A River in the Sky

The man addressed had obviously been told about Emerson. He lowered the barrier and stepped back, gesturing. We found Morley seated under a shelter of canvas that resembled a tent whose sides have been raised. He was not at luncheon. He was taking tea. Seated next to him at the table was a woman whose fair hair was confined by a scarf of emerald-green silk and whose costume was an interesting mixture of East and West-tailored trousers and leather boots partially covered by a flowing silken tunic that matched the scarf.

“Typical,” Emerson muttered. “Dallying with a woman instead of supervising his workmen.”

She did not look the sort of woman with whom a man dallies. Her attire was exotic but not provocative; her features were strong, and her pale blue eyes studied me with steady self-assurance.

“Will you join-” Morley began.

“No,” said Emerson. “Devil take it, Morley, I told you not to go on with your work without a professional supervisor.”

“I have complied with your demand, Professor, though I still question your right to make it.” Morley’s cheeks rounded in a smug smile. “May I present my professional colleague, Frau Hilda von Eine, a noted excavator of Hittite and Babylonian ruins.”

Chapter Eight

Morley could not have planned his strategy better. Not only had he acquired a professional archaeologist, but that professional was a female. Emerson enjoys intimidating other men, but the chivalrous part of his nature makes it virtually impossible for him to bully a woman. This can be a cursed inconvenience at times. However, I am perfectly capable of dealing with it.

Seeing that Emerson was taken aback (quite understandably) by Morley’s announcement, I stepped into the breach.

“How do you do,” I said, offering the lady my hand. “I am Mrs. Amelia P. Emerson.”

“You are unmistakable, Mrs. Emerson” was the reply, in a soft gentle voice. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

I went on to present my companions, beginning, as was proper, with Nefret. The lady-properly-acknowledged each with a smile and an inclination of her head. Reminded of his manners, Morley rose belatedly to his feet. Reminded of his manners, Emerson confined his response to a wordless mumble.

“How long have you been in Jerusalem, Frau von…” I began.

The lady took my catch of breath for a failure of memory and courteously repeated her name.

“Yes, of course,” I said, recovering myself with my customary aplomb. “Something caught in my throat. Hem. Well, we must not keep you from your tea. I hope you will do us the honor of calling on us one day.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Frau von Eine suggested.

Nefret, who had not spoken a word until then, said, “Unfortunately, we are leaving Jerusalem tomorrow and may be gone for several days.”

It was too late to poke her with my parasol.

“Are you considering another site, then?” the lady asked. “Tell el Nasbeh and Jericho, for instance, have great possibilities.”

“Thank you for the suggestion,” I said. “I look forward to a meeting at a later time. Good day to you. Good day, Mr. Morley.”

Nefret was the first to turn away, followed by Selim and Daoud. Still staggered by the realization that had struck me, I did not notice at first that Plato had disappeared again. Interrogation produced the information that he had informed Nefret he intended to remain with Morley for a short time; she had seen no reason to forbid it.

“No reason!” I burst out.

“We cannot keep him a virtual prisoner indefinitely,” Nefret said. “What harm can he do us, after all? You weren’t proposing to take him with us tomorrow, were you?”

“Speaking of that,” I began.

“I hope you don’t mean to go back on your word,” Nefret said, fixing me with an icy blue stare.

“Just a bloody minute,” exclaimed Emerson, coming to a dead stop. “Why did you drag me away, Peabody? I had a number of questions to ask that bastard, and-er-the lady.”

“You were singularly inarticulate at the time,” I replied somewhat sharply. “This new development necessitates thought and consultation. In private, Emerson.”

After passing out through the barrier, we had collected the usual followers, half-naked children and idle men, some asking for baksheesh, some simply curious to see what we would do next. They had stopped when we stopped and were watching us interestedly.

“Aunt Amelia,” Nefret said.

“In private, Nefret.”

Never had the walk back seemed so long and arduous; never had I so regretted not having nearby accommodations. I accepted the help of Emerson’s strong arm as we climbed the slope. Always (almost always) sensitive to my state of mind, sensing my agitation, he towed me along with such vigor that my feet seldom touched the ground. Our followers abandoned us when we reached the Dung Gate. Wending our way past donkeys and carts, stepping over the money changers and letter writers who had set up shop along the narrow streets, we were passing David Street, the main thoroughfare, when we were intercepted.

“Honored lady! Mrs. Emerson! Hear me, please. Talk.”