by E. A. West
She tapped the screen, indicating a cartoon image of a chubby alpaca. Basir studied the clean lines of the site’s appearance and the overall welcoming feel of it. He had an idea of which photo would fit better with the style, but he needed to make sure.
“May I see the photos again?”
Meghan returned them to the screen, and Basir nodded. Only one would give the effect she wanted. He leaned forward and tapped the one on the right.
“Use this one. It fits better with your website.”
“Yes!” Meghan grinned and turned to her brother. “I told you so.”
Ryan studied the screen for a moment then met Basir’s gaze. “I don’t see whatever you guys are seeing. Why is this one better than the other one?”
“The light is softer,” Basir said, torn between wishing Meghan would quit staring at him and wishing she would look at him forever. “The alpacas are more relaxed. And I like the way the fence is shown in the bottom half. It shows the alpacas are cared for, rather than being left on their own.”
“Hmm.” Ryan studied the screen for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, OK. I get it now. I just thought the other one was better because of the bolder look to it and the lack of fence. But now that you’ve explained it, the softer photo does make more sense for the site’s design. Meghan’s yarn is all about softness and comfort, and there’s something relaxing about the photo you guys like.”
Meghan’s eyes widened. Then, she grinned and turned toward Basir. She reached a hand toward his arm, and he tensed, preparing for a touch he would undoubtedly love, but her brother might not approve. At the last second, she stopped and pulled her hand away before making even the slightest contact.
“I should get you to back me up against Ryan more often. He’s a hardheaded pain in the rear when he makes his mind up about something, but you’re good at persuading him to quit being stubborn and consider another option.”
Basir was only mildly surprised at the disrespectful way she spoke about her brother. One thing he had noticed during his time with the American military and since coming to the United States was that seemingly insulting words could actually indicate affection, depending on the speaker’s tone of voice and expression. Meghan’s made it clear she loved her brother.
“I only told him why I chose the photograph I did,” Basir said quietly, unsure if he needed to explain. “He is the one who opened his mind in order to understand.”
“Hey, I learned a long time ago to trust your judgment.” Ryan leaned forward and took control of the computer’s mouse. “Let me put this where Meghan wants it.”
They discussed a handful of other photographs showing yarn, wool, and Meghan’s workshop. Then, they turned their attention to the descriptions on the website. Basir wished he could slip away without insulting anyone, but he felt honor-bound to stay and help if he could. Although he spoke English fluently due to his time working with the Americans and thanks to a pair of university students who had lived and worked with his family for a year, his reading skills were well below the average American man. Ryan had helped him learn to read well enough to get by, but deciding whether writing on a website was any good went way beyond his abilities.
Meghan pointed to a block of text on a page labeled About the Yarn. “I’m just not sure this sounds good. What do you guys think? Should I update it or leave it the way it is?”
Basir looked at the screen, but the small print was difficult for him to decipher. He didn’t want to admit to Meghan how poorly he read. She already knew enough about him to humiliate him. Adding another bit of ammunition to that arsenal was a bad idea.
“I think it sounds pretty good.” Ryan looked at Basir, his expression as indecipherable as the words on the screen. “What do you think?”
How could his friend put him on the spot like that? Ryan knew he didn’t read well. Basir shook his head and reined in his irritation. “I don’t know.”
“Surely you have an opinion.” Meghan studied him, her gaze more intense than he liked. “You had such great input on the photos.”
“I am better with pictures than words.” Basir looked away and tried to find a graceful way to get out of providing an opinion on something he didn’t understand. Then a thought sprang to mind, and hope filled him once more. “Why don’t you read it out loud? Sometimes hearing the words instead of just reading them makes a difference.”
Meghan slowly nodded and looked at the computer once more. “That makes sense.”
Basir caught Ryan’s approving look, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was being dishonest by not admitting to his difficulty with reading. Would Meghan, with her kind nature and understanding ways, be ashamed of his ignorance? Or was he only worried because of the shame he felt at being uneducated in a well-educated world?
Meghan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Raised on thirty acres of rolling pasture, each alpaca receives the best care to insure only the highest quality wool is produced. Regular grooming keeps the wool in top shape until the day the animals are sheared. Once the fiber has been properly washed and prepared, Meghan Carpenter spins the wool by hand into beautiful yarn with a fine texture that creates a lovely drape in whatever fabric is made of the yarn.”
The last sentence caught Basir’s attention, and he pointed to it on the screen. “This sounds a little awkward. Perhaps take out some of the description?”
“Hmm...” Meghan studied the words then turned toward him. “What should I take out? I agree that it’s awkward as written, but I’m not sure how to improve it.”
He considered possible ways to change the description, but only one seemed to work well. “What if you change it to something like, ‘Once the wool has been washed and prepared, Meghan Carpenter spins it by hand into yarn that provides a lovely drape to any fabric it is used to make’?”
“That does sound better.” Meghan glanced at her brother. “What do you think?”
