The Esther Paradigm (A Contemporary Christian Romance)

by Sarah Monzon

  Karim paled, the muscles in his arms and back tightening with each jolted step we took. When we made it to level ground, I unhooked his arm from my neck and rushed forward to lower the tailgate of the truck. If only we had some pillows or something to cushion the ride.

  Mahabat helped Karim into the back, then took off his outer cloak, which he handed to me without a word. I wasn’t sure how many times I’d thanked the man today, but I did so again, balling up the cloak and then lifting Karim’s head to place it under.

  I jumped down from the back of the truck and opened the driver’s-side door. I paused and turned, my palm still on the handle. “The camel?”

  The shepherd waved me away, and I took that to mean he’d take care of her. I hopped into the truck and started the ignition, then headed down the mountain as slowly as I could so as not to jar Karim too much.

  I reached my hand back behind my head to the window there and slid it open.

  “You’re going to be okay.” I shouted so he could hear.

  The truck hit a small hole in the ground and bounced. Karim groaned behind me.

  “Sing to me. Help me keep my mind off—” It sounded like he sucked in air between clenched teeth. “Keep my mind off the pain.”

  I blinked hard and swallowed. A song? Then it came to me. The lyrics to “Without You” by King and Country. The one Luke Smallbone wrote and sang with his wife when he nearly died.

  My voice started wobbly and cracked on the chorus, but I kept singing. Put my heart into the words. I didn’t want to live without Karim either.

  Finally, we pulled up to the outskirts of town, where a crowd had formed in a circle. As I approached, the people turned, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of the two in the middle. My dad and Karim’s mom.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  Dad lifted up the lengths of his thawb from around his ankles and sprinted toward where I’d let the Toyota roll to a stop. His hand batted away the dust as he opened my door.

  “In the back. Quick!” I dashed to the truck bed and lowered the tailgate.

  Dad used the side of the truck to vault himself into the back, and he crouched beside his new patient.

  My mother-in-law stepped up to my side. Covered my blood-stained hand with her own. The warmth there tore my gaze away from my husband’s anguished expression and the prodding fingers of my father. I looked down at her, surprised to see a small smile grace her lips, when I’d expected her face to mirror mine. One filled with worry.

  She patted my hand, then squeezed my fingers. “He made it in time. I am glad.”

  Wha—

  Karim groaned, and my head jerked back in his direction. Any questions about his mother’s statement were erased from my mind. Dad curved his arm around Karim’s back and helped him sit up.

  “The wound needs to be cleaned and will require some stitches, but I don’t think any major damage was done.”

  I looked to my husband and prayed that was true. His physical body would heal, but the wound had plunged deeper than the eye could see. Only one Physician could heal those types of injuries, but He didn’t take on unwilling patients.

  * * *

  “I’ll take care of it.” My father’s voice filtered through the walls, though his volume wasn’t pitched loud. Whether they wished me to hear their conversation or not, I would be privy, though I wasn’t purposefully eavesdropping.

  I stared down at my husband’s restful face. Dad had given him some medicine for the pain before administering the stitches, and Karim had fallen into an exhausted sleep. I’d refused to leave even at my father’s insistence that I needed rest as well. Nothing could give me as much peace right now than to watch the rise and fall of this man’s chest, hear the beat of his heart under my ear when I laid my head against his ribs, felt his skin beneath my fingertips as I traced the grooves responsibility had dug into his forehead.

  “Even after all that man did to you and your family. After all he tried to do. You would still do this?” Daher said from the other room.

  Karim’s head covering had been taken off, his dark strands a mass of soft curls on top his head. I moved my fingers up an inch from his forehead and ran them along his hairline, down his beard along his jaw. My stomach constricted as I studied his face. In rest, I could see a bit more of the boy I’d grown up with, his muscles relaxed as they were in his youthful, carefree days.

  “I would. Isa asked God to forgive those who were crucifying him, and He is my example. How could I do any less?”

