"She is no better,” Susan said shortly, her chin raised to an insolent degree, too tired to elaborate. She no longer cowered before the Bey, though she had not completely lost her fear of him.
"In fact,” she continued to the man who had come this day, as he had every day of the last two weeks without fail, to check on the patient, “she's burning up with fever. If we do not find a way to cool her, she will die."
The Bey nodded. “The physician tells me he has reached the limits of his knowledge and does not know what else to do for her."
A sound from Susan had him pausing, yet when he looked at her, she had lowered her head, fighting for composure, not wanting him to see the tears that threatened so readily these last few days. The girl looked worn, almost plain in her fatigue. She, with the other's help, had been caring for her cousin, yet despite all she did for her, the fever Merridyth had contracted continued to weaken her. Susan now feared Merridyth was succumbing to it.
The Bey's impassive face rarely revealed his thoughts or reactions, so Susan was startled to see his uneasy expression as he stood looking down at Merridyth. It shocked her to realize the man was worried. A thoughtful frown creased her brow as she pondered this; why would an important man such as the Bey be so concerned about the life of one slave?
Unaware she had spoken her thoughts aloud, Susan was more surprised when the Bey answered, “As I have stated before, all three of you were destined for the Sultan's palace. It was from the great Peacock Throne, itself, that the order came forth to acquire a fair English maiden; pure, learned and beauteous. This one's spirit—” he indicated Merri, “—was such that she could have graced the royal harem as its finest jewel. But now...” The Bey sadly shook his head, turning both hands upward in a throw-away gesture.
"Do not be speaking of her, then, as if she was already dead.” Seana delivered her angry demand in a heavy Scottish brogue, her correct English diction torn away by her agitation. She placed a protective hand on the invalid's blanket-covered shoulder. “I am appalled that everyone seems to have just given up on Merri's survival. Well, everyone except Shirka."
Seana recalled how the hulking Black slave had braved the turbulent swells to rescue the drowning girl, and shivered anew as memory caused the frightful scenes to flash before her again.
Merri and Shirka had both very nearly been swept away before a boat had been readied and lowered to retrieve the bedraggled pair. Everyone had marveled that Shirka, knowing he could not swim, had hurled himself into the sea, desperate to save Merridyth's life. It seemed, now, that his heroic act was going to be rendered futile. He sat silently beside Merri's bed, one of his large hands covering the pale, fragile hand resting limply atop the covers, the struts and webbing of bones and ligaments visible through the paper-thin flesh. His eyes dumbly pleaded with the unconscious girl to return, as his lips moved soundlessly in prayer to whatever God he petitioned.
Seana moved her palm from Merri's shoulder to her forehead in an automatic checking of her patient's well-being. The heat radiating from the wraith-like body was frightening.
"She's too hot,” she cried. “We have ta do something fast, or we're going ta lose her."
One of the serving women timidly suggested, “Why not shear the hair to allow the brain to breathe?"
Susan shook her head in negation. Tears of exhaustion seeped down her pale cheeks. Her voice dull with resignation, she quietly said, “I fear it is too late for that. If we cannot break Merridyth's fever immediately, she will d-die."
A tumult erupted at the door of the cabin, breaking into Susan's speech. An older woman, dressed in more layers of clothes than Susan had ever seen on one person, pushed her way through the crowd to the invalid's bed. Short and swarthy, the chubby woman had bright twinkling brown eyes set deep in a wrinkled face. She looked old enough to be the mother of the world. She proceeded to bustle about Merri; prying her lids open and checking her pupils, laying her hand against the erratically heaving chest to monitor her breathing patterns, and holding a limp wrist to feel the thump of a weak pulse.
Straightening, she placed hands on hips and twirled about to face the Bey. Making sharp tsking noises with her tongue, and shaking her head, she addressed Emil in an ancient-sounding language.
Susan imagined she asked why she had not been called, demanded to know—in irate tones—how the Bey could have been so unthinking as to let this situation get so totally out of hand? Emil, accustomed to being taken so to task, stood there momentarily mute, his face mottled with fury and chagrin.
