“Oh, but we’re not strangers. We’re getting along quite well already, wouldn’t you say, Selwyn?” Sibylla kissed the little one again and handed him back to his nanny.
“Hello, Mother. Do you finally have time for your son?” John jested. The twenty-two-year-old resembled his father so much that, for a few perplexing seconds, Sibylla felt herself transported to the days when Benjamin had courted her. With tears in her eyes, she took her younger son into her arms. “I am so happy! Now we shall be able to celebrate Christmas together.”
Thomas and Sabri stood next to each other on the quay. “You’re not praying, my friend?” Thomas asked.
“God does not have a religion as far as I’m concerned,” the young man replied. “I often speak to Him, but not always when the Koran prescribes.”
“Your father would not be pleased to hear that,” Thomas remarked. Sabri’s father, Abdul bin Ibrahim, was the headmaster of the zaouia of Mogador. He had even made the pilgrimage to Mecca and was thus allowed to call himself haji. He was one of the most highly regarded men in the city.
“I am a son of two worlds,” Sabri explained. “As you know, my mother was a member of the Christian Orthodox churches of her country. When she became my father’s second wife, she converted to the faith of the Prophet.”
Sabri’s mother, Almaz, came from Abyssinia. His father had bought her in a slave market near Mecca and brought her back to Mogador. When she gave birth to Sabri, Haji Abdul’s only son, he took her as his second wife.
Thomas patted his friend on the back. “Here comes my mother.”
When Sabri smiled and turned his head, he saw not Sibylla but Emily. He had not seen her since he left for Fez to study Arab medicine, and he hardly recognized her. The skinny little girl with the long arms and legs had become a woman. She returned his gaze for a moment, then quickly looked down. She blushed slightly and threw her hair back with a graceful motion. Her earrings caught a ray of sunlight, and Sabri noticed that they were the same unusual color as her eyes. He desperately wanted her to look at him again with those amethyst blue eyes and, just as this wish passed through his mind, she did so with a mischievous smile. He admired the little dimples in the corners of her mouth.
“Dr. bin Abdul. How nice that you have returned to Mogador,” Sibylla said.
He grudgingly took his eyes off Emily and bowed before his friend’s mother. “Assalamu alaikum, Mrs. Hopkins.”
He watched as Emily greeted her brothers. She seemed so full of life. Just looking at her filled Sabri with joy. After she had embraced Victoria, she finally turned to him. “Assalamu alaikum, Dr. bin Abdul.”
He bowed. “Miss Hopkins, is it really you—little Emily?”
“I’m really not little anymore, Dr. bin Abdul,” she replied impishly.
He nodded earnestly. “Indeed, Miss Hopkins! You have become a young lady and more beautiful than all the stars in the sky.”
Suddenly shy and speechless, she stared at Sabri as though hypnotized.
No part of this exchange was lost on Sibylla. Sabri was an honorable young man, but what would it mean to Sabri and Emily if they fell in love? A Muslim and a Christian. What would it mean for Emily if they desired a shared future? Would she have to convert to Islam? Or perhaps even lead a life as a low-ranking concubine?
Sibylla had raised Emily to be an independent young woman. She certainly did not want her hidden away in a harem. She placed a protective arm around Emily. “It’s time we went home, dear. Ma’assalama, Dr. bin Abdul. Please pay my respects to your honorable parents.”
“Ma’assalama.” Sabri bowed.
Emily took one last look at him. Without realizing, she let out a soft sigh.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mogador, July 1860
“We’ll never find a new nanny for Charlotte and Selwyn. No one wants to come here, no matter how much we pay!”
Victoria stormed into John’s study and threw a letter on his desk. Her husband looked up from his paperwork with annoyance.
“Here you have it: Grandmother Mary writes that twenty governesses with outstanding references answered her ad, but when they heard the position was going to be in an African country, they all withdrew!”
John needed to prepare for an important meeting with the harbormaster, the governor, and Consul Willshire, and did not wish to be disturbed. He was well aware that Victoria was unhappy in Mogador, but told himself it was because she had not yet settled in. Ever since the twins’ governess had impulsively resigned and returned to England, Victoria had become upset at the slightest provocation.
“Please calm down,” he bade her in as controlled a voice as possible. “Nadira is doing an excellent job of taking care of the children. And my mother is supporting you as best she can.”
“You might not mind that our children are being raised by a Negress,” Victoria hissed. “But do you also want her to turn them into Moors? This morning, I caught her showing Charlotte how people in this country pray! I want an English nanny, John, one who knows manners and who raises our children properly!”
“Now you’re exaggerating. Nadira raised me and my brother, and did we turn into Arabs?”
“She’s teaching the children godless, heathen behavior!”
“That is an absolute exaggeration!” He would have liked to throw his stepgrandmother’s letter, which had caused such a fuss, into the wastepaper basket, but instead he set it aside with seeming indifference, gathered his papers, and placed them in a leather portfolio. “I have no time to discuss this at the moment, dear. I have an important meeting to attend.” It was still two hours until the meeting, but he would prepare in the company office at the harbor, where he could work in peace.
With a hiccupping sob, Victoria sank onto the sofa along the wall. “You never have time for me, never listen to my concerns. Sometimes I have the feeling that we don’t matter to you!”
John took a deep breath. He hated these constant arguments with his wife. In England, she had been much more sensible. Here, he sometimes had the feeling that he was married to a stranger, and he had no idea how to handle her moods. His mother had explained to him that Victoria was suffering from homesickness and that he should be patient and understanding. But they had been living in Morocco for seven months now, and he felt she had been homesick long enough.
“Did you know that Nadira is the real reason the nanny left?” Victoria lamented. “That woman was constantly meddling in her child-rearing methods—just imagine, an African who grew up in a straw hut giving advice to a trained English governess, and you did nothing about it! I well understand why she went back to London, and I envy her!”
“My wife envies her servants! Why, I ask myself? Because they take orders all day long?” John replied sarcastically. He pointedly took out his pocket watch and looked at it.