  My dad paused, and I wondered if he had made some sort of gesture with his hands.

  “I know your customs regarding death. Let me do this. Let me bring his body back so his wife can bathe him, shroud him, and we can bury him in the required time frame.”

  Daher’s sigh was audible even through the wall. “I do not understand this grace and forgiveness you speak of, but go. Do this, if you must.” Footsteps sounded. “But, Ethan, when you return, perhaps you can tell me more about Isa and why you think your prophet is truer than Muhammad?”

  “Not a prophet, my brother. God’s son.”

  A door clicked shut as my lips curved. Daher would have much to think about with that one.

  My smile dropped as my fingers continued their journey over Karim’s still, full lips. Would he ever ask such questions? Be interested in knowing Jesus? Or would his mouth remain as it was now, a reflection of his closed heart?

  Closed to me as well? Before he’d left to take his mother to the hospital, I wouldn’t have thought so. If anything, I’d have said our feelings toward each other had shifted, as he’d assured me they would. I knew mine had. Without a doubt, I loved this man. Not as a friend loved a friend, but as a wife loved her husband. Wholly and completely.

  But would it be enough?

  Every logical question I’d posed to myself before our marriage about being unequally yoked with an unbeliever came back to me. We were two completely different people raised to view the world through two completely different lenses. I felt the knit of my heart with his, the fabric of our lives woven together on a weaver’s loom. Would that cord be strong enough, or would we eventually be ripped apart as easily as Samlil’s dagger had torn through Karim’s clothing?

  My inadequacies cramped my gut, and I doubled over. I loved him, but I feared it wouldn’t be enough. Could never measure up to what he needed. Compared, I’d fall short.

  My gaze traveled from his face down his motionless body. His hand curled at his side, and I picked it up and cradled it in my own, slowly stroking my thumb across his palm. So strong. With that hand he’d saved me. Had fought but had also been willing to give his life for mine.

  I bent my head and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. Would it one day be full as he held our child? Or by then would he realize the error in his decision to make me his wife? Would he take Samlil’s suggestion to marry another and have children with her instead? A woman who shared his beliefs and knew his ways, not as an adoptee but one born with the culture flowing through her veins?

  A sigh compressed my chest as I closed my eyes.

  “My wife measures me, studies me in silence as she paints my face like an artist, and when she makes a sound, it is weighted with despair.” Karim’s eyes opened and pinned mine. His lip twitched, then fell back flat. “My pride is pierced that your breath does not leave you on the wings of a dreamful lightness. Is my face not so comely as to make you swoon?”

  I blinked slowly, then shoved his shoulder. “You tease.”

  One side of his mouth tilted, but I wouldn’t call it a smile. Too much sadness hinted in the curve. “I saw my own serious expression reflected in your eyes. It fits me, but not you, my kanz. Something had to be done, even my poor attempt at a joke, since I’d never have that shadow eclipse your brightness.” He gently held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, tell me what troubles you, wife.”

  How could I? If our happiness were but a dream of reality, one to be shattered when he realized hi
s mistake when he’d asked me to marry him, then I’d not be the one to rip out my heart and make shards of a joy that had an expiration date. I needed to bask in it now so I could feel the glow of my memory when that was all I had to keep me warm. When the cold facts of our differences become too strong to ignore.

  “You have that look about you. The same one you had when last we were in this room.”

  With my chin in his grasp, I couldn’t turn my face away. Could only avert my eyes. Hope whatever wreckage his words caused in my heart, that I’d be strong enough to pick up the pieces. No woman was worth the trouble I’d caused. Not in any culture.

  “Whatever voice is speaking to you now in your mind, turn it off. Heed my words alone.”

  He waited, and my chin lifted, then dipped. “Who are you, Hannah Pratt, now Hannah Al-Amir?”

