent from Paris.
Good grief! She groaned as she bolted up from the bed. How could she have forgotten about Paul?
Older by six years, he’d gone to college before she’d become a teenager. He'd come back for Christmas the first few years, but his schooling, work, and girlfriend took more of his time, and he came home less. She hadn't seen him since his wedding. Was it four or five years ago?
He hadn’t attended their parents' funeral because of his wife's pregnancy. He didn't want to leave her so close to her due date. At the time, Cahri hadn’t understood, but as the years passed, she recognized how difficult the choice must have been.
How had she allowed three years to pass by without phoning him? Time to correct that oversight. Her hands trembled as she found his number and dialed, hoping and praying she was doing the right thing.
“Allô,” a female voice said.
Cahri took a deep breath. “Allô, may I speak to Paul s’il vous plaît?” Her nerves were so jumbled, she mixed her English and French.
“Who's calling?” The woman’s perfect English put Cahri’s French to shame.
“Grace.” Grace was her brother’s contribution to her name, or so her parents had informed her, and he refused to call her anything else.
Sweat beaded above her lip, and her hands shook. Would he want to talk with her after all this time and the un
kind things she’d said? Maybe she should hang up. She pulled the phone away from her ear, just as his voice came over the line.
“Allô?” Paul’s deep voice caught her by surprise. He sounded… good. The ache of missing him caused her breath to catch in her throat.
“Hi, Paul.”
“Grace? What's wrong?”
“Does anything have to be wrong?” Her throat tightened.
“Well, we may not have spoken for three years, but I can still tell when you're upset.”
Cahri tried to hide the sniffle behind a tissue she’d grabbed from her side table.
“I know you were angry at me for not coming to Mom and Dad's funeral. I've tried to call you a few times since then, and I even wrote letters, but your number had changed and my letters came back. I figured you must have moved, maybe to the States like Mom and Dad wanted, but Uncle Thomas said he hadn’t heard from you either. I’ve prayed for you every day.” A hitch in his voice sounded through the phone line. “Is something wrong, Gracey?”
Tears rolled down her face, and she couldn't speak for a few minutes. It had been a long time since he’d called her Gracey. She took a few deep breaths.
“Grace? What is it? You're worrying me.”
“Oh, Paul. I'm sorry I haven't contacted you. I know I acted rotten after Mom and Dad died, but I was alone and scared. Please forgive me.” Cahri sniffed and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling wishing she had put aside her feeling of betrayal sooner.
“I stayed in Belikara because I felt — feel at home here. I couldn't imagine starting over in an unfamiliar place when I hurt so much. It would have meant leaving Mom and Dad behind, and I couldn’t do it. After the funeral, I moved into the city to an apartment. The house now belongs to the current mission pastor. I'm calling because I'm moving again and, well, I don't know when I'll be able to contact you.”
“What do you mean? Why won't you be able to contact me?”
She explained the situation to him.
“I'll arrange for tickets to get you out of there right now. I'll call you back in five minutes with your flight information.” Anger radiated through the phone as he took command.
“Paul, wait!” she said before he could hang up. “I can't leave. While you and I may not agree with all of the customs here, they are what they are. I agreed to obey the laws of the land when I chose to become a citizen last year. Staying is the right thing to do. Besides, they've already seized my passport, and the consequence of rejecting the summons is death… and as unusual as it is, I'd still choose being the prince’s wife over dying.” She picked up the little Eiffel Tower figurine. “If I’m not chosen then I’ll be free to leave, and I’d like to come see you.” She took a steadying breath. “If it's okay?” Even if it meant her heart broke from having to leave this country and its children.
“You know it is, Grace. We'd be glad to have you. Are you sure this is the right thing for you? Have you prayed about it?”
“Prayed?” She snorted. “I haven't prayed since Mom and Dad died.” The comment popped right out of her mouth. She continued talking, hoping it would distract him. “However, it's not like I have much choice. I’ve been assigned a servant and a bodyguard. I'm not sure if they're here to protect me or to make sure I don't run, but either way, there's no getting out of this. I just want you to know I'm okay, and I’ve been assured I will be well taken care of, at least for the next few months.”
Crash! Cahri jolted up out of bed. She heard Anaya mutter about finding a broom, but lay back down to let the woman figure it out for herself.
“I'm sorry, Paul.” She inhaled. She had to stop thinking about the uncertainty of the future and live each day as it came. “Did you have a boy or girl?” Changing the subject helped her regain control.
“A girl, and twin boys since then. Donette Marie is three and the twins, Geoffrey and Marcel, are about to turn one.” His voice still hinted at his anger, but as he spoke of his children, it softened. His willingness to let it go and change the subject eased her mind.
