Beloved Lives

by Evans, Marilyn

  Almost immediately, April felt herself falling back, back, back through the lives. They came more quickly this time but in greater detail. The woman and child, fearing for their lives, cowering and weeping, knowing there was no hope for them from the raiding horse thieves. The witch burned for saving lives, feeling the flames lick her skin, smelling the burning flesh. The disease, agonizing Black Death, killing all in its path. The battle, axe in hand, sticky with blood, her own blood-lust rushing through her veins. The wind across the grasslands, bright day, and endless herds, then the sharp sting of a snake bite. Back through the many lives, so many, with him, the man who was now Weston, but also her being herself, a person who had ideas, opinions, desires, hopes. She wanted a farm, a practice, her children to be well, victory, an end to wandering, more and more dreams and desires, some fulfilled, some cut short by death or adversity. Back and back. Until she saw the hermit and shaved him again, saw him transformed. And then she saw herself in a mirror of bronze, haughty and beautiful, not the first wife but the most beloved wife of the Pharaoh, Ruler of the Upper and Lower Nile, God Incarnate. She, Nefrumeri, ruled the heart of a God as well as the heart of his chief advisor and closest friend. Then back farther still, to the beginning.

  Chapter 27. Nefrumeri

  “Your beauty is our gift to the Pharaoh. Of all his wives, you will be his favorite. It is such an honor for you and for your family. And he is young and handsome.”

  Her mother prattled endlessly while preparing her for the presentation, keeping a close eye on the slaves who applied cosmetics to make her beautiful, oils to make her skin glow, perfume to excite the senses of her future husband.

  The young woman had seen the king during the many processions but only from a distance. He was tall and strong, wearing his golden armor and glowing in the sun as he passed in his chariot. She did not believe she would be his favorite. While he might take her virginity and eventually give her a child, she would always be a lesser wife behind his own sister—the First Wife—and the daughters of the neighboring kings who practiced diplomacy through marriage. But her beauty would gain her a place in court.

  If she were careful and made alliances, never showed any desire for power or influence, her children might be permitted to live. Maybe she would bear a son who would be an officer in Pharaoh’s service. Or a daughter who could be a priestess in one of the temples or perhaps even a wife to a king. Her future and that of her family was assured by this marriage.

  Nefrumeri— Beautiful Beloved—was the name that was chosen for her, in hopes she would live up to it. She had been selected by someone other than the king himself, but he would surely approve. Some of his wives were very plain, the foreign ones, mostly, but he was said to have a taste for beauty in his women.

  She might have been taken for a concubine or servant except for the influence and cunning of her father and brothers. And her mother, her poisonously clever mother, always scheming and intriguing, gathering information like eggs to be warmed and hatched into successes for her sons. If Nefrumeri was to survive in court, her mother’s ambition would have to be controlled, or suspicious wives with more power and influence would arrange a cup of poison for the king’s newest bride.

  The marriage contract was written and witnessed by those who attended to such things. All that remained was for husband and wife to meet and for the king to consummate the union, pleasing himself and maybe even pleasing her.

  Pharaoh, or at least his emissaries, had sent gifts of clothing and jewelry that her mother had directed the slaves to place on Nefrumeri's prepared body. The remainder of her possessions, new and old, were already packed onto donkeys, but, as was tradition, she walked on her own sandaled feet through the city streets from her home to the palace where she would live the rest of her days.

  As she walked, the sounds and smells of the city somehow seemed different, strange and unfamiliar, as though she were becoming a different person who would no longer recognize her old life.

  When she arrived at the palace, she was handed off from her family to the royal retainers, who saw her and her possessions into the wives’ quarters. The rooms that were to be hers were not as large or richly appointed as some she had passed by, but to Nefrumeri, they seemed more lovely than any except those in the great temple of Isis, where she had served as a priestess before her family arranged this marriage.

  Finally, with her possessions stored and ordered and her attendants introduced, she was settled and had only to wait.

  Nefrumeri realized she was nervous. She knew what was expected. Her mother had educated her in the correct ways to please her husband. Her brothers, experienced men of the world, had given her advice. She had studied the love poems.

  She might be a virgin, but she was not ignorant of the ways of men and women. The king’s pleasure was her work, her occupation. Pleasing him meant a good future for her and for her family. Marriages to first and important wives demanded children, but marriage to a lesser wife demanded she earn her place by being important only to the king. Would she be able to fulfill the expectations?

  As day became night, the serving girls left her alone in the chamber she now called her home, which was lit by flickering lamps. The room was filled with beautiful gifts—a large bronze mirror, ebony and ivory chairs, boxes made of sweet-smelling woods. Perfumed and oiled, wearing her gifts of fine clothes and cosmetics, she waited for her husband.

  He came alone, dazzling as the sun. She bowed before him, but he lifted her head and looked into her eyes.

  “You are as beautiful as they said you would be, Nefrumeri.”

