by Sarah Monzon
Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to tell them Karim had made me promise not to try to convert him. Good thing that was up to the convicting of the Holy Spirit anyway.
“There are reasons why God tells us not to marry unbelievers. Look at all the times in the Old Testament when kings married princesses from far-off lands who worshiped other gods. Nothing good ever came of it.” Dad placed his large hand against the base of my head. “Marriage is hard enough without starting off not sharing the same core beliefs.”
I swallowed hard, not sure I’d ever convince them with any argument or justification. I turned to look my dad in the eye. “Dad, you know why I’m doing this.”
“I’m not going to sit here and allow you to make a sacrifice of yourself. You can’t take this situation into your own hands.” He gave me a pointed look. “You have to trust God to take care of it.”
I nodded. “I am. But what if His way to take care of it is through me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about Esther. Hosea. Sometimes God does work in mysterious ways that don’t always make sense to us at the moment.”
He massaged his forehead. Shook his head. “I don’t know, Hannah. I still don’t like it.”
Yeah. I got that. I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced myself.
“Have you thought about what your life as a sheikh’s wife will be like?” Mom asked. “You’ve never really liked being the center of attention, but if you marry Karim, everyone will be watching you, measuring you. Maybe even judging. That’s a lot of pressure, honey.” She took my hand. “Expectations will be placed on you. You won’t be able to be as free as you have been.”
All my life people had watched me because I was different. It had been hard living under that magnifying glass. Trying to be the best I could so no one would judge my parents. So no one would have any more reason to hate Americans or despise Christianity. Most of the time I felt as if I didn’t measure up. Would the scrutiny increase as Karim’s wife?
I swallowed hard. Would I be able to stand straight under the critical scrutiny?
“What about children?” Mom’s eyes squeezed shut, and her forehead lay in folds.
I wasn’t sure if my news was what had her in so much pain or if it was her body healing.
Probably wouldn’t be an appropriate time to joke right then. Even if I wanted to lighten the mood with a tease about her second internal clock not needing to worry anymore. “What about them?”
“Are you planning on having any?”
I looked down at my hands. “He needs an heir, yes.”
“So it is to be a real marriage?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
My head jerked up to look at my mom. Her face seemed more relaxed than it had moments ago. I knew my mom wanted grandchildren, but I hadn’t thought that would be what would set her mind at ease about the whole thing. If only the exact opposite weren’t true for me. Even with Karim’s lesson, I was still a jumble of nerves and insecurities.
“Hannah?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“I don’t think this is a good idea, and I wish you wouldn’t do it.”
Okay, so she hadn’t changed her mind.
“But raise your kids to know God. Though they will be the sheikh’s sons and daughters, never let them forget Whose heir they really are.”
* * *
Karim
Nervousness was not an emotion with which I was well acquainted. When I told people to go, they went. If I told them to stay, they stayed. It wasn’t haughtiness or pride—it was my position and the respect of my clan. Not often did I have to seek permission for something, and even less often did I need to worry about the outcome.
But my mouth grew dry as I made my way to the Pratt tent, and I found myself wiping my palms on the side of my white thawb. By now Hannah would have told her parents of our plan, but I’d seen the doubt in her eyes as to whether Ethan and Elizabeth would be happy with the news. Pride pricked a bit at that. Most families would be overjoyed to have the sheikh offer to marry their daughter. Not only did I plan on protecting them, but I had a nice dowry to bestow as well. A man of morals, I would never lay a violent hand on my wife and had no desire to seek out other women.
Why should they not wish to give Hannah to me?
Those reassurances did nothing to settle the churning in my belly. I felt like a boy being sent to my father for correction after an act of disobedience. I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed my legs forward, my gaze catching a lone man’s form on the far side of the tent. I took a deep breath, thankful to have this conversation in private, as was right.
Head bare, Ethan’s trimmed hair shone in the late-afternoon sun. Darker than his daughter’s, it was as if the golden strands were woven through instead of coins that had been melted down and somehow transformed into cascading locks, like Hannah’s.
“Salam, Karim.”
Ethan hadn’t turned, but he’d sensed my presence or heard my footsteps. Maybe a little of both. Whether he’d picked up the skills from his years dwelling among the Bedouin or it was just something innately held within him, I didn’t know. Either way, I respected him, and maybe even marveled a little because of it.
I inclined my head toward him, showing my respect as his position as Hannah’s father and my elder. “Wa Alaikum Assalam wa Rahmutullah.”
The Salam greeting was important to our religion, commanded by Allah since the time of Adam and required by the holy Qur’an. That Ethan and his family used the greeting, as well as taking upon themselves other customs such as our modesty of dress and decorum, bespoke their character. Despite our difference in religious viewpoints, we respected one another.
Hopefully, that mutual regard would be enough for Ethan to hear me out in regard to joining our families.
I took the last few steps to stand beside him, weighing my options of starting the conversation or allowing the older man to take the lead.
“You are a good man, Karim.”
It was a compliment, but my shoulders tensed as I waited for the second part to land on me.
