The Ghosts of Anatolia Read online

Elizabeth and Kristina shuffled dejectedly behind the casket. Both women were dressed in long black dresses and veils. Elizabeth’s shoulders were stooped with grief. Sirak, his expression at once bemused and sorrowful, trailed behind his mother clutching Mikael’s hand. Father Martin, a paunchy, middle-aged German wearing purple robes, brought up the rear of the procession.

  Scattered across the courtyard, several armed gendarmes monitored the funeral assembly. To the left of the walkway, a knot of Ottoman soldiers stood outside the commissary tent.

  Elizabeth glanced up and froze dead in her tracks. “Bastard!” she hissed.

  Kristina followed Nurse Barton’s gaze across the courtyard. “What’s wrong, Elizabeth?”

  “Wait here,” Elizabeth said. Letting go of Kristina’s hand, she marched purposefully through the mourners to an officer dressed in a smart gray uniform and a red tarboosh cap. His baggy pants were tucked inside thigh-high brown leather boots. Without warning, Elizabeth slapped him full across the face. The slap echoed across the courtyard and launched the officer’s cap high into the air.

  The man flinched, but maintained his composure. Several soldiers grabbed Nurse Barton’s arms.

  “Let her go,” the officer ordered.

  Elizabeth jerked her arms away, and trembling with emotion, glared at the officer. “Have you no shame, Major al-Kawukji? How dare you defile my husband’s funeral? I ask you to leave immediately.”

  “You falsely malign me, Nurse Barton,” al-Kawukji protested. “I can assure you, I was also shocked and heartbroken to learn of Dr. Charles’ death. His death is a staggering loss to us all. I’m here to pay my respects.”

  “You are a liar, sir, a vile, two-faced murderer. Your hands are stained with David’s blood.”

  “You are mistaken, madam. I’ve long been an admirer of Dr. Charles, and of you, too.”

  “Liar!” she cried out vehemently. “The telegram you took from me was impaled on the knife they plunged into my David’s heart. You are nothing but depraved savages.” She bowed her head and wept inconsolably.

  The major winced and glanced awkwardly at the glowering soldier standing beside him. “I assure you, madam. I had no part whatsoever in Dr. Charles’ death. I passed your telegram on to provincial officials, along with a stack of others I confiscated the past week, but I really had little choice. The gendarme in the telegraph office saw it first and he reported what you wrote to his superior. I was reprimanded by my commanding officer for not arresting you on the spot.”

  “Did you know David was tortured?” Elizabeth sniffled.

  “I assure you, madam, I did not. I had the utmost respect for him, and everything he’s done to help the wounded and ill soldiers who are brought here for treatment. I’m stunned to learn he was tortured. General al-Zifar told me he died from typhus.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and exhaled. “If I’ve wrongly accused you, Major, I’m truly sorry.”

  “I feel your sorrow. If there’s anything I can do to help you—anything at all—please contact me.” He handed her a slip of paper.

  “Thank you, Major,” Elizabeth replied solemnly. She turned and walked back across the courtyard.

  The cortege shuffled into the street. Doctor Saunders helped Hakan and the other pallbearers hoist the casket into the horse-drawn caisson. Kristina helped Mikael and Sirak into a waiting coach. The pallbearers, along with several other men from the hospital, mounted their horses. A lone rider led the way, and the modest procession inched away from the hospital. It clattered down the street lined with mourners and onlookers and headed to the eastern gate of the city.

  Major al-Kawukji stood at the curb watching until the caisson turned the next corner. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked across the street to his horse. A young soldier held out the reins. “Thank you, Corporal. Let’s head back to headquarters.”

  “Sir, do you want me to follow them out to the cemetery to make sure there’s no trouble?”

  Al-Kawukji mounted his horse. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  The procession followed Father Martin and the pallbearers bearing Dr. Charles’ coffin up a dusty trail. Stepping through an open gate, they made their way into a small cemetery on a windswept hillside overlooking Diyarbekir. The rumble of distant thunder echoed overhead.