  With the greatest care, he removed her clothing and her jewels. He kissed her neck and her eyes, stroked her breasts. Shuddering in pleasure, she finally remembered her responsibilities and returned his embraces, as gently as his, as sure and warm. Their first union was short-lived, leaving them both breathless. In spite of her pain from the breaking of her hymen, she found she was consumed with fire for him, so they joined their bodies again and again.

  She could not help loving him. In that night, she wanted more than life itself to please him in every way. And if her love caused trouble with the rest of the court, what did it matter? He was God, and she had become his priestess.

  After weeks of love and passion, trouble found them.

  “Kings have responsibilities and cannot behave like lovesick school boys,” his chief advisor said, scolding Pharaoh as though he were a child. The man had a casual arrogance that no one else dared to show in the king’s presence. “Never mind that your other wives are impatient and angry. There are decisions to be made and work to be done.”

  He said all these things within Nefrumeri’s hearing, within her own chambers, for only by coming here could he speak with the king who had not left her side in all that time. Who was this man who could speak to the king in this way? She hated him.

  “Why do I have you, my clever friend, if not to take care of such things while I enjoy my new wife?”

  “It is not wise to appear weak, sickened by love. It is unworthy of you. Your enemies will notice. She is pretty enough,”—king’s advisor cast a casual and dismissive eye over her—“but you should not insult your allies. There are treaty wives who need sons to assure the alliances. You have responsibilities. Come away from this girl, and hunt with me, at least. Your horses and hounds are growing fat and lazy.”

  They both laughed.

  In the end, the advisor won, and Nefrumeri lost her husband to his routines and responsibilities. He still came to her as often as he could, but the spell had been broken, the magic lost. And the advisor, Khaemnun, was to blame. If she could possibly manage it, she would see him dead.

  Chapter 28. Missouri Picnic

  April found herself drifting up from the trance, still angry. She blinked twice, then looked at Mitch.

  “She hated him. At first, she hated him and loved her husband.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, smiling. “Do you want t
o explain, or is it too private?”

  “The person I was, Nefrumeri, she was married, and she loved, even worshiped her husband. I mean literally worshiped him as a God incarnate, and that person came along and loused it up. She really hated him. But I think he’s the one who became the hermit. This must have been the life just before I became the slave girl.”

  April shook her head. “Wow, from queen, albeit a lesser queen, but still, and then to be a slave. Good thing we don’t remember our past lives. At least most of the time. That would be quite a come down.”

  Mitch asked, “Do you want to try again, or are you done for the night?”

  “I don’t think I can do it again tonight. I didn’t plan to come back when I did, but it’s like the trance was done with me. Does that make sense?”

  “Actually, yes,” Mitch said, as he began packing the equipment into his back pack. “Is anything any clearer?”

  “I don’t think so. If anything, it’s just more confusing. I don’t understand how she went from hating him to giving him a gold bracelet before she died. They acted as if there was something between them besides animosity.” She stared at the antique clock on her mantle then jumped up from the sofa.

  “Heck with it. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Mitch laughed. “You know, you’re amazingly resilient. I really like that about you.”

  He caught her hand and pulled her to him then kissed her long and hard. April wrapped her arms around him and put herself into it.

  When they separated, she said, “We better eat before I forget…What was I saying?”

  Mitch laughed. “Food. You promised me food.”

  “I have to warn you, this is downhome, Missouri picnic food. Anyway, it’s what my mom always made for picnics. If you hate it, lie to me. Okay?”

  “I promise to like it,” Mitch said with his hand over his heart.

  They decided to eat on the front porch with Winston on his leash, delighting in watching the birds tempt him just out of reach. April spread a cloth, and they feasted on cold, fried chicken, potato salad, carrot and celery sticks, and apple pie, all washed down with lemonade. Mitch ate two helpings of everything and finally had to declare he really wanted more pie, but he was so stuffed he was having trouble breathing. April packed him a doggie bag and saw him off as the late summer sun set.

  She was feeling better for some reason. More optimistic, as though some resolution was coming. She was beginning to get a grip on all this mystery.

  “I think we’re closing in on it, Winston,” she said, as she got ready for bed. “I think we’re finally going to have some answers.”

  Chapter 29. Happy Hour

  The next day, Weston finally caught up with her.

  “April, we have to talk,” he said, ambushing her as she left the restroom.

  “Hello, Dr. Weston. It’s good to see you.”

  He looked puzzled then replied, “I hope you’re feeling well.”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “Is there any chance we might meet this evening to talk further about your sleep issues?”

  “Why, yes. How about I meet you for a drink after work. Say at someplace public, like McCoy’s in Westport?”

  Weston looked uncomfortable but agreed.

  “I’ll meet you there,” April said. “Five thirty?”

  “Yes, all right,” Weston replied, looking unhappy. He appeared not to know what else to say. He turned and walked away.

  April felt as if she was getting the upper hand and was in better control of the situation. She told Judith about planning to meet Weston after work and asked if she and Gabby and maybe some of the other techs would like to join her. Safety in numbers, she thought.

