#9–An Awkward Arrangement
“Yes, I’m thinking of Natalie.” Suli dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from the box. “We’ve had to be mother and sister to each other since our mother died. Mom always told us stories about our grandmother, the doctor. She insisted we go to school, study hard, and get a good education. She would be so proud and happy that Natalie is going to design school. I’m glad Natalie has the opportunity. It’s just that I miss her already. Still, I’m sure I’ll see her next spring.”
She blew her nose, unaware that Natalie’s sundered spirit stood behind her.
I felt behind me, making sure the bed was there before sitting down. “When did Natalie leave?”
“This morning. Father took the family car.”
“Isn’t it an odd time for a school to be starting?”
“Oh, the term starts next year. Natalie said she could take Amtrak, but Father wouldn’t hear of it. He’s very old fashioned. He was driving her to Uncle Muhammad’s house and she would stay there during the Christian holiday and New Year. She didn’t want to. It was going to be awkward but Father insisted.”
“Awkward in what way?” I kept asking questions because I didn’t know what else to do. It was a terrible situation to be in.
“She was going to have to meet the man they wanted her to marry and listen to them try to wear her down all over again. Then, if she still refused the marriage, Father promised that one of the cousins would drive her to the school when term started.”
“But she would have to stay the holidays with your uncle and he would be pressuring her the whole time,” I said, “That sounds very awkward.”
Suli frowned. “Yes, but Father was reasonable. He told her she should at least look at the man. After all, she might like him. He’s supposed to be rich. And he is younger than Uncle Muhammad.”
I felt as if I was being squeezed by bands of iron. I wanted to scream but could barely breathe. Natalie stood there as one lost to hope, challenging me to do something, but my brain could hardly think. How far was it to New York City? About an hour in a plane—two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty miles at the most? So Natalie, driven by her father, had set out this morning. If there had been a car accident, surely Suli would have heard by now.
“How long does it take to get to your Uncle Muhammad’s house?”
“Father’s careful. Because of the taxi business and because of being foreign, he doesn’t want even a single traffic ticket. He never exceeds the speed limit and it usually takes him four hours. They would have been there by lunch time.”
So Natalie would have had time to reach her destination and there had been plenty of time after that for things to have gone wrong between her and the would-be fiancé. I was starting to have my doubts about Uncle Muhammad’s house. My heart hammering in my throat, I asked:
“When do you expect your father back?”
“He promised Natalie he would stay with her through the meeting, and probably he won’t start home until Sunday night.”
I took a deep breath and then I took another. The paralysis eased a little. I had a little time, a breathing space, time to investigate, time to think what to do.
“But here I’m talking and you look exhausted. Let me start running the bathwater for you—there’s a trick to getting just the right temperature.” Suli did that and checked the stove. Adding another log, she adjusted the vents, explaining at this setting the wood would last until morning. She took another look around the dark room.
