He plowed his fingers through his hair and resumed pacing. This whole thing frayed on his nerves more than it ought. He was a grown man about to take a wife, would have already, except for finding his fiancée, Remalyn, in bed with another man three years ago. The idea of being married shouldn't make him so uptight. He closed his eyes, and whispered a brief prayer for strength, wisdom, and peace. None of these women were Remalyn. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact.
He moved to leave, tired of his vigil. The sound of another car brought him up short. He yielded to the temptation to watch one more arrival. It could be her.
Matthias and Waseem stepped out of the car. At long last, the one he wanted to see. While he knew nothing about any of the ladies, Anaya had studied their profiles and selected this one as the most reasonable candidate to be his wife. He wanted to see her and understand Anaya's decision.
His sister stepped out of the car, followed by the one she had chosen dressed in the outfit he'd provided. Was she wearing a hat? Not bothering to look around at the house or the grounds, she leaned close to Anaya, and nodded, but didn't seem to answer. Unusual. Every one of the others he'd observed showed some sort of excitement at the sight of the house and grounds. She followed Waseem inside.
Disappointment engulfed him. He'd wanted this one to look around. He'd wanted to see her face, even for just a fraction of a second. But she didn't seem to care about how beautiful the gardens were or how opulent the house. His breathy sigh fogged a section of the window.
He walked away, ignoring the sound of another car releasing yet another of the chosen ones.
****
Cahri sat in a room with forty-nine talking women. Most had arrived before her and the rest within fifteen minutes. Dinner had been served, a simple affair with Greek salad and lamb kebabs.
The noise grew louder and more overwhelming even though she had moved to the corner farthest away. She glanced from person to person. Their mouths moved, but she couldn’t make out any of the conversations. Once in a while, a lone voice would be louder than the others, struggling to be heard. It was a nightmare. One from which she couldn’t awaken.
Cookie cutter women, and she was a part of them, and yet not. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, most looked to be in their twenties.
Everyone, except her.
Her porcelain skin stood out like a white cloud on a stormy afternoon. At least her hair was hidden beneath her hat.
It was Friday night, and she wanted to be home in her apartment, with her cat, some pizza and ice cream, and a movie. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Depression, maybe anger at the unfairness of it all, filled her.
Another instance which proved God had forsaken her.
Lonely, but not alone. She wanted to be alone, just as she had been for the last three years. At least then she wouldn't feel so isolated. She didn't belong here, and the obviousness of it hurt. She had seen some of these women on the streets, yet not one ventured near her to start a conversation tonight. Even Stormy left her alone to scope out his new surroundings. She stared at her hands resting in her empty lap and fought back tears.
The noise echoed off the uncarpeted floor, bouncing around the stylish room. Windows dominated two of the walls, so it must be considered a solarium, but the furnishings one would expect to grace the room were absent. Instead, folding tables and chairs skirted the walls, and a few smaller sofas and upholstered chairs made cozy sections in the corners of the large room.
She couldn’t stand the noise anymore. How could all of these women be happy about being chosen? She didn't want to be here. Cahri stood and trudged to the room she’d been assigned.
God, why did you do this to me?
As soon as she entered the dormitory-like environment, Cahri yanked off her hat, increasing the pain in her head and scattering the pins on the tile floor. She plopped on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment before taking the time to study the room which would be hers for months.
If five cots, one for her and each of the roommates she had yet to meet, hadn’t filled the room, it would be quite large, about the size of a spacious bedroom. Creamy walls were accented with hand-woven tapestries of various red and blue geometric designs. Small Persian rugs graced the floor by each bed, and a long runner ran down the middle of the room.
Cahri rose and closed the deep red drapes on the windows at the far end of the room. The large windows would allow for plenty of light during the day, but at night made her feel vulnerable and on display. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, much like one she’d seen in a museum in the United States once. Another door tucked in the corner must lead to the bathroom.
She pulled out one of her boxes and grabbed her brush. After undoing the braid, she pulled the brush through her hair. The process and the quiet soothed her headache. Tension from her co-workers yesterday and this morning had added to her stress. She sensed none of them knew what to say to her, or how to articulate their goodbyes. They chose to say nothing in lieu of saying the wrong thing. She understood, but it hurt.
Cahri re-braided her hair and placed a band around the end. After changing clothes, she climbed beneath the down comforter, which matched the color on the walls. She expected to be awakened when the others returned, but needed to lie down. She hadn’t slept well since this whole thing began, and she was tired, so very tired.
Closing her eyes, she searched her memory for something happy. The last trip she had taken to the States with her parents came to mind. No responsibilities, no death, no sorrow. Good times and lots of laughter.
When she opened her eyes again, the sun shone through the break in the curtains. She was surprised she hadn’t roused when her roommates came in. They still slept, and Stormy lay curled up beside her, purring in his dreams.
What would today be like? She usually planned her Saturdays — laundry, cleaning, the orphanage, and time with friends. No plan equaled boredom, and boredom frustrated her.
