Authors: Ginger Solomon
One Choice (5 page)
Mom and Dad would be disappointed in her, knowing she hadn't kept in touch with her family. She didn't want to think about how disappointed they'd be in her relationship with God. In her heart, she apologized to them too.
She plopped back on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep. When she woke, shadows cloaked her room. She peered out the window. People moved about their normal, everyday lives as if nothing unusual were happening. Halim, the Pizza Palace owner, crossed the street and unlocked the door to his apartment. She recognized many of the faces, but didn't know most of their names. People she lived near, but hadn't bothered getting to know. Most avoided her anyway â the strange, American girl living alone.
She walked into the kitchen to fix a sandwich and a bowl of ice cream, ignoring Anaya. No mess, so she must have found the broom and dustpan. Anaya sat on the couch with a book resting in her hands. She remained silent, though Cahri could feel Anaya's gaze follow her.
For the rest of the week, Cahri worked at the mission during the day training Gloria, her replacement, a sweet older woman who had converted to Christianity a few years ago. She caught on to the few idiosyncrasies of working with the computers and Pastor Phillip with amazing speed.
After work each day, Cahri went home and retreated into silence, withdrawing into herself in an effort to cope with events out of her control. Even though Anaya accompanied her during the day and heard her speak, she said nothing about Cahri's lack of speech each evening.
Cahri cleaned the apartment, or sorted and packed her things in the assigned boxes, ate, and went to her bedroom. Sometimes she read, but most of the time she lay in the bed thinking about the changes taking place in her life. The invitation Emily had extended for a going away dinner held no enticement. Nothing mattered anymore.
Anaya spoke occasionally during this time, but it seemed as if she waited for something, though Cahri didn't know what. Maybe she prayed. Anaya brought a supernatural peace to the apartment which hadn't been in Cahri's life for a long time. A peace she missed, but couldn't accept because of the God from whom she knew it originated.
On Friday, Cahri worked a half-day while Anaya remained at the apartment packing the remaining kitchen items and waiting for the van to pick up the donation boxes. Gloria no longer needed her assistance, so Cahri went home and took a long, hot shower. Afterward she dressed in the outfit provided. The one
he
wanted her to wear. Another freedom removed â the freedom to choose what she would wear.
Teal, one of her favorite colors, brought no joy today. She glanced down at the white embroidery â flowers, and birds â stitched to the hems of the shirt and pants with expertise. Nothing. Numbness kept her tears at bay, but it also stole her joy in the simple things.
She washed the clothes she had worn during the week and finished packing the things she wanted to take with her, adding her toiletries to the already-stuffed boxes.
Her glance strayed to the curtains she had created but chose to leave because she would have no place to reuse them. She'd found the material in a box of her mom's. Her fingers danced over the blue flowers, as she wondered what kind they were. She'd never seen them outside of this particular fabric. When she'd tried to research them on the internet, they all looked similar, and she couldn't decide which they were.
Cahri did everything she could to postpone the inevitable, but nothing remained to be done. She glanced up as Anaya entered the open door of her bedroom.
“It is time to depart. Where are the boxes you want to take with you?”
Cahri pointed to the corner, continuing her silence.
Anaya called in Matthias and Waseem, who had returned, to carry them.
The furniture and a few boxes were all which remained of the last three years of Cahri's life. She sighed and resigned herself to the change.
She picked up Stormy's crate, having managed to coax him in, and started for the door. Grasping the doorknob, she twisted around and stared at her home. The bare, white walls seemed desolate. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. It may not have been grand, but it had been hers and she had been happy here.
No more pizza, movie, and ice cream nights.
With a deep breath, she closed the door on her life of independence because, no matter what happened, she would no longer be free to do as she chose. The privilege of remaining in Belikara as a single woman had just been taken from her. After the next few months either the prince, as her husband, or her brother would be her authority.
Josiah paced back and forth in front of the window. He stopped and pushed aside the sheer curtain a fraction when he heard a car on the driveway two stories below. Two ladies emerged from a black sedan, both dressed in the outfits Anaya had helped him pick out. According to the servants, thirty women had arrived so far. Thirty of fifty.
Anaya and her chosen candidate were not among them. Matthias had promised to check in with an update as soon as he arrived, but hadn't yet. He could trust his best friend and security chief to keep his word.
