Page 8

Charlotte

Egypt, 1937

Charlotte wore the one nice dress she’d brought with her from New York for her wedding to Henry, which took place in the salon of the Metropolitan House. There had been a surprising number of dinner parties thrown by the various excavation teams working in and around Luxor over the past month, which meant by now her frock was looking quite tired—the neckline frayed and a few drops of red wine staining the hem—but she didn’t have much of a choice. It was either that or her breeches.

Henry had insisted they marry as soon as the French doctor summoned by Mr. Zimmerman, at Charlotte’s request, confirmed the pregnancy. They’d planned on performing the ceremony on the veranda, but a sandstorm had whipped up at the last minute, so instead everyone crowded in the salon, the air oppressive and the champagne warm. The members of the dig team knew what was going on, of course, and she was annoyed by the stolen glances at her belly, the jovial slaps on the back the other archaeologists kept giving Henry, as if she were one of Ramses II’s concubines carrying the heir to the throne.

As the party carried on late into the evening, she retreated to a chair on the dark veranda. So far, being pregnant didn’t feel any different from before. She wasn’t sick in the mornings, she ate just as voraciously, and her stomach was still flat. But she was no longer allowed to excavate or explore, only to document the artifacts uncovered by the other members of the team. Leon was thrilled, she was sure, to have his competition sidelined. Although she’d never admit it to Henry, a part of her couldn’t help but resent this tiny creature who was getting in the way of her reason for coming to Egypt in the first place.

Mr. Zimmerman had already offered Henry a position at the Met when they got back to the States. But she knew he would miss Egypt as much as she would. The only comfort, although it certainly was a selfish one, was that it wasn’t just Charlotte and Henry who were leaving. The entire American team was pulling out of Egypt and heading home at the end of the month. The French and Polish crews staying on would be the recipients of the spoils instead.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Mr. Zimmerman spoke from the doorway where light spilled around his silhouette.

“Just fine,” she said, begrudging the fact that she was now considered a delicate female as opposed to one of the crew.

Mr. Zimmerman took a seat in one of the rocking chairs, sand crunching underneath the runners. “I’m glad you and Henry found each other. My wife was a huge help to me in the field.”

“I don’t want to be a help.” She knew she sounded churlish, but couldn’t stay quiet. “I want to be an archaeologist.”

“You’re already one, in my book. You’ve got great instincts, and you’re smarter than anyone else out there. Your time will come, I promise.”

“Did you and your wife ever have children?”

He shook his head. “We put it off, and then she passed away. My one regret.”

“I’m so sorry.” All her pique vanished. She was lucky in so many ways. Lucky to have Henry by her side; lucky to be having a baby, even if it was a surprise.

“Will you be going back to school when you return?” asked Mr. Zimmerman.

“I’m hoping I can get through one more semester, but after the baby comes in the summer, I’ll have to drop out anyway, so I don’t know if it’s even worth it.”

“You’ll figure it out. You have many years ahead of you.”

Many years as a wife and mother. She trusted Henry and knew he’d do everything possible to take care of their family, but what would she have to offer at the end of the day, other than a list of the baby’s latest achievements? Would she be able to hear all about Henry’s work at the Met without feeling some resentment? Lately, Henry had been distracted, probably due to the stress of having a wife and baby thrust upon him. Charlotte loved him dearly, and was certain he felt the same, but wished they’d had a little more time just the two of them before facing parenthood.

It was hard to tell how old Mr. Zimmerman was; his face was etched with wrinkles from the blazing desert sun. He’d been a brilliant teacher and guide to Charlotte the last few months. “Henry is so grateful for the job at the Met. Thank you again for that.”

“If it means I’ll be seeing you at gallery openings and staff dinners, it is well worth it. Don’t fret, Charlotte. I’ll be keeping my eye on you; don’t think I’ll let you off the hook so easily.”

Charlotte’s heart warmed. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe there would be a way to make this work, just not as quickly as she’d like.

Mr. Zimmerman shifted in his chair. “I was sorry to hear Henry turned down the offer from the Polish team. Of course it’s understandable, under the circumstances. However, I promise I’ll keep him busy in New York.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The overseer position.” Mr. Zimmerman paused. “Didn’t he tell you?”

That explained Henry’s mood. He’d been given the opportunity to stay on, keep working, finish the fieldwork required for his degree. And he’d not bothered to tell her.

She smothered her confusion under a wide smile. “Of course, I’d forgotten. No, we’re very excited for New York, both of us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the offer?”

The wedding reception finally wound down around three in the morning, and Charlotte and Henry had retreated to their quarters. She hated that they were spending their first night as a married couple arguing, but there was no way she could make love with Henry and pretend everything was all right.

“Because it didn’t matter either way.” Henry’s eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed slightly as he took off his linen suit jacket. “We’re going back to New York.”