  Sirak clutched his mother’s hand. “Mama, when does Dr. Charles go to heaven?”

  “He’s already in heaven, little mouse. We go to heaven the moment we die.”

  He motioned toward the coffin. “Then what’s in that box?”

  “That’s only Dr. Charles’ earthly body. He won’t need it in heaven.”

  Sirak glanced up at his mother and started to ask another question, but fell silent.

  The priest stopped before a fresh grave. The pallbearers set the coffin on the ground and filed slowly away.

  Father Martin stepped to the head of the grave and clutched a small black Bible in his hands. Standing tall, with sadness emanating from his drawn face, he cleared his throat to speak. “Dear friends,” he began in a clear baritone voice, “the burial of a loved one is never easy, but it is even more difficult today. This pious man of God, Doctor David Charles, touched all of you standing here today. His impact in Anatolia over the past fifteen years—both physical and spiritual—is immeasurable. David was my best friend and closest confidant since the first month he arrived from America with a heart filled with love and compassion. When my first appointment ended, and I prepared to return home, it was David who convinced me to stay here in Anatolia. I’ve thanked him many times for the countless blessings I’ve received here during the past seven years. I saw David for the last time two weeks ago. We had lunch together at the hospital and he happily told me he’d finally decided to leave Anatolia to return to America to live with his brother on a farm outside a little town called Altus, Oklahoma. David shared something else with me that day.” He gazed forlornly at Elizabeth, and sighing heavily, peered up at the sky. “He told me he’d fallen in love again.”

  The big man tucked his head against his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, his head bobbed rhythmically up and down. He tried to speak again, but abandoned the attempt with a frustrated shake of his head. Several more moments passed before he took a deep breath and looked up. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I still can’t grasp David’s passing.

  “This morning I spoke to Elizabeth. I asked her why they hadn’t left Anatolia last month, as they’d planned, and she told me David just couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave the battered and broken people who depended on him for help during this dark time of suffering and war.

  “David and Elizabeth paid a terrible price for their devotion and service to God and the people of Anatolia. I know in my heart that David will receive a king’s reward in heaven, but those of us who remain behind will long for his solace and goodness until the day we join him in heaven.”

  The priest grasped a golden cross in his hands and thrust it out before him. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, I commend thy fearless and unwavering servant to you, dear Lord.”

  Father Martin nodded and the pallbearers grasped the ropes beneath the coffin.

  Stepping over the grave, they lowered it carefully to the bottom.

  Doctor Saunders led Elizabeth to the grave. She bowed her head in prayer for a moment before tossing a bouquet of flowers onto the coffin.

  Sirak looked up at his mother. Tears were streaming down his face. He wiped them on his sleeve.

  “Here, Sirak,” she whispered, handing him a single white flower. “Throw this into Dr. Charles’ grave and thank him. Don’t ever forget that Dr. Charles saved your life.”

  “Will Dr. Charles hear me, Mama?” he sobbed.

  “Yes, he’ll definitely hear you.”

  Sirak’s mother led him to the grave. He stood for a moment and peered into the abyss. He dropped the flower and watched it land atop the coffin beside the bouquet. “Thank you, Dr. Charles,” he whispered sadly.
“God bless you.”

  Elizabeth shuffled to the table and sat between Kristina and Mikael. “I’m sorry; I completely lost track of time.”

  “That’s okay. Lala told us you’d be late. Hakan found some fresh carrots and onions at the market and Lala prepared a wonderful stew. Let me serve you.”

  “Just a taste. I’m not hungry.”

  Kristina ladled stew into her bowl. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Come on, children, it’s time for bed.”

  “I’m not tired,” Mikael groaned. “Can’t we play a game of checkers?”

  “No, you can’t; it’s been a long day. You all need a good night’s sleep. Are you done, Sirak?”

  Sirak stared at his bowl. He didn’t look up.

  Kristina stepped over to the boy’s chair and squatted beside him. “Sirak, are you okay?”

  He looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

  “Are you okay, little mouse?” she asked tenderly.

