Among Sand and Sunrise

by Stacy Henrie

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About Stacy Henrie

  Copyright © 2019 Stacy Henrie

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Cora Johnson

  Edited by Kelsey Down and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Rachael Anderson

  Cover Image Credit: Arcangel

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  The American Heiress Series

  Night at the Opera

  Beneath an Italian Sky

  Among Sand and Sunrise

  CHAPTER 1

  Nile River, Luxor, Egypt, January 1901

  The sun’s rays had begun to touch the ancient ruins and palm trees along the river as thirteen-year-old Syble Rinecroft reached the top deck of the steamer. She didn’t expect to be the only passenger in the ship’s sun gallery, though, even at this early hour. After eight days of cruising the Nile, she knew nineteen-year-old Marcus Brandt, the grandson of one of her grandmother’s good friends, would already be awake and sitting in his customary seat. He seemed to enjoy rising with the sun as much as Syble did.

  The dark-haired young man was British, though like Syble, his mother was American. Syble had been instantly captivated by his accent, but her fascination with the foreign young man had quickly waned. Marcus didn’t embrace spontaneity or fun or even eagerly watch the landscape at sunrise as Syble was wont to do. Instead he preferred reading a book and sipping tea, as he was doing this morning.

  Syble wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of tea. She couldn’t imagine drinking it every day. However, her mother had informed her that she would eventually have to learn to stomach the stuff—with a smile—if she hoped to become a proper young lady one day. Tea aside, that was a day Syble eagerly looked forward to reaching. Then she’d be able to go visiting and dancing and to the theater. She’d have callers, and eventually she’d be courted and kissed like the heroines in the romance novels she had recently discovered. If only the fun of being a “proper young lady” didn’t have to involve drinking copious amounts of tea.

  “This is my favorite time of day,” she said aloud as she stood beside the steamer’s railing. “The light is all golden, and the day is full of promise.”

  A half grunt, half murmur was the only response from behind. Frowning, she turned to glare at Marcus. He, in turn, remained motionless, other than to push his glasses farther up his nose.

  “I’m attempting to make conversation, Marcus.”

  “Is that right?” His attention didn’t shift from his book. “I thought you were merely rhapsodizing to the world at large as you’ve done multiple times a day since we left Cairo.”

  Syble stuck her tongue out at him. “Ha. Very funny. At least my nose isn’t constantly pasted inside a book. You’re going to miss life that way.”

  Reading was certainly a worthy pastime, especially when it involved a love story. But who would choose it over experiencing firsthand the majesty of a new morning on the Nile?

  Marcus, apparently.

  “If you will recall, Miss Syble, I did not read a single page while we were playing games last night.”

  She plopped into the vacant seat beside his. “Are we discussing the games I won four times to your two?”

  Though his gaze remained fixed on the page before him, she didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened slightly. He’d been gracious about losing, but Syble suspected he disliked it as much as she would have. Especially when it was to someone six years his junior.

  He didn’t respond to her question, and in the ensuing silence, Syble squirmed a little with regret. Marcus might find her as annoying as she found him, but he’d been uncharacteristically kind last night when he’d offered to keep her company while everyone else—including her two older brothers, mother and father, and grandmother, as well as Marcus’s parents and grandparents—went on a moonlit excursion to the temple of Karnak.

  Syble’s parents felt she was too young to stay out all night, a fact Syble had attempted to refute but to no avail. Instead she’d faced the awful prospect of spending a boring evening alone in her cabin aboard the steamer until Marcus had come to her rescue, volunteering to stay behind with her. Even now, she wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe because he, too, was the youngest in his family—though all of his American half siblings were married—and could empathize with her lot in life. Either way, she was grateful for his kindness, and she could show it by not intentionally goading him this morning.

  “Thank you again for staying on the ship with me,” she conceded. “And playing games when you could’ve been reading.”

  To her relief, his stiff posture relaxed. “It wasn’t so bad. Besides, I finished my book last night after you went below deck.”

  “What do you mean?” She pointed at the volume in his hand. “That isn’t the one you started yesterday morning?”

  His eyes finally flicked to hers, and a small smile edged his mouth. “No, this would be a new one.”

  He’d read the other book in a single day? She couldn’t help but be impressed.

  “Have you read an entire book in a day before?” he asked, his tone too pointed to be casual.

  Syble straightened in her chair and threw him an imperious look, though she wasn’t sure he saw it. “Of course.”

  “I’m not speaking of romance novels.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. How did Marcus know she read such books? She’d been careful about hiding them. The only person she’d confided in about her discovery of romance novels was her best friend back home in New York, Gwen Barton.

