“I do think, Sam, your reasons for not marrying are less than compelling. Consider what Val has suggested.” James spoke slowly, “If compassion led you to rescue her, surely you don’t mean to abandon her. Clearly, she hasn’t the experience to know the perils she might face, in England or in Africa. You must clarify matters. At the very least, you must not abandon her no matter what she decides.”
“You cannot imagine I would abandon her! I realize I have not earned high marks for honor. But I’ve tried never to mislead her and have certainly explained all the hazards of going on the African trip. And my friends would no more consider her immoral than you and I do. Society’s rules are not binding on a subject so entirely personal as affectionate sex.”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, there are dangers in an illicit relationship,” James said. “Despite the profligacy of your friend the Prince, our Queen makes no allowances for any woman she sees as ‘compromised.’“
“I agree with James,” Val added, “Florence can have no inkling as to how her behavior might be perceived by our proper British society!”
“You’re a fine one to mention that,” Sam snapped.
“You might very well say that, dear brother. But I never put a hand on a woman who didn’t know exactly what it meant!”
“Sorry to have taken a whack at you, Val. Forgive me. I’m feeling like a scoundrel. Tell me what you think the rest of the family would say to my marrying again.”
“Just what we say, Sam! Marry her. When you bring her home, your girls will take to her as you obviously have. And if Min or anyone else won’t accept your choice, it will be their loss.”
“I am sure that is excellent advice, and I ask only that you keep my secret until the appropriate time.”
“Why shouldn’t you count on us?” Val asked, laying an arm across Sam’s shoulders, “When we so often looked to you for aid or advice, you never failed us.”
“Let’s put the subject aside and get to bed,” James suggested. “If Sam wants to, we’ll talk tomorrow, what say?”
Back on the train a few days later, Sam felt better for having shared his problem with his brothers, though their advice was stronger than he’d expected. It was now clear to him that he might have told Florence of his ambivalence toward marriage that night in Constanta, but it would have led to the admission that she was unlikely to fit into his family. So he had tried to tell her only why he considered it unfair, less than honorable, to make love to her. One excuse was as weak as the next, and he had been fooling himself. The simple truth was that he was neither ready to marry nor able to give her up.
Dammit, he was definitely not prepared to lose her!
* * *
Winter on the Black Sea was milder than elsewhere in the region, a pleasant surprise to Florence, who expected sharp freezing winds and sudden blizzards. Sam told her the mountains on the north kept away some of the cold and the sea was somehow a warming factor. She mentioned this to Yesil, who told her it was warm because the rich had vacation places on the sea.
However there were occasional days when gusts of wind off the sea brought cold rain. Florence was glad Sam had thought to hire a groom who could exercise both horses. In the first few weeks after the miscarriage, she couldn’t have ridden, but since then she had resumed riding in almost any weather. She was happy to be out while Yesil cleaned house, and being in the fresh air helped her to sleep better and have fewer bad dreams. The bad ones were always the same: the curtains in flames or the coach tumbling down the mountainside. Lately, however, she also dreamed of her father or mother, alive and smiling at her. When she reached out to touch them, they would fade away, leaving her alone and empty handed.
One blustery afternoon as she sat at the desk paging through her grammar book, Florence heard hooves clattering on the drive and opened the door just as Sam stepped from a coach. Within moments she was in his arms, breathing in the wintry freshness mixed with the aroma of tobacco and Bay Rum. She had expected to be elated by her first sight and his first touch but hadn’t known her worries to slip off like a discarded shawl. In his arms she was safe.
Yet that night when she fell asleep in Sam’s embrace, a new dream, no less terrible than the others, caused her to cry out. It woke them both, and Sam wrapped himself around her and, to calm her tremors, urged her to tell him her dream.
“It was about Marie, walking with me in a field. I think we had the old cow with us, and Marie’s sox kept slipping down into her shoes. She whined and I told her not to and walked away from her. She called out to me, and I went back and couldn’t find her, so I started calling her.”
“My poor dearest, it was only a dream.”
“No, the parts were just jumbled together. You and I could not find her, and then Marie and I found a cow that bellowed to be milked. We were so hungry. I told Marie the cow meant that good things could still happen to us. I always promised to care for her.”
“You did all you could, Florrie,” Sam said and stroked her hair.
She lay still, comforted by Sam’s body curved around hers, and she probed her mind in search of reasons for her dreams. Did they mean to disturb her easy acceptance of this good life or were they reminders that loss and sorrow come without warning and she must not expect it to last. But she wanted it to be possible to accept the good, not to question but to enjoy what she could.
If Sam needed to wander the world and wanted her with him, she would go – to Africa or any other place. She had no problems or worries. What more could anyone want?
Sam told her his negotiations in Budapest would soon free him of his railway position. He talked about his two brothers and then showed her a list of tasks James had agreed to take on.
“He will arrange shipments to Cairo for all of it, and so now I may devote more time to planning. Within a year we should be in Egypt! Nothing can divert us from our goal, Florence.”
“As soon as that?”
“Second thoughts?”
“No, really not, I’m eager to go.”
“So is there something else on your mind?”
