Pearl of the Desert

Pearl of the Desert

Dixie L. Meyer

Copyright 2013 by Dixie L. Meyer

Smashwords Edition

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Prologue

She needed to think. She needed quiet, solitude, to feel a cool spring breeze across her face, to immerse herself in nature and listen as the wind gently rustled the leaves of the tall birch and maple trees. She needed inner peace.

Everybody seemed to want a piece of her. I feel like I’m being picked at by a flock of birds…ha! A crazy image from the Hitchcock film The Birds streaked through her brain.

Sandy looked like a typical Sunday hiker with boots laced and strapped snugly around her ankles and a lightweight daypack harnessed onto her back. She concentrated on her steps, each one a mental effort, as she worked her way up the laurel covered mountain trail. Is this what Jesus felt like as he went to the mountain to escape all the people for a rest?

Weighed down by the emotional drain of the last several months…who was she kidding…years, now made her feel like she was carrying a pack triple her mere 135 pounds, her strength sapped, bone weary. Well, now what?

It was a short question but was very long in meaning.

Sandy raked her fingers through her short chestnut hair. As she had worked up a sweat hiking, it had started to curl up in tight ringlets. Funny, it hadn’t been curly when it was long. Her father had always insisted on her keeping her hair no shorter than the middle of her back, but after his death 3 years ago and taking care of her mother, it was easier kept short.

Sandy reached the crest of the hill or bald as they called them in the Carolinas. The narrow trail opened up to a small field that was primarily smooth stone with sporadic clumps of pink catch fly, edged with Queen Anne's lace and some scrubby looking grass. Sandy had chosen this opening because it had a great sitting rock that she and her father had hiked to many times in her 28 years of living in North Carolina.

The rock was of the same gray granite as the rest of the top of the mountain, triangular shaped, about knee high at the point and sloping up to the widest end to waist high for Sandy. It was like God had set a giant piece of rock pie in the clearing just for viewing the surrounding hills.

Sandy stepped up onto the rock, lowered herself onto the cool stone surface and, using her pack as a backrest, stretched her legs out in front of her.

The view from here was breathtaking. The Great Smoky Mountains stretched northward in shades of chlorophyll greens, turning deeper cobalt green as the hill blended into the hazy blueness of the Blue Ridge mountains. It gave Sandy a feeling of calmness deep inside her core, a oneness with the landscape. That was something she and her father had shared but something her mother and others never did grasp.

She missed her dad and probably always would. Now with her mother gone, the funeral only two weeks past, she had nothing to keep her held down anymore, not that Sandy ever considered not being the one to take care of her mother or father but now a weight was lifted and she could move her focus to her own life. No more give, give, give. A bible verse slipped into her mind. Luke 6:38, give and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap… Sandy had read this verse before but it was nudging her today.

Sandy tilted her face toward the clouds, God give me courage to step into a life of my own and may it be meant for the goodness of You, Lord.

Retracing the trail back down the mountainside to her car, the word courage popped into her brain and repeated in sync with her steps. Once home she looked in the concordance of her bible courage and found Ezra 10:4, Rise up: this matter is in your hands. We will support you, so take courage and do it. She shuddered a sigh of excitement. So be it Lord, courage it is!

The laptop computer glowed to life with the usual whirs and beeps. Clicking on the Internet connection icon, Sandy looked up that blurb she had seen on Pastor Daniel’s website about mission trips. Upcoming were Israel, Nairobi, India and Syria. It read: Looking for Archeology dig volunteers with possible degree/doctoral credits; side trips to biblical landmarks; sponsored by Nazarene Bible College; will be advisers for college youth groups. Sandy thought it might be nice to surround herself with young people excited about history and exuberance for life. She sent off an e-mail giving her address and requesting more information.

The next few weeks were a monotonous mix of sorting and packing her mother’s personal effects, answering or placing phone calls to the family lawyers, signing legal documents, going through the mail and making more phone calls.

Then the large packet came addressed with the logo of Nazarene Bible College for a return address. Sandy’s breathing did a sharp intake.

Chapter 1

Syrian Desert Dig Site, 2 Months Later

This should be boring lying on your stomach with an artist paintbrush gently sweeping away the golden, centuries old dirt, looking for ancient artifacts that could be as small as a quarter. Strangely enough it felt good to let the suns warmth soak through to her bones…besides it made her feel so Indiana Jones. She squinted as she looked out over the miles of sand and the irregular rise of the dunes. Where did all that sand come from? Put into scientific terms, it was originally sedimentary rock from the eastern coastal mountains that had endured the forces of erosion and weathering which dissolved the rock and reduced it to sand, but that took all the romance out of it.

