Return to Exile (40 page)

You write from a lot of different points of view. Was that very difficult to do? Did you ever get confused switching back and forth?

Managing a large cast on the page is a lot like managing one on the stage. I love that. To me, it is exciting to pop into someone’s shoes and look at the world from their eyes. Whenever similar phrases in narrative or dialogue sneak in, I realize those came from me, not the character. Writers can’t help but bring their past experiences to their characters. The challenge is to spread our junk around so that we create cast members capable of standing on their own.

As you were writing about the choice Christians made between obtaining a writ of libellus for their own safety or defying the Roman edict, were you thinking about the similarity between that and the situations people have been in more recently, such as German Christians during the Nazi regime or the persecuted church in China?

When it comes to defending my faith I would like to think I would have the same courage many believers have demonstrated throughout history. But I confess, there’s a bit of cowardice in me. The thing that struck me during this research process was how much Christians have suffered for their choices. According to a recent survey at least 75 percent of religious persecution around the world is directed at people of the Christian faith. I believe the day is fast approaching when the church will find itself backed against the wall. I pray that when that day comes, I will have the courage to join the ranks of those who stared down arena cats, the guns of Hitler, or the imprisonment of the Chinese.

Tell us a little about the research you had to do while writing
Return to Exile.
Was there anything you found that surprised you?

Research is one of my favorite parts of the writing process. I start out looking for one thing, and that always leads to another and another and another. I think the discovery that surprised me the most was the personal struggle of Cyprian. His extensive writings gave me a glimpse into a flawed man. Realizing that God used Cyprian despite his imperfections gives me a great deal of hope.

What do you want readers to take away from this novel as opposed to
Healer of Carthage
?

Like many people, fear of failure has held me hostage. It has only been through the perfect love of Jesus Christ that I have found the courage to accept my imperfections. If the struggles Lisbeth and Cyprian faced encourages one reader to cast aside fear, I know there will be singing in heaven.

Can you give us any hints about what’s coming next as you conclude The Carthage Chronicles?

I guess what you’re really asking is will Lisbeth and Cyprian be reunited? Will Cyprian face the chopping block? If I told you, then you wouldn’t need to buy the third book. I do know this: there’s a new guy in town. If you thought things were bad in
Return to Exile,
they get a whole lot worse before they get better in
Valley of Decision
.

Keep reading for an excerpt from

Valley of Decision
,

the exciting conclusion to The Carthage Chronicles!

1

D
R. LISBETH HASTINGS CHECKED
her watch as she fished her buzzing cell phone from the pocket of her white coat. “Make it quick, Papa. I have a department meeting in five.”

“Maggie’s gone,” he blurted.

Lisbeth set a stack of charts on her desk. “Slow down.”

“That fancy art college called.” Panic expanded the fault line in his voice. “She’s not been to a single class since we hauled her to Rhode Island.”

“I talked to her on her birthday.”

“That was almost a week ago.”

Lisbeth glanced at the framed photo of Maggie standing outside her freshman dorm with one arm draped around her, the other around Papa. “She was excited about turning eighteen and being able to make her own decisions.”

“What did you say to that?”

“When you start paying your own bills, kiddo.”

“Could she possibly gain access to the inheritance your grandfather left?”

“I just set her up with an account that automatically transfers money once a month.” Lisbeth could feel her heart rate increasing. “Give me a second.” A few furious clicks on the computer and Maggie’s account transactions appeared.

$1,279. Tunisair
.
Charged at 12:02 a.m.
Six days ago. The day Maggie turned eighteen
.

Lisbeth’s body prepared to run. “Grab my emergency bag and passport. I’ll meet you at DFW.”

“Where is she?”

“Where I
never
wanted her to go again.”

Twenty nail-biting hours later, Lisbeth and Papa set foot on African soil for the first time in more than twelve years.

“Maybe we can catch her before she finds someone to take her to the desert.” She threaded her arm through her father’s. None of her arguments had convinced him to stay behind, and this time she was grateful. “I’m going to try calling Nigel again.”