  Marcus chuckled. “You may have fooled the rest of them by tucking your romance novels inside that history book.” He turned his page with nonchalance. “However, I’ve read that particular book on Egypt. And there is nothing in it that would have inspired such a riveted look on anyone’s face.”

  Irritation heated the collar of her dress—a phenomenon she’d experienced several times a day while on this trip with Marcus and his family. He might be handsome in a bookish sort of way, but he was also incredibly irritating. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Brandt, that I wasn’t just using that history book as a ruse. I actually read it and found it to be quite…enthralling.”

  He quirked an eyebrow above his glasses and silently regarded her with blatant skepticism. Syble did her best to maintain a stoic composure. But when his mouth tilted upward again, she couldn’t hold in her giggle any longer.

  “Fine. It was awful and dry.”

  The half smile turned a bit fuller. “I completely agree. Now this one…” He held it up for her to read the title. “It’s a page-turner.”

  “Which is saying something, given the other books I’ve seen you reading.”

  He laughed, and the sound was nearly as cheery as the sunshine bathing the Nile on all sides now. “How long before our families re
turn to the steamer?” Syble asked. She didn’t want to sit around waiting for them all day, not when adventure called to her from the shoreline.

  “I believe our dragoman said not until lunchtime.”

  She frowned in disappointment. Lunchtime was still hours away. “What if we ate breakfast now and then went to visit the bazaar he told us about?”

  Marcus glanced up from his book to the shore with obvious hesitation. “I had planned to do that later.”

  Syble wrestled with a familiar flicker of exasperation at the young man’s lack of impulsiveness. They were in Egypt after all. Reading shouldn’t be the priority for the day; exploring and experiencing Luxor should be their aim. But she couldn’t wander around the city on her own, and she wasn’t going to convince Marcus to accompany her by pointing out the flaws in his plans. She might be able to convince him with a more tactical approach, though.

  “I want to find the most unique souvenir,” she explained, “and that could take more than one trip to the bazaar. Besides, it would give you a chance to use your Arabic with the merchants.”

  That settled it—just as she’d hoped. Marcus wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to polish his mastery of the local language. “Very well. I’ll not be rushed through breakfast, though.”

  “Of course not.” Syble rushed to her feet and grinned at him. “I promise not to utter a single complaint this morning about the number of minutes you labor over your poached egg and toast.” She pantomimed crossing her heart so he would know that she was serious and that for once, she was going to hold her tongue.

  * * *

  The moment Syble stepped off the boat, alongside Marcus, she felt instantly swallowed up in a cyclone of raised voices and gesturing limbs. Everyone wanted to sell them something—a tour, a donkey, a trinket. But she didn’t mind in the least. It was all so fascinating, especially the way the air crackled with hope and excitement. Marcus, on the other hand, wearily kept shaking his head before finally taking her by the arm and thrusting his way through the crowd. Syble wanted to fully absorb the sights and sounds around them, but she didn’t dare protest Marcus’s unusually quick pace away from the riverfront. She didn’t want him changing his mind about their outing and returning her to the steamer empty-handed.

  When they reached the bazaar, Marcus released her arm. The riot of color, noise, and possibilities drew a grin from Syble. Would she find something of real value among the stalls? Something authentic to forever remember her trip to Egypt by?

  “Would you like me to translate for you with the merchants?” Marcus asked, looking around. “Some of these artifacts may appear to be authentic, yet you could end up with a very skilled replica if you aren’t careful.”

  Syble tossed her blond hair, insulted at the suggestion that she could be so easily fooled. She wasn’t a child. “My grandmother already warned me about that.” At Marcus’s frown, she hurried to add, “But yes, it would be helpful if you translated.”

  He suggested they systematically begin at the stalls on one side of the bazaar, and Syble reluctantly agreed to the plan even though she longed to wander freely, heading to whatever caught her eye. After all, Marcus was here as a favor to her. She could indulge his penchant for methodical organization for today.

  When she saw something she liked, she pointed it out to Marcus. He then asked the merchant about the object and its price before sharing the information with Syble.

  By the time Marcus found some cartouches that he announced looked promising, they had already worked their way past numerous booths, Syble’s money still unspent. Marcus and the merchant began conversing back and forth in Arabic. After a few minutes, Syble became bored with the conversation that she couldn’t follow. The rock fragments decorated with symbols didn’t interest her either. She decided to keep wandering forward, though she glanced back each time she moved to a new stall to make sure Marcus was still in sight.