  “Papa’s in heaven, too. Isn’t he?”

  Kristina stared back at him.

  “Isn’t he, Mama?”

  “I don’t know,” she finally replied. She gently squeezed Sirak’s arm. “I hope Papa and Stepannos are waiting for us in Jerusalem, but only God knows where they are now.”

  “Can’t we go and see if they’re there?”

  Kristina glanced mournfully at Elizabeth. “Jerusalem is a long way from here. We can’t leave now. If we did, we’d be giving up any chance of finding Flora again. Alek might come to the hospital, too. Do you understand?”

  “Maybe Flora and Alek are already in Jerusalem. Maybe they’re waiting with Papa.”

  “If they are, then we’ll meet them there later. But, for now, we need to wait a little longer. It’ll be just a few more weeks. Okay?”

  Sirak nodded his head. “Okay.”

  Kristina lifted Izabella out of her chair. “Come on, sweetheart; it’s time for bed.”

  “Goodnight, children,” Elizabeth called out after them. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight, Nurse Barton,” Sirak called back.

  “Goodnight,” Mikael muttered wearily.

  Kristina returned from the bedroom a few minutes later and sat down beside Elizabeth. “I’m worried about Sirak. When he says his prayers, he asks God to protect his papa and brothers and sister from the bad men and to help them all get to Jerusalem. Then he prays for God to protect Mikael, Izabella and me from the bad men, too. It breaks my heart.”

  Elizabeth took Kristina’s hand. “Sirak has an inner strength far beyond his years. He’ll bear some psychological scars forever, to be sure, but something tells me he’ll be just fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m more worried about Izabella. She’s gotten so quiet these past few weeks. She won’t even play dolls with me anymore.”

  Kristina nodded. “She misses her papa. She keeps asking me to take her home to see him.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I’ve got to leave Anatolia soon. I’ll go crazy if I stay.”

  “I understand. There’s nothing left here for you now.”

  “I want you to leave with me. We can travel to Jerusalem together. Then, I’ll leave for America once I know you and the children are safe.”

  “I can’t leave Diyarbekir yet. I’ll lose all hope of ever seeing my Flora again. As long as we’re here, there’s a chance she’ll find us.”

  “I can’t begin to comprehend it. How terrible it is to lose your child, but you must also think of Mikael, Sirak and Izabella. You’ve already been here a month without any news about Flora. Meanwhile, the situation here grows more desperate every day.”

  Kristina stared at the tabletop. Finally, she looked up. “I know you’re right, but I just can’t leave Flora behind.”

  Elizabeth reached out to squeeze her hand. “There’s still time. It’ll take me two or three weeks to get my affairs in order.”

  “I guess we’d better get some rest. We’ve both got a lot to do tomorrow. Let me know if you need help with the patients tonight. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Kristina.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Jasmine slid a tray onto the nightstand. “Flora, I’ve brought bread and honey. You must eat something.”

  Flora barely opened her eyes. “I can’t. I’m so sick.”

  Jasmine dipped a piece of bread into the honey and held it to Flora’s mouth. “You must eat. You’ve only eaten a few bites of bread the past three days.”

  “No, please, I can’t even stand the smell.”

  Jasmine sighed. “I’ll leave it here on the nightstand. Try to get a few bites down. Erol’s been asking for you. Would you mind if he came in for a moment?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Jasmine dabbed perspiration from Flora’s forehead with a cloth. “He’s so fond of you.”

  A hint of a smile came to Flora’s face. “I’m fond of him, too.”

  “I can’t imagine how much you miss your family, but your coming here’s the best thing that ever happened for my Erol. His spirit is alive again, and it’s all because of you.”

  “I’ve done nothing but give him love and encouragement.”

  “You’ve given him so much more,” Jasmine said appreciatively. “You’ve given him the self-confidence of knowing that someone other than his mother cares whether he lives or dies. Even his father treats him better. It’s truly a miracle.” She gave Flora a warm hug. “God bless you.”

  “He’s a wonderful boy with a heart of gold. He’s been just as much comfort to me as I’ve been to him.”