“I think Basir may have a hidden talent as an editor.” Ryan winked and reached for the keyboard. “I’ll have the change made in a jiffy.”
~*~
The sun shone down with burning intensity as Meghan yanked a weed from the garden. Why was it men always complained about women taking forever? Basir had promised to help her weed the garden this morning, but he still hadn’t come outside. Was he having second thoughts about working alone with her for that length of time?
After yesterday’s web design session, she’d thought he was over his shyness. Well, mostly over it, anyway. He had still looked to Ryan for permission or confirmation or something quite often while they discussed the updates, but he’d carried on a conversation with her and hadn’t appeared to suffer too much. Then this morning over breakfast when she mentioned needing to weed the garden, he had volunteered to help without the slightest hesitation.
Now that it was time to actually come out and help her, however, his courage seemed to have disappeared. With any luck, Ryan could give him a quick pep talk and kick him out the door. As much as she wanted the unusual man living in her house to be comfortable, right at the moment she would prefer having his assistance regardless of how uncomfortable he was. Without it, she was liable to still be weeding when the sun was at its hottest.
The back door closed with a quiet thud, and Meghan breathed a sigh of relief. Basir must have finally come to his senses and realized helping her in the garden wouldn’t kill him after all. She pulled a cluster of weeds and the lack of approaching footsteps sank in.
Tossing the handful of weeds in the bucket by her bare feet, she straightened and found Basir standing on the back steps, the brim of his baseball cap pulled low and his big black sunglasses in place as he watched her. She offered him a friendly smile in the hope it would allay whatever fears or doubts were keeping him from approaching.
“Hey, Basir, if you want to start on the other side, I’ll meet you in the middle.”
He looked away without responding, the lean muscles in his body showing his tension. Before she could speak again
, he descended the steps and headed toward the pastures.
Meghan blew out an exasperated breath and swatted a strand of hair away from her eyes. So much for the promised help. She shook her head and returned to her work, muttering, “I meant the other side of the garden, not the other side of the farm.”
Why couldn’t the man just relax and realize she wasn’t going to hate him for being friendly? Each time she thought he might be making progress toward integrating into American society, he seemed to take a step back and resist it. Ryan’s comments to her Sunday afternoon sprang to mind, and guilt pinged her heart. Maybe her brother was right and Basir did have more problems. If those problems were interfering with his ability to adapt, she couldn’t hold it against him. She wasn’t sure she could hold cultural reservations against him, either. But if it was something psychological that he couldn’t control, she definitely needed to show more understanding and offer as much support as he would accept.
Ryan came outside as she dumped her bucket of weeds and dead leaves into the wheelbarrow at the end of the garden. He scanned the area, his expression puzzled. “Where’s Basir? I thought he was going to help you weed.”
“So did I.” Meghan set her bucket on the ground and swiped the back of her wrist across her sweaty forehead. “He came out, stared at me for a minute, and left.”
“That’s weird.” A furrow formed between Ryan’s eyebrows. “Where did he go?”
“Out toward the alpacas.” A tickle drew her attention to her foot. After she brushed the ant away, she lifted her gaze and found Ryan headed in the same direction Basir had gone. She rolled her eyes and picked up her bucket. “Thanks for the help, Ryan. I really appreciate you picking up your friend’s slack.”
Meghan moved to the next row. Had it just been last weekend that the men had promised to take over some of the chores so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed with work? While they’d done a great job of helping out with the alpacas and the dishes, she really could have used the help with weeding today. It was a hot, dirty chore, and with the temperature rising, the work would soon go from tedious to miserable.
Once again, she felt the twang of guilt in her heart. With both guys acting strangely, she should be worried about them, not selfishly holding a one-person pity party. So what if she had to take care of the garden on her own? She was perfectly capable of doing it. What she should be doing instead of whining to herself was praying for her brother and his friend. Both men had endured things she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Chances were, memories of those things had come to mind for Basir and rendered him unable to follow through on his promise. If that was the case, he would need Ryan’s support to help him through it.
Meghan paused and looked up at the cloudless sky. “Father, forgive my selfish, self-centered thoughts. Please be with Basir and help him through whatever is going on. And, Lord, please give Ryan the wisdom he needs to help his friend. They both need Your healing touch, and I trust You to do whatever is best for them.”
Peace settled over her, and she leaned down to pluck another weed from the warm earth.
~*~
Basir stared across the pasture and listened to Ryan’s familiar footfalls approach. He kept his gaze on the alpacas, struggling to keep his temper under control as his friend leaned against the fence beside him.
“Hey, weren’t you supposed to help Meghan in the garden this morning?”
“Yes.” Basir clenched his jaw, wishing Ryan would quit acting as if everything was all right.
“So, why are you out here instead of in the garden?”
Basir turned toward him and yanked off his sunglasses, squinting in the bright light as he glared. “How can you allow your sister to be seen like that?”
“Huh?” Confusion filled Ryan’s face. “Seen like what?”
