Chosen

by Lisa T. Bergren

  She listened for several seconds, then said, “Fine. I understand your concern. Tell Papa I won’t do anything he wouldn’t do. And leave me alone until I call you.”

  She hung up the phone, sighed, and turned to face Ridge. “Look, let me say that I overreacted yesterday. I know you were just doing your job.”

  Ridge shook his head. “I’m sorry it had to involve you … and that I obviously got you into hot water with Sam.”

  Alexana laughed. “He’s just overdoing the big brother bit. He’ll get over it.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” Ridge ventured.

  She eyed him warily. “About what?”

  “I’d guess that he’s attempting to talk you out of excavating the Stables.”

  “If he were in his right mind, he wouldn’t even try,” Alexana said stiffly. She tried to sound confident. “Everything will be fine. The city just needs some time to cool off.”

  “Ever since this peace process began, the city—and the entire West Bank—has gotten hotter and hotter,” Ridge said. “Not cooler. I’ll admit, emotions are at their peak because of Easter and Passover and Ramadan, but it’s more than that. Gaza City is a mess. There was another shooting this morning, and the Palestinian police arrested hundreds, trying to regain some control.”

  “Why aren’t you there on assignment?” Alexana asked, placing the flowers in a vase of water.

  “I got a few days off,” Ridge said casually.

  “A few days off?” Alexana looked at him in surprise. “I thought you never got a break.”

  Ridge shrugged. “I requested a few days off. Officially, I’m looking for feature pieces. But really, I just wanted to see if I could whisk you away to the Galilee and Masada.”

  Now Alexana really was dumbfounded. “I thought you had to request time off a week in advance.”

  Ridge smiled smugly. “Maybe I did.”

  “What?” Alexana protested. “And you didn’t give me advance warning?”

  “I thought if I gave you too much time, you’d have second thoughts.”

  She smiled and then looked at him skeptically. “How long would we be gone?”

  “Three days.”

  “And where would we stay?”

  “I’ve booked rooms at the Peniel Guesthouse on the Sea of Galilee and at that resort on the Dead Sea.”

  Alexana laughed. After all she’d been through, an escape from the city sounded wonderful. And the opportunity to get to know Ridge better was irresistible. “You booked two separate rooms?” she queried.

  He pretended to be shocked and hurt at her insinuation. “I may be new to the faith, but I am an honorable man, Alexana.”

  “Of course,” she said, sounding as if she’d never doubted him, then continued, “Two separate rooms in each hotel?”

  He sighed. “Two. Scout’s honor. And I’ll even submit the bill to CNN if you’ll be my guide and help me find some good feature stories.”

  She pretended to consider his offer. “Hmm. That’ll cost you meals, too.”

  “Done,” Ridge said, looking pleased. “When can we go? My bags are packed.”

  She threw him a merry grin. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Ridge and Alexana drove east with the top down on Ridge’s company Jeep. Alexana leaned back in the seat, loving the feel of the wind in her hair. It was too noisy for discussion; they simply enjoyed being together.

  Half an hour into their journey they turned north on Highway 90, and Alexana shouted out bits of trivia as they passed several sites. Most notable was the Jordanian border to their right, marked by a tall barbed-wire fence patrolled by soldiers. On the Israeli side, the ground was covered by a twenty-foot strip of groomed sand. “So they can tell if anyone has crossed!” she yelled in explanation.

  They passed groves of luxurious palm trees, bright green against the red-gold desert rock. Ridge stopped at a roadside stand to purchase some of their dates, and Alexana laughed when he told her how much he had paid for the ripe, brown, sweet fruit. “Tourist,” she taunted.

  “Next time, I’ll send you to negotiate prices,” he threatened, pulling back onto the road.

  “It’d save CNN thousands,” she replied.

  As they passed Jericho, Alexana informed Ridge that it was the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. “Seven thousand years!” she shouted. “Check out the monastery on the Mount of Temptation—there’s a rock there with two indentations on it. The Greek Orthodox monks say that’s where Jesus knelt for forty days and nights during his battle with Satan.”