He plowed his fingers through his hair and resumed pacing. This whole thing frayed on his nerves more than it ought. He was a grown man about to take a wife, would have already, except for finding his fiancée, Remalyn, in bed with another man three years ago. The idea of being married shouldn't make him so uptight. He closed his eyes, and whispered a brief prayer for strength, wisdom, and peace. None of these women were Remalyn. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact.
He moved to leave, tired of his vigil. The sound of another car brought him up short. He yielded to the temptation to watch one more arrival. It could be her.
Matthias and Waseem stepped out of the car. At long last, the one he wanted to see. While he knew nothing about any of the ladies, Anaya had studied their profiles and selected this one as the most reasonable candidate to be his wife. He wanted to see her and understand Anaya's decision.
His sister stepped out of the car, followed by the one she had chosen dressed in the outfit he'd provided. Was she wearing a hat? Not bothering to look around at the house or the grounds, she leaned close to Anaya, and nodded, but didn't seem to answer. Unusual. Every one of the others he'd observed showed some sort of excitement at the sight of the house and grounds. She followed Waseem inside.
Disappointment engulfed him. He'd wanted this one to look around. He'd wanted to see her face, even for just a fraction of a second. But she didn't seem to care about how beautiful the gardens were or how opulent the house. His breathy sigh fogged a section of the window.
He walked away, ignoring the sound of another car releasing yet another of the chosen ones.
****
Cahri sat in a room with forty-nine talking women. Most had arrived before her and the rest within fifteen minutes. Dinner had been served, a simple affair with Greek salad and lamb kebabs.
The noise grew louder and more overwhelming even though she had moved to the corner farthest away. She glanced from person to person. Their mouths moved, but she couldn't make out any of the conversations. Once in a while, a lone voice would be louder than the others, struggling to be heard. It was a nightmare. One from which she couldn't awaken.
Cookie cutter women, and she was a part of them, and yet not. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, most looked to be in their twenties.
Everyone, except her.
Her porcelain skin stood out like a white cloud on a stormy afternoon. At least her hair was hidden beneath her hat.
It was Friday night, and she wanted to be home in her apartment, with her cat, some pizza and ice cream, and a movie. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Depression, maybe anger at the unfairness of it all, filled her.
Another instance which proved God had forsaken her.
Lonely, but not alone. She wanted to be alone, just as she had been for the last three years. At least then she wouldn't feel so isolated. She didn't belong here, and the obviousness of it hurt. She had seen some of these women on the streets, yet not one ventured near her to start a conversation tonight. Even Stormy left her alone to scope out his new surroundings. She stared at her hands resting in her empty lap and fought back tears.
The noise echoed off the uncarpeted floor, bouncing around the stylish room. Windows dominated two of the walls, so it must be considered a solarium, but the furnishings one would expect to grace the room were absent. Instead, folding tables and chairs skirted the walls, and a few smaller sofas and upholstered chairs made cozy sections in the corners of the large room.
She couldn't stand the noise anymore. How could all of these women be happy about being chosen? She didn't want to be here. Cahri stood and trudged to the room she'd been assigned.
God, why did you do this to me?
As soon as she entered the dormitory-like environment, Cahri yanked off her hat, increasing the pain in her head and scattering the pins on the tile floor. She plopped on the bed and closed her eyes for a moment before taking the time to study the room which would be hers for months.
If five cots, one for her and each of the roommates she had yet to meet, hadn't filled the room, it would be quite large, about the size of a spacious bedroom. Creamy walls were accented with hand-woven tapestries of various red and blue geometric designs. Small Persian rugs graced the floor by each bed, and a long runner ran down the middle of the room.
Cahri rose and closed the deep red drapes on the windows at the far end of the room. The large windows would allow for plenty of light during the day, but at night made her feel vulnerable and on display. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, much like one she'd seen in a museum in the United States once. Another door tucked in the corner must lead to the bathroom.
She pulled out one of her boxes and grabbed her brush. After undoing the braid, she pulled the brush through her hair. The process and the quiet soothed her headache. Tension from her co-workers yesterday and this morning had added to her stress. She sensed none of them knew what to say to her, or how to articulate their goodbyes. They chose to say nothing in lieu of saying the wrong thing. She understood, but it hurt.