Inside the stuffy cinder-block terminal a cacophony of French, Arabic, German, and heavy British drowned out the live Tunisian band of Berber drums, sitars, and flutes. In the gray haze of cigarette smoke, Lisbeth rotated like a weather vane, listening to her cell phone dialing while she searched for the sugary Texas twang of a strong-willed blonde in big trouble.

She clicked off her phone. “You don’t think he took her to the cave, do you?”

“Maggie can be mighty persuasive, and Nigel’s a softie.”

“But she’s just a kid.”

“He took
you
there, didn’t he?”

“I was twenty-eight, and it was an emergency.” She crammed the phone into her duffel. “Go ahead and say it. This would not be happening if I’d taken your advice and brought Maggie to Tunis the moment she started pressing for answers.” She hefted her bag onto the customs inspection counter. “You were right. I should have walked her through the ruins. Helped her find closure. Put the past to bed once and for all.”

“You can’t ask her to do something you haven’t done your
self.” His blue eyes drilled her. “It’s forgiveness that girl craves. And I don’t mean from you.”

The customs official studied her and Papa suspiciously. “Coming into the country for business or pleasure?”

“Business.” Papa scooped up their stamped passports. “Very unfortunate business.” He took Lisbeth’s elbow and led her around a group of retired Americans on vacation. Flowered shirts, straw hats, and sensible shoes gave away their plans to spend their vacation tramping the sunbaked remains of a forgotten civilization.

The presence of so many tourists shamed her. Tunis was not the volatile hotbed she’d claimed every time Maggie broached the subject of returning. Truth squeezed Lisbeth’s conscience like the crowds pressing in from all sides. Political unrest wasn’t the real source of her reluctance to bringing her daughter to Africa.

She’d made a promise. Until the cost versus the gains of breaking that promise was settled in her mind she couldn’t do anything.

“This way.” Papa pushed past the luxury shops, cafés, and beauty salons. “I’ve got us a ride.”

Intrusive taxi drivers rushed them the moment they stepped into the sticky air.

A snaggletoothed man leaped in front of her. “Thirty dinars to Old Carthage.”

“Twenty to the Bardo.” Another driver hugged her left side.

A man who smelled like a goat moved in on the right. “Fifteen and a guided tour of the Tophet.”

“Camel rides only ten dinars, pretty lady!” shouted a young Bedouin elbowing into the cluster, the reins of two saddled beasts of burden clutched in his hand.

“How did Maggie navigate this?” Lisbeth asked.

“She’s a smart girl.” Papa squeezed her arm tighter. “Like her mother.”

“That’s what scares me.”

“Doctors Hastings!” Across the parking lot Aisa, her father’s faithful fry cook, paced the wind-sanded hood of an old Land Rover. His cream-colored tunic stood out against the black smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe of a nearby bus. He waved his hands and shouted, “Come!”

They hurriedly wove their way through the honking cars and heavy foot traffic. Aisa scrambled down from the vehicle with surprising agility for a man she guessed to be nearly seventy.

Lisbeth threw her arms around the wiry-thin Arab. “Aisa!” Her nose immediately detected the comforting scent of lamb roasted over an open fire. “New glasses?”

“And new teeth.” Shiny white dentures peered out from beneath the bush of Aisa’s graying facial hair.

“Nice.” She pointed at his glasses. “I kinda miss the duct tape.”

“Nothing stays the same.” He took Lisbeth’s duffel. “Come. We’ll get some food into your bellies and a plan into our heads for what we should do next.”

“We?”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?”

He loaded their gear into the SUV, then hopped in and floored the gas. The Rover shot into traffic. Lisbeth gripped the dash. Their chauffeur dodged parked cars and bicycles that clogged the streets leading away from the airport. Once clear of the traffic, they flew along the paved coastal road connecting Tunis and Old Carthage, windows down and the salty breeze kinking Lisbeth’s hair and anxious nerves into knots. As they neared the older part of the city, Aisa was once again forced to slow down. The narrow avenues crawled with street vendors hawking aromatic oils, brightly colored fabrics, and pottery in every imaginable shade of blue.

Aisa laid on the horn and shook his fist. “Hang on.”

