by Sarah Monzon
“It doesn’t matter though. I have to marry.” Steel edged his voice now as he pushed away his desires as a man and put on the responsibilities he felt as a leader.
I’d have said I was sorry if I thought that would have comforted him at all.
He turned his whole body to face me. His knee brushed mine with his movement. He caught my hand and squeezed. Looked me in the eye.
Blood fled from my cheeks as realization dawned on what he was about to say.
“I’m going to marry you, Hannah.”
* * *
Karim
Often, I’d watched Hannah’s cheeks turn crimson. From the heat. From embarrassment. From sheer joy. Never had I seen them drain of all color. Become as white as newly washed fleece. Mortification marked every muscle of her face, from the slackness of her jaw to the twitch around her eye.
Half of me wanted to laugh—her expression was amusing—the other half groan. Was the prospect of marriage to me that horrifying?
“Karim, I—”
“Let me explain,” I interrupted. Maybe my explanation would save her from any embarrassment. And hopefully she’d see the logic in my proposal.
Her hands folded in her lap, and her spine straightened. She’d hear me but her guards were up. The wary expression in her eyes cautioned me to tread carefully but did little to hide the questions racing through her mind.
Would my honest confession do more to win her favor or set her further from me? “I said I do not wish for a loveless marriage, Hannah, and I don’t.”
Her brows shot to the sky.
I rushed on. “You have been a dear friend to me for many years, so of course there is love in my heart for you.”
She tilted her head as she regarded me, and I met her steady gaze with one of my own. Nothing would I keep hidden. Not from her.
“As a friend,” she clarified.
I couldn’t read her expression now. Couldn’t tell if the way her words had come out as a whisper was disappointment or relief. “Yes.”
“Then why…” She let the question hang, no doubt trying to piece together my logic.
“It is the answer that will settle many problems.”
Her folded hands became folded arms across her chest. I was losing her. “The clan demands that I marry, but I don’t want any of the women they’ve selected. You and your family have come under attack. By our marriage, two problems will be solved.”
Her arms fell to her sides. “You want to marry me to protect me and my parents?”
Why did she sound so surprised? “Yes. As my wife, no one would dare hurt you or your family.”
There was no missing the sadness that floated across her eyes like a cloud that dotted the blue of the sky. “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Pride burned my esophagus, but I pushed back the pain. “Why?”
“Our protection comes from, God, Karim. Not man.” The softness of her gaze cushioned her reprimand. Then she looked away, her fingers playing with the sides of her abaya. “Besides, it would not be fair to either of us to marry without love being the foundation.”
She stood and walked a few steps away, pretended to be interested in the sandstone that had been washed away for so many years that it had created this cavern.
I had spent the entire night in thought and prayer. This was the only way I knew to keep her and her family safe. There had to be a way I could persuade her, have her see the logic that was as clear as the sun was hot.
Standing, I walked toward her, stopping only a foot away. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t move or touch her, but she stilled, aware of my presence. Silence rested in the hollowness of the cave, but my pulse beat like a drum in my ear. I waited. Listened. Not with my ears but with my soul. With the fibers of my body that made a person more than just a physical being. Deep down I felt it. Felt our hearts beat as one.
Of all that I could offer her—my protection, my name, my power, my wealth—could I give the one thing she’d protested against? My love? Was a heart even something a person could give to another, or did it have a mind of its own, falling for whomever it saw fit without giving any regard to the person for which it gave life?
Heat radiated off Hannah as I stood at her back. Her breathing had shallowed as she’d become impossibly still. Invisible, electrical currents shot through the space between us, like lightning seeking the ground. Always there had been this connection. This draw. As a boy, I’d thought it had been my fascination with her blue eyes and gold hair. My very own hidden treasure, like in the book my mother had brought home for me on market day when I was thirteen, Treasure Island.
The burning in my esophagus lowered until my belly ached with glowing embers.
I had to convince her. I couldn’t let anything happen to my kanz, my treasure.
With a hand to her shoulder, I turned her to face me, saw my reflection in her eyes as if I were peering into the depths of an oasis spring. A spark of rebellion had me lifting my hand, pulling back the confining material of her hijab until a waterfall of gold tresses cascaded over my brown fingers. My gratefulness deepened that we were hidden from the censuring gazes of the clan, which would steal the wonderment from the moment. Allah forgive me for plucking the modesty from Hannah’s head, the crown of her beauty reserved for her husband alone. Though I should feel shame for my actions, the delight coursing through me would not lead me to repentance.
Her gaze held confusion, and the beat of her heart that had matched mine kicked up its pace.
“Hannah,” I whispered. “Please. Do you not think love can grow?”
Chapter 6
Hannah
Seven heads bowed over makeshift desks, pencils scratching against the paper I’d stuffed into my luggage along with other supplies for the school. When I’d pushed my cart through the homeschool warehouse in Chattanooga, I’d related to how Charlie must have felt on his tour through the Chocolate Factory. Undiluted awe. But I’d bypassed the alphabet borders and brightly colored inspirational posters, zeroing in instead on essentials. Books. Paper. Pencils. Crayons. Rulers. If nothing else, I’d teach with a stick and write in the mass supply of sand, but smiles would erupt the minute a child put a crimson crayon to a fresh sheet of paper.