Susan and Seana were speechless as they witnessed this turn of events. It was obvious to them, despite the language barrier, that this little woman was berating the Bey. Never had they seen this man, who exercised such power over them all, give way before another as he did to this miniature whirlwind.
Grandly ignoring both the Bey's sputtering, and the girls’ incredulous looks, the old crone clapped her hands sharply, gesturing towards the sickbed, and rapping out numerous instructions. The servants scurried to obey. Gently, yet firmly moving Seana and Susan out of their way, they began removing the blankets from Merri's small form.
The two young ladies protested this action vehemently; frightened Merri would take a chill. They fought with the women, attempting to wrest the blankets from them until Shirka took them by the arms and forcefully escorted them out of the cabin.
"Trust Adina,” he advised softly. “We should have sent for her earlier, despite the Bey's objections. She is a great witch, knowing many things, both to heal or kill. The effendi is in good hands now.” His voice rang with the faith he had in this Adina woman.
"But Shirka,” Susan wailed, still attempting to free her arm from his grip as she was towed along behind him, “they are uncovering Merri. If they allow her to get chilled she might die—"
Her words trailed off in a whimper as Shirka stopped and faced her squarely. “Little effendi, is she not now leaning over the abyss?” His eyes, filled with compassion, nevertheless searched Susan's relentlessly, demanding she face the truth.
Susan bent her head. Her pale wheat-colored hair swung forward to obscure her face, hiding the quivering of her chin as she acknowledged the inescapable fact of Merri's imminent death. Knowing that she had done all in her power, and realizing Merri's fate rested out of her hands, Susan finally consented to leave.
"If we cannot remain with Merri, only give us someplace where we might pray for her in peace and solitude,” Seana requested meekly.
Shirka nodded and silently led them to another small cabin.
Some time later, the girls were jarred from their prayers be a growing tumult coming from the direction of Merridyth's cabin. Sticking their heads out the door to inspect this mystery, both ladies were shocked to see two burly men carrying a blanket-wrapped body towards the curved port-side wall of the ship.
"Stop. What are you doing?” A horrified cry left Susan's throat, and she hurled herself at the blanket, convinced Merri had died. She was certain the men planned to callously toss her cousin's unshriven body overboard, and she became an enraged demonness, tearing at their clothes, their arms—any portion of their bodies that came within her frenzied reach.
A sharp slap to her face, and a loud burst of words caused Susan to jump in confusion. The witch stood before her, a stream of unintelligible invectives pouring from her mouth. Apparently realizing she was not getting through to the bereaved girl, Adina heaved an exasperated sigh and knocked the English lady out of the way, high-handedly gesturing for the men to continue with their task.
Susan sank to her knees, tears pouring down her face, her chest tight, heaving with painful, racking sobs. She was so alone now ... so terribly frightened. How could Merri, who had been so daring, so full of life and joy, die so pitifully far from home and family? Would the same happen to her? Would anyone ever know or care what had become of her? At that moment, Susan wanted to die also, and she cried harder at the thought that she could never do as Merri had done. She was too coward
ly to throw herself into the depths of a roaring sea.
"Stop this.” she sharply admonished herself. “Now is not the time to dwell on my shortcomings. I should be thinking about Merridyth."
Resolutely wiping her eyes with shaking fingers, she forced herself to her feet, refusing Seana's tearful offer of aid. She determined to pray and hold her own services for her cousin as the men lowered Merri's body into the waves. Her cousin would have this last vigil.
Folding her hands in prayer, Susan sank to her knees and bowed her head. Tears clogging her heart, she thought of all the things she and her cousin had planned to do together ... things that would now never be done. So lost was she in her mourning, it took considerable shaking by Seana to get her attention.
"Susan. Susan, look."
Something, perhaps the dawning joy in Seana's voice, made Susan pause, her eyes focusing anew upon what she was seeing. The men had lowered the blanket into the waves, but now they were lifting it out again. They dunked it once more, and again, they lifted it out. This strange ritual continued until Adina signaled the men to cease. Leaning into the blankets, she placed a small seeking hand inside. She seemed pleased with what she found, for a slight smile appeared on her wrinkled face. Straightening up, she found the Bey's eyes and slowly nodded. Then she turned back into a whirlwind, and with a flurry of words and motions, indicated to the men they were to return with their burden to the aft cabin.
