The Ghosts of Anatolia (32 page)

“They must.” Lifting Izabella into her arms, Kristina peered at the gold and white altar adorned with an ancient painting of Jesus. Off to the side, an ornate red and gold bishop’s chair was covered with an icon-studded golden cupola. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Sirak tugged at her dress. “I can’t see it, Mama.”

Kristina handed Izabella to Elizabeth. She picked up Sirak and walked a short distance down the aisle.

“Is this your first visit to Gregorian?” a clear baritone voice asked.

Kristina turned. The middle-aged priest standing behind them was robed in black vestments, with paired golden crosses emblazoned across his chest. He had a rather ordinary face, with deep forehead furrows that had been fixed by incessant worry, but his pale blue eyes were filled with benevolence.

“Yes. We just arrived in Aleppo an hour ago.”

Smiling warmly, the priest reached out and ruffled Sirak’s hair. “Where are you from, young man?”

“Seghir, sir,” Sirak said politely.

“Seghir? In Anatolia?”

“Yes,” Kristina replied. “It’s a small farming village east of Diyarbekir. This is our American friend, Elizabeth Barton. She’s been a nurse in Anatolia for several years—most recently at the Missionary Hospital in Diyarbekir.”

“I’m Father Leonian and I’m delighted to meet you. How can I be of service to you?”

“We have no place to go,” Kristina said. “My husband and son were deported from Diyarbekir Province, and we’re on our way to join them in Jerusalem. A soldier at the train station told us to come here.”

“I’ll do all I can to help you, but I have a funeral to conduct. Find a spot in the sanctuary, and I’ll send Vartan to find you when I’m finished. I’d like to meet privately with you and Nurse Barton. Your children will be safe with the other families.”

“Thank you,” Kristina said.

Kristina and the children retrieved their bags and headed down the aisle. Several people acknowledged them when they walked past.

Kristina ducked into an open pew near the front. “Let’s take this spot.” She took Elizabeth’s bag, slipped it beneath the pew and sat down.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Izabella whined.

Kristina gathered Izabella into her lap. “I know you are. I’m sure they’ll give us something to eat a little later.”

An old disheveled woman sleeping in the pew in front of them looked up. She nodded at Kristina and Elizabeth, and dropped her head back down.

Kristina pulled Sirak to her side and reached for Mikael’s hand. Leaning back in the pew, she closed her eyes, nuzzled Izabella’s neck and gave thanks to God for bringing them safely to the Gregorian Church.

Vartan stopped in front of a door at the end of a long hall and knocked softly.

“Come in,” a voice inside called out.

Vartan opened the door and ushered the women into a dim office lit only by an oil lamp. Father Leonian was sitting at an old wooden desk covered with books and papers. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers. A faded painting of Jesus and his disciples hung on the wall behind him.

The priest looked up over the top of his reading glasses and smiled. “Please sit down. I trust the bread Vartan brought you was edible.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kristina replied.

“We never know what the mayor’s office will send us, but at this point we’re grateful for anything we get.”

“It was fine.”

“What’s the situation in Ras Ul-ain and Mardin? We’ve heard rumors, but you’re the first travelers to reach us from southeastern Anatolia in over a week.”

“It was terrifying,” Kristina replied. “We saw hundreds of Armenian people being herded like cattle on the road north of Mardin, and many
more were detained in camps outside the city. I’m sure we would’ve been arrested, too, if we hadn’t been escorted by Major al-Kawukji.”

Father Leonian’s eyes widened with surprise. “You had a military escort?”

“Yes, sir,” Elizabeth answered. “The major knew my husband, Doctor David Charles. We worked at the Missionary Hospital in Diyarbekir.”

“That explains how you made it. Where is your husband now?”

“He was murdered two weeks ago at Diyarbekir Central Prison.”

The priest winced at the news. “May God rest his soul. Nurse Barton, you’re in grave danger. Many foreigners have been arrested over the past few days, and we know some were sent to the prison in Mardin. You must leave Aleppo immediately.”

“But where will I go?”

“There’s a man I know. He’ll take you to Alexandretta for a fee of fifty
lire
. You should be able to arrange safe passage out of the Empire from there.”

“But what about Kristina and her children?” Elizabeth asked dubiously.