One of Yara’s children coughed from the front, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He bent back over his paper and added more words.
I walked through the center aisle of the tent, boys to my left, girls to my right. Everyone worked on their assignments. The older children wrote an essay on what they’d like to be when they grew up. The younger students drew pictures of the same subject. A simple assignment, one many teachers had implemented throughout the years. But it would tell me a lot about my new charges. What were their dreams and aspirations? How well could they communicate through the written word? Their vocabulary, syntax, and overall language skills. It was an elementary introduction.
And the last assignment of the day, thank the Lord.
I had been looking forward to this, the first day of teaching these children, and yet my mind had been rebellious, never staying on task. Always straying.
I am going to marry you.
Do you not think love can grow?
When I should have been focused on helping Ahida grasp the concept of place value, Karim’s words from the night before wedged their way into my head and pushed the simple math lesson out.
Even when we’d paused for the midday Dhur prayers, the children standing facing Mecca, eyes cast to the ground where their foreheads would touch, my mind wandered.
“Allah-hoo Akbar.” Allah is Great.
Lord… But that was it. That was as far as my prayer went before my mind seized. Like a river littered with debris rushing with its mighty current, then jamming as all the logs collided in the water’s narrow ford.
The children had raised their hands level with their shoulders, then placed their left hand on their chests and their right hand over their left. “Subhaan-Allaah wal-hamdu Lillaah wa
laa Ill-Allaah wa Allaah-hoo akbar wa laa hawla wa la quwwata illa Billaah.” Glory be to Allah, there is no god except Allah, Allah is most great and there is no power and no strength except with Allah.
Even with my log-jammed mind, the words reminded me of Psalm 48:1. Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised…
That, at least, I was certain. Everything else?
The children had continued in their recitation, and I’d tried again with my own prayer.
Father God…
For a heart and mind so full, my words to the Creator were empty.
Had anyone’s life changed so much in three days? Three days! That was all it had been since I’d said goodbye to my friends at the international airport in Atlanta, dreams in my head of teaching and longing in my heart to reunite with my family.
Three days. Hmm. Maybe I should be thankful I wasn’t in the belly of a big stinky fish. Okay, Jonah still held the trophy for worst trifecta of all time.
“Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatullah.” Peace and mercy of Allah be on you.
My stomach had sunk when I’d realized I’d wasted the time of all four rakahs, the children’s prayer time—and mine—now ended. My soul hadn’t found peace, and Karim’s words still swirled around my thoughts like a whirlpool.
The last child handed me her paper—a stick figure with two wooly lambs drawn in the middle—with a smile. I touched the top of her head and smiled in return. “I’m so glad to have you in class.”
She waved and then turned and ran out of the tent, yelling to her siblings to wait for her.
Collecting the papers, I placed them in a woven satchel so I could take them home and read them. The sides of the tent had been rolled up hours ago for ventilation, and I was thankful for the shade the structure provided. Near the front of the tent, I’d brought in one of our large stuffed pillows, perfect for story time. Digging into my pocket, I withdrew a small travel-sized Bible, settled myself in the middle of the floor pillow, and laid the Bible on my lap. I closed my eyes, not bothering to form words I knew wouldn’t come. Instead I opened my heart, thankful that the God I served knew even the secret things held there.
Not knowing exactly what I needed, I propped the Bible on its spine and let it fall open wherever it would. Looking down, I traced my finger along the book’s heading. Esther. I started reading.
What girl raised in a Christian home didn’t know the story of Esther? A beautiful queen, she saved her people from the evil Haman. But I read, soul open to any stirrings of the Holy Spirit. My longing for guidance drove the tracking of my eyes over the pages.
The similarities of our stories weren’t lost on me, and I felt my lips curve in a wry smile. Esther had been a simple Jewish girl living among a nation that was not her own. Same, except for the Jewish part. But we worshiped the same God, so that counted in my book.
The king had the choice of every eligible maiden in the land. Yep. Karim had said the women had almost literally been paraded before him. King Ahasuerus had chosen Esther—as Karim had chosen me. But perhaps not for the same reasons. My eyes scanned the story, stumbling on words familiar: for such a time as this.
I tried to read on. Pushed my gaze to Esther’s response to her cousin Mordecai’s question, but it was like pushing against the elastic boundaries of a boxing ring. My focus kept being flung back to those words—for such a time.
Laughter that had been coated in a layer of sarcasm tumbled from my mouth. God had asked his followers to do a lot of crazy things in the past…even some revolving around marriage. Poor Hosea. But was He really asking me to do this?
I cared about Karim. How could I not? He was my good friend. And ever since I’d come back, there had been this odd awareness around him that I hadn’t felt when we were children. But sisterly care and awareness did not a good marriage make. So much more was needed to form a solid foundation. Core beliefs, for one.
