“The qaid’s soldiers are returning tomorrow and I shall ride with them,” she replied. “I can take your saffron with me. You’re still too sick to ride and, as long as those thugs are still making trouble, the harvest is not safe on the estate. So, what do you think of my offer?”
He snorted angrily. “Offer! Don’t make me laugh. This proposition is typical of you, Sibylla. You do everything exactly as you see fit and worry little about the feelings of others.”
She squinted in the sun, now standing over the blue peaks of the Atlas Mountains and pouring its golden light over the black cedar forests. “There’s nothing more for me to do here, André. But if I take your saffron to Mogador and keep it safe, then I have contributed something to helping you all recover from these terrible events.”
He stared at his dusty boots. “Very well. I respect your decision.”
“And I’m taking Emily with me.”
His head jerked up. “Is that what she wants?”
Sibylla’s back went up. “I have not asked her yet, but she will come.”
“Our daughter is an adult. She knows what she wants and she is old enough to decide for herself,” André remarked sharply.
“Are you going to teach me about my daughter?”
“Sibylla, you know I’m right. When will you honor Emily’s wishes?”
She said nothing. It would have been so easy to finally let him have it: the indignation, the hurt, the jealousy she had bottled up all these years. But for Emily’s sake, she said nothing.
“I would like to have Emily with me,” she finally said reluctantly. “She’s been gone a year now. Can you imagine how much I’ve missed her?”
“Oh, indeed I can!” he said emphatically.
She avoided his eyes and lowered her head. They stood next to each other for a while. At last, André took her hand gently. “When will we see each other again?”
“In Mogador, of course, to negotiate the price of your saffron.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Do you not at last wish to speak about those things that are still between us?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “You have Aynur. I have seen how much she means to you. We cannot turn back time, André.” She very gently caressed his bruised face. “I shall go find Emily now and tell her we’re leaving.”
“The paste is almost hard,” Sabri said with satisfaction as he carefully checked the little boy’s bandage. “Emily, please tell the parents that their son must remain lying down today. He may get up tomorrow. But they absolutely cannot return to their village. They have to remain on the estate until the arm has healed completely.”
Emily lowered her charcoal pencil and translated for the mother, who paid close attention.
Meanwhile, Sabri looked at her sketch of the little boy with his arm in a sling. “I like your drawing,” he said approvingly.
She smiled happily. She was always happy when Sabri spoke to her in a familiar tone. He did so only when there was no one else around or if those present, like the parents of the injured boy, understood neither English nor Arabic. “I promised him a drawing as a memento of his courage.”
There was activity all around them. The Ait Zelten sheikh had refused the agreed-upon pay and informed André that the people were ready to return to their village. Now, there were pack donkeys all over the yard being loaded with tents, rugs, equipment, and cooking utensils. A group of children had gathered around the injured boy to marvel at his bandage.
“Emily?” the boy asked.
She was concentrating on capturing the folds of his mother’s headscarf. “Yes?”
“Why do you look so strangely at the hakim when he speaks with you?”
“Pardon me?” She lowered her pencil.
“I want to know why you look at the hakim like that,” the little boy repeated impatiently. The other children giggled. The mother too smiled at Emily.
“Look, I’ll show you. Like this.” He opened his eyes wide and stared into the air with a rapturous expression.
It made Emily laugh. “That’s not true. I never make a silly face like that!”
“What’s he saying?” Sabri interrupted. “Is he in pain?”
“Oh no! He wanted to know how much longer he’ll have to wear the bandage,” Emily fibbed.
“Six weeks exactly,” Sabri told the boy with a firm look.
The boy turned his attention back to Emily. “My sister looks at her bridegroom the same way. Is the hakim your bridegroom?”
Embarrassed, Emily said nothing and busied herself with her sketch.
“Shush, alemzi, quiet!” The mother lightly smacked his bottom. She fiddled with the jewelry around her neck and handed Emily a silver chain with a pendant made of bright red coral. “For you, because you have helped my child. The coral glows with the color of love, like your heart. If you wear it, it will bring you fertility and many children.” She ceremoniously hung the chain around Emily’s neck.
“Thank you very much.” Emily shyly looked over at Sabri and wondered if he had understood anything.
But he joked without any inhibition, “What did she give you? An amulet to cast a spell on me?”
Emily was relieved to see Malika coming toward them from the stable. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Sister. Do you think you could finish milking the goats for me? I want to be with Imma when the English hakim examines her wound.”
“Of course! Pester my brother with questions all you want, and don’t worry. Aynur will get better, just like our father.” Emily hugged Malika.
“May God repay you for all your kindness, Sister!” She hurried away.
Emily gathered her drawing materials, said good-bye to the young family, and hurried off to the stable. This was where the horses and cows of the estate were kept and now, in the wintertime, the goats had their own fenced-off area as well. Malika had milked most of them already. Full earthenware dishes were lined up in the milking area, which was paved with mud tiles. André Jr. was pouring the fresh, foamy milk through a horsehair strainer into tin pots, which Christian then took to the rectangular cooling basin André had built in the courtyard next to the well. A pump made fresh, cold mountain water run into the basin and cool the warm milk. After that, the cook used the milk to make laban, a mildly acidic farmer’s cheese that was eaten with olive oil and flatbread or with honey and fresh fruit.
“Your mother would love to see you,” Emily said to Christian and André Jr. “Go ahead, I’ll take care of the milk.”
After the boys had left, she took a clean earthenware dish from the wooden shelf, fetched a rope from an iron hook on the wall, and went over to the goats. There were only five of them left with full udders, and they greeted Emily with their bleating. She looped the rope around the first goat’s neck, fastened it to a ring on the wall, placed the dish under the udder, and crouched down on the floor.
“Might I help you?” a voice behind her asked.
“Sabri!” Emily had not noticed that he had followed her into the stable. “You know how to milk goats?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Will you teach me?”