  Ridge nodded, obviously waiting to see where Alexana was headed with this information.

  “Maybe you could do a story on the remote monasteries of the Middle East,” she suggested. “There’s Saint Catherine’s on Mount Sinai, this one, and another remarkable one called Saint George’s in the Wadi Kelt, a valley outside of Jerusalem.”

  He smiled at Alexana warmly, presumably contemplating the story idea and then the woman behind it.

  Alexana looked away, suddenly shy in the face of what seemed to be his growing infatuation. Is it infatuation, Lord? Or love? Please show me the truth of it soon, she prayed silently as the Jeep ate up the smooth highway.

  Half an hour later, they reached the fertile valley that surrounded Lake Gennesaret, more commonly known as the Sea of Galilee. Rolling green hills banked the massive lake; nearby, cooperative farms, or kibbutzim, blanketed the valley floor. Carefully irrigated crops brought the arid ground to life.

  She directed Ridge to turn left at a sign written in Hebrew, and they quickly wound their way through a prospering kibbutz and up to the top of a western cliff. He pulled to a halt, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

  “Come on,” she said, laughing. “I didn’t show you up here just so we could park.”

  “Too bad,” he quipped as they hopped out of the Jeep.

  “You have to see this view,” she said, ignoring his comment with a smile.

  “Right.” He followed Alexana up a narrow dirt path to the hill’s crest, casting furtive glances at her as they climbed.

  When they reached the top, he whistled and said admiringly, “It’s gorgeous.” The water was met by several valleys, each filled with farms laid out neatly in squares of various shades of green. The lake lapped at the bases of the graceful hills, its color complementing that of the fresh spring grass.

  Alexana drew in a deep breath. “It’s one of my favorite views in Israel,” she said. “And it’s such a perfect day!”

  She was pointing out a landmark to him, not watching her step, when she tripped, then twisted and tried to correct her balance. Ridge was right there to catch her. She laughed sheepishly as he took her in his arms and held her firmly.

  “Ridge,” she began, placing her hands on his chest.

  “Alexana,” he answered, his voice low.

  She tried again. “Ridge …”

  He silenced her halfhearted complaint with a kiss.

  Surprised, she pulled back, breaking their embrace, but then to his surprise leaned forward and returned the kiss. He grinned, then picked her up, twirling her around as she shrieked. “Ridge! Ridge! Put me down!”

  He did as he was told but kept on grinning. “I finally got a kiss from the great archaeologist Alexana Roarke!” he shouted to the valley below. He turned back to her and looked tenderly into her eyes. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

  “Well, you’re lucky you waited until now, mister,” she threatened, pointing one finger at his chest. “Because I wasn’t ready.”

  “What made the difference?” he asked, sobering.

  “Well, for one, I see you in a whole new light now that you’ve become a Christian. Besides that, I just know you better. I don’t make a habit of kissing men I don’t know.”

  Drawing her close, he looked beyond her to the view of the sea. “So this is the Galilee?”

  “Yes. Across that valley, on the northeast shore of the lake, is Tabgha, where it is said tha
t Jesus fed five thousand with five loaves of bread and two fish. The little fishing village you can just make out beyond Tabgha is Capernaum, where Jesus centered his Galilean ministry. That was where he healed the paralytic who was lowered down to him through the roof by his friends.”

  She pointed down below them. “Those caves were used by Jewish zealots. They hid there, trying to escape the Romans who sought to kill them. Eventually, they were found and, by rappelling down on ropes, the soldiers murdered them all.”

  “Like at Masada,” Ridge said soberly. “How many famous massacre sites are we going to see?”

  “Israel is full of them,” Alexana admitted. “You’ll see Gamla tomorrow. It is beautiful now, two thousand years after the carnage. I think it’s important to remember where people lived and died, don’t you? I mean, the forces that shaped their lives were powerful: the passion of faith, the fervor of government, the blind hatred of a people at large. By exploring how others expressed those feelings, I feel as if I understand myself better, and my world.”

