Valley of Decision Read Free

the ruins. Helped her find closure. Put the past to bed once and for all.” Her inability to give Maggie what she wanted—no, what she needed —was a constant tug on her heart.
    â€œYou can’t ask her to do something you haven’t done yourself.” Papa’s blue eyes drilled her. “It’s forgiveness that girl craves. And I don’t mean from you.”
    The impatient customs official asked for their passports. “Coming into the country for business or pleasure?”
    â€œBusiness.” Papa presented their passports for stamping. “Very delicate 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. Carthage was not the volatile hotbed she’d claimed every time Maggie broached the subject of saving her father. Truth squeezed Lisbeth’s conscience tighter than the crowds pressing in from all sides. Political unrest wasn’t the real source of her reluctance to bring her daughter here.
    She’d made a promise.
    Until the costs versus the gains of breaking that promise were settled in her mind, she kept her desire to break that promise buried in a tangled web of excuses.
    â€œThis way.” Papa pushed past the luxury shops, cafés, and beauty salons. “I arranged our ride ahead of time.”
    Intrusive taxi drivers rushed them the moment they steppedinto air thick with dust blowing in from the Sahara. The nearness of the desert choked her.
    A snaggle-toothed man leaped in front of her. “Thirty dinars to Old Carthage.”
    â€œTwenty to the Bardo.” Another driver hugged her left side. “Much better deal.”
    A man who smelled like a goat moved in on the right. “Fifteen and a guided tour of the Tophet.”
    â€œCamel rides, only ten dinar, pretty lady!” shouted a young Bedouin elbowing into the cluster, the reins of two bored-looking beasts of burden clutched in his hands.
    â€œHow did Maggie navigate this on her own?” Lisbeth raised her scarf over her nose.
    â€œShe’s a smart girl.” Papa squeezed her elbow tighter. “Like her mother.”
    â€œThat’s what scares me.”
    â€œDoctor Hastings!” Across the parking lot Aisa, her father’s faithful camp 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. “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!” The comforting scent of lamb roasted over an open fire accompanied his embrace. She reluctantly released him and allowed Papa a moment to greet one of his dearest friends before she asked, “New glasses?”
    â€œAnd new teeth.” Shiny white dentures peered out from beneath the bush of Aisa’s graying facial hair.
    â€œNice.” She pointed at his shiny frames. “I kinda miss the duct tape.”
    â€œNothing stays the same.”
    His statement was a defibrillating bolt to her heart. Last time she’d traveled into the third century everything had changed. Her husband had returned from exile and married her best friend. Maggie could have stumbled into . . . No, she couldn’t let her mind go there. “Please tell me you’ve got my daughter safely tucked away.”
    Aisa shook his head and took Lisbeth’s bag. “Come. We’ll get some food into your bellies and a plan into our heads for what we should do next.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œIsn’t that what friends are for?” He