She hesitated a moment before saying there was “something.” Leaving the maps and lists already piling up on the desk, she went into the sitting room. She stood by the fire, knowing he would follow her and collecting the words she’d practiced. When he came, she looked into his eyes and, comforted by their warmth, broached her subject.
“Have you ever considered that we might have a child?”
“I have, but I doubt this is a good time for it.”
“In other words, you do not want another child?”
“Florence, are you pregnant?”
“No, I’m not. But we have been rather rash, at times.”
“I didn’t say I did not want a child. But now is not a time for that. I promise I’ll be more careful.”
“Thank you, Sam. I do agree it would be inconvenient.”
“I did not say a child would be inconvenient. But I am aware that pregnancies often are ill-timed. But I wouldn’t put them in a category with warring tribes or hungry lions. Women give birth in many an uncivilized place, and if that happens, I will go to any lengths to keep you healthy and safe wherever we are. Do you understand?”
“But, if I had a child, we’d become a burden.”
“Oh, my dear, you tear my heart out! Were you to bear my child, do you imagine I would feel you or the child a burden?”
“I’m sorry, Sam, but I worry.”
“You mustn’t. Please believe what I’ve said about planning for and preparing to live comfortably anywhere.”
“Oh, Sam, I do love you.”
“Then trust me to care for you whatever happens. I will do all I can to protect and comfort you, to keep you safe.”
Florence believed he had made a promise.
* * *
As Sam took her in his arms and covered her face with kisses, he truly meant to keep his promises. He was aware of how much those words sounded like the marriage vows he had once taken and had
tried to keep. The inconveniences and dangers in Ceylon hadn’t burdened him, and it hadn’t come to his attention that they might burden Harriette. He had meant then and intended now to keep his promises and to be aware of how heavily the burdens might lie on others.
* * *
They sailed out of the port of Constanta aboard a cargo vessel bound for the Bosporus. For three days they walked the decks and watched birds winging through the wake to scavenge the bilge water. Each evening they dined at the captain’s table and listened to the officers talk about their voyages.
Florence spent her days on deck either watching the sea or reading a book. sit for long.
But Sam, unaccustomed to idleness, was unable to He’d lay his book face down on the chaise and pace the deck, or he’d go to the cabin to ransack his bags for something that might need his attention. After meals he circled the decks, counting the laps, and the moment the door closed on their cabin each night, he pulled her close to him and unpinned her hair.
In Constantinople, they took rooms in a hotel where Sam had stayed years before on his way to the Crimea. It pleased him to see the staff fawn over Florence, though it caused her to blush. They visited ancient mosques and old, narrow market streets where they bargained in cluttered stalls for beautifully crafted brass pitchers, leatherwork, and textiles. Their rooms filled with rugs, fabrics, and implements for the expedition. Sam packed boxes and crates, marking them with letters and numbers, and Florence recorded each item’s location in a ledger and ticked it off on the lists. Finally everything was hauled to the pier.
The next morning Sam left their rooms with an attache case filled with papers verifying his ownership of crates and boxes held in a warehouse at the port, and after customs he went to another office to secure an exit visa for Florence. He used all he had of patience as well as a generous sum of money, certain that the latter would be the more persuasive, yet the official remained reluctant. Then Sam produced his receipt from the Widdin auction, and the official understood and supplied papers identifying Florence as his wife.
At the end of January 1861, they sailed for Alexandria on the Luxor, a larger and more impressive vessel than the Black Sea steamer. A uniformed purser led them along the polished teak decks, up outside stairs to the next deck, and over a threshold to a carpeted companionway. Brass brackets supported mahogany handrails that ran along the corridors from one stateroom door to the next, and in their cabin, bronze lamps were bolted to tables with piecrust edges. Broad web belts lay across the bunks to hold them in their beds, and in the bathroom nickel railings and brackets kept glasses and bottles in place. Sam enjoyed watching Florence discover all the ship’s fittings and, once they were under way, seeing her delight in the sea itself. She often stood at the rail making sure not to miss a bird swoop over their wake or an island rise from the dark blue waters.
He looked forward to seeing her responses to Egypt’s wonders.
Chapter 11
Egypt
Florence and Sam stood at the starboard rail as the ship edged into a berth in Alexandria’s west harbor. Pressing close around them, women passengers waved hands and handkerchiefs to attract the eyes of friends or relatives at the customs barrier. On the pier, stevedores secured the ship’s lines or waited with hand trucks near the cargo hatches. On the pier almost directly below them, several men in turbans waited while small boys set up displays and called to the passengers.
“What’s happening down there, Sam? What are the men preparing for?”
“They’re magicians, galli-galli men to entertain you.”
“Look! Over there— one has a snake around his neck!”
The nearest galli-galli man folded back the wide sleeves of his caftan, revealing arms as pale as her own, though his face was dark as mahogany, and Florence asked Sam about it.
“Levantines are of many races, white, brown, black. They come from all directions, drawn to the Mediterranean for commerce and access to other worlds. Now only they can distinguish among them; we can’t begin to.”