  A nervous laugh tickled the back of my throat as my eyes lifted to meet his. He dropped his hold on my chin, and my shoulders sagged a bit with relief. I still had time. Unless I was seriously mistaken, his speech would not be the one I’d feared. “What are you talking about? You’ve known me since I was seven. You know who I am.”

  “Who are you?” he asked again without inflection. As if he thought I didn’t know the answer.

  “I’m me.” Simple.

  “Yes, but who are you?”

  I squirmed a bit, not knowing what his point would be. “Why don’t you tell me who you think I am?”

  “Very well.” He dug his elbow into the mattress and grimaced as he shifted his weight so that he was sitting up against the pillows piled behind him. “You say I have known you since you were seven. Practically all your life. Do you think I know you well?”

  My cheeks heated at how well he did know me. More intimately than anyone else ever could or would. “Yes.”

  “And you will believe me when I tell you who you are?”

  I hesitated a moment but then nodded.

  “You are more than you think. Better than you believe.”

  “I don’t—”

  He pressed a finger to my lips. “Heed me. Who created you?”

  “God.”

  “Yes, Allah, in his image. Who created the mountains, the oceans?”

  “God.”

  “And which, in comparison, do you believe is better? Which do you believe God loves more?”

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out. How did he know? How could he possible know my inner struggles?

  “As you said, I do know you. You may be from the left and I from the right, but ever since the first day I laid eyes on you, I felt a new world existed in the middle. A reality all our own. Differences faded, and all that was left was the sameness between us. Your spirit and mine communicating in a language all their own.”

  “But…”

  “Hannah, my love, my treasure.” He cupped the side of my face. “The mountain’s height does not belittle the ocean, and the ocean’s depth does not tear down the mountain. They are both Allah’s creation, made for their own perfect work and reason.”

  As I was God’s creation.

  Though I knew my worth, that Jesus died on the cross for my sins, something Karim had not yet accepted, it was he God used to remind me of this undeniable truth—I was His workmanship, and when I belittled myself or compared myself to others, it was His creation I deemed not worthy.

  God, forgive me.

  “It pleases me to know that you now see what I see.” Karim smiled. “There is one more thing you must hear from my lips.”

  Something else?

  He sat up straight, his face as serious as I’d ever seen it as his gaze bore into mine. “We married as friends, but you have become so much more to me. More than a confidant, more than a lover. You have become my whole life.” He took my hands in his, the back of mine resting on his palms. “My heart is yours, my kanz. I place it in your hands with all my love.” He curled my fingers into my palms as if closing them over an object. He lowered his mouth to my ear. “I love you,” he said in accented English.

  There were many ways to say love in Arabic, and as I turned my head and my lips to his cheek, I was filled with each one. Shawq. Wild affection. Shaghaf. Passion. Hanaan, sabaaba, gharaam. Tenderness, longing, desire.

  Framing his face with my hands, the stubble of his beard sending delicious prickles along my palms, I looked him in the eye. “Ana behibak.” I love you. My eyes drifted closed as I pulled his head down, anticipation swirling in my center for his kiss.

  My first language would always be English and his Arabic, but our hearts spoke to each other in a language all their own. One where our love would never be lost in translation.

  Chapter 32

  Hannah

  I should be elated. Overjoyed. Completely giddy. And I was. Mostly. If not for the stone that sank in the middle of my stomach. Everything was returning to normal. To the way things were supposed to be. The sheep were gaining their strength. I liked to watch them from the hill prancing about and kicking up their heels. They were gaining weight, and their coats were returning to the healthy sheen they’d had before.

  Once word had spread that Samlil had been responsible for all the troubles among the flock, the demonstrations and threats against my family stopped. No more whispered words that Allah was punishing them for harboring us all these years. If anything, the people seemed more gracious to me and my parents, offering smiles of welcome and returning to the hospitality they were known for.

