The Ghosts of Anatolia (23 page)

“Thank you, Lala,” Elizabeth said wearily. “I appreciate your prayers.”

“Maybe Dr. Charles will be with Hakan when he returns. Someone must have some common sense down at that prison.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Miss Lala?” Sirak called out.

The old Turkish woman turned and peered at Sirak through her veil. “Yes, my little angel?”

“Would you pray for my papa, too?”

“Oh, you poor little dear. Of course—I’ll say a special prayer just for him.”

“His name is Mourad Kazerian.”

“I know. I’ll remember him in all of my prayers.”

“Thank you, Miss Lala.”

Lala stepped out and Nurse Barton rolled onto her back. Sobbing softly, she stared up at the ceiling.

“Have you ever been to Jerusalem?” Kristina whispered.

“No. David and I intended to go last winter, but then the war ruined our plans.”

“I’ve heard you can worship any God you want there and nobody interferes. Can you imagine that—Muslims, Jews and Christians living together in peace?”

“I doubt the Ottoman officials in Jerusalem are all that tolerant now that there’s war. In America, religious freedom is guaranteed by our Constitution.”

“America,” Kristina whispered. “It must be a wonderful country.”

“Mama, where
is
America?” Sirak asked.

“It’s far, far away, little mouse—on the other side of the great ocean.”

“Is that where God lives?”

“No, God doesn’t live there, but lot’s of wonderful people do, like Nurse Barton and Dr. Charles. Uncle Bedros called it paradise on earth.”

“Has Papa ever been there?”

“No, little mouse, he’s never been there. Maybe someday, after we meet Papa and Stepannos in Jerusalem, we can all visit America together.”

“How do we know Papa’s in Jerusalem?” Mikael called out skeptically.

“He said he’d meet us there,” Kristina replied. “We must have faith he’ll find his way.”

“Can we go find them tomorrow?” Sirak asked impatiently.

Kristina sighed sadly. “We can’t go tomorrow, but we’ll go...”

A knock at the door resounded through the room.

“Who is it?” Elizabeth called out.

Lala pushed the door ajar. “Hakan is back, madam. He’s here with me now.”

Elizabeth bolted up in the bed. “Have him wait in the parlor. I’ll be right there.” She grabbed her robe off the bedpost and hurried out.

Hakan was standing in the parlor. He looked up with a long face.

“What happened?” Nurse Barton demanded.

“They wouldn’t listen to me, Nurse Barton.”

“Did you ask to see the governor-general?”

“Yes, I did just what you said, but I only got to speak to his assistant. He said the governor-general was busy and couldn’t be interrupted.”

“Did you give him my letter?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Hopefully, he’ll read it soon.”

“No, madam.”

“No? Why not?”

“I’m so sorry. I did the best I could.”

“What happened? Tell me.”

“He burned the letter.”

“He
burned
it?”

“Yes, he lit a match and set fire to it right there on his desk.”

“But why?”

“He told me to tell you murderers and child killers don’t read letters.”

“Murderers and child killers?”

“That’s what he said. Those were his exact words.”

“Dear God. Did he say anything else?”

Hakan shook his head “No.”

Nurse Barton bit her lip and stared tearfully at a collage of photographs on the wall. One was a grainy black and white image of David Charles, along with several other white-coated doctors, standing in front of the American Missionary Hospital in Chunkoush. A snapshot from a happier day, Charles stood cheerfully, with his arm draped around a young Turkish colleague’s shoulders. He stared back with his indomitable grin. Nurse Barton gazed at his image for several moments. “Leave me now,” she sobbed.

The front door opened and Erol struggled inside toting a large burlap bag. His red face was streaked with perspiration. Straining under the weight of the bulky load, he tripped and nearly fell. “Father told me to bring in these potatoes.”

Flora rushed around the kitchen table. “Here, let me help you.” She grabbed one end of the bag and helped him hoist it onto the counter. “This is much too big for you. You shouldn’t be lifting anything this heavy.”

Erol bent over and propped his arms on his knees. “Tell Father,” he replied wearily. “If I don’t, he whips me.”

Flora grabbed a wet cloth from the kitchen and dabbed perspiration from the boy’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand why he hits you. Is it my fault?”

