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Call of the Trumpet

Page 24

by Helen A. Rosburg’s


  He came upon her suddenly and halted, afraid she would jump and run. But she didn’t move, and Matthew realized she had fallen asleep, back against a great, gnarled trunk. Her veil and makruna were clutched in her hand, and the moonlight sparkled on her shining blue-black hair. He knelt beside her. “Dhiba?”

  The dream was the same. It was always the same. They were in the desert, alone, and she was happy. He called her name and she smiled.

  “Dhiba? Don’t be afraid, Dhiba, it’s me.”

  Cecile awoke, but the dream lingered. “Matthew?”

  “Yes.” He took her hand. “Are you all right?”

  It was not a dream. She was awake, and he had come to her. She rose up to him.

  He saw the change in her, the light in her eyes. Scarcely daring to hope, he reached for her. He tenderly cupped her face in his hands, thumbs lightly tracing the ridges of her cheekbones. She remained very still. His fingers slid down her neck.

  “I need you, Dhiba,” Matthew groaned. “I love you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Cecile trembled as his palms brushed her breasts, and Matthew smiled. Hagar had been right. The sickness had receded; life and warmth were returning. With deliberate ease, he slid his hands down her hips and moved closer.

  The lethargy that had paralyzed Cecile for so many days was gone. She felt alive again, more alive than she had ever been.

  Matthew wanted her. A vision of Aza flashed briefly in her mind, but Cecile banished it. Though she still might share his life, Aza would not share their tent. They would be alone together. She pressed her hands to his chest, then found the opening in his robe and let her fingers caress his flesh.

  Matthew bent his head. “Will you come? Are you well enough?” he murmured. “Will you return to my tent?”

  Cecile nodded and flicked her tongue against the hollow in his throat. “Yes, I will come,” she whispered.

  He held her gently, acutely aware of how fragile she had become. He felt her ribs as his hand moved from her waist, and he was surprised, therefore, at the strength with which she clung to him. Abandoning restraint, he let the passion engulf him and buried his face in her hair.

  “Dhiba,” he groaned, and Cecile smiled as her body arched to meet him.

  Chapter

  24

  CECILE ROUSED SLOWLY, REVELING IN THE SOUNDS that greeted her ears: the wistful call of a dove; the rasping sigh of the palms; the rushing, rhythmic surge of waves against the shore.

  It was not quite dawn. Only the faintest hint of pinkish light stole in through the tent flap. Cecile carefully edged from beneath Matthew’s outflung arm and dressed. She gazed at the slumbering form as she expertly wrapped the makruna, and her heart welled with love.

  Where, she wondered, had all the other emotions gone? Where was her pride? What had happened to the vow she had made never to share him, never to consent to being second wife only? Well, that vow had been broken long ago, she reminded herself. She had broken it the day she had lured Matthew into the desert. She hadn’t cared then; she didn’t care now. It was she Matthew wanted, not Aza. It was she who shared his blanket, who moved with him in the night and knew the intimacies of his body.

  Cecile drew a long, shuddering breath. Matthew wanted her; he loved her. Perhaps one day he would realize the torment Aza’s presence caused her and divorce her. Guilt assailed her, but Cecile pushed it aside. She must continue to fight for him, as she had done the day she had lured him into the desert. She had her strength back now, her will, and she would fight for him until she had won. Until either Aza … or she herself … had gone.

  For the possibility of departure still loomed, no matter how remote it might appear. Because there would only be one, just one woman for El Faris. She simply could not live any other way. But she was confident. And she was strong.

  The sky was still dark, though the east was tinged with light. Cecile moved to the edge of the bluff, wrapped an arm about the weathered trunk of a towering palm, and looked out at the sea.

  It was lightening; she was almost able to see its blue-green color, so different from the deep, deep blue of the Atlantic. Below, wavelets lapped at the sand, the tide ebbing along with the night. Cecile pushed away from the palm and followed the cliffside until she came to a narrow canyon. Holding tightly to ferns that sprouted luxuriantly from the rocks, she descended.