“Exposed! She is barely clothed, Ryan.” Reason broke through his indignation, and he realized Meghan could have left the garden before her brother came out. “Did you not see her?”
“I saw her, but I don’t know what you’re talking—oh.” Ryan looked up at the brilliant blue sky and combed his fingers through his hair. Then he met Basir’s gaze again. “Look, man, you know things are different here. Meghan’s shorts and shirt are considered modest.”
“What!” Unable to stand the bright light searing into his sensitive eyes any longer, Basir put his sunglasses back on and gazed across the pasture as he tried to understand his friend’s senseless words. “But her legs are bare, you can see to her shoulders, and her shape...it is not hidden at all. How can that be modest?”
Ryan scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Haven’t you seen what other American women wear? Meghan’s shirt covers her chest and her shorts come most of the way to her knees. That’s very modest compared to what some women wear.”
He had to admit his friend had a point. Unfortunately, Ryan didn’t seem to understand Basir’s point.
“Meghan is not some other woman. She is your sister.” Basir lowered his head and his voice, praying his friend would not be angry when he added the real reason for his concern. “She is special.”
Ryan studied him for uncomfortably long moments before finally speaking. “Yes, she is special, but we’re in America, not Afghanistan. Meghan is free to make her own decisions regarding her clothing, and as I said, what she’s currently wearing is modest.”
“Aren’t you afraid of how men will look at her? How they will treat her? Don’t you want to protect her?” Perhaps he should have been more obvious when sharing his feelings about Meghan. He had fallen hard for her and wanted to protect her the only way he could—by ensuring her modesty and reputation remained intact. Surely her brother wanted the same things.
“Of course I want to protect her, but I can’t force her to wear a burka. The men around here know her and respect her, Basir. They won’t harm her.”
Ryan’s words finally soaked in, working their way past Basir’s culturally induced indignation. He dropped his head to his hands as the reality of how much had changed when he left Afghanistan hit him like a mortar shell. Ashamed of his overreaction to something that no one in America viewed as an issue, he lowered his hands and kept his head down. He placed one hand over his heart, unable to meet Ryan’s gaze.
“Forgive me, my friend. Things are so different here. I have learned much about American culture, especially since leaving Afghanistan, but so much of it goes against what I learned from my own family and community.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You were only concerned for Meghan’s reputation and safety. I understand that, and I appreciate you caring so much about her.” Ryan gripped Basir’s shoulder, the gesture full of brotherly affection. “Would it help to go talk to the pastor? Maybe he could help you figure out how to adjust to the differences between our worlds.”
Basir nodded and straightened, grateful his friend remembered something of Afghan culture after all, even if it was only the importance of faith in everyday life. “The religious leaders always know the way things should be.”
They headed back toward the house, side by side, and Basir wrestled with the two cultures warring in his mind. It seemed as if he could adjust to life in America without too much trouble, except for where Meghan was concerned. Something about her, or possibly his feelings for her, brought out his protective nature and his Afghan upbringing full force. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that American cultural rules applied to her too, he couldn’t get past feeling she was different. As he had told Ryan moments before, she was special. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Everything he knew about relationships with women came from the stories of the marines and his own observations and experience in his village. No way would he ever consider treating Meghan the way a few of the marines had mentioned. He had too much respect for her and viewed her as much more valuable than the objectified women those marines had told stories of. Other marines had spoken of relationships with wives and girlfriends, and though he
appreciated their respect for the women in their lives, those stories didn’t help him now when he was trying to figure out how to start a relationship. Yet what he had learned in his village didn’t apply to her, either, which left him alone and adrift as he tried to figure out what he should do. If he wasn’t afraid of offending Ryan by admitting to his attraction to Meghan, he would seek his friend’s advice. But he couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the closest thing he had to family.
As they approached the garden, he spotted Meghan standing with her hands on her hips, watching their progress. Basir’s heart seized, and he wished he could disappear. How angry was she that he had broken his promise to assist her? Worse still, what would she think if she ever found out he had chosen not to help her because he thought her outfit immodest?
Looking at her now and comparing her to memories of other American women, he could see what Ryan had mentioned. When he considered some of the things he had seen women wearing since coming to the U.S., he knew without a doubt that Meghan’s clothing—though revealing by Afghan standards—was undeniably modest. Somehow, he had to remember that regardless of his feelings for her, American culture applied at all times, not Afghan culture. He wasn’t sure how to leave behind something so ingrained in him, however, and could only hope the minister would be able to help.
“So,” Meghan said when they reached the garden, “are you guys going to help me?”
Ryan paused his steps. “Not right now. We’re going into town for a little bit.”
“Have fun.” She blew out a breath that hung guilt heavily on Basir’s heart.
It was his fault she didn’t have the help he had promised, but perhaps he could make it up to her. “If you would like, we can finish weeding the garden for you when we return.”
“It’ll be too hot out here by the time you get back.”
Ryan shrugged. “It’s only going to be in the low nineties today. We’ve dealt with worse.”