“But it does matter. I hate that you’re giving up an opportunity like this. Why are we starting out our marriage with secrets and resentment?”

He took her hand and led her to the bed, where they sat side by side like strangers waiting for a bus. “There’s no resentment, I promise you. I’ll get back here and finish my fieldwork eventually. Right now, you come first, and I have absolutely no problem with that.”

“Then why have you been so distant?” Her face was hot and she tried not to cry. Maybe it was the baby that was making her so emotional, but she had to be honest with him.

He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “The job offer is not at all why I’ve been distant. And I admit, I have. But I had no problem telling Mr. Jankowski that I wasn’t interested in the position.”

“Then tell me why.”

“I guess it’s because I’m worried about being able to take care of you. I mean, I don’t have much saved up, and New York is expensive. I hate the thought of meeting your parents and immediately being indebted to them. Are you sure they don’t mind us staying with them until we get on our feet?”

“They don’t mind at all.”

In fact, Charlotte hadn’t yet mailed the letter telling them about Henry, the marriage, or the baby. She kept meaning to, but day after day she’d forget, and it remained in the drawer of her desk. Her parents were expecting her to return to them the same fresh-faced, innocent girl she’d been when she left. Instead, she’d gotten herself knocked up by a poor Englishman, her college career cut short. It was everything they feared might happen to their little girl if they allowed her to travel across the world and work in a dangerous foreign country. She’d begged them for the opportunity, convinced them that she was mature enough to handle herself, and then confirmed their worst fears.

“Look,” she said finally, “you are a brilliant Egyptologist. They’ll love you once they meet you, and of course they’ll love the baby. We may be doing things out of order, but that doesn’t mean all is lost.” She wondered who she was trying to convince.

“You’re right. I’m silly to worry. We’ll figure it all out.”

He didn’t sound very certain, though, and they listlessly undressed and crawled into bed, too tired from the festivities and the discussion of the uncertain future ahead to do more than kiss each other good night.

Charlotte woke up before Henry and went to the window. Outside, the desert shimmered in the sunrise, where a group of workers trooped out to the Valley of the Kings to begin work. There was so much still hidden in that desolate array of hills, where a maze of tunnels ran deep into the earth, representing thousands of years of burial ceremonies. That was what was so alluring about being here. Not only the potential for treasure, but the unfolding of information about a civilization that was so advanced that its art, politics, science, and beliefs rebounded around the world even today.

In comparison, even though Henry said he was grateful for the Met Museum job offer, she knew, for him, working at a museum would be no better than being locked in a mausoleum. He’d be far away from where the true work was being done, stuck all day writing seventy-five-word descriptions of limestone reliefs, when this was where he belonged. This was where they both belonged.

The idea came to her in a flash as the sun’s rays poured in through the window. She took that as a good sign. The Egyptians’ most powerful god was Ra, patron of the sun, heaven, power, and light, and maybe he was guiding her just as he had the ancient people of the Nile.

She woke Henry with soft kisses on his ear.

He smiled and pretended to swat her away, then pulled her on top of him.

“Hold on,” she said. “I have an announcement.”

“You’re pregnant?”

They both laughed.

“No. We’re staying here. You’re taking the overseer’s job.”

“What about New York?”

“I dread seeing my parents as much as you do. Why should we have to give up doing what we love and scandalize my parents and their friends when we don’t have to? You have a job here, I feel perfectly well, so let’s stay.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow. “You’ll be having a baby come August. There’s no way I’m allowing you to give birth out here in the desert.”

She’d thought it all through before waking him. “First of all, women have babies here all the time, if you haven’t noticed by the scrum of children running around everywhere we go. Second, Mr. Jankowski’s wife is a doctor, so I’ll have excellent medical care while we’re in the field. Third, we’ll be heading to Cairo in early June anyway, once the digging season’s over, and I’ll have the baby in one of the fancy hospitals there.”

Henry grew serious. “The Polish team aren’t as well funded as the Americans or the French. It will be a big step down from this,” he said, gesturing around the room.

“When we met, we were both living in caves, may I remind you.”

“That’s true.”

“Will Mr. Zimmerman be upset?” That was the only hiccup Charlotte could come up with.

Henry considered it. “He’ll be happy for me to finish my degree; then he can hire me as a curator instead of a research associate. Although he may question my sanity, allowing my pregnant wife to prance about digs instead of staying home with her feet up in America.”

“Tell him it’s my idea. After all, it is.”

Henry kissed her and let out a laugh, his boyishness reappearing. “You are a dream come true. I promise I’ll take care of you, my love. I know right now it’s my turn, but one day it will be yours.”

She laid her head on his chest. One day was a long time from now, she was certain. Maybe this was madness, and she was just avoiding confrontation with her parents. But no, she loved Henry and wanted him to be happy, and she had faith all would be well.