  “That’s what makes you a great archaeologist,” he murmured.

  “What?” Alexana pulled back and looked at him curiously.

  “It’s what makes you a great archaeologist,” he repeated. “You fall so deeply into the lives of the people you research, you’re able to really know them.”

  He looked out at the valley below. “I’ve spent the majority of my professional career trying to stay emotionally detached,” he said. “I visit a subject long enough to understand and report, but briefly enough so as not to become too involved. That way, I don’t sway the report. But maybe the journalistic code is a mistake. How can I report how things truly are if I don’t let myself become involved, like you would if you were excavating one of those caves?”

  “The trick would be to represent both sides equally,” Alexana said. “Undoubtedly, you’d sway one way or the other, as you said.”

  Ridge shook his head. “But don’t you see? I’ve spent more than ten years totally absorbed in my work, scratching the surface of the deepest passions of the world. Now suddenly it’s as if my eyes are open wider. There’s more meaning in everything around me. I want to know what drives people. I want to understand. To feel.”

  He reached out and held Alexana’s face tenderly between his palms. “Don’t you see, Alexana Roarke? You’ve led me to a Savior who loves me. And in doing so, you’ve opened my heart to love, true love.” He paused, searching her eyes with an intense gaze. “You’ve also opened my heart to someone else.”

  “Who?” she whispered, knowing the answer.

  “You,” he said, bending to kiss her.

  This time her lips awaited his.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alexana and Ridge explored the west side of the huge lake all afternoon, stopping at the excavation of Peter’s house in Capernaum and at an ancient synagogue in Chorazin. Their evening was spent in the gardens outside a chapel on a hillside north of the lake, built to commemorate Jesus’ Beatitudes. From a seat in the surrounding rose gardens, they enjoyed a spectacular sunset on the water as Ridge read Christ’s words.

  He opened Alexana’s pocket Bible to where she directed and read aloud to her. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”

  Dusk quickly lapsed into night as the couple talked about themselves, their lives, their faith, and Israel. Finally, at two in the morning, they turned in for the night. Separating in the hallway at their guesthouse, feeling as if parting physically hurt in some way, they said good night with a brief, tender kiss.

  APRIL 9

  At eight-thirty sharp, Alexana heard a quiet knock at her door.

  “Ridge?” she called out sleepily.

  “Yes,” he answered eagerly, his voice muffled. “Good morning!”

  “It’s not morning until ten!” she protested. “Come back later!”

  “No way. You’re on CNN time, lady. I’ll see you at breakfast in thirty minutes.”

  Alexana groaned mournfully, but did as she was told.

  A short time later, Alexana met him in the spacious living room, fresh and pretty in a bright yellow blouse, white shorts, and Keds.

  “You look like you’ve been primping for hours,” he said appreciatively, rising out of a wing-backed chair to greet her. “Not like you were rudely awakened half an hour ago.”

  It was a gorgeous spring day, and the sun streamed through the plate-glass windows behind him and onto the wood floors below.

  She smiled shyly. “Ready for breakfast, you workaholic?”

  “After you.”

  They dined on freshly baked scones with homemade jam, scrambled eggs, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, a specialty of the guesthouse. Alexana ate as though she hadn’t eaten for days, suddenly aware that Ridge had distracted her from her appetite.

  Ridge grinned over his coffee cup as she took a second helping of eggs. She caught his gleeful glance and immediately felt defensive. “What? We have a big day ahead of us.”

  “Right,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s smart to eat a big breakfast.”

  She took a spoonful of eggs and poised the ammunition to flick it at him.

  He raised his hands. “Truce! Truce!”

  “Eat another scone,” she said firmly.

  “Taskmaster,” he teased. They smiled, each enjoying their camaraderie and silently mulling over the relationship they were building as they flirted across the table.

