Chosen (12 page)

As the chorus ended, the crowd filed out of the church silently, each person lost in his or her own thoughts. Outside in the bright
spring sunshine, Ridge turned to Alexana, his eyes and face shining.

“I
felt
him, Alexana. I saw him. I spoke to him.” He grinned widely, and Alexana reached up to hug him, smiling in return.

Ridge held her fast. He felt alive. Free. Excited beyond measure.

Alexana gently pulled away. “I’m so glad, Ridge. I’m so happy for you,” she said.

Sam clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, my friend. It’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.”

“I know,” he said to both of them. “I know!”

L
ydia reached across the restaurant table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “So, he accepted the Christ!”

“I believe he did,” Alexana smiled. “But my heart tells me to be careful still. I don’t want to find out it was just a passing fancy or that he was caught up in some kind of an emotional high.” She tried to keep her voice light, but her face revealed her depth of feeling. “Oh, Lydia, I hope it’s real! Because I think he’s terrific.”

“And he is obviously interested in you.”

“I think so,” Alexana hedged. “But I’ve put him off several times. Maybe he’s given up.”

“No, I do not believe that is possible,” Lydia said in her very proper English. “Once one comes to know my friend Alexana, one cannot get her out of one’s mind. I have seen many men fall by the wayside. But I have seldom seen you in such a state. You are in love.”

Alexana’s eyes grew wide. “Love?”

Lydia smiled smugly, her dark eyes crinkling in the corners. “Love.”

“Oh, I don’t know …”

“Yes, you do,” Lydia insisted. “Your heart pounds when he is near … you look for him in the suk … you wonder if it is him when the telephone rings …” She studied her friend. “I am right?”

Alexana blushed. “Perhaps,” she admitted shyly. “But I’m too old to have feelings like that!”

Lydia laughed and said mockingly, “Yes, thirty-one is quite old. But your heart is young.” She grew serious. “God has been preparing you for a long time.” Her smile faded as she looked away, lost in thought.

Alexana sobered too as she studied her friend’s beautiful features: olive skin; delicate, long limbs; dark eyes the color of melted chocolate; and thick, lush eyelashes. When they had attended school together in Ramallah, Alexana had wished she could trade in her stock American looks for more exotic features, like those of her friend.

“You are thinking of your own love now, aren’t you?” Alexana asked gently. Lydia and Samuel had been apart two years. Lydia obviously hadn’t fared any better than her brother.

Khalil, Sam, Lydia, and Alexana had grown up together at the Ramallah school. The four had been inseparable, venturing into Hezekiah’s tunnel at night or the catacombs that only locals knew about. They had remained unaware that politics caused many to view their friendship as distasteful.

As they grew up, understanding more about the real world with each year that passed, Khalil had pursued both Lydia and Alexana. Although the dangerous element to their relationship made for potential Romeo-and-Juliet encounters, both girls saw the flirtations as idle explorations. After leaving school, each knew that Khalil would never be anything more than a friend. And he had gradually struggled to accept it.

When Sam returned to Israel after spending eight years at college and grad school, he rediscovered his friendship with Lydia and, several
years later, something more. The two dated secretly, aware that her father would not approve, but certain that they could convince him when the time came.

That time came soon, yet neither could persuade the elderly patriarch that their union was right. Despite his long-term friendship with Samuel Roarke Sr., his commitment to educating his daughter among other bright scholars, and his solid devotion to the peace process and international relations, Lydia’s father wanted his daughter to marry a Palestinian. The episode tore the two families apart.

“I was so sure that Father would come around,” Lydia said to Alexana, her eyes welling up with tears. “I thought that he would relent if I respected his decision but showed him I was miserable.”

Alexana reached across the table. “Oh, Lydia, I’m sorry. All this talk about Ridge has brought up sad memories for you.”

“No! Don’t be sorry. I am happy for you,” she said, smiling through her tears. “But I am sad for myself. And for Samuel. Oh, how I miss him!”

Alexana smiled ruefully across the table. “He misses you too,” she said in a low voice.