  Somewhere above, a spring gurgled from the ground. Its waters rushed in a delicate fall from the top of the bluff into a series of pools along the canyon floor. At low tide, when the sea receded, they filled with fresh, clear water. Cecile knelt, cupped her hands, and filled them. She laughed as she splashed her face.

  “I thought I might find you here … bathing again,” Hagar snorted.

  Cecile’s laughter blossomed anew. With a dismissing grunt, the old woman knelt and filled her skin. But she watched Cecile from the corner of her eye.

  “And what are you doing, old woman? Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up?”

  “I have to rise early,” Hagar retorted. “Now that I have no one, however worthless, to help me with my chores.”

  Cecile smiled at the good-natured barb. “But isn’t this what you always wanted?” she teased. “For me to return to my husband’s tent?”

  Hagar looked up but did not reply. Yes, she thought. It’s what she had wanted. And she had thought her worries would be over when it finally happened. But something was not quite right. She sensed it, though she could not put her finger on what it was.

  “What’s wrong, Hagar? Why do you look at me so strangely?”

  The old woman turned away. “I was just thinking,” she hedged.

  “About what?”

  “Questions! You are always so full of questions!” Hagar barked. “If you must know, I was thinking about tomorrow night. There is much to do before then, you know.”

  Cecile felt the ebullient mood slip away. She had forgotten, or perhaps had simply put it from her mind. She had become quite good at that lately. Now, however, she had to think about the future. She could put it off no longer. “Oh, Hagar!” she cried, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want you to go. Please … please don’t leave!”

  The old woman blinked back her own tears, touched by Cecile’s outburst. “Do not fret, silly girl,” she chided in an unsteady voice. “These old bones of mine may object to another winter in the desert. Maybe, this year, the others will have to return without me.”

  “Hagar! Oh, Hagar, would you?”

  “Hush, foolish child,” Hagar said with a wave of her hand. “I have decided nothing. We will see.” She turned away before Cecile could importune her again, and headed up the canyon. Then she chuckled. No, she would not be leaving. But she wanted to keep her surprise a little longer. She was not young anymore, and had few pleasures left to relish. She would relish this one to the very last moment.

  Matthew woke, stretched, realized his arms were empty, and sat up. Where the devil was she? He jumped to his feet and straightened his robe.

  The sun had risen and the camp slowly stirred to life. Matthew strode past the tents, nodding to those who greeted him. He did not pause. He knew where she had gone.

  She stood on a large sea-washed rock at the mouth of the canyon, gazing out over the water. Waves slapped at her feet, splashing upward to dampen the hem of her robe, but she did not seem to notice. Her back was straight, her shoulders square, her chin upwardly tilted. Like the very first time he had seen her, with the golden collar encircling her slender neck. The blood of the Badawin must run in her veins, he had thought then, and he had been right. The fierce, hot blood of the desert. He knew because it had burned him, seared him to the very core.

  “Good morning.”

  Cecile whirled, balancing gracefully atop the slippery rock. A smile lit her eyes. “Good morning. I didn’t hear you come.”

  “You were absorbed in your thoughts.”

  “In the beauty of this place. It’s the loveliest spot I’ve ever seen.”

  “There�
�s more.”

  “I know. And I wish I might see it all, every square inch.”

  Matthew returned her smile, then grinned. “You appear in exceptionally good spirits this morning. Are you restless, perhaps?”

  Cecile flushed. How well he always sensed her moods, guessed her thoughts. She shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

  “Then I think we should do something about it. Don’t you?” Today, he decided, was the perfect day to take her for the ride he had planned. “Would you like to try out another of your mares?”

  “I think,” she replied softly, “that is a very good idea.”

  Although she had dressed as a man, her hair tucked beneath the khaffiya, its end draped across the lower half of her face, everyone in camp knew it was she who rode upon the prancing mare. Cecile wondered if they watched disapprovingly. But when she dared glance at the upturned faces, she saw something else—awe, perhaps.