A shadow was cast over her area of allotted archaeological interest, a slightly short and fairly wide shadow at that. Sandy smiled up at the person casting that shadow, Ms. Pebbles.

With hands on ample hips that were holding up a wide utility belt that jangled from the many implements attached by snap hooks, Dr. Jennifer Pebbles, PhD, presented an image right from an Agatha Christie novel, complete with pith helmet. Her portly stature (as the English would say) was attired in a loose fitting white cotton shirt, a riding skirt with cargo pockets on each side that presently had a leather work glove spilling out of each. Some of Ms. Pebble’s hair had escaped from beneath her pith helmet and was framing her heat flushed face with blue-gray curls.

So, how are we getting on here in section 106A? she asked as she brushed a few tendrils from her oval face. Anything of interest? Her green eyes sparkled with scholarly curiosity.

At age 63, Jennifer Pebbles was a marvel. Even after both a hip and a knee replacement, she could keep up with any of the young folks pace or maybe it was because of the new ceramic joints. Her cameo colored skin and jade eyes belied her years. Ms. Pebbles had been Sandy’s first contact for this trip. Her enthusiasm for her field of study bubbled over in the descriptions of the archaeological work they would be doing and of the beautiful desert surroundings they would enjoy. Even now as she stood, in her dust covered trekking boots, shielding her eyes from the scorching late afternoon sun, you could see she was pleased to be here.

Sandy got to her knees and brushed off her thighs as she stood up. No jewel encrusted scarabs, just a few pottery shards and half a clay urn.

My dear, jewels and such are generally found only in royal tombs and palace ruins but I do believe you know that and are trying a bit of American jesting with me, she said as her neatly shaped eyebrows arched in a quizzical gesture while she smiled at Sandy.

Ms. Pebbles extended a hand down to Sandy. Well, shall we collect the rest of our spirited bunch and go back to enjoy a wonderful meal prepared by Selim and discuss our finds of the day? she questioned. As Sandy grasped the extended hand and was hauled up and out of her pit, she was surprised by the strength of the older woman.

As they walked back toward the array of various sized tan colored tents that comprised their camp, Sandy could see a lively debate occurring at one of the other orange roped off pits of exploration. One of the native workmen was leaning on the handle end of a shovel at the top edge of the site. He was wearing a djellaba, the traditional full-length robe worn by men, which billowed around his feet in the warm breeze. He grinned, looking down in amusement at the quarreling pair, his turbaned head bobbing in seemingly agreement with the loudest speaker.

Ms. Pebbles and Sandy gave collective sighs. Oh it would not be right to have a day go by without Buddy and Lauren getting into a dispute. The corners of Sandy’s mouth twitched, for that was a humorous but accurate statement.

Dusk was beginning to brush over the landscape as Sandy and Ms. Pebbles came up to the two figures in the pit. One was easily discernible by his height and broad shoulders. Buddy’s bandanna did its best to hold in his dark, curly hair while Lauren’s long straight blond hair was escaping the confines of her ponytail, only made worse by the adamant shaking of her head in disagreement. They both stopped in mid-argument upon noticing the women approach.

Buddy turned, placed both hands at the top rim of the earthen cavity and in a single lithe movement, drew himself up and out of the hole. His frame was that of a typical young college athlete but his grin was that of a shy boy.

Lauren’s voice drifted up to them, He l-l-l-loo! Can I get a hand here?! Her irritation was evident. The workman dropped his shovel to help the young woman out. In faded cut-off jeans and an aqua plaid camp shirt knotted at the waist, Lauren adjusted the canvas collection satchel on her shoulder and joined the group. She sent a withering scowl directed at Buddy then flashed a genuine smile at Sandy and Ms. Pebble.

As the small company strolled back to camp, Sandy only registered their conversation as a low murmur. Her thoughts were focused on the vanishing daylight and the spectacular coral, orange and pinks that streaked toward the shadowed dunes on the horizon. The beauty of nature always impressed Sandy, she whispered a Thank you, Lord. The diverse terrains that He gave us on just one little planet were mind boggling to her and most likely to millions of other people sharing the globe with her, she reflected.

Later that evening when Lauren and Sandy got to the dining tent, after a quick face washing and a change of clothes, they found the rest of the team had already arrived. Deposited in the middle of the table, in a heap, were the finds of the day. Some articles could be distinguished as to what they originally had been while others would be discussed, debated and outright guessed at.

Several colorful bowls and platters covered the rest of the unoccupied space on the table, each piled high with various steaming culinary specialties and baskets filled with fresh baked bread.