Erol took a deep breath and sighed. “No, it’s not you. It’s because I’m not Timurhan.”

Kristina frowned. “Timurhan?”

“Timurhan was my half-brother, born of Sabriye. Don’t you remember him? He was with us that day Father offered to buy your farm.”

“Oh yes, I do remember. Where is he now?”

“He got killed in the war. Father always hated me, but since Timurhan died, it’s been even worse. He hates Mother, too.”

“Erol, he doesn’t hate you. He’s just a very strict man. He’s that way with me, too.”

“No, he hates me. He constantly tells me I’ll never amount to anything, and that I’ll never be like Timurhan.”

Flora smiled and brushed Erol’s bangs back from his face. “You must be thirsty. Would you like some water?”

“Thank you, but then I must get back to my chores.”

Flora poured a glass of water and handed it to Erol. He gulped it down and she refilled his glass. “Slow down, or you’ll get a side ache.”

Erol took another sip and handed her the glass. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry he forced your mother and sisters out of the large bedroom.”

“He hates them, too. He wants us all to leave, but we’ve got no place to go.”

“Well, I don’t hate you. Always remember that. How old are you Erol?”

“Eight.” He glanced at the door.

“My youngest brother is eight, too.”

“I know.”

“You know Sirak?”

“I met him when we came to your farm. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere safe, I hope.”

“You aren’t really Armenian, are you?” Erol asked Flora.

“Yes, I am. Why do you doubt it?”

“The Armenian fighters killed Timurhan. If there’s anyone Father hates more than me, it’s the Armenians.”

“I
am
Armenian, so I guess he must hate me, too.”

Erol shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. I see the way he treats you.”

Flora took his empty glass. “How does he treat me?”

“With love—like he treated Timurhan.”

Flora chuckled. “I think sometimes you let your imagination run wild.”

“Are you scared to have a baby?”

Flora’s eyes widened with surprise. She blushed crimson. “Please, Erol, don’t ask me questions about such things.”

“I’m sorry. I heard Sabriye tell Mother you’re pregnant. Now you hate me, too.”

Flora regained her composure. She took Erol by the shoulders. “No, I don’t hate you. I’ll never hate you. You and I will always be good friends. Okay?”

Erol nodded gratefully. “Okay.”

“
Erol
,” a gruff voice bellowed from the barnyard, “
where the hell are you?
”

Erol’s eyes filled with fear. “Don’t let him hit me.”

The door burst open and Abdul lunged inside. His face was flushed red with anger. “What are you doing? I told you to feed the chickens.”

Erol hurried past Abdul and out the door.

Abdul slapped him on the back of the head. “Idiot,” he spat out. He turned and caught Flora’s disapproving glare. “What?”

“He’s your own son. Why do you treat him like a dog?”

“Watch your tongue, woman. I told him to bring in the bag of rice and come right back to the barn. The boy’s lazy. He uses every possible excuse to avoid work.”

“I asked him to help me rearrange heavy supplies and utensils here in the kitchen, and he was kind enough to lend a hand. He did nothing wrong.”

“In that case, I’ll spare him the whip.”

“You’d whip your own flesh and blood? It hurts when I see you abuse your own son this way. Is this how you’ll treat our children?”

Abdul raised his hand. “You’ll not speak to me this way.”

“Go ahead, hit me.”

Abdul glared at her menacingly for a moment. Finally, he dropped his hand. “Women,” he huffed beneath his breath, “you’re all the same.”

“Yes, we’re all the same. We all expect affection and kindness from our fathers and husbands. My father raised four sons and two daughters, and I never saw him raise his hand in anger—not even once.”

Abdul crossed his arms and glowered at Flora. “I’m doing the best I can.” Then, considering her youth and beauty, Abdul leaned his pitchfork against the wall and took her hands in his. “I have some good news. My friend met with the governor-general.”

“What did he say?” Flora asked with trepidation.

“He agreed to spare your father and brother. They’re to be exiled to Syria.”

“Syria? Why? They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your father admitted he aided the enemy, and the punishment for treason is hanging. It’s the best I could do.”

Flora took a deep breath. “What about my mother?”