  Jasmine smiled. “I’ll tell him he can come visit you as soon as he finishes his breakfast.”

  Erol looked up expectantly. “Does Flora feel better?”

  “Maybe a little,” Jasmine replied. “She still isn’t eating, but she’d like to see you. Finish your breakfast and you can go in for a few minutes.”

  “Really?” he asked excitedly. “I’m already full. Can I go see her now?”

  “As soon as you finish your bread.”

  Erol stuffed the bread into his mouth and stood up from the table. “Can I go now?” he begged.

  “Yes,” Jasmine replied amusedly. “Take her this glass of water, please.”

  Erol took the glass and hurried off to the bedroom.

  “You have chores to do in the barn, Erol,” Abdul called out after him. “Five minutes, and then I want you to clean the horses’ stalls.”

  Erol didn’t respond. He darted through the doorway and disappeared down the hall.

  “Did you get her to eat?” Sabriye asked from the kitchen.

  “Not yet, but she seems a little better today. At least she’s talking.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with her?” Abdul grumbled, his mouth full of food.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes at Sabriye. “She’s sick to her stomach.”

  “For three days? What’s she got, the grippe or something? Women,” he muttered beneath his breath, “they’ll be the death of me.”

  “We think she’s with child,” Jasmine replied matter-of-factly.

  Abdul sat back from the table and stared wide-eyed at Hasan. “With child? Did she say Flora’s with child?”

  Hasan didn’t look up from a copy of the Agence he was perusing. “That’s what she said,” he replied disinterestedly.

  Abdul bolted up from the table and held his arms to the heavens. “Thanks be to Allah! I’m having another son!”

  “What if it’s another daughter?” Hasan muttered.

  “Hold your tongue!” Abdul demanded crossly. “God promised me in a dream. Flora’s first-born will be a son. He’ll be a strong and fearless warrior.”

  Jasmine grinned mischievously at Sabriye. “I dreamed it’s a girl, a sweet, angel-faced girl—just like her mother.”

  Abdul’s face flushed crimson. “Shut up! I will not tolerate this sacrilege. He will be a son. From this moment onward, I command all of you to pray the child is a son. Do you understa
nd?”

  “I understand, Effendi,” Hasan replied deferentially.

  “Good. I’m heading into Diyarbekir this afternoon for supplies. Baran is going with me. Remain vigilant, there are many deserters and vagrants about.”

  “Don’t worry, Effendi. I’ll be on my guard.”

  Abdul grabbed the last piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. “Jasmine, go tell Erol to get his butt out to the barn. Make sure he finishes all of his chores before lunch. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Abdul, I’ll make sure he gets them done.”

  “I’ll be back before dark, and I want my dinner ready.” Grabbing his pistol off the fireplace mantle, the Turk stuffed it beneath his belt. He jerked the door open, stepped outside and slammed it closed behind him.

  Jasmine glanced up at Sabriye and caught her frosty stare. “What?” she asked defensively.

  “You’d better pray the child’s a boy, for everyone’s sake.”

  “I’ll pray what I want to pray,” Jasmine huffed. She slapped her dishrag down on the countertop and marched off to the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 32

  June 19, 1915

  Elizabeth pulled open the bottom dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of sweaters. She handed them to Lala, who set them in an open trunk on the floor.

  “That’s everything,” Elizabeth said.

  Kristina held out a framed photograph. “Don’t forget this.”

  It was the black and white shot of a smiling Dr. Charles standing on the steps of the American Missionary Hospital in Chunkoush, squinting at the sun. Elizabeth gazed at David’s eyes for a moment and lovingly passed the photo to Lala. “Wrap it in sweaters. You’re welcome to anything I left behind, Kristina. I shall not return.”

  Kristina nodded and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

  Elizabeth smiled warmly. “It’s not too late, you know. There’s plenty of room in the wagon.”

  “We’d only hold you up.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “I need to stay for at least a couple more months. I want to wait for Flora.”

  All three women turned at a determined knock at the door.