Lauren inhaled the pungent aromas wafting through the tent, I think Selim and her staff have outdone themselves tonight. Her appetite was known to be comparable to Buddy and the other large young men but her slight curvaceous figure was a testimony to how young adults burn the extra calories they consume.

There were a dozen individuals, including Dr. Pebbles, seated at the table. After the blessing had been given by Ms. Pebbles, animated conversations began around the table along with the gradual emptying of the food bowls. Sandy sat back with a sated sigh. She had not realized she had been that hungry. She leaned back in her chair to enjoy the satisfaction of the wonderful meal.

Sandy looked around the table, quietly observing the volunteers she had agreed to help chaperone and work beside. Sitting on Ms. Pebble's right were Zack and Josh, twins from Minnesota. Though identical in looks their personalities were quite opposite except for their love of history. On Ms. Pebbles' left was John, red headed with a ruddy freckled face and a physique typical of a rugby player, which he was. As a matter of fact Sandy thought she had overheard he was captain of the team. There were the ever quarreling Lauren and Buddy with the petite dark haired, almond eyed, Caitlin sitting between them. Alexis and Kinner were both New Englanders and avid Red Sox baseball fans. On Sandy’s right was Miguel or Mick as he requested to be called. He was trilingual in Spanish, Arabic and English as his Mexican mother and Egyptian father had met as exchange students and ended up living in New Jersey. To her left were Ramon and Sharrona; it was easy to see the romantic interests budding between those two. What a melting pot of individuals from one college.

She marveled at the camaraderie, teasing, bantering, the expression of their opinions, and the readiness to defend those opinions. Bold young Christians. Sandy queried, Was I that confident at that age...Am I even that confident now? She knew she was not.

After the staff had cleared the table of empty dishes (there were no leftovers with this crowd), the daily treasures were gently spread out across the flat surface. Their discoveries consisted of coins, bits of mosaic tiles, small clay jars and pots; most missing large pieces, a few small metal hand tools, clay figures and many pottery shards.

Their current dig site was once one of the celebration sites for the bringing of the First Fruits Festival. In Jesus’ time hundreds of people would come to pay the yearly harvest tithe in tribute to God. After several days of feasting, they broke camp and headed back to their homes and farms. Ordinary cookware, pots and plates not of great expense were thrown away instead of being packed and carried home again.

From garbage to artifact, John, a young man with short rust colored hair, said, Look what a few thousand years can do for the value of things.

Well then, the possessions that over-run your tent will fetch quite a price a thousand years from now,said a man standing at the tent’s opening.

All heads turned as a tall man with weathered skin, salt and pepper beard and mustache entered the dining tent. Professor George Roberts III wore his beard neat and trimmed close. He moved with a smooth gait for his lanky frame. Professor and Ms. Pebbles were co-chairs of the Ancient History department at the college and Ms. Pebbles had described him to Sandy as a somewhat handsome man in the meridian of life. Sandy had taken that to mean middle aged.

He drew up an empty folding camp chair and placed his large notebook on the table. The professor usually had his evening meal with the workmen and the reis (foreman), Abdullah, so as to go over the next phase of the expeditions and generally joined the volunteer students later.

Selim’s youngest staff member, a barefooted boy of no more than nine years, arrived to serve mugs of steaming gahwa, the strong Arabic coffee. They all sipped at the slightly thick sweet brew that was the origin of our American coffee as each person took their turn classifying and describing their finds to Prof. Roberts and Ms. Pebbles.

Caitlin mused, What would it have looked like here, on this very spot, during high festival?

Zack, whose focus had been on a small crude amulet of hammered metal, looked up with thoughtful furrowed brows. Well, there would have been many hundreds of tents he answered.

Lauren, known for her detailed sketches and landscapes, added the color array would have resembled a haphazard patchwork quilt. You know not all the tents were the dull dune shade of canvas like ours. Many families and tribes, not unlike today, have specific colors or patterned designs on their tents as a form of identification.

True, true, chimed in Alexis, most people back then were illiterate, so that was also a way to recognize each other.

Kinner’s mind turned to another aspect, Can you imagine the turnout for worship service! Whoa, we think it is mega big when the university’s chapel is full.

Josh, always trying to add a touch of humor, added, Yeah and you won’t have to go through Ticket Master for reservations.

Ms. Pebbles peered over the top of her glasses. Sandy what’s that you’re holding? she asked. The clay slice in Sandy’s grasp was a pottery shard, somewhat triangular, 4 inches across the top and 6 inches long with one end snubbed off. It was once part of the upper rim of a vessel.