  Their morning was spent in the Golan Heights at Gamla, just beyond the rusty tank and jeep wreckage that remained from the war of 1967. All around the verdant hillside, wildflowers sprouted in vast sheets of purple cosmos, yellow sweet peas, and red poppies.

  They left the black basalt stones that made up the remains of the Jewish stronghold and synagogue, and headed south.

  At a public beach on the Dead Sea, Ridge and Alexana stopped and changed into swimsuits in the public rest rooms. “Be very careful not to get the water in your eyes and mouth,” she warned as they walked across the beach. “At eleven times the saline of normal salt water, it’ll sting like everything if you do.”

  “Gotcha. No water fights.”

  Alexana looked at him with alarm. “Definitely no water fights.”

  Holding hands, they waded into the dense salt water. They laughed as their feet left bottom, yet they stayed effortlessly afloat. Ridge leaned back and kicked his feet up, laughing harder than he had in years. “Look!” he called, placing his hands behind his head. “It’s like I’m in an inner tube on the river! Except there’s no inner tube!”

  She giggled.

  Ridge laughed so hard he lost his balance and flipped over, inadvertently splashing water in his eyes and hers, too. Both blinked as they were temporarily blinded by the stinging liquid.

  “Ridge?” she called out.

  “Alexana! I can’t see you!”

  “I can’t see you either!” Alexana said, helpless as she lapsed into fits of giggles. “Ridge! Come here! Come grab my hand!”

  He followed the sound of her voice, like a child playing a game of Marco Polo.

  “Ridge?” she called again, worry creeping into her voice when he did not respond. Though there were few ways to drown when she was so buoyant, the lack of sight unnerved her. “Ridge!”

  Suddenly he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her backward. She shrieked and splashed, but he just laughed and picked her up in his arms. “I’m taking my damsel in distress ashore,” he said.

  “Great,” she said, relaxing a bit. “But my hero is as blind as a bat.”

  “That’s true,” he admitted, releasing her in the shallow waters. “Perhaps we can stand for a minute while we wait for our eyes to clear. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel more secure.”

  Ten minutes later their vision was back to normal. They waded out of the water and immediately showered under
spouts of cold, fresh water, rinsing off the stinging salt that coated their bodies.

  From the Dead Sea they drove south to Masada. In the face of desert heat without a hint of breeze, they elected to ride the tram to the top of the mountain butte, rather than climb the famous “snake trail.” Alexana pointed down to the path as they sailed past, high above. “There’s another good feature story for you,” she said.

  “What’s that?” he asked, searching the steep hillside below.

  “The Israeli soldiers climb that path each year in a parade of lights, commemorating the deaths of those Jews who held out on Masada against the Romans.”

  “That’d be a sight to see,” Ridge said.

  “It’s very dramatic,” she mused.

  At the top they entered the remains of what was once Herod’s winter palace and later a Jewish fortress and compound. After three years spent building a ramp to reach the Jews, the Romans found, once inside, that there was no one to capture; after surviving the long siege, the Jews had cast lots and killed each other with knives, rather than surrendering to the Romans.

  “Their defiance is legendary,” Alexana said. “It inspired the motto you see in graffiti throughout Israel: ‘Masada shall not fall again.’ ”

  Together, they explored the giant underground cisterns that had supplied the Jews with water over the years, the complex series of houses that were built to accommodate Jewish lifestyles, and the remains of the Herodian palace, steam baths, and beautiful mosaic floors and columns.

  “It’s astounding,” Ridge said. “To think of them all here. Herod, at one time. Refugees, at another. Conquerors with no captives later. Coming from a country that’s only two hundred years old, that much history is overwhelming.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Alexana said with a grin. Her hair had dried slicked-back after her seaside shower, emphasizing her big blue eyes.

  Ridge took a deep breath. “Thanks for letting me be a part of your world.” He pulled her to a stop by a Masada fortress wall bordering the Dead Sea, then put his arm around her and looked out toward the blue-green waters.