“Their best hope is to stay here with us. They’ll be arrested if they’re spotted on the road, and nobody—even the smugglers—will run the risk of being charged with aiding Armenians. Those who get caught defying the governor-general’s proclamation are immediately executed.”

“So we’re prisoners here?” Kristina murmured.

“You’re free to leave any time, Mrs. Kazerian, but I beg you to stay, at least until I can arrange safe passage for you and your children. Believe me, there are worse places. Thousands of Armenians arrive in Aleppo every day. These women, children and old people come in desperate caravans carrying everything they own on their backs. The survivors are crowded into khans, unoccupied houses, courtyards and even vacant lots. They die by the hundreds every day.”

“Dear God,” Kristina gasped.

“Our Merciful Father has guided you here to the Gregorian Church, and by His grace, you and your children are safe.” Father Leonian stood up behind his desk. “Well, I must contact my friend. He’s a Chechen, but you can trust him. He’s guided countless Europeans and Americans to safety over the past six months. If he’s in Aleppo, he’ll likely come to the church around midnight, so be prepared to leave.”

Elizabeth took the cleric’s hand. “Thank you, Father. You’re very brave to take these risks for people you’ve just met.”

“Yes, God bless you, sir,” Kristina chimed in.

“It’s the least I can do to help my brothers and sisters who are persecuted simply because they’re Christians. I’ll let you know when I make contact with your guide.”

Elizabeth slipped into the pew and awoke Kristina with a gentle tug on her arm. “It’s time for me to say goodbye.”

Kristina sat up and rubbed sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the children. Sirak and Izabella were sprawled across the bench and Mikael was lying on a pallet beneath them. “He found the guide?”

Elizabeth nodded. “He’ll be here a little after midnight.”

“What time is it now?”

Elizabeth held up her timepiece and struggled to read the dial in the dim candlelight. “It’s eleven forty-five.”

“I’ll miss you so much,” Kristina said sadly.

Elizabeth dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’ll miss you, too. What will I do without you?”

“Shhh,” a woman in the pew behind them whispered. “The children are sleeping.”

Kristina led Elizabeth out of the pew. She wrapped her arm around her friend and walked her up the aisle. “How long will it take you to reach Alexandretta?”

“Three or four days.”

“I wish we could go, too. We’ll go stir crazy waiting to travel on to Jerusalem.”

Elizabeth embraced Kristina. “Mourad is waiting for you there. I just know it.”

“I pray you’re right.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you for being such a good friend. Your support meant so much to me these last few months.”

“It was you who supported me,” Kristina said.

“We supported each other. That’s what friends do.”

Then Elizabeth handed Kristina a note. “This is David’s brother’s address in Oklahoma. Write me when you can. I’ll be worried sick about you and the children.”

Kristina folded up the paper and slipped it into her pocket. “Remember what we talked about in Chunkoush back in September?”

“September? Has it really been that long?”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes, of course; but I didn’t listen to you.”

“No, thank God. If you hadn’t married David, you’d have missed the wonderful times you shared together and we wouldn’t be here today. But everything else I said that day still holds true.”

“I’ll never love anyone the way I loved David.”

“Maybe not, but David would want you to be happy. Someday there will be another man—one who wants a family. Don’t miss that opportunity when it comes.”

“You still feel that way after all that’s happened to you and to your children?”

Kristina smiled. “Absolutely. Children bring despair and heartache, but they also bring unbridled joy and contentment.”

Elizabeth didn’t respond, but reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bag. She pressed it into Kristina’s hand. “I want you to take this. It’s five hundred
lire
.”

Kristina’s eyes widened with surprise. She shook her head. “I can’t accept this.”

“I want you to have it. You’ll need transportation and supplies, and God knows what else, to reach Jerusalem. I’ve got more than enough money to get home. Please, take it.”

Kristina gave Elizabeth a heartfelt hug. “God bless you. Someday I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“No you won’t. It’s my gift to you and the children.”

“You’re truly an angel. Please ask your guide to get word back to Father...”

A loud knock resounded through the vestibule. Vartan hurried out of the offices and Father Leonian followed a moment later. Vartan removed the bar from the door and pulled it open. A wiry, dark-skinned man, with a long unruly beard stepped inside.