A new outfit lay on the chest at the foot of her bed, replacing the one she had taken off the night before. Navy blue with light blue thread. Attractive, but not for her. Not today. Too refined. Too normal. Too expected. She needed something which would shock, and express her current mood.
She ignored the navy set and retrieved the box filled with her things. She chose a pair of black jeans and a long black over-shirt. She brushed her hair, re-braided it, and pinned it up so she could put on her black fedora. After grabbing her notebook, she walked to the common room. A beautiful garden had caught her attention yesterday, and she moved toward the door leading to it. As she opened it, one of the servants rushed to her side and explained she was not yet allowed to go outside. Cahri stared at the girl in disbelief.
Not only was she here against her will, but she couldn't go outside either?
She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind, nodded to the servant, and stepped away. She tugged a chair close to a nearby window and contented herself to look at the beautiful garden, even though she could not sit among its flowers.
Day 1–
Slept better last night. Woke up at my normal time. Still not talking. Nothing to say.
How can all of these women accept this? It's so unfair. I don't want to be here. Where's God in all this? I hate it here. There's nothing to do. I can't even go outside in the garden. How absurd!
Last night I dreamed of Mom and Dad. We were all in the kitchen. Mom was fixing dinner, telling me about their latest convert. Dad read the paper. His feet propped up on the chair next to mine. When Mom was done with her story, I tickled his feet.
I miss them.
I feel so alone.
She heard a few of the others moving about, so she returned the chair to its place and went to her room.
Food didn’t appeal to her, so she ate little at breakfast. Cereal or oatmeal comprised her usual morning meal. She’d never had Sucuklu Yumurta because she didn’t like eggs, but she tasted the fried eggs with dried Turkish sausage, similar to Americ
an pastrami, anyway. Cahri was willing to try anything once, but she had to restrain herself so she didn’t spit the bite back out. Nibbling a piece of toast, she rose from her chair. She picked up her plate to put it away, but a servant took it from her hands, bowing just a bit. Cahri stepped back and almost tripped over the chair leg.
“Afedersiniz,” the servant girl murmured. Cahri nodded her acceptance of the apology and moved away.
What was she doing here? How would she spend her time until the classes started on Monday? Two days of nothing to do. She clenched her fists, fighting not to voice her frustration.
She sat on a cushion in the corner and watched the others. Her dad never understood her ability to sit and just watch people. She’d tried to describe it to him once, explaining she made up stuff about them in her head, like where they were going, who they were with, or if they were going to meet someone. Sometimes she'd imagined what kind of pet they would most resemble. Her dad had laughed, but still hadn’t understood.
Stormy found her and curled up in her lap. She scratched his ears. Her best friend and closest confidante. Gratitude swelled within her at not having to give him up. It didn’t take long for his white fur to dot her clothes.
Her attention returned to the women. Some were tall and curvaceous, others short and overweight, and everything in between. Their personalities seemed as diverse. The prince had a variety of women to choose from. No way would he choose her over one of them.
Did his interest lie in mere external beauty? Could he be so shallow? She doubted it, but how would he choose a wife in six months? It wasn’t much time.
“Oh, Stormy,” she whispered just for him. His fur tickled her nose, but she rubbed her face against him anyway. “Have you seen the prince? What does he look like? Is he as kind as Anaya says he is?”
“Mew.”
She laughed at him. He gave the answer he knew to give.
****
Sunday she woke, and prepared to spend the day much as she had on Saturday. She dressed in her own clothes again. May as well accent her differences. She had never wanted red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. Since she had been little, she’d wanted to look like her Middle-Eastern mother, instead of her Irish father. Her differences glared at her every time she peered in the mirror or into the faces of the other women. Even Anaya looked like them because, of course, she was one of them.
Day 2—
Bored. That describes me right now. Yesterday I watched people, which is good for a while, but gets tiring, since I watched the same women over and over, and I did it for most of the day. They're not that interesting. These women busy themselves watching TV, playing games, eating, and getting to know one another — laughing and telling stories. None seek me out. Nor do I approach them.
On the bright side, I managed to finish reading the book I've been trying to get to for months.
On the dark side, I finished the book. There's nothing for me to do today, except for the hour we are required to attend services at the palace chapel.
I can’t go to my church or see my friends.
No lunch out.
No chores.
No walking.
How am I supposed to stay fit here? My waistline is going to increase by inches by the time these six months are finished if I don't get some walking done.
Except for yesterday's eggs, the food has been good.
Stormy seems to like it here. Lots of people pay attention to him since he’s the only pet I’ve seen. I’ve noticed the servants give him a treat or two from the kitchen. He is taking full advantage of that.
She'd started writing and doodling after her parents died. Prayer took too much effort and had proved useless. Writing down her feelings and the events of her life as they happened helped her to overcome her grief and the isolation from family. She kept writing because it helped keep the loneliness away. Her journal had become her lifeline to sanity.