  And why not? She was no mere, lowly woman, shackled by the constraints of Badawin law, as she had once feared she would be. Nor was she a lonely outcast among the people of her father’s country. She was Al Dhiba. She had faced the she-wolf, survived the desert. She rode at El Faris’s side. Cecile smiled behind the kerchief and wondered if Aza, too, looked on.

  Once outside the camp, they followed the road along the edge of the bluff, the sea to their left, peach orchards and palm groves to the right. Occasionally they galloped past a laden camel or donkey; low, rambling houses where children played; and once, beneath them on the shore, a small fishing village. Otherwise, they saw no one. Filled with the lighthearted joy of the run, longing to breathe the salt-sea air, Cecile pulled the khaffiya aside and let the wind blow full in her face.

  Matthew watched, admiring, as always, how lightly she sat her horse … and how strikingly beautiful her face was, unveiled. Thank Allah for the European blood that also ran in her veins, freeing her from the role imposed on other Badawin women. This was the kind of mate a man should have. One who was able to ride at his side, not kneel at his feet.

  A wave of guilt immediately washed over him, and Matthew winced. Poor Aza, innocent Aza. He had done her a terrible injustice, one he would never be able to rectify. He had not married her out of love, but out of hurt and anger. And he had ruined her life, for he would never love her. There was only one, and there would never be another. He was nevertheless responsible for Aza’s life, and he would make sure she lived it with honor and such luxuries as his wealth could afford. She would always be safe, secure, and well cared for, with the dignity of his name. It was the very least he could do.

  They rode for over an hour, their pace a rocking, rhythmic lope. Matthew saw little, though he explained much. He could hardly tear his eyes from Cecile.

  She did not notice, enchanted as she was by the landscape. When a charming, half-moon bay appeared, a sandy beach coming into sight below the bluff, she reined her mare to a halt and pointed. “Oh, Matthew, look. Look at all the boats. What are they doing?”

  Matthew looked and saw the smooth brown bodies slicing cleanly into the water from their tiny boats. “They’re pearl divers. There must be an oyster bed down there. Some of the finest pearls in the world come from this coast.”

  “How fascinating. I love this place.” She sighed. “The desert. This paradise along the sea. I just wish …” Cecile cut herself off sharply and looked away.

  “You only wish … what?” Matthew prompted.

  But Cecile shook her head. How could she have come so close to slipping? She had very nearly blurted out her wish for Aza to be gone … not merely from their tent, but from their lives.

  Or was it such a bad thing to let him know?

  Blushing, Cecile looked up at Matthew from beneath lowered lashes. Would he understand? Would he divorce the gentle Aza for love of her if she asked? Did he love her that much?

  Perhaps. And when the time was right, when she felt totally secure in his life, in his love, when she was convinced he held not a shred of affection for the girl, other than friendship, she would ask.

  For now, however, she adroitly changed the subject. “I was just thinking,” Cecile answered at last, “just thinking how much I’d like to … to see some of the pearls.”

  “Why? Do you like them?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied honestly. “They’re so … so vital, so warm and alive.”

  Like you, Matthew added silently. Reluctantly, he noted the level of the sun. “I’m afraid it’s time to turn back,” he said at last, but he mentally marked their spot. Where there were divers there were men who worked in gold. He knew just what he wanted. “Are you ready?”

  Cecile nodded, wheeled her mare, and fell in beside him. The golden day was almost at an end, yet she did not regret it. For the first time in a long time, she found she looked forward to the morrow.

  The day was still, steamy with the heat of early September. Palm trees hung limply, and even the waves rolled lazily into shore. Cecile heard them from inside the tent and wished she might run barefoot to the beach and wade in the cooling water. She wished she could go anywhere, do anything, in fact, rather than remain where she was. She cast a sideways glance at Aza.

  The girl seemed oblivious to the heat and worked steadily on the cakes she prepared for the feast. Though she could not see it beneath the veil, Cecile imagined her smiling, happy as usual. With a twinge of guilt she looked away.

  “Here, Dhiba,” Aza said in her quiet voice. “Use this to mash the dates. It will be easier for you.”