Lydia swallowed hard. “Is he seeing anyone?”

“No. The only one he ‘sees’ is a certain tall, beautiful Palestinian named Lydia. There hasn’t been anyone else. He’s still mourning your relationship.”

Lydia looked away and shook her head. “Am I being foolish? Should I simply defy my father and follow my heart?”

Alexana thought carefully before speaking. “Only you can decide that, my friend. Jacob is a wonderful, loving, terribly stubborn man. If you defy him, you must be ready to walk away from your whole
family. He might accept your decision later. But he might not. You’d really have to be ready to say good-bye.”

Lydia sighed. “I have a lot to think about again. As you said, we are not schoolgirls anymore, but grown women. And seeing you in love—yes, in love—awakens in me those feelings for Samuel I have tried to bury. Do not let me pour water on your parade—”

“Rain on my parade.”

“Rain on your parade,” Lydia smiled. “I am so happy for you. You watch. Your love will prove himself to you. I know it.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Lydia. I hope—with all my heart, I hope—that you and Sam can find each other again someday,” Alexana said earnestly. “You’ll know where God is leading you when the time comes.”

Ridge called that morning after five days on assignment in Jordan.

“Good! You’re home,” he said when she answered.

Alexana smiled at the sound of his voice, thinking of Lydia’s words. “Yes, I am,” she said, trying to keep her voice cool. “I’m trying to pull some things together for my presentation. I have to show Abdallah and Abba Eban that my plan of action is in order. We’re already a month behind schedule. They’re close to giving me the go-ahead after stalling for a while; I just need to take care of some lastminute details.”

“If you really wanted to wow them, I should take you to headquarters in Tel Aviv,” Ridge offered. “They have a computer system that could help you create a three-dimensional presentation.”

“Oh, thank you, but no,” Alexana said smiling. “They’ve agreed to let me lead this dig because of personal and professional reasons. I don’t need to wow them with computer-generated programs.”

“Listen, I have to cover the Via Dolorosa processional at nine, but what are you doing this afternoon?”

“My presentation, mostly. I don’t think I’ll go to Good Friday services. After I get some work done, I’d like to walk through Jerusalem alone, away from the crowds, and think about Christ’s last walk.”

Ridge ventured hopefully, “You want to be all alone?”

She smiled again. “I could welcome the company of a certain CNN correspondent, if he’d like to join me.”

“He would,” Ridge said quickly.

“Then meet me at the Jaffa Gate at two.”

As he walked toward Alexana, Ridge tried to discern what he found so appealing about her. It was more than a physical attraction; seeing her stirred his heart. He wanted to know her, inside and out. And he wanted their relationship to be something God smiled upon: a surprising, new concept for him.

He wanted to take her in his arms, lift her up, and swing her around in celebration of being together. But there was no legitimate reason to touch her, and she might shy away if he were to be so bold. He would have to keep his emotions in check or perhaps lose her forever. Ridge approached her, smiling a soft hello.

Alexana greeted him in the same manner.

“Many walk the Via Dolorosa on this day,” she said, motioning for Ridge to walk beside her. He quickly matched her step. “But that’s only the traditional route that the Crusaders popularized. To me, this route seems like a more logical choice: It runs from the palace of Herod, or David’s Tower, rather than from the Antonia Fortress. Scholars believe that Pilate probably stayed at the palace, and not the fortress as the Crusaders thought.”

Ridge nodded and looked at her curiously. “What do you think about when you walk this path?”

Alexana was thoughtful. “To be honest, on most days, I don’t think about Christ’s last walk. Usually, I’m thinking about how I’m running late, or a certain aspect of my dig. Occasionally, the wonder of it hits me. But only on Good Friday do I set out to simply walk his walk.”

Ridge nodded.

“Jesus was tried by the people and sent out to be crucified,” Alexana went on. “His clothes were taken, his body whipped and bludgeoned by jeering passersby. All the while, he dragged his cross down the street. It probably weighed close to a hundred pounds. He went from king to criminal in the eyes of the people. Still, he went forward: innocent, but willing.”