Cahri re-braided her hair and placed a band around the end. After changing clothes, she climbed beneath the down comforter, which matched the color on the walls. She expected to be awakened when the others returned, but needed to lie down. She hadn't slept well since this whole thing began, and she was tired, so very tired.
Closing her eyes, she searched her memory for something happy. The last trip she had taken to the States with her parents came to mind. No responsibilities, no death, no sorrow. Good times and lots of laughter.
When she opened her eyes again, the sun shone through the break in the curtains. She was surprised she hadn't roused when her roommates came in. They still slept, and Stormy lay curled up beside her, purring in his dreams.
What would today be like? She usually planned her Saturdays â laundry, cleaning, the orphanage, and time with friends. No plan equaled boredom, and boredom frustrated her.
A new outfit lay on the chest at the foot of her bed, replacing the one she had taken off the night before. Navy blue with light blue thread. Attractive, but not for her. Not today. Too refined. Too normal. Too expected. She needed something which would shock, and express her current mood.
She ignored the navy set and retrieved the box filled with her things. She chose a pair of black jeans and a long black over-shirt. She brushed her hair, re-braided it, and pinned it up so she could put on her black fedora. After grabbing her notebook, she walked to the common room. A beautiful garden had caught her attention yesterday, and she moved toward the door leading to it. As she opened it, one of the servants rushed to her side and explained she was not yet allowed to go outside. Cahri stared at the girl in disbelief.
Not only was she here against her will, but she couldn't go outside either?
She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind, nodded to the servant, and stepped away. She tugged a chair close to a nearby window and contented herself to look at the beautiful garden, even though she could not sit among its flowers.
Day 1â
Slept better last night. Woke up at my normal time. Still not talking. Nothing to say.
How can all of these women accept this? It's so unfair. I don't want to be here. Where's God in all this? I hate it here. There's nothing to do. I can't even go outside in the garden. How absurd!
Last night I dreamed of Mom and Dad. We were all in the kitchen. Mom was fixing dinner, telling me about their latest convert. Dad read the paper. His feet propped up on the chair next to mine. When Mom was done with her story, I tickled his feet.
I miss them.
I feel so alone.
She heard a few of the others moving about, so she returned the chair to its place and went to her room.
Food didn't appeal to her, so she ate little at breakfast. Cereal or oatmeal comprised her usual morning meal. She'd never had
Sucuklu Yumurta
because she didn't like eggs, but she tasted the fried eggs with dried Turkish sausage, similar to American pastrami, anyway. Cahri was willing to try anything once, but she had to restrain herself so she didn't spit the bite back out. Nibbling a piece of toast, she rose from her chair. She picked up her plate to put it away, but a servant took it from her hands, bowing just a bit. Cahri stepped back and almost tripped over the chair leg.
“
Afedersiniz
,
” the servant girl murmured. Cahri nodded her acceptance of the apology and moved away.
What was she doing here? How would she spend her time until the classes started on Monday? Two days of nothing to do. She clenched her fists, fighting not to voice her frustration.
She sat on a cushion in the corner and watched the others. Her dad never understood her ability to sit and just watch people. She'd tried to describe it to him once, explaining she made up stuff about them in her head, like where they were going, who they were with, or if they were going to meet someone. Sometimes she'd imagined what kind of pet they would most resemble. Her dad had laughed, but still hadn't understood.
Stormy found her and curled up in her lap. She scratched his ears. Her best friend and closest confidante. Gratitude swelled within her at not having to give him up. It didn't take long for his white fur to dot her clothes.
Her attention returned to the women. Some were tall and curvaceous, others short and overweight, and everything in between. Their personalities seemed as diverse. The prince had a variety of women to choose from. No way would he choose her over one of them.
Did his interest lie in mere external beauty? Could he be so shallow? She doubted it, but how would he choose a wife in six months? It wasn't much time.
“Oh, Stormy,” she whispered just for him. His fur tickled her nose, but she rubbed her face against him anyway. “Have you seen the prince? What does he look like? Is he as kind as Anaya says he is?”
“Mew.”
She laughed at him. He gave the answer he knew to give.