“Wow, three kids. I'm happy for you. Mom and Dad would be proud you named your daughter after both of them. What do they look like?” She tried to picture the faces of her niece and nephews as he described them, but couldn’t. A lump tightened her throat. “I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch.” The burning behind her eyes increased. “I will call again when I can, but I have to go now. I love you.” She choked out the last few words as she listened to the one person on earth who still cared. She hated hanging up, but her tears wouldn’t wait.
He bid her a hesitant goodbye, and she eased the phone into its cradle. Grabbing another tissue from the nightstand, she swiped it across her face.
Mom and Dad would be disappointed in her, knowing she hadn't kept in touch with her family. She didn't want to think about how disappointed they'd be in her relationship with God. In her heart, she apologized to them too.
She plopped back on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep. When she woke, shadows cloaked her room. She peered out the window. People moved about their normal, everyday lives as if nothing unusual were happening. Halim, the Pizza Palace owner, crossed the street and unlocked the door to his apartment. She recognized many of the faces, but didn’t know most of their names. People she lived near, but hadn’t bothered getting to know. Most avoided her anyway — the strange, American girl living alone.
She walked into the kitchen to fix a sandwich and a bowl of ice cream, ignoring Anaya. No mess, so she must have found the broom and dustpan. Anaya sat on the couch with a book resting in her hands. She remained silent, though Cahri could feel Anaya’s gaze follow her.
For the rest of the week, Cahri worked at the mission during the day training Gloria, her replacement, a sweet older woman who had converted to Christianity a few years ago. She caught on to the few idiosyncrasies of working with the computers and Pastor Phillip with amazing speed.
After work each day, Cahri went home and retreated into silence, withdrawing into herself in an effort to cope with events out of her control. Even though Anaya accompanied her during the day and heard her speak, she said nothing about Cahri's lack of speech each evening.
Cahri cleaned the apartment, or sorted and packed her things in the assigned boxes, ate, and went to her bedroom. Sometimes she read, but most of the time she lay in the bed thinking about the changes taking place in her life. The invitation Emily had extended for a going away dinner held no enticement. Nothing mattered anymore.
Anaya spoke occasionally during this time, but it seemed as if she waited for something, though Cahri didn't know what. Maybe she prayed. Anaya brought a supernatural peace to the apartment which hadn't been in Cahri’s life for a long time. A peace she missed, but couldn't accept because of the God from whom she knew it originated.
On Friday, Cahri worked a half-day while Anaya remained at the apartment packing the remaining kitchen items and waiting for the van to pick up the donation boxes. Gloria no longer needed her assistance, so Cahri went home and took a long, hot shower. Afterward she dressed in the outfit provided. The one he wanted her to wear. Another freedom removed — the freedom to choose what she would wear.
Teal, one of her favorite colors, brought no joy today. She glanced down at the white embroidery — flowers, and birds — stitched to the hems of the shirt and pants with expertise. Nothing. Numbness kept her tears at bay, but it also stole her joy in the simple things.
She washed the clothes she had worn during the week and finished packing the things she wanted to take with her, adding her toiletries to the already-stuffed boxes.
Her glance strayed to the curtains she had created but chose to leave because she would have no place to reuse them. She’d found the material in a box of her mom’s. Her fingers danced over the blue flowers, as she wondered what kind they were. She’d never seen them outside of this particular fabric. When she’d tried to research them on the internet, they all looked similar, and she couldn’t decide which they were.
Ca
hri did everything she could to postpone the inevitable, but nothing remained to be done. She glanced up as Anaya entered the open door of her bedroom.
“It is time to depart. Where are the boxes you want to take with you?”
Cahri pointed to the corner, continuing her silence.
Anaya called in Matthias and Waseem, who had returned, to carry them.
The furniture and a few boxes were all which remained of the last three years of Cahri’s life. She sighed and resigned herself to the change.
She picked up Stormy's crate, having managed to coax him in, and started for the door. Grasping the doorknob, she twisted around and stared at her home. The bare, white walls seemed desolate. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. It may not have been grand, but it had been hers and she had been happy here.
No more pizza, movie, and ice cream nights.
With a deep breath, she closed the door on her life of independence because, no matter what happened, she would no longer be free to do as she chose. The privilege of remaining in Belikara as a single woman had just been taken from her. After the next few months either the prince, as her husband, or her brother would be her authority.
Chapter Six
Josiah paced back and forth in front of the window. He stopped and pushed aside the sheer curtain a fraction when he heard a car on the driveway two stories below. Two ladies emerged from a black sedan, both dressed in the outfits Anaya had helped him pick out. According to the servants, thirty women had arrived so far. Thirty of fifty.
Anaya and her chosen candidate were not among them. Matthias had promised to check in with an update as soon as he arrived, but hadn’t yet. He could trust his best friend and security chief to keep his word.
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