At the huge clock tower, their aggressive cabbie abruptly
turned east. He zipped through quiet residential streets lined with whitewashed houses trimmed in the same cobalt blue as much of the pottery. Leafy trees heavy with ripening oranges filled the yards. Here and there, ancient stone columns converted into streetlamps embellished the neighborhoods only the very rich could afford. Grand estates like the one her mother’s father had left to Lisbeth when he died.

Aisa whipped into a drive blocked by a massive wrought-iron gate. “Here we are.”

“Here?” Lisbeth stared at the familiar gate. “This house belonged to my grandfather.” She’d sold her
jiddo
’s estate through a third-party transaction to finance Maggie’s steep college tuition. She had no idea the buyer had been her father’s camp cook. “You live
here
?”

“Yes.” Aisa’s toothy grin showed his delight at her surprise. “The good professor is not the only one who knows how to turn sand into treasure.”

Lisbeth shifted in her seat. “You sold recovered artifacts?”

Aisa lifted his chin proudly. “My recipe for fried dough.”

“To whom?”

“An American food chain.” He pressed the remote control attached to his visor, and the gate swung open.

In the distance, Lisbeth could see the hill where the Roman acropolis had once stood. The French had built a huge cathedral. All around her, the palm trees had grown bigger and had acquired multiple rings of thick bark. Beside her sat a wealthy souk vendor who used to be a man who just barely eked out a living frying bread dough on an oil drum.

Nothing stays the same.

The power of time and its ability to change everything had tugged at her since the moment she set foot back in Tunisia. The port that had once been the spear pointed at the rest of the world
was now an accusing dagger aimed at her. She’d abandoned Carthage in its hour of need. She could take no credit for its survival. For some unknown reason, its modern progress made her very sad.

Aisa settled Lisbeth in the room where she’d stayed during their rare supply runs to Carthage. She and Papa didn’t come often, because things were always so tense between her jiddo and her father. The two men had never had a good relationship, but after Mama’s disappearance it was easier to beat each other up than themselves.

Lisbeth showered quickly, slipped into the simple tunic she found laid out on the massive burled mahogany bed, then followed the enticing smell of roasting meat to the large, wrap-around terrace with a stunning view of the port. Over by the fire pit, she spotted Papa. He was dressed in a woolen tunic that hit him midcalf. His fry cook was whacking fist-size dough balls with a tire iron and wearing Papa’s faded chambray shirt and dungarees.

“Hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but, Papa, why did you and Aisa switch clothes?”

Her father handed Aisa another dough ball. “I thought I’d better dress appropriately for our journey into the third century.”

“Oh, no you don’t. I let you come to Tunis, but I did
not
agree to letting you go back in time. Plus, Maggie may still be in the twenty-first century.”

“You haven’t been able to get Nigel on the phone. Either he’s dead, or he took Maggie to the desert already.” Papa eyed Lisbeth carefully. “I’m current on all my shots.”

“That’s the least of my worries.”

“Well then, if things are as bad back there as you’ve always said, you’ll need my help. And I can tell you right now, it’s going to take both of us to wrestle Maggie Hastings back down the rabbit hole.”

“I don’t suppose your willingness to fling yourself into a waterslide has anything to do with finding Mama?”

“I intend to bring my wife home along with the rest of my family.”

Lisbeth thought for a moment and then held up her palms. “We’ll have to hire a jeep.”

“I checked with customs, and the borders into Egypt are closed to vehicular travel,” Papa said.

Lisbeth’s stomach clenched. “So as of right now, neither one of us has a way to get to that cave.”

“The bald Irishman is not the only one with a plane.” Aisa glowed at their shock. “Came with the estate.”

She hugged Aisa and kissed his sun-weathered cheek. “Then we’ve got work to do.”

After a quick meal of lamb and fried dough, the three of them set out to prepare for Lisbeth and Papa’s entrance into the past. Flashlight in hand, Lisbeth hurried down the steps that led to the cisterns in the oldest section of Carthage. Lizards skittered over the broken blocks of masonry that littered the path. Papa and Aisa followed close behind, heavy ropes slung over their shoulders.