“I’ve watched you grow up. Seen you stretch and grow as you filled your father’s shoes and took on the load that other young men would buckle under. Watched through the years your kindness and consideration toward my daughter.”
I opened my mouth to respond. To assure him that kindness would not waver and that I hoped the consideration would deepen into something even more. But before my lips formed around the words, he spoke again.
“Though I’ve seen the intelligence of your actions in the past, this is a bad idea.” He did turn to me then. Let his gaze be the punctuation to his conclusion.
“I disagree. Respectfully.” I bowed slightly at the waist, showing my deference to his years of wisdom. “All things considered, this is the best course of action.”
“For whom?”
Did he believe my actions selfish? I admit that I would benefit, but above all I wanted to marry Hannah for her safety. For Ethan’s and his wife’s. “For all of us.”
“Fear is not a solid foundation for a marriage.”
My brows rose, ire beginning a slow simmer within me. No man desired his courage to be questioned. To be called afraid was a dishonor. Though I respected this man a great deal, he overstepped. “I am not afraid.”
“No?” He shook his head. “I am.”
I gaped at that, never imagining a man would confess such a thing.
“Fear is not a weakness. I’d even go so far as to say it is healthy to feel afraid. It can alert us to danger. Keep us safe. No, it’s only when we allow fear to shackle us that it becomes the hindrance it’s known to be. A wall between us and our trust in God.”
Denial licked my lips.
“Whether you embrace it or not, Karim, it is fear that has moved you to offer for my daughter. Not fear for yourself but for my family.” Ethan’s eyes softened around the edges. “That is an honorable and noble thing.”
“Then it is settled.” Perhaps I was being a bit forceful, my words ringing with finality. This was the right thing, and if I had to push the man, I would.
Pain etched across his forehead, and he pressed his lips tight. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed emotion like a thick slice of dry bread.
“Will you…” He rubbed at the lines creasing above his eyes, then turned those pleading orbs on me. “Will you wait…until there is love between you? For a woman, the act…”
Ethan assumed I could fill in the rest of his thought on my own. Could I? My experiences with women were confined to that of my first marriage. She had been willing, dutiful. Was there more to it for the woman? I had always thought so. Was that not what my lesson in the cave with Hannah had been about?
But wait? Unnatural and not something I could conceive. Memories of our kiss fired my blood until I was sure even the thought of waiting would melt my skin. Also, too, wouldn’t any distance I put between myself and my bride raise questions in her mind? There were many facets of love, and the physical unity of the body sealed and connected our souls on a level beyond our understanding.
No. I couldn’t grant Ethan his request. The marriage would be consummated, as it should be. However…
I placed my hand on his shoulder. “I promise I will take care of Hannah.” In all ways. Her needs would be mine to meet. Safety, provisions…love.
Chapter 9
Karim
“You’re what?” Samlil’s voice thundered across the open expanse, causing Jamal’s head to rise from his feed. The camel’s bottom jaw moved as he chewed, the long lashes protecting his eyes lowering in a slow blink. If he could talk, I imagine he’d tell Samlil to keep it down during breakfast. I smiled at the thought and smacked Jamal on the shoulder, dust billowing from his coarse coat.
“You can’t marry her, Karim.” Samlil continued his tirade.
I’d put up with my friend long enough to know that his blistering came with the force of a sandstorm and lasted just as long. I only had to wait him out before I could fill his ears with reason.
“It is not done.” He shook his head. “You are the sheikh. Think of how this will look to the people.”
That was exactly what I’d thought about.
“You are a good and faithful Muslim. As such you cannot bind yourself to a Christian. Do not become an infidel, Karim.”
“Don’t you think you’re overstepping a little?”
He slammed his hand against his thigh. “No! If anything, I’m being too lenient. You know the history. The massacres during the Christian crusades. You know the threat of America. The Qur’an says we should fight, not bed their women. That we will be rewarded if—”
I slashed my hand through the air, anger wishing my grip was around the hilt of my dagger. “Enough.”
Samlil’s nostrils flared, and I had no doubt my expression mirrored his.
“Be careful, Samlil, or one would think you’ve been entertaining views not in accordance with the peaceful Allah that I serve, but that more aligned to the twisted views the terrorists have mangled to support their heinous cause.”
His face reddened, and his lips pressed so thin they nearly disappeared. We faced off, each holding the challenge of the other’s gaze.
The hardness seeped from his face until it transformed to a smirk. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”
With another pat to Jamal’s neck, I turned to the horses ground-tied yards away, willing my anger to flee my fingertips as I flicked them at my sides.
The day would be long, without peace.
I picked up the tasseled reins and stroked the stallion’s dipped head. A thing of beauty, the Arabian horse. Majestic. Powerful. A stalwart heart with enough endurance and stamina to outlast the rays of the sun. A hunting expedition, we had kept the saddle and bridle serviceable. The extra frippery, the showy colors, the shine of the inlaid gold, the swish of the hundreds of woven tassels that made up the more elaborate pieces used for celebration and special occasions would only scare off the mountain ibex we hunted.