As if the logjam that had dammed my mind burst, arguments on both sides flooded my thoughts. I tried to still them, to listen. Discernment wasn’t easy when the cacophony like that of a spring runoff whooshed in your ears.
I shut my eyes. Pictured Esther. Let her story play in my imagination as if I were watching it in a movie theater. And slowly my paradigm shifted until it lined up like the sun and moon during an eclipse. A shadow and a light.
But who was the shadow and who was the light? The sun and the moon? Was I really supposed to step into Esther’s shoes and trace my life after her pattern?
I groaned and let my head fall into my hands. It would be so much easier if God would send an angel. Gideon got one. Samuel’s mother. Mary.
Fear not.
The greeting of the angels. Had the two words come from my memory of their own accord, or had they been given by a supernatural prodding?
“First day went that well, did it?”
Yara’s voice had me lifting my head.
“Funny. My kids look a lot happier than you at the moment.”
I stood and gave her a quick hug. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Ahida is currently giving the new litter of puppies a math lesson while Ahmed is pestering his father by retelling some story he heard from you today. Something about bears.”
“Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”
“Right.” From behind her back, she withdrew something wrapped in cloth. “I brought this for you to celebrate, but maybe it’s for consolation instead?” She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a date cake and handed it to me with a raised brow.
I took the treat and bit into it, relishing the way the sweet fruit covered my taste buds. Plus the chewing gave me an excuse not to answer. Especially since I wasn’t sure what to answer at this point.
“Maybe the groan I heard from you had more to do with Karim yesterday and less to do with the children today?”
Gracious, she. To pose it as a question instead of the simple statement we both knew was true.
I nodded and took another bite of cake, not the least ashamed to hide behind manners that dictated not talking with one’s mouth full.
“And Karim said something to upset you.”
My shoulders rose in a shrug—yes and no.
She eyed me with a small smile as I shoved the last of the cake into my mouth then tapped her chin in concentration. “Sort of upset you and more than overtook your thoughts.” Her gaze slid my way. “And your courage.”
I choked on a crumb, and she laughed. Her eyes looked distant as she thought, then her gaze slammed into mine, her eyes wide. “He’s going to marry again.”
I swallowed hard before my jaw unhinged and all the food in my mouth fell to the floor. How did she—
I couldn’t even finish the thought before I was wrapped up in a fierce hug. “Oh, Hannah. I am so sorry.”
Umm. What? “Yara.” I pulled back so I could see her face. “Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s no wonder you’re devastated.” Her palms covered her mouth. “Karim’s going to marry another woman.”
Trying to follow her train of thought was harder than pushing a boulder up a mountain. “I’m not devastated, and he’s not marrying someone else.”
“He’s not?” Her hands dropped. “So it isn’t about Karim?”
“Yes, but…” I took a deep breath in and blew it out. “He wants to marry me.” Although maybe want wasn’t the right word. Compelled? Duty bound?
Modest, reserved Yara squealed. Actually squealed, then grabbed my hands. “This is so romantic. I knew. For years, I’ve known you two would end up together.”
“What are you talking about?” I didn’t even know now if we would end up together.
“The special bond you have. The way he’s always looked at you.” She gave a dreamy sigh this time, the same you’d see in a bad film right before the girl swooned.
Ridiculous. “He only looks at me differently because I’m different. There aren’t many women with blue eyes and pasty-white skin around here.”
She ignored my comment as if
any sensible argument would damper this “romantic” notion she had.
“When’s the ceremony going to take place? Before we move on, I hope.”
Maybe I should have kept all of this to myself. “I’m not even sure there will be a ceremony, Yara.”
She looked aghast now. “What are you talking about?”
“I love Karim, sure. My feelings for him are mahabba. A simple love of a friend. But I do not feel sabaaba.” My cheeks flushed at the meaning of the word. The longing and ardor that resides in the heart of one madly in love with another.
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?”
From anyone else, her laugh would have been insulting. “Stop being so…American.”
Umm…
“My father arranged my marriage to Eamon. The first time I ever laid eyes on him was on our wedding day. Now I couldn’t imagine loving any other man.”
My thoughts went to Samlil’s wife. Theirs had also been made by their families. The result hadn’t ended up as happily as Yara’s. “It doesn’t always happen that way, I’m afraid.”
Her face fell a little. Probably thinking of some women she knew. “No, you’re right.” Her hand squeezed mine. “But you know Karim.”
Yes, I knew him. Knew he’d never lay a violent hand to me. That he’d respect me as a woman and as a person. But what about as a Christian? He’d never said anything against my beliefs. Nor had he ever shown an interest in them.
“I’m curious,” she started and then paused.
“About?”
“If you do not believe it is for love—and I have my own thoughts on that—then why did Karim offer for you?”
“He said it would benefit us both. The elders have been pressuring him to marry and the climate against my family has heated lately. He believes a union between us would solidify our place among the people and satisfy the expectations placed upon him.”
Yara’s eyes narrowed. Not at me, but like she was trying hard to remember something.
“I recall,” she said, “a story you told me a long time ago. It was about a young woman who became a queen and ended up saving an entire nation. Doesn’t that sound a little similar to your situation?”