Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [67]
Not knowing how badly she was hurt, he abandoned the idea of pursuit. He’d recognized her immediately, from her clothing. It was the same she had worn the day Justin and his grandmother had been at Deir el Medina—a drab, dark gown and a hat that even he recognized as a hand-me-down. Mrs. Fitzroyce’s companion. What the hell was she doing here, alone and under attack? The Gurnawis didn’t attack tourists.
There was blood on the ground—not much, but it was still flowing. He turned her carefully onto her back. The blood came from a cut on her arm. He couldn’t see any other wounds on her body. Gently he untied the ribbons of her atrocious hat and removed it.
Her eyes were open. They were hazel, fringed with long lashes. Tears and a peculiar grayish film smeared her cheeks. Under it her skin was smooth, her cheeks dotted with freckles.
He remembered those hazel eyes.
“My God,” he whispered. “It can’t be . . . Molly?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Our little expedition to the cemetery did not get off until later in the afternoon. Emerson had decided to accompany us, and it always takes him a while to turn his mind from his work to more mundane activities (if one can call a visit to a saint’s tomb mundane). His suggestion that we all drive in the motorcar was doomed from the start; he only did it to stir me up. In my opinion it was not really a useful method of transportation. Like the one we had used in Palestine, it had seats for only two people, with a sort of platform behind on which goods or persons could ride. Someone, most probably Selim, had fitted that other car with a canopy and relatively comfortable seats; crammed into this “tonneau,” as it might loosely be called, Nefret and I had suffered the long tiring journey across the Sinai. What final modifications Emerson and Selim meant to make to this one I did not know, and I rather doubted that they did themselves. They were always taking parts off and putting them back on.
With the natural ingratitude of the young, all the children preferred Emerson to everyone else, including the mothers who had nurtured them and the devoted souls who kept them safe, clean, and healthy. His unorthodox notions of entertainment and his uncriticial admiration no doubt explain this. Children are not noted for rational discrimination. After Evvie had made her desires plain, he took her up with him. I had hired several donkeys for the season, since Evelyn candidly admitted she preferred their plodding pace. To his great delight I assigned one of them to Dolly.
We did not take the animals into the cemetery. I don’t know that there was any particular prohibition against it, but it seemed disrespectful. When Emerson put her down, Evvie tried to squirm away from him, but he held her firmly.
“This is like a church,” he explained. “You must be quiet and not run over the graves.”
“Are there dead people down under the ground?” Evvie asked curiously.
“Yes. And there—” I pointed. “There is your great-grandfather’s tomb.”
David had not seen the completed monument. While the others attempted to restrain Evvie (and tried to get her off the subject of dead people), he and I went on ahead. “It is odd, you know, to think of my grandfather as a saint,” he said. “He was the bravest, truest man I ever knew, but . . .”
“He had his little failings,” I agreed with a reminiscent chuckle. “Most people who become saints have them, David. Sanctity is attained by overcoming one’s baser instincts.”
Emerson came up in time to hear my comment. He let out a loud “hmph” but did not speak. We stood in silence outside the arched doorway of the monument. Dolly said proudly, “I have his name.”
I put my arm round him. “Yes, you do. And he is—that is, he would be—very glad and proud that you have it.”
“Tell me again about what he did,” Dolly said, standing very straight.
So I told him, in the simplest language, of how Abdullah had died, giving his life to save mine, and of the many other occasions on which he had risked himself for me and Emerson. “He was a good man and a brave man,” I concluded. “We all loved him and we