Authors: Ginger Solomon
One Choice (3 page)
“A present and a letter? From the prince?” Cahri glanced about the room.
“Yes, Chosen One⦠Cahri. Let me find them.” She stepped around a pile of folded boxes and searched through several packed ones. “It will help answer some of the questions you asked last night. You may eat as you read the letter. The package must be in one of the boxes in the kitchen. Come.”
Cahri followed her to the kitchen where more bags and boxes full of food and other items covered the counter and table. Anaya dug through a few before removing them from the table. Cahri stared at her once-neat kitchen. They'd brought a lot of stuff.
“Ah, here they are.” She handed Cahri a box with an envelope tucked under the ribbon. “What will you have for breakfast, Chos⦠Cahri?”
“Cereal is fine. It's what I always eat on Saturday morning, but I can get it.” She stared at the envelope and wrapped gift. Would the letter answer all her questions? Doubtful, since her biggest question couldn't be answered with mere words. What could be in the thin box wrapped with such care?
Anaya placed a bowl of cereal in front of her. “I'll leave you to eat, read your letter, and open your gift.”
Cahri pulled her gaze from the envelope and box. How long had she sat staring at the items in front of her? “Thank you.”
She took a bite of cereal and opened the envelope then pulled out a handwritten letter. Well, sort of handwritten. A copy. Everyone must have gotten the same letter. She wondered who wrote it, the prince, a secretary, or maybe the steward. She stared at the precise penmanship. Her eyes flitted to the end of the letter. Prince Josiah had signed it. The signature and the letter held similarities. He must have written it himself.
Tracing the flourish of his signature, she wondered about him once again. Why hadn't he married already? Was he repulsive? Did he want to find a wife this way?
The letter reiterated the little Anaya had told her last night and confirmed what she'd read on the internet. She had a choice between accepting the summons or death. Not much of a choice. All of the chosen ones would live in the palace and have periodic interviews and eliminations. She swallowed, forcing down the last bite of her breakfast.
Eliminations.
Sounded ominous.
His words also conveyed his desire to live a life for the One True God. This surprised her, though she knew the royal family claimed Christianity as their religion of choice.
Her mind wandered to the man in the market. If the prince looked and smelled anything like him, she'd be ecstatic. He had been a kind man, even though there'd been a serious misunderstanding.
As Cahri came to the end of the letter, sadness descended on her when it emphasized her need to move from the area if she was not chosen. Crumbling the paper, she threw it across the room. Marry the prince or a noble, be a servant, or be exiled. Some choice.
Her secretarial position at the mission helped her stay close to the memory of her parents. They'd been the missionaries; she'd just come along for the ride. She had never been as enthusiastic as they had been about sharing the gospel, but she had trusted Jesus as her Savior at the age of eight. Years before their senseless deaths.
Just a month before her twentieth birthday, her beloved parents had been on a trip to one of the villages on the mainland. From what the police had told her, someone in the village had disliked the content of their message. Whoever it was had followed them a short ways and then shot them as they traveled. The killer had escaped justice because no one would admit to any knowledge of the act.
How could a loving God let her parents die in such a way, leaving her alone to fend for herself?
She sighed and blinked hard against the tears. Maybe she should have obeyed them without protest by going to the United States to live with her uncle, but this land, this life, was all she had known. Despite the stares she received because of her appearance or the circumstances surrounding their deaths, she didn't want to leave. It was her home.
It could be worse. She could be going through this process by herself, without Anaya's assistance. The prince could be mean and hateful instead of someone who loved God. Her parents could still be alive, and she'd have to leave them. But, of course, if they were still alive, she would be living with her uncle in the United States and away from Belikara. She had a lot to be thankful for.
She eased the blue foil wrapping off the gift and lifted the lid of the box. Inside she found a teal outfit with intricate white embroidery. The color would complement her skin tone and hair color. It would also make her eyes look greener. The person who picked this out either knew her coloring or had made a lucky guess. She refolded the clothes and placed them back in the box. She didn't know what they were for, but for now they could stay there. She took the box and the letter to her room and grabbed her dirty laundry from the hamper, where she'd thrown it last night.
As she walked back into the apartment from the basement laundry, Anaya met her. “We'll begin here in the living room. Keep what you cannot live without. You should prepare three groups of boxes: one for things you would like to keep, one for things you will need every day, and one for things to donate.” She paused when one of the guards came in carrying two more bags. “You will have two boxes you can take with you for things you will need every day. The rest of your belongings must be divided between the other two. Choose with care. The boxes of items you would like to keep will be put in storage until your final destination is known. Let's begin.”
“Wait! You mean I get
two
small boxes for my clothes and other necessary items?” Cahri's gaze roamed the room, separating everything in her mind. These small boxes wouldn't hold much. How would she ever fit all her stuff in them? And what about her hats?
“All your clothing needs will be provided for you, except undergarments. You will wear your gift when you leave here on Friday. The remainder of your clothing will be donated.”
“But I like my clothes. I don't want to donate them all.” Her voice sounded petulant, but she couldn't help herself. She sank onto the sofa and dropped her head into her hands. Pack away all her belongings in boxes. Get rid of her clothes. Possible marriage.
Marriage
.
In the last twelve hours, everything in her life had changed. This was worse than when her parents had died, which had been horrible. She'd been notified of their deaths and then a few days later told of her need to move from the only home she could remember living in.
Had it not been for her friend, Emily, and others at the mission, she would have been forced to marry then or leave the country. The traditions about young, single women living alone didn't apply to her, in her opinion, but many of the men in her church hadn't agreed. With a little help, she had overcome their concerns for her safety, and how it would look to others who didn't believe. She reassured them she would not be acting in an unchristian manner.