Susan and Seana followed dazedly behind, just now coming to the realization that Merri still lived.. Clutching each other tightly, laughing even while the tears streamed in rivulets down the creases furrowed by smiles, the two women gave thanks that Merri was still with them. Susan even felt a sense of gratitude towards the old crone whose outlandish methods seemed to have worked where hers had not. Hearing a harsh, choking sound behind them, they turned to find Shirka on his knees, his face buried in his hands as his massive shoulders shook under the force of his emotions. Tenderly, they wrapped their arms about him, gathering him in. Together, they rejoiced.
Merri gradually regained her health. Like their journey, it was a long, slow process. She was forced to take each new step cautiously, a tip-toe at a time. And as her normal vigor returned, she began to rebel against the cotton-wool wrappings; deeply irritated by the restrictions.
Seana and Susan were forbidden to visit, and Merri worried over this until the Bey calmly informed her that the other two women had begun their lessons in Turkish manners and the protocols of the harem. A promised future visit with the recovering invalid was the incentive the Bey was dangling before them, to spur them on in their efforts.
The Bey's visit did little to reassure Merridyth as the one time Susan and Seana were allowed to see her, both girls were strangely quiet and reticent about the full scope of their training. The growing impression the others were hiding something from her caused Merri to chaff even more at the slow pace with which she healed.
There were some diversions. Every afternoon, Shirka faithfully arrived to carry her above-decks so she could have the benefit of fresh air. Also the Bey, who, because of her lingering weakness had excused her from the lessons the other girls were studying, occasionally came in the early evenings to engage her in a tournament of chess.
He professed himself pleasantly surprised at her skills claiming he enjoyed the challenge she presented him. Indeed, he seemed more joyous over her wins than his own.
One blustery afternoon weeks later, when fluffy clouds dotted a deeply blue sky, and the ship was running before the wind, its sails billowed and full, Shirka brought Merri on deck. She walked slowly, yet she walked. Unsteadily perhaps, listing a bit to port, yet she moved under her own steam.
Shirka hovered close to her, ready to lend support at the first sign of faltering and Merridyth, still tiring easily was not too proud to take advantage of his strong black arm to help her reach their destination.
Breathing hard, she leaned against the high side of the ship, gulping much-needed air. Lifting her head, she removed her scarf, baring her hair to the brisk breeze. With a small shake, she flung her head back, allowing the wind to snatch up her unruly locks, blowing them back from her flushed cheeks. The same strong wind whipped her skirts about her knees and molded her lightweight dress to her body. A body that still possessed some rounded curves, though her illness had carved away the excessive plumpness she had carried when kidnapped. Merri sighed. Not even illness seemed capaple of ridding her of those unwanted pounds.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift with the breeze. With the loss of Susan and Seana's company, she had grown increasingly introspective. They had been traveling for quite some time now, and Merri knew she would soon have to face the problems confronting her and her cousin. She felt deeply ashamed when she recalled her panicked flight and suicidal jump. By that cowardly act, she had betrayed her innermost self. Never, again, she vowed, would she take the easy way out—
"Look, effendi,” Shirka exclaimed from beside her. “There in the distance—That darker blue line ... do you see it?” The excitement in his voice acted as a lodestone, pulling Merri's gaze to his outstretched arm, along the path of his pointing finger.
"What is it, Shirka?"
"It is our destination. This time tomorrow we will be in Türkiye, your new home.” he promised.
Merridyth was very quiet. That distant blue line brought home to her the reality of her situation. The period of grace was over. This journey had been the calm before the storm, and she feared the coming storm would sweep away everything she had formerly been or known. She would not succumb tamely. Would not meekly place her body upon an alter of lust or sacrifice. She was not a lamb to be led docilely to the slaughter.
"It is not my home, Shirka. Nor will it ever be. I cannot share the joy of your homecoming. Indeed, I wish I had as long a journey before us as we have just finished, for I want, above all things, to return to my own country ... my own home."