Ridge walked beside her in silence. Their pace was slow, contemplative. He did not intrude on her thoughts; indeed, he was lost in his own. All along the street, vendors sold olive-wood trinkets that were spread across the ground on brightly colored, woven scarves or on small, portable tables. Tiny crucifixes. Manger scene ornaments. Miniature camels. There were fewer vendors on the street than usual, for many had gone to the more lucrative Via Dolorosa to capture the attention of pilgrims from places like Moscow, Cairo, Bombay, and New York.

As they neared the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Alexana stopped and watched as hundreds of people filtered through the giant doors. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think I want to go in. It’s difficult enough to imagine Golgotha as it was without tons of people around.”

Ridge nodded. “I’ve been inside. I know what you mean. Jesus
seems more simple than what that place conveys—shrine upon shrine.”

Alexana shrugged. “People have to worship God in the way that touches their hearts. In that Byzantine church, you see the evidence of fourteen hundred years of adoration for Christ. Some people express that adoration in gifts of artwork or ornamentation. I lose sight of him inside there; others see him for the first time.”

Ridge smiled at her in understanding. “So your walk is over?”

“For today,” she nodded. “Would you like to join me, Sam, and my father this Sunday?” she asked hopefully.

“I would love to. It just depends on my assignments.”

Alexana looked surprised. “You don’t even get Easter off?”

“I get those days off that are slow news days. A good reporter never rests. I can get the occasional leave, but I have to arrange it at least a week in advance.”

Alexana forced a tight-lipped smile, trying not to let her disappointment show. “Well, if you do end up being available, we are going to a sunrise service on the Mount of Olives, then to a brunch hosted by U.S. Ambassador Hughes.”

“Sounds like it could be a news story,” Ridge said, thinking fast.

She smiled. “It could be. There’s usually some United States congressman or other dignitary who attends. It could be an interesting angle for your ongoing story: ‘Holy Week in the Holy Lands.’ ”

Ridge looked shocked. “Have you been watching?” he teased.

“Sam told me. No television, remember?” she said with a grin.

Ridge sobered and, unable to stop himself, reached out to caress her cheek. “Now how can I be interested in a woman who doesn’t even own a television?”

R
idge was interviewing U.S. Congresswoman Snyder as Alexana and her family arrived. He smiled over at her briefly, but remained distant from the gathering of about forty that congregated on the small hilltop platform. To the east, one could look out on the hills of Jordan; to the west lay Jerusalem.

Alexana was dressed in a beige linen suit, ivory silk blouse, and cream high heels, a rare choice for her. Sam laughed and reached out to steady her as she tripped again. “Are the heels a new fashion statement or a ploy to draw the attention of a certain CNN correspondent?”

Alexana pursed her lips. “I bought these long before I met Ridge,” she said.

“But you never wore them.”

“Nonsense. Leave your sister alone,” their father piped in as he moved to join them. “I think you look stunning, dear. Your mother would be quite proud of you.” He leaned closer. “And I look forward to meeting your young man,” he said. “Your brother has told me all about him.”

Alexana smiled fondly at her white-haired father, his figure hunched over from years of working in tight quarters. His first love
had always been archaeology; after his wife’s death twelve years earlier, it was all he talked about or did. Alexana and Sam rarely saw their father. For him to express interest, or even be aware of a man in her life, was overwhelming. She hoped Ridge would make a good impression.

As the sun rose behind the Jordanian hills, the congregation listened quietly to the minister’s brief prayer, then joined him in singing one of Alexana’s favorite hymns: “Jesus Christ Is Risen Today.” Even while singing and celebrating the Resurrection in her heart, Alexana could not keep her mind from continually straying to the reporter somewhere behind her.

“I’m going to go join them,” Ridge said as Steve filmed the gathering of people.

Steve kept shooting. “All right. This is some great footage, with the sun rising and all. Congresswoman Snyder’s publicist is going to love us.”

“Yeah.” Ridge sounded distracted. “You coming?”

“Nah. I’ll stay back here.” Steve switched the camera off and lowered it from his face. “Hey, are you after God or just a girl?”