Seems to be a sliver from a water or wine pot, Sandy relayed as she brushed more of the endless sand from the piece. She was attaching a label with catalog numbers and category that Prof. had passed down the table to her when something made her stare at it close-up. Professor, there appears to be some design or markings under the rim of this. She rubbed her thumb across it and tried to gently blow away dirt. Buddy stood up and came to lean over her shoulder to get a better view.

His tanned, well-muscled arm reached out for the shard as he remarked, Hmm, looks more like lettering than ornamentation or decorative.

The shard was passed around the table toward the collection storage boxes. Miguel added as he put the artifact in the appropriate container, If it is script, it is not Hebrew. Looks more like some of the lettering found on the wall mosaics I’ve seen displayed in Petra.

Just outside the tent in the darkness, the work crew were sitting, smoking and speaking in low murmurs around a small fire. At Miguel’s statement, a man's head rose sharply and turned toward the dining canopy. It was too dark to see his face but no one inside the tent had even noticed.

Later Sandy lie on her cot having trouble falling asleep. She missed hearing the cicadas and peepers adding their voices to the evening air. Though she missed the sounds, she couldn't say she was homesick. That would mean you had something at home to miss. She didn't; only the familiarity of the surroundings back there.

The desert night had many charms, all new to her. Fragrances of jasmine and oleander drifted into the tent along with the faint coarse rumbling sound of camels complaining to each other.

Though Sandy had done her nightly Bible reading, she still felt restless as she began her evening prayer, I thank you God for your love and faith and ask for your guidance in my Christian walk. I have to say though Lord I feel at odds with where I am, like I'm in the place but not sure of my mission. Something is nagging at my heart...on the right road but need to travel further down it. Sounds silly because I feel happy (content) but I know I could be happier.

Sandy was thankful for the way things were going but confused with her emotions. Maybe it had been better when her life was consumed with taking care of her parents and had not the luxury of thinking about herself. She finally drifted off to sleep with the rustle of the tent flaps and the slightly musty smell of canvas.

Chapter 2

After two weeks of working the dig site, sifting piles and piles of sand for any trace of antiquity and digging out the gridded off section with miniature,child-sized shovels, everyone was looking forward to their r & r trip. Professor G was staying on site with the reis (foreman) and most of the workmen. They would be filling in some of the sections that had shown little evidence of artifacts as well as get the equipment and the camp moved to the new area in the anti-Lebanon mountains for the students to excavate upon their return from Damascus.

Ms. Pebbles, Sandy, the students and two of the workmen filed onto the aged motor coach while the remaining workmen stacked backpacks by the back door and loaded a variety of travel cases up onto the roofs' luggage racks.

Getting on the bus, Buddy managed to sit next to Sandy. As he squeezed his large frame into the bus seat, he flashed that infectious, broad, toothy smile of his. That smile is worthy of a toothpaste commercial, Sandy thought. She wondered if any agency had ever scouted him for modeling.

Sandy snapped her thoughts back as Buddy was speaking. And I think I am most longing for a real hot shower and the taste of Pepsi on ice. How 'bout you? Three of the girls sitting at the front of the bus shouted over their shoulders, Cellphone service!! in unison.

Sandy laughed out loud. These young college women do love to talk.

Sandy's thoughts wandered to their destination. Damascus—it is referred to as the Pearl of the Desert but it was hard to get any idea looking through dust smudged windows.

The bus rumbled along the packed earthen road, Highway 17, with the aged engine keeping a high-pitched whine in protest to its treatment. The occupants chatted, laughed and pointed out the grubby windows as they were bounced and jostled in their once blue, now tattered and faded, vinyl seats. Everyone shouted as one very large pothole caused the vehicle to lurch. The backpacks, stacked haphazardly against the back door, seemed to heave up on their own accord and skittered up the aisle to bang against people's feet. Spilled contents were quickly scooped up and stuffed into the open bags.

After two hours of traveling across the desert terrain, the bus decelerated with a screeching of sand-encrusted brakes and rocked to a halt. The driver threw the lever that opened the bus doors with a pop and turned to face the riders; with a wide gap-toothed smile and bobbing of his turbaned head, he wished the group many blessings on your day. A golden sparkling dust cloud was still settling over the faded avocado transport as the troupe exited.

Selah and Hakim, the two workmen who had come with the group, unloaded all the luggage and deposited it on the sidewalk in front of the Hotel Omar. This hotel, according to the the small blurb in the itinerary sent to Sandy, was originally built in the 1970's but had been recently remodeled to appeal to the modern tourist.

Ms. Pebbles adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat, Students...students... your attention! You're on your own until this evening's gathering. Your personal effects are being transferred to your rooms. Please check in with the desk clerk upon your return for your room number and keys. Now enjoy yourselves but use your heads and keep on the safe side and give any perceived danger a wide berth.