Although she could speak many of the surrounding languages, her family had always spoken English in their home. Her parents had allowed her to wear modest western clothing, and she'd worn her hair up, tucked under a hat out of respect for her mother's upbringing about keeping her head covered.
Anaya walked over and sat down beside her. She patted Cahri's arm a moment before speaking, “I understand this is hard for you. Perhaps, if you have room, you can take a few pieces of your favorite clothing with you. It is most unusual, but not against the rules. You could also pack some of the other things you wish to keep in the storage boxes. It doesn't all have to be lost to you. Most of the chosen women possess few items of their own. They will be pleased to receive the new things the prince will supply.”
“Thank you for understanding.” She couldn't express what it meant to be able to retain her own identity in a country where most of the women wore the same style of clothing. She sighed, then got up and started sorting through figurines, books, and various other things scattered around her apartment. Stormy came over and curled around her legs to get her attention. She bent down and picked him up, cuddling him against her chest.
“What about my cat?” Her voice wobbled.
“He is welcome at the palace, though he may find it a challenge. There are many guard dogs roaming the grounds.”
Cahri breathed a sigh of relief. She hugged Stormy and scratched behind his ears before placing him back on the floor and returning to her task.
As they worked, packing most of the living room, Anaya tried to distract her with stories of the prince and life in the palace. “God is an important part of life in the palace. We have devotions over breakfast every morning, praying for the people of Belikara. We also thank Him for all of the things He has provided for us.”
“Will the chosen ones be required to have devotions as well?” Cahri kept her eyes glued to the box she packed. She wanted nothing to do with anything spiritual.
“Not right away, no. As your numbers get fewer, it will be recommended.”
Cahri snorted. “No thanks.”
“But I thought you attended the mission church here.” Anaya's voice betrayed her disappointment.
“I attend the church because it is a requirement of my job and for no other reason. God abandoned me a long time ago, and I don't feel obligated to search for Him.” Cahri couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice, nor did she care to.
Anaya went back to work without further comment.
After lunch they moved to the kitchen. Several things stayed out for use during the week, but the extras had to be packed in boxes designated for donation. Cahri wouldn't need them again.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes. She enjoyed cooking. The satisfaction in starting with basic, raw ingredients and coming up with a tasty meal made the time and effort worth it. Maybe she could sneak into the kitchen at the palace to practice her cooking skills. She giggled. The kitchen staff would scoff at her feeble attempts at gourmet food.
Maybe she would go to a culinary school in France when she was eliminated.
On Sunday, Cahri walked the two blocks from her apartment to church, cutting between The Pizza Palace and the empty building where the florist used to be. Anaya and the one remaining guard, Matthias, followed behind. Cahri insisted the man keep his weapons hidden, which he did by wearing a sport coat. Due to Cahri's job at the mission, everyone expected her to be present, so she attended, but since God had allowed her parents' deaths, her heart no longer engaged in the worship.
Concentrating on the songs and Pastor Phillip's sermon proved difficult for Cahri. Her thoughts focused on what she would say to her boss after service.
I quit.
No. Too abrupt.
I can't work here anymore.
Sounds like she didn't like it.
I have been chosen.
Hmm. A possibility. The call for the final hymn roused her from her musings.
Pacing back and forth with slow, even steps, Cahri waited while the sanctuary cleared. She forced herself to show a semblance of calm on the outside, while her stomach tied itself in knots. By swallowing over and over, she managed to keep her small breakfast down.
Cahri stopped her pacing in front of Anaya. “Anaya, I would like to speak to Pastor Phillip alone. I promise not to take too much time.” Cahri glanced at the woman to judge her reaction and rubbed her damp hands together and then on her long black skirt.
“Of course. Take whatever time you need. We'll wait here.”
At last, the sanctuary emptied. Cahri asked Pastor if she could speak with him for a moment in his office. He nodded, and she followed him through the door and down the dim hallway. His wife Margaret followed, as Cahri had expected.
Cahri went into the pastor's office, and the door clicked closed behind her. She drank in the layout, though she had seen it almost every day since coming to Belikara. This would be her last chance to remember this room which had meant so much to her childhood â playing blocks in the corner by the bookcase full of Bibles, commentaries, and concordances, or drawing pictures while seated in her daddy's lap at the pine desk stained with ink and coffee.
She glanced at the walls. A few of the Scripture verses were the same, but the other frames, filled with new pictures of unknown places, took the place of her childish drawings. Tears trickled down her face before she reached the worn, brown leather loveseat where she had learned to read and where she had accepted Jesus as her Savior. She swiped at the wetness with irritation, but she couldn't seem to make the waterworks stop.
“What is it, child? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Margaret wrapped a comforting arm about her.
“I have been chosen,” Cahri whispered before a sob burst forth.
“Chosen?” Margaret sounded confused.
“For the Bridal March?” Pastor's voice betrayed his shock.
The tightness in her throat prevented her from answering, so she nodded. She opened her eyes and glanced from Pastor Phillip to Margaret, hoping they could give her some much needed advice. Margaret handed her a tissue.
“Bridal March?” Margaret shifted her gaze to her husband, seated in a matching chair, “Phillip, please explain.”
Pastor shared what he had heard. The citizens were abuzz with the news of the prince's search for a wife. Families who had a daughter chosen felt honored.
“What happens now?” they said in unison then eyed each other with a slight smile.
Cahri blotted her damp cheeks and blew her nose. “I have the rest of this week to quit my job, pack my belongings, and move to the palace. The people with me were sent to help. I hate to put you in a spot like this, but Friday will be my last day. I won't be allowed to return, even if I'm not chosen. The letter I received from the prince explains it better. I brought it for you to read, if you'd like.”
“Yes, please.”