The magician raised his face toward the passengers, tracing arabesques in the air with his hands and chanting until he drew the crowd’s attention. Then he put his fingertips to his mouth, his cheeks ballooned, and he drew forth a little yellow chick and placed it gently on his shoulder. He repeated the actions, using his right hand, then the left, until a row of downy yellow chicks lined up on each shoulder and one perched atop his turban.
Florence applauded, and when others threw money down to the pier, she plucked at Sam’s sleeve.
“Sam, please toss him some coins.”
The galli-galli man’s boy caught some coins in mid-air and scrambled for the rest at the magician’s feet while a magician a few feet away brandished a pair of swords, tossing them high in the air. He tilted his head back and thrust a sword down his throat and then withdrew it slowly and bowed as another shower of coins pelted down. Still another man pulled colored scarves from his sleeves, and Sam dug in his pocket for more coins.
While Sam went to the purser for their papers, she remained at the rail, watching magicians leave and dock workers arrive, wheeling the gangway in place. When the crowd around her surged toward the head of the ramp, Florence had to grip the rail with both hands to remain in place until she caught sight of Sam working his way through to her.
“Time to join the mob, but if the baggage steward has done his job, we won’t be long in customs. I arranged for most of our baggage to be sent on to Cairo. Did you enjoy the show?”
“Yes, but the first man was best.”
“We’ll stay only long enough to see the sights,” he said, taking her elbow as they shuffled forward.
In a hack on the way to the Hotel Metropole, the driver pointed out the site of the ancient Pharos.
“Writers in the third century B.C. said the light was visible forty miles out on the sea,” Sam told her.
“One of the seven wonders!”
“Only the site is left. An earthquake destroyed the lighthouse 500 years ago, along with the causeway Alexander built to reach it.”
As they turned toward the city Florence remarked that the sea and the land seemed to glow. “The colors are so intense.”
“That’s an effect of the sea, a refraction. Painters come here because of this phenomenon, as they do to France’s Riviera. You’ll notice something similar on the desert when the winds die and the air is clear.”
“It’s not what I expected to see in Africa.”
In the mid-day heat of Alexandria, the broad avenues leading to the hotel were filled with men in pale suits and women who carried parasols and looked like pictures. Sam remarked that it always seemed like a holiday in Alexandria.
“Because it is still chilly weather in Cairo or their servants are observing Ramadan, wealthy people come here, many to their villas on the strand. It’s an international community.”
The next day a hired trap took them east along the coast road to the viceroy’s palace. On the beach, cabanas of striped canvas were wheeled into the water to allow women in bathing dresses to slip modestly into the surf. On their right, villas rose behind walls draped with purple bougainvillea. Turning from side to side, Florence tried not to miss a thing.
“I’m not ready for this, Sam, meeting a stranger with a palace and a title.”
“We are merely making a courtesy call. He is head of the government in this region. We’ll be presented, but I doubt he’ll take any interest in either of us.”
At the palace a white-robed servant ushered them into a marble foyer where gilt-framed mirrors reflected bouquets in porcelain urns. Bowing, the servant backed from the room as a second one entered through an arched doorway.
“His Highness has gone to the mineral springs at Fayoum,” he said in a crisp Oxford accent, “and will not be at home today. Please leave your card, sir.” He gestured toward a silver tray below a portrait of a vizier.
“His Highness will receive you at another time.”
&nb
sp; When they were once more in the sunshine, Florence smiled when Sam told her he might return, if he found it convenient.
In the next few days, they visited historic sites, window shopped, and took coffee in street cafes. It wasn’t long before Sam complained that idleness made him restless and impatient. He didn’t mention the viceroy again, and on the fourth day they eagerly boarded the train to Cairo.
Seated on upholstered but rigid seats in a first-class coach, Florence watched the outskirts of the city move past her dusty window. The countryside appeared unchanged from how it must have looked centuries ago. In the fields, water buffalo pulled plows and turned water wheels, and they saw an Archimedes screw lifting water over the dyke. Tiered dove-cotes rose atop houses the color of the land, and on river banks, barefoot women in long black garments walked regally and carried clay water jugs on their heads. Along the dirt roads boys in long white gowns brandished sticks at donkeys carrying bundles of leafy stalks on their backs.
“This is only the start, Florrie. Isn’t it splendid?”
“Oh yes! They’re farming the way they have for centuries. It’s as if the books I’ve seen are coming to life. We’ve come so far and traveled backward in time.”
In Cairo, a cab took them along streets where buildings rose alongside narrow thoroughfares, and yet whole families appeared to spend their lives on the streets. Men sat in front of small cafes, drinking from tiny cups while they played a game, their tiles clicking on the tables. Women swathed in black sat close together on the curbs, talking and holding their babies. Aromas of jasmine and coffee drifted above the dusty streets with their reek of manure dropped by donkeys.
“Not as beautiful as Alexandria, eh? But this is their way of enjoying life. It will change in a few blocks. Our hotel, Shepheard’s, is beside the Azbakiyah Gardens.” Sam said and added another of his history lessons, this one of more recent times.
“Sixty years ago the hotel was Napoleon’s headquarters. We have him to thank for driving out the Turks, but still the French never got on well here. Napoleon wanted to ruin our access to the East, and we destroyed his fleet.”
“Why were the British here?”