As the bunch of students started to move out in different directions, her voice raised a decibel to help project her words. Remember.... bail bonds are NOT included in your trip fees.

Sandy shrugged into her backpack and stood still trying to gather herself. After the desert dig site's relative quietness, the sounds of the city were like an assault to her senses. Cars rushing to and fro with their inharmonious horns trying to outlast each other while pedestrians maneuvered the sidewalks clogged with street vendors trying to entice passersby to purchase their wares. Sandy stood and craned her neck as far possible to right then left trying to absorb as much as she could of her surroundings. She decided to follow in the direction of the pungent aromatic smell that was invading her nostrils. As she turned west onto An-Nasr Street, Buddy, Alexis and Kinner came along side her.

You following your stomach too? Kinner asked.

Sandy nodded as she and the two young men adjusted their strides to accommodate the short steps of Alexis. They all speculated from which restaurant or small cafe the most appetizing smells were emanating and what type of dish it could be. Buddy suggested a braised quail with couscous, Kinner thought it may be char grilled vegetables and veal and Sandy hoped for one of the her favorite dishes that Selim had prepared back at camp.

Alexis gave her thought, I think it's spice rubbed roast pork. To which the other three stopped in mid stride and stared at Alexis. What? she whined.

Buddy shook his head as they started down the bustling sidewalk again. This is a major Muslim city, he leaned down to Alexis' level and spoke in a low tone, you know—no eating little pigs.

Kinner, less sympathetic, chided her, Jeez Al, for as uber smart as you are you can be so-o-o blond!

They decided on an outdoor cafe that was quite crowded with families, businessmen and a fair amount of tourists.

The group found an open table for four and sat down to peruse the menu for what would most satisfy their grumbling stomachs. When the waiter came they put in orders for beverages and mezze, a selection of starters, hot and cold. They chose tabbouleh, baba ghanouj, hummus, kabobs and kibbeh (minced lamb with onion and pine nuts) all served with the traditional warm flat bread.

Sandy savored every bit of the lunch and the company. The various flavorful dishes were a delight to their palettes. Everyone sampled each different appetizer. The food was consumed with gusto amidst laughter, good-natured teasing and a few exclamations as their taste buds exploded from the the fiery spices and exotic peppers.

The waiter was clearing the table as the foursome were debating on coffee and a baked roll when Alexis grabbed Sandy's arm and started waving at the pedestrian crowd. There's some of our gang! Zack, Josh and Lauren were walking along the sidewalk; Lauren spotted Alexis flagging them down and the three crossed over to the cafe.

Zack removed his earbuds that were attached to his ever present MP3 player. Sandy could hear muted chords of the whatever head banging rock band was playing. She couldn't imagine how loud it would be when inserted into your ears. You guys want to come with us? Zack asked.

We're meeting Sharrona and Ramon over in the Old City, Josh added.

I want to scope out the shops at Souk A-Hanadiye and get a quick look at the Great Umayyad Mosque, Lauren said.

Alexis, Buddy and Kinner were agreeable and got up to leave but Sandy said, I think I'll stay and have a dessert and coffee.

The young folks said their goodbyes to Sandy and headed off in the direction of the Old City. Buddy stood beside her and questioned,Sure you'll be OK? She assured him she would be fine and would see them later at the get together in the hotel. Buddy caught up to the group as he gave a last look over his shoulder and waved to Sandy.

I think there is a crush beginning, Sandy mused of Buddy's attention toward her.

Even though many tourists and Westerners were here at the cafe, Sandy decided to follow the guidebooks advice to single women dining alone and moved over to a table next to a large family dining. Though an international city, many traditional men still viewed an unchaperoned female as available and she sure didn't want any unprovoked attention. The women at the table smiled cautiously while the men merely nodded.

Thinking of the guidebook's advice, Sandy decided to dig hers out of her backpack to get her bearings and maybe map out a route of sightseeing for the few days they would be here in Damascus. She hoped Ms. Pebbles would not insist they take only group tours; Sandy liked exploring on her own and needed time alone to mull over the new changes in her life.

Three months after starting a job as a geologist researching areas for exploration of natural resources, Sandy had received the news of her father's terminal illness. She had returned home to help her mother care for him, but her mother had always been frail and Sandy was left to handle her mother's failing health. Three years after her dad's death, Sandy lost her mother as well.

Now, almost a full six months later, she found herself in the Middle East, sipping dark Arabic coffee at an outdoor cafe, looking forward to the ever entertaining antics of the students she was chaperoning.

With a slight smile she plopped her pack onto