  “Thank you.” Cecile accepted the wooden implement, glancing only briefly into Aza’s eyes. How could she always be so gracious? Cecile squirmed, then returned to her dates with a vengeance. The mere thought of Matthew lying with the girl nearly drove her insane. Yet Aza did not seem to mind the reverse situation. Night after night she silently endured, alone in the little tent where she slept, as her husband lay with another woman. How did she do it?

  Well, she would not have to endure it much longer. Cecile’s determination to ask Matthew to divorce Aza was reinforced, and not merely because of her own need to have Matthew all to herself. There was Aza, too, to consider. The kind and lovely girl was young yet; she had her whole life in front of her. She deserved a man who adored her, who would give her children. Yes, Cecile decided. It would be best for all of them.

  The afternoon waned. The light softened, and the sea sparkled. Aza gathered the cooking pots, then sat back on her heels. “The women will be going to the canyon to bathe now,” she said. “Why don’t you go with them? I will scrub the pots.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll help you.”

  Aza shook her head. “There’s little to do. Please, go ahead.”

  Cecile hesitated, Aza’s unselfishness making her feel guiltier than ever. She glanced at the clothes she had laid out, the new towb and embroidered jacket, the coral necklace; then at Aza’s small, neat pile. Not so much as a copper bracelet. Cecile turned and impulsively dug through her qash. “Here,” she said, retrieving the bracelets from the bottom of the box. “I … it would please me if you’d like to wear these tonight.”

  Aza’s eyes glittered with tears. “Oh, oh, no, Al Dhiba. I couldn’t. I …”

  “Please. I insist.”

  Aza reached slowly for the proffered bracelets, head humbly lowered. “You are so very kind,” she murmured. “Too kind. I thank you with all my heart.”

  It was more than Cecile could bear. Grabbing her clothes, she rushed from the tent.

  A sultry, salty breeze sprang up by evening. The palms rustled, and a myriad of exotic fragrances floated on the air. Fires crackled, and the sound of laughing voices rose and fell.

  Cecile wandered slowly among the different groups, pausing now and then for a greeting, but declined to stop for long. She felt melancholy rather than festive. So many of these people would leave tomorrow, people she had grown to know and love. Would she see them again? Would they return to the coast in the spring, or continue straight on across the desert back toward D
amascus? What of Kut and her young son? Hagar and Jali … ?

  Cecile plucked a crimson, trumpet-shaped flower and tucked it into the makruna. The petals were velvet against her cheek.

  “So there you are!” Hagar appeared as if from nowhere and grabbed Cecile’s hand. “Come, you silly girl, and join the feasting.”

  Cecile tried to pull away, but the old woman’s grip was firm. “Hagar,” she protested. “Please, I’d rather not. I … I don’t want to say good-bye. Especially to you.”

  There was a catch in her voice. Hagar ignored it, as well as the protestation. “Nonsense. We all must say good-bye sometime. Do not worry about it for now. Come.”

  There was nothing for it. Cecile followed, forcing a smile as they joined a group of giggling women.

  The evening progressed much like the night at the oasis when they had celebrated a neighbor’s wedding. Cecile found herself smiling genuinely from time to time, caught up at last in the festivities.

  Appetites sated, the dancing began. It started slowly, the younger girls stepping and turning gracefully to the rhythmic clap of hands and chant of voices. Beyond the fires the men watched. Hearts beat faster, and the tempo increased.

  Cecile’s body throbbed in response. She moistened her lips and clasped her hands in her lap while her eyes searched the darkness for Matthew. But she did not see him. In fact, she had not seen him all afternoon. Where had he gone? Why was he not here tonight, of all nights?

  Shouts and random clapping distracted her, and Cecile realized the dance had ended. The laughing, perspiring girls sank to their knees by the fire, and the jokes and raucous stories began. Cecile wondered if now was the time to make good her escape.

  But Hagar was suddenly talking. The other women had fallen silent, giving her their full attention, and Cecile did likewise. She had no choice, for the old woman’s gaze had pinned her.

 

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