It was important to find as much game as we could and spend the next few days preserving it. Our time in this area grew short, the wells we had dug drying up. Time had come to depart and search for more water.
Hunting would not cease as we trekked the dunes. Instead, those with falcons and salukis, Bedouin hunting dogs, would shoulder more responsibility to provide the families with fresh meat from hares and other small creatures.
Checking the pouch of ammunition and securing the double-barrel rifle to my back, I mounted my horse. Samlil did the same, and with pressure from our heels, we headed toward the rocky cliffs the mountain goats liked to dwell among.
“The wedding will take place this time next year, as is our custom?” Samlil’s voice held an edge, as if he already knew what my answer would be and didn’t like it.
“No.”
“Longer, then. To get to know her and her family better. To resolve all expectations of the union.”
My spine stiffened, and in response the stallion shook his head in annoyance. Consciously I released each tight muscle until my hips once more swayed with the movement of the animal. “We all grew up together, you, Hannah, and me. You think I need a year engagement to know her better?”
“I think it wise, yes.”
Betrothed to the sheikh would not offer the same level of protection as wife of the sheikh. Not to mention, now that the idea had time to steep like a strong, flavorful coffee, I had no intentions but to take long, delightful sips from my brew. “We will be married at week’s end.” Barely enough time to accustom ourselves to the other in our new roles before needing to break camp and move out.
“It’s not done, Karim.”
“Because a thing has not been done does not mean it is not done.” The trail narrowed as it began to climb into the mountain’s foothills, and I took the lead. “By week’s end, I will be married.”
Samlil did not answer, though I imagined he continued to argue in his mind. So be it. As long as I didn’t have to hear any more about it, he could stew in his displeasure until he became wrinkled by it.
A few hundred meters farther and we had to stop the horses and dismount. The craggy terrain would be easier to traverse on foot. I swung my gun around and cradled it in my hands, at the ready at the first sign of our quarry. Up we climbed, crouching behind large boulders, scouting outcropping and cliffs where the game might be hiding.
There. Past a crag cut by the flow of water from infrequent rains, a small group of ibex gnawed on a small batch of tenacious bushes. Their spindly legs supported rounded bellies, rough and knobbed horns curving from the tops of their heads.
I turned toward Samlil, got his attention, and pointed toward the herd. He nodded once before aiming and cocking his gun. I did likewise, sighting an animal that would feed a family for weeks. The shots rang out in tandem, echoing off the rocky mountain face, my shoulder taking the kickback of the firearm. Repositioning the rifle a bit to the left, I sighted and shot again. The rest of the herd scrambled away, leaving four unmoving bodies.
My grin stretched, and I whacked Samlil on the shoulder with a nod. His face transformed to the one I’d preserved in my memory. The one not hardened through the years, eyes dull and listless. This was the friend from my youth. Mischief tilting his lips and a sparkle dancing in his expression. This was the boy who’d challenged me to camel races and dared me to charm a snake.
He was not altogether lost.
“Come on.” I patted his arm again. “Let’s get our reward.”
We hefted the carcasses to our waiting mounts and lashed the ibex to the horses’ backs. Leading the stallions back down the mountain did not offer the same comfort as riding, but the cost outweighed the effort.
Hours of work lay ahead for many people. Skinning, filleting, sorting, tanning, and preserving. With no refrigeration and temperatures that hastened spoiling, copious amounts of salt would keep the meat from th
is hunt sustaining bellies for a number of weeks.
With everyone working together, the preservation would get done quickly. Especially since some of the more experienced men had taken over helping the women with the sheep since their sickness, leaving others to pull more weight among herding the camels.
Guilt pricked my conscious as I thought about the extra work my wedding would cause. The ceremony, the feast. Everyone already worked so hard, their physical tiredness more felt because of the constant cloud of worry hovering over us all.
Then again, maybe something to celebrate was just the morale boost we all needed.
Chapter 10
Hannah
It’s my wedding day.
I paused after the thought, waiting for the tiny butterflies that were supposed to be flittering around in my stomach to grab hold and lift me to soar on their magical wings. Instead, bile. That sickening feeling of churning acid that literally made it feel like my stomach was eating itself.
Cold feet, right? That was all that it was? Normal. But even if I’d pushed a polar bear to the side and hacked through feet of arctic ice and then plunged my toes into the freezing water beneath, it wouldn’t come close. This was so much more than jitters.
I covered my face with my hands. How did I know I was doing the right thing? I’d justified my decision with my parents, but all those reasons seemed like drifting smoke I couldn’t grasp in my hands now. Who was I to lay claim to any divine calling? To compare myself, in any small way, to Esther? She’d been considered the greatest female monarch in biblical history by many, and I was…nothing special. Deluded arguments had made me set my feet toward a course of wispy dreams.
Dear God…
Had my motives been so self-serving? In my subconscious had I desired so much to finally come out on top when compared to another that I had misled myself into believing I was some sort of twenty-first century Esther?