  At Daher’s insistence, we’d stayed camped outside his village for longer than Karim had planned. But after everything the sheikh had done for us, my husband was more than willing to concede to his request of sojourn. It benefited us as well, Karim and me. Our lives as a married couple had been rushed, with barely days before the wedding, then a crazy trek across a desert wasteland, separation due to sickness, and then the escalation of Samlil’s attack. We spent our days getting reacquainted after the six-year absence from each other, as well as settling into our new roles as husband and wife. I still struggled with finding fault in myself and turning off the internal voice that whispered my failures and others’ successes, but I was working on it. Karim helped, as he loved to remind me who I was—God’s creation and the woman he loved.

  But in all that brightness, a small shadow still marred the landscape. Karim refused to listen to any talk of Jesus. My father and Daher met often, as did Radina, Qitarah, and I. Karim never forbade the gatherings, but neither would he reside anywhere within earshot.

  So I prayed. I’d promised even before we’d married that I wouldn’t convert him, but I never agreed not to pray for him. The Holy Spirit would have to do the work I could not.

  The reeds rustled against each other as a bird soared down, his wings flapping at the last minute to slow his descent. He glided over the smooth surface of the oasis lake.

  Karim had his caves, but I had my oasis. Here I came when my heart was full. Of joy, of sorrow, of worry. Here I petitioned the Lord.

  Father God, hear my prayer. Reveal yourself to my husband…

  * * *

  Karim

  My forearm and fingers tingled, the weight of Hannah’s head on my bicep. She’d fallen asleep curled into my side, my upper arm for a pillow. Her golden hair fanned out over my shoulder and chest, her face relaxed and peaceful. I wouldn’t risk waking her to ease my limb’s discomfort. Wouldn’t trade this closeness. Not for the return of blood flow to my fingertips.

  I closed my eyes. Night had fallen hours ago, and my body needed rest. Even though the clan’s future seemed more secure than it had in a long time, the flocks thrived and the Pratts’ safety was no longer threatened, the weight that had hung on my shoulders like an oxen’s yoke hadn’t lifted. I still felt burdened beyond what I was capable of carrying.

  Daher’s face, so filled with joy and free of care, filtered through my mind. Under the cloak of darkness, not even a crescent moon to illuminate the night’s sky, Ethan had dipped my friend under the water the oasis provided. Baptism, he�
��d called it.

  I hadn’t wanted to be there. Didn’t want to witness the fall of a powerful leader, the heresy of a friend closer than a brother, the beginning of the end to a man who chose to break Sharia law. But though I hardened my heart, I couldn’t turn away from his request, and so I stood beside the reeds, arms crossed and teeth clenched lest I say something that would wound those I loved. He’d gone under, the man I knew, the water running over his head doing some sort of magic in his soul. He’d come up changed. Visibly. So much so that it shook me at my foundation. A radiant glow shown from his face as if the water had slicked the cares right off his back. He’d locked eyes on me and smiled brightly, nodded as if answering a question I’d never posed. One formed against my will at my center.

  He’d exited the small body of water, clapped a firm grip around my forearm, and then left without a word.

  My eyes grew heavy, my mind thickening around all the questions that had swirled there the last twenty-four hours, and I drifted off to sleep.

  A blinding light pierced my eyes from behind closed lids. I blinked against the brightness, holding up my free hand to shield my sight against white blazing brilliance. I glanced down, but Hannah lay undisturbed. Could she not see the room illuminated as if the sun itself had decided to cast its orbit within our dwelling? I slid my arm from under her head, flexed my fingers, and looked up. The brightness hadn’t dimmed, but no longer did I squint from it. My hand lowered, and a man stood in the center of the room, the light emanating from his person.

  My heart kicked against its internal cage, knowing without a doubt that I wouldn’t survive this encounter with the divine.

  The man lifted his palm toward me. “Fear not.”

  His voice had the power to command my emotions as every ounce of terror leached from my body, replaced by a flow of peace that originated from the man before me, every cell of my body soaking it in.