  “We haven’t gotten together after work in a while…well, except for Shakespeare, but I don’t count that. Sounds like a great idea,” Judith said and began to spread the word.

  Let’s see him try something funny now, April thought.

  All the lab people who could make it got to the restaurant before five thirty, in time for happy hour. By the time Weston arrived, the crowd was lively. April introduced him around again to the lab folks who might not have had a chance to meet him before. There was some discreet drooling and not a little envy that he seemed to be there specifically to talk with April.

  “Why the crowd? Don’t you trust me?” he asked, smiling.

  April smiled back and said, “Why would I trust you?”

  Her response eroded Weston’s smile a bit.

  They gave their drink orders to the waitress, and April pointed out where they would be sitting so their server could deliver them.

  April led Weston to a booth along the side of the mob at the bar, still well within view but quiet enough that they could talk.

  “What do you have to tell me?” she asked, looking him in the eye.

  “Have you found out more on your own?” He seemed a bit cautious, as though he were trying to figure out where in this little chess game his pieces were. And where hers were.

  He scanned the room, maybe sizing up the place and the crowd, maybe calculating his chances at getting away with shoving a bag over her head and kidnapping her again.

  “As a matter of fact,” April said with only a little smugness, “I know Nefrumeri really loved her husband and really hated his advisor.”

  The shock on Weston’s face was gratifying.

  They sat for a moment, looking at each other.

  The waitress brought their drinks, and by the time she left, Weston had recovered.

  “That is only a very small part of the story. There is so much more.”

  April jumped up from the booth. “I don’t think I want to fall into any more of your trances. I think you keep things from me and lead me where you want me to go.”

  “Please, April, sit down. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. Just let me explain.”

  She sat again, looked around to reassure herself she still had friends close by, and took a drink of her tonic and lime. She was skipping the gin, just in case. “Okay, but no funny business.”

  Weston sighed and sipped the single-malt scotch he had ordered. “At first, he thought she was silly and trivial. She had an ambitious but ordinary family. There was nothing to be gained by the relationship. And he resented her influence over his friend, the distraction she presented. You see, I had never really been in love before and didn’t know the effect it could have on a man.”

  He looked past her face at something far away and long ago. After a moment, he continued. “They were cold to each other, which caused Pharaoh pain because he loved them both so much. Finally, they agreed to a truce for his sake. Cold civility in public and no contact at all in private, but at least, we did not speak ill of each other in his presence.

  “I was approached by other wives who hated you and wanted to do you harm, but for his sake, I protected you. I never told you that. It wasn’t for you that I did it, so I never told you.”

  He sipped his drink again as the crowd of lab people laughed at a shared joke, making it hard to hear.

  “What changed?” April asked after the noise died down.

  “You almost died,” Weston answered. “He begged me to save you, and I did. He almost lost you. I almost lost you. Then we fell in love. I can’t explain it.”

  Weston got up from the booth. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, but you have to experience it to understand. If you are unwilling to know, to feel, I can’t help you.”

  He walked out of the bar.

  April looked at his unfinished drink. “Too bad I don’t drink scotch,” she said to herself then joined her coworkers for another round.

  Judith, the designated driver, gave April a lift home after everyone got a bite to eat. April was careful to take her dream suppressing pill before going to bed. She had a feeling the trances and the dreams were starting to bleed into each other, and she didn't trust where Weston's revelations might take her.

  Chapt
er 30. Birth

  Friday, the lab personnel were fully functional, in spite of the drinking that went on the evening before. April made no special effort to avoid Weston, but he seemed to be avoiding her. At least, she didn’t see a trace of him during the course of the day, but that might have been because he was working for a living, as so many cardiologists must.

  * * *

  That evening, April ran home to have dinner with Trish—Greek carry-out—then pack up for one more session at the sleep lab, since Dr. Horner hadn’t given up yet.

  “I really appreciate you staying with Winston again,” April told Trish.

  “Well, I was unsuccessful at stealing the other Winston from you, but maybe this one will come over to my side,” Trish said as she stroked the huge, black cat’s fur.

  Winston was sitting beside Trish on the sofa and ignoring April.

  “I think he’s mad at me. I usually take him with me when I’m gone overnight. He thinks I’m having fun without him.” She sat down next to him and gently pulled his ears until he drooled in pleasure. “I promise you will be more comfy here, my boy.”

  April grabbed her overnight back pack, hugged Trish, and headed out the door. Even though the sun had gone down, the summer night was thick with heat and humidity. Fire flies flashed and signaled in the lawns along her way, directing her to remain on the sidewalk away from their flight path. She was sticky from the walk by the time she got to the lab, but the air-conditioning quickly chilled her.

  “I’m back,” she said to Dr. Horner and Darryl-the-technician.

  “Welcome back,” Dr. Horner said, shaking her hand. “You haven’t taken any medication since last night, have you?”