“All Armenians in Anatolia are being relocated. She will probably be exiled to Syria, too—along with your sister and brothers.”

“With my papa?”

“I asked friends with influence to spare your father and brother. That’s all I can do. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Please, Abdul,” Flora begged tearfully. “I kept my promises to you, and you must keep yours to me. Will you do this for me?”

“There’s a war going on. I saved your father and brother. What more do you want?”

“I want my mama, papa, and my siblings to all live together in peace. That’s what you promised me.”

Abdul stared at Flora for several moments. She glared back with unwavering determination.

Abdul grinned. “How can I deny such beauty?” He reached for her hand, but Flora spun away.

“I don’t want your flattery. I want you to honor your promise. Otherwise, I will not be bound by my promise to you.”

“I can force you to stay.”

“Yes, you can, but you can’t force me to be happy.”

Taking a deep breath, Abdul groaned frustratedly. “I’ll do everything I can.” He stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

June 8, 1915

“We’re leaving now,” Elizabeth muttered dejectedly. She was wearing a long black dress and white gloves. Her hair was pulled back beneath a scarf.

Kristina got up from the table and gave Elizabeth a hug. “I’ll pray your message finds its way to someone who will open the prison doors.”

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, Kristina. Thank God you’re here.”

“Do they need me in clinic while you’re gone?”

“No, everything’s okay for now. I should be back in a couple of hours, and then we’ll have Hakan take us to the market. Do you need anything?”

“No, we’re fine. Be careful, Elizabeth.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Elizabeth made her way through the throng outside the main door of the hospital.

“Good morning, madam,” Hakan greeted politely. “I brought water. It’s extremely hot today.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied distractedly. “We must hurry to the telegraph office. The clinic is already overflowing with patients.”

“Yes, madam; I know a route that shouldn’t be very crowded.”

Hakan helped Elizabeth into the wagon. He climbed into the driver’s seat and flicked the reins. The wagon jerked away from the hospital and sped down a crowded boulevard for several blocks before turning into a residential neighborhood in a rundown section of the city.

It rattled past dozens of people, including many young children, gathered in front of the old basalt homes and buildings that lined the street. Here and there, small groups of haggard men stood guard over their beleaguered families and what little they had in the way of worldly possessions.

Elizabeth caught sight of an emaciated young woman clutching a half-starved toddler in her lap. “God have mercy,” she muttered.

Two young boys darted into the street. Holding up their tiny little hands, they ran alongside the wagon. “Bread please!” the younger one called up to her.

Hakan cracked his whip above their heads. “Stay back!” he shouted gruffly.

“Stop that, Hakan!” Elizabeth ordered. “Stop the wagon.”

“But, madam, we don’t have time to...”

“Stop the wagon!”

Hakan pulled up on the reins and brought the wagon to a rolling stop.

Elizabeth fished through her purse and pulled out a handful of coins. Leaning down, she pressed coins into the eager hands of the youngsters crowding around the wagon. “God bless you,” she said to each grateful child.

The throng quickly swelled. Soon other teenagers and adults gathered expectantly behind the horde of children.

Elizabeth, her face beading droplets of sweat, continued doling out coins. Finally, she held up her empty palms. “That’s all I have. May God bless each one of you.”

The throng melted away and Elizabeth caught sight of a slight young girl standing alone just off the road. The dark-haired child’s left leg was amputated at the knee and she was leaning on a cane fashioned from a tree branch.

The wagon eased forward.

“Wait just a minute,” Elizabeth said.

Hakan reined the horse to a stop.

Climbing down from the wagon, Elizabeth walked to the side of the road and crouched beside the little girl. Shading her eyes, she smiled warmly. “Hello, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

The girl didn’t reply. She stared back with doe-eyed innocence.

“Where is your mommy, honey?”

The little girl turned and pointed at a scruffy young woman in a worn dress. Elizabeth guessed she was seventeen or eighteen years old. She was standing beside a gaunt, middle-aged man.

“Let’s go talk to them.” Elizabeth took the little girl’s arm and helped her hobble to the couple. “Hello, I’m Elizabeth Barton, the head nurse at the Missionary Hospital.”