“It’s good to see you again, Movsar,” the priest said. “How’s travel to the Mediterranean these days?”

“Very risky, my friend. But it’s still possible, if you know the right people.”

Father Leonian smiled. “That’s why we contacted you. This is Elizabeth Barton—an American friend who wants to go home.”

Movsar bowed politely. “It’s my pleasure to guide you to safety, Mrs. Barton. I trust that Father Leonian informed you about my modest fee?”

“Oh, so now you call fifty
lire
a modest fee,” the priest teased.

The Chechen threw back his head, and howling with delight, revealed a line of decayed teeth beneath his unkempt mustache. “Fifty
lire
would have been unimaginable for a trip to Alexandretta before the war, but now, considering the risk, it’s a pittance. I’ll collect my fee before we leave.”

Elizabeth handed the Chechen a roll of bills. He carefully counted the money before thrusting it into his pocket.

“I’ve arranged safe passage for you and two other women on a German freighter scheduled to leave for Belgium in five days. From there you can catch a ship bound for New York. The captain will expect thirty-five
lire
. Have you ever ridden a horse?” he asked skeptically.

“I was raised on a farm, Mr. Movsar,” Elizabeth replied confidently.

“Excellent!” Movsar handed her a baggy black dress and veil. “Put this on.”

Elizabeth slipped the dress over her clothes and Kristina helped her with the veil.

Mosvar grinned approvingly. “You are my wife, Aset. Do not speak to anyone who’s not traveling in our party from now until we reach the ship in Alexandretta. I will speak for you. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Then let’s be on our way.”

“Thank you, Movsar,” the priest said solemnly. “I’ll pray for your safe passage and return.”

Kristina turned and embraced Elizabeth. “I’ll be praying for you.”

“I’ll pray for you, too. Write me as soon as you’re safe.”

Vartan unbarred the door and pulled it open. Movsar took Elizabeth’s arm and led her into the night. The door boomed closed and the patter of footsteps faded into silence.

July 2, 1915

Abdul held a loose plank against the side of the wagon. “Erol, fetch me more nails. Hurry!”

Erol ran into the barn. He sprinted out the door a moment later, and bowing his head obsequiously, handed his father a box of nails.

Abdul seated a nail. Stepping back, he crouched to make sure the plank was level before pounding the nail home. He drove in several more nails and handed the hammer to Erol. “Put this back in the tool box.”

Abdul lifted a pitchfork of hay and carried it to the corral. He tossed it over the fence and headed back for another load. Suddenly, he turned and squinted toward the main road.

Four riders on horseback trotted down the gently sloping trail and pulled up outside the barn.

“Good morning, Abdul,” Baran called out. The Turk wore tattered work clothes and a red fez.

“I told you not to come back unless you got a deferment,” Abdul replied gruffly. “What do you want?”

“We’ve come for our wages. We won’t wait any longer.”

“I can’t pay you anything more until I sell my harvest. I told you that last week.”

“That’s not soon enough,” Baran said angrily. “We’ve got hungry families to feed.”

“Well, I don’t have it.”

“Then pay us with flour and rice,” another rider bellowed. “My sons are bloated with hunger.”

“I haven’t got enough food for my own family.”

Baran dismounted his horse. He handed his reins to another rider and walked toward the barn door.

Abdul ducked through the fence and rushed to cut him off. “Stay out of my barn, you bastard!”

Baran whirled to face him. “I just want to check your stores. If you’re as short as you say, then we’ll leave.”

“Get the hell off my land!” Abdul shouted. “I told you, I don’t have enough to feed my own family.”

Baran turned to walk to the barn door. “Just let me look and we’ll be on our way.”

Abdul spun Baran around and knocked him to the ground with a powerful punch to the jaw.

The other riders dismounted their horses and fanned out around him.

Muhammad—the oldest of the four—held up his hands. “We only want what’s owed to us, Abdul.”

Baran rose to his feet and inched toward Abdul. “There are four of us, Abdul. Don’t be a fool.”

“Stay away!” Abdul yelled. He slowly turned in a circle and threateningly jabbed the air with his pitchfork. “I’ll kill the first man who sets foot in my barn.”