Shirka's sharp gaze probed Merridyth's countenance. “My words have given you hüzün, and I did not wish that,” he murmured unhappily. “I have been a slave for a long time, still I recall those beginnings. I did not always call Türkiye my home. In my youth, I lived free in the wide, fertile valley of Lake Chad. Then Moslem slavers came, and to save his own position, the chieftain of my village sold my family and many other villagers into their hands. It took long years and harsh treatments; many beatings, and much heartache before I accepted my fate.” Shirka turned away from the listening woman, uncomfortable with how this conversation exposed his vulnerable, sometimes still rebellious soul, yet felt strongly the need to warn her—
"I do not wish for you to suffer as I did, little effendi. Make peace with your destiny,” he urged, eyes pleading. “Only in this way can you find happiness in this new life."
Merri absently soothed Shirka's linen-clad arm, her eyes steady on the approaching shore. It appeared distressingly near. “How earnest you sound, my friend,” she said. “I do thank you for your concern, but I am afraid that submitting is not in my nature."
Shirka desperately wished he could approach the Bey on her behalf, but he dared not.. “If I could help you—,” he trailed off, uncertain how to finish, what to say.
"It is all right. Truly,” Merri assured him. “I only wish you could be with me where I am to go,” she continued softly, almost to herself. “I have a feeling I will be needing a friend...” her voice trailed off.
"I am your friend..” Shirka reassured her. “If you are ever in need, send for me. There are ways around the harem guards,” he whispered, glancing quickly around to make certain their conversation could not be overheard. “In a few weeks, I will contact you. My promise."
The sound of footsteps interrupted them. They saw Susan and Seana coming towards them accompanied by two burly guards. Merri looked about for any sign of the Bey. Satisfied that he was not lurking about, she went to meet her cousin and her friend, catching the girls each by an arm. “That dark blue line is Turkey, my friends,
” she announced.
Seana blanched. “What awaits us there?” she wondered fearfully. “I believe the uncertainty is worse than any actuality."
"I agree, Seana,” Susan said, her voice tight with anxiety, working at keeping her terror from leaking through to the others. “What will become of us?"
Merri hugged each girl, herself shaking with dread. “I am frightened, also,” she admitted quietly, “But we are together. We must draw our courage from each other, face whatever comes and overcome it. We will survive. I promise you both ... we will survive, and live to have our revenge.."
Shirka gazed sadly down at his charge, marveling at how quickly his emotions had become entangled with this vibrant woman. Knowing the cruelties of the Ottoman system, he dreaded the future that awaited his little lady as a member of the royal harem. The Ottoman Empire had been in the business of slavery for countless years. She would find herself submitting, and submitting, and submitting. Or she would be broken ... perhaps beyond repair...
Chapter Fourteen
My dear son,
I am glad to be on good terms with you again. There are many things I have been dying to tell you. First, as you suggested, I told Arnold I should like to wait on getting married. He is not happy about it, but will abide by my decision. Then a bit of gossip—Do you recall the daughter of the old Earl of Fellhaven? The one married to that St. John-Smythe person? Well, she has disappeared, along with her last three children. What with the sudden disappearance of her eldest daughter, Merridyth, four months ago, people are beginning to suspect foul play.. St. John-Smythe denies any knowledge of his family's whereabouts and he appears frantic enough to be telling the truth. I never liked the man. Still, I cannot believe even he would do away with his entire family. Bye-the-bye, a friend of yours visited asking to be remembered to you. Ferdie (I must remember to call him by his rightful title, as he is now the Marquis of Donchester.) is convinced you are innocent and was angry enough to give Lord Worth the cut direct after hearing him malign your name. We had tea, and he told me an amusing tale of Worth being set down sharply by the eldest St. John-Smythe gel ... in Greek, no less.. Worth had decided to try his suit there just before she disappeared (she is a great heiress), but the girl was having none of it. Good for her, I say.. Oh, I almost forgot—. Jason tells me you have withdrawn none of the funds we placed for you with the bank of Italy. If there is a problem, please let us know.. I would hate to think you were in need and could not access your own money.. We love you, and long for your return..—Mum.
Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets Page 11