She closed the cover on her complaints and gazed around the room. A group of buffet tables covered in lime green linens filled the space closest to the kitchen. The spread of food included ekmek — a Turkish sourdough, a flaky cheese-filled pastry, butter, jam, olives, tomatoes, cheese, yogurt, cold bologna, boiled eggs — both hard and soft, juice, tea, and coffee. Her mouth salivated as she glanced over the options. Her mom had put out a feast similar to this every Saturday in the winter.
As she picked up a plate to prepare her meal, a large woman pushed her out of the way. The dish crashed to the floor, and Cahri landed beside it a split second later. She didn’t think anything except the plate was broken. Bruises would be evident tomorrow though.
A number of servants descended on the scene to clean up the shards of glass and check on her. Their kindness kept her temper in check. One of the men helped her up and handed her a clean plate. She fixed her plate and retreated to an uninhabited table in the corner where she picked at her food. Her appetite had fled as fast as she had hit the floor.
With the breakfast fiasco finished, she resumed her examination of the natives, as she referred to the other women. She soon discovered most of the tall and curvaceous women knew their own beauty and its effect. Rude and demanding, they expected those around them to jump at their every command. Most of the less attractive women obliged the former and almost always did as asked. With a few exceptions.
“Bring me coffee,” demanded Neylan, the large woman who had pushed Cahri at breakfast. The servants scurried to fulfill her commands. Moments later her voice could be heard again. “Not hot coffee. It’s hot enough in here to fry an egg as it is. Never mind, bring me ayran instead. It will refresh me.”
“I’m sorry, but we do not have any made, nor the ingredients to do so.” The servant girl backed away as Neylan’s face changed to an unattractive mottled red.
“What do you have then?”
“We have kefir.”
“Kefir? This is abominable. I thought we were supposed to receive the best care, and all our needs would be met. I need something cool to drink. Bring me something, now!”
The servant clenched her hands behind her back, but her face remained stoic.
“I’ll see what I can find, miss.”
A different servant girl brought back a glass filled with water. Cahri smothered a chuckle. She distanced herself from the scene, afraid that if she didn’t, she would laugh out loud at the woman’s theatrics.
Another exception was a young woman, a girl almost. She couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen. Tall and slender, with few curves, her loveliness came from within. Cahri wanted to get to know her, but as yet hadn't decided when she would break her silence. Tomorrow? The next day? When this was over?
Chapter Seven
From the comfort of his office, Josiah observed the women through the video feed on his laptop. Many acted rude and some were downright nasty. He’d watched the incident at breakfast, horrified that someone could be so unkind.
What had Ashura been thinking when he'd selected some of these women? The servants reported which ones grumbled about the meals, service, or whatever else fell short of their ever increasing expectations. After watching them for the last two days, he picked a few to eliminate first, but couldn't dismiss too many of them too soon or his father would be displeased at his effort to get to know them. In this case, it appeared as though he would be choosing the best from the worst.
Why must he have a wife now? Why must it be this way?
The one Anaya had pointed out to him just sat in the corner watching the others. She spoke to no one, nor did anyone speak to her. He couldn't see her well because of her distance from the camera. There appeared to be an animal in her lap. As he watched, she picked it up. Ah, a white cat. She flipped it over and rubbed its belly. With a smile, he imagined the purrs the cat would emit.
He wanted to do an inspection right away to get a closer look at her. Her skin appeared paler than the others, and she always wore a hat, but then Anaya had told him that much, and yet remained silent about anyt
hing else, which was unusual. On most occasions, his sister talked to him non-stop about anything and everything. Why did she choose now to be quiet when he needed her wisdom the most?
Anaya called her Cahri. The name appealed to him, though it was not one he’d heard used before. She had a certain grace about her when she walked that intrigued him. More of a glide than anything else, whereas some of the others stomped wherever they went.
She didn't wear the outfits provided for her, but instead chose to wear her own clothes. All black today. A frown creased his eyebrows, replacing the smile. Rebelling against authority or showing independence?
One other, a young woman, caught his eye. She didn't speak often, but when she did whomever she spoke to walked away with a smile. He knew nothing about her, not even her name, but he thought he might like to get to know her as well.
****
Monday, Cahri, again, chose not to wear the clothes laid out for her — a black set with silver embroidery — but put on a pair of blue jeans and red shirt. Today would begin what Anaya called preparation classes.
Anaya had spoken to her throughout the weekend, but never in such a way as to require more than a nod or shake of Cahri's head. The servant seemed to understand Cahri needed to deal with the situation in her own way.
Ashura, the steward, entered a few minutes after breakfast had been cleared. “Ladies, please be quiet and be seated.”
The others quieted and found a seat.
“You all know why you’re here. Many years have passed since the last Bridal March, so I know many of you are curious about what will be happening in the next few months.”
Murmurings filled the room as the others agreed amongst themselves.
“The majority of your classes and all of your meals will be held in this room. Your free time will also be spent here, in the garden through those doors…” He pointed to the doors Cahri had tried to exit Saturday, “or in your rooms. In a moment I will take you on a tour of the palace and explain to you the areas which will be off-limits.”
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