This was the right decision for both of them, and made for the right reasons.

She’d tear up the letter to her parents and write a new one, telling of her husband, her baby, and her plans to remain in Egypt.

As Charlotte’s belly turned from flat to convex, she craved honey more than anything else. She would tear off a chunk of pita bread and dip it into a jar, savoring the way it tickled her throat on the way down. The Polish team had settled in Edfu, just upriver from Luxor, working on a recently discovered tomb of a chief government minister’s wife. Most days Charlotte stayed indoors feasting on whatever honey cakes or halva threads Henry brought back from the market.

Henry had been right; the dig houses where they lived were a far cry from the refined, cool rooms of the Metropolitan House. Instead, they crammed their belongings into what was basically a tar-paper-roofed shack consisting of a bedroom with two uncomfortable cots squeezed together and a small living area with a kitchenette, a table, and a rock-hard settee that smelled of rust. In another week they’d all head to Cairo to wait out the summer—and for Charlotte to wait out the baby—and she looked forward to being back in civilization once again, although she was content with their decision to stay in Egypt.

The baby was no longer a theoretical creature, as he or she had been for the first three or four months, when Charlotte had been fired up with surges of energy and lust that Henry enjoyed to no end. Now, her body was simply a vessel for this creature who bumped around in her belly like a fish in a bucket, poking and kicking and making itself known, waking her up in the middle of the night as it stretched its limbs. Mrs. Jankowski had been incredibly helpful, answering Charlotte’s questions and calming her fears, patiently reassuring Charlotte that all would be well.

Even though their living conditions were miserable, Charlotte and Henry were not. When a swarm of pink locusts landed in their small garden, chewing up everything she’d planted, Henry jokingly suggested she fry them and slather them with honey. Even when the intense heat caused the tar paper roof to melt, dripping black specks onto the tablecloth, Charlotte insisted that polka dots were all the rage back in the States.

The only time her spirits flagged was when she received a letter from her parents. They were livid that she’d made such a rash decision without consulting them, and assumed she’d been seduced and ruined. They begged, pleaded, and finally demanded that she return home. In response, she’d penned flowery letters about her exciting, exotic life in the desert, with no mention of pink locusts or melting roofs.

Meanwhile, in the greater world, Japanese and Chinese troops were clashing, and the new prime minister of England, Neville Chamberlain, had inexplicably congratulated Hitler on his military restraint. Mrs. Jankowski was worried that Hitler would violate the nonaggression pact between Poland and Germany, while Mr. Jankowski assured them all he would not. Charlotte avoided reading the papers, preferring to lose herself rereading Amelia Edwards’s memoir of Egypt, comparing the descriptions of the temples and landmarks from sixty years ago to Charlotte’s real-life encounters with them. She missed being out in the field, but Henry enjoyed his role as overseer of the group, sharing stories of their finds each evening over dinner. Even surly Leon flourished under Henry’s leadership, softening and becoming friendlier. One evening he’d surprised her with a toy dragon that he’d carved out of acacia for the baby.

Once in Cairo, Henry and Charlotte rented an apartment with delicate Italianate balconies not far from the Egyptian Museum, where both Leon and Henry took jobs to tide them over during the offseason. Their duties included helping the overwhelmed curators and staff organize the flood of incoming antiquities, documenting each one, and designating accession numbers, using the same methods as the Met. It was monotonous but provided a steady income.

Finally, in August, the baby arrived. The delivery was even more terrifying than Charlotte had expected. When her labor pains began in the middle of the night, she and Henry raced to the Anglo-American Hospital in the Zamalek district of Cairo, a tony part of town located on an island on the Nile. There, she was spirited away to the maternity ward while Henry waited with the men in the reception area. The next morning, with no baby in sight, Henry was told to go to work, which meant he wasn’t present when the doctor decided to puncture the amniotic sac in an effort to advance the delivery. By then, several other pregnant women had come in and successfully delivered, and Charlotte was weak with exhaustion, still waiting, unsure where she was or what she was doing anymore, feeling completely alone. The doctor dismissed her cries during the procedure and told her to stop being so emotional, which made her want to take the amnihook and perform a similar procedure on him. When she finally delivered, Henry was still at work and had to be summoned to return. The worst moment, though, came right before he arrived, when she’d been propped up in bed and presented with her new baby girl, and Charlotte discovered she was too weak to even hold up her arms. The nurse gave her a look like she was an utter failure as a mother and placed the child in the bassinet, where Charlotte stared at her helplessly until Henry finally arrived to take charge. After harshly reprimanding the nurse for her lack of empathy, Henry lifted the child and carried her over to Charlotte with tears in his eyes.

Layla, they called her.

A beautiful name, in both Arabic and English, for a beautiful child.