  At last she came to a stall that struck her as different from the others. It still had the usual collection of papyri pieces, green scarabs, and lotus hatpins. But unlike most of the other merchants, the old man behind the table was not on his feet, gesturing and calling out to passersby. Instead he remained calmly seated, his eyes staring vacantly at something across the bazaar. Syble surmised that he must be blind, a fact that was confirmed when a young boy stood and greeted her, his hand on the old man’s shoulder. There were just enough similar features on their faces that she guessed they must be grandfather and grandson.

  “You buy?” The boy gestured to the items on the table with his free hand.

  Syble looked over the wares. “I might buy something.”

  Hearing her voice, the old man whispered to the boy in Arabic. “He say you not so old,” the boy interpreted.

  “No, I’m not,” Syble said with a laugh. “I’m thirteen.” She repeated the number in their native tongue and felt proud of herself that she’d paid enough attention to Marcus to do so.

  The old man looked pleased as he dipped his head in a thoughtful nod. He spoke to the boy again. “You see what you like?” the boy asked next.

  “I think everything you have is pretty, but I want something really…special.” Would the boy understand what she meant? “Something different.”

  The boy translated her words to his grandfather, who nodded sagely once more. This time when he spoke, the old man waved at something beneath the table. The boy’s eyes widened as he looked from Syble back to his grandfather. Then the boy ducked behind the table and lifted a piece of pottery for Syble to see.

  “This different?” The blue urn was broken, its lid sandwiched inside its cracked walls. But the damage only added to its overall ancient appearance.

  It was Syble’s turn to nod. “It’s beautiful. May I see it?” She held out her hands, and the boy carefully placed the pot into her grip. Looking over the urn, she knew she’d found the souvenir she wanted to bring home. “How much?”

  The boy discussed it with the man, then named the price for Syble. It was more money than she’d anticipated spending and would leave her with very little to buy other souvenirs during the rest of the trip. But it was such a unique piece.

  She threw another glance at Marcus, who was still talking to the same merchant several stalls back. Would she risk the old man changing his mind if she dragged Marcus over to help her negotiate a lower price? Syble hesitated, the weight of the urn heavy against her palms. Surely she could manage this transaction on her own. It was her, after all, who’d inspired the old man to pull out something he apparently kept hidden from the average tourist.

  “I’ll buy it,” she announced.

  The boy’s face lit with a grin as he conveyed the news to his grandfather. Again, the blind merchant merely nodded, though his lips had lifted at the corners. Syble handed over the money in exchange for the urn and turned to go.

  “Wait,” the boy said before returning his attention to the old man. “He say, remember what inside always more better than what outside.”

  Syble creased her forehead in confusion. Was this some sort of Egyptian philosophy? A piece of free advice as thanks for buying the expensive urn? “Uh, thank you. Both of you.” She hoisted the urn and smiled at the pair of them.

  Smiling back, the boy waved goodbye. Even the old man lifted a hand in farewell. Pleased with herself, Syble had to resist the urge to skip back to Marcus. He saw her coming when she was still a few feet away and finally ended his conversation, though it didn’t look as though he’d bought anything.

  “I didn’t mean for that to take quite so long,” he said apologetically when she reached his side.

  Syble shrugged. “It’s all right. You didn’t want one of those cartouches?”

  He shook his head. “They were interesting, to be sure. But I may find something else I like even more later on.” Only then did he seem to notice the object Syble carried. “Did you purchase something?”

  “An urn. Isn’t it amazing?” She held it up for Marcus to see. “The merchant’
s grandson spoke some English, so he did all the talking for the two of them. They were both very nice, and when I said I wanted something special or different, the grandfather told the boy to pull this out from behind the table. I wonder how old it is.”

  Rather than looking impressed, Marcus eyed the pottery shrewdly. “How much did you pay for it?”

  Syble named the price. “I know it’s a lot, but—”

  “A lot?” he echoed in an incredulous tone. “That’s an outrageous sum, especially for something that is broken. If you’d simply waited, I could have helped you negotiate a far lower amount.”

  She pressed her lips over the retort pushing to get out. “I appreciate that, but I didn’t mind paying a higher price for a piece this special.”

  “Is there anything inside?”

  His question had Syble recalling the advice of the old man as she was leaving the stall. Had the blind merchant been telling her there was something inside the urn?

  “I’m not sure, but there’s one way to find out.” Syble carefully pried the lid free of the urn, then tipped the inside to catch the light. “There’s some sand.” Which would account for the weighty feel of the pot. Tucking the lid beneath her arm, she pushed her finger through the sand. “I can feel something. Almost like a piece of parchment.”

  Marcus studied the urn. “Can you pull it out?”

  “If you’ll hold the urn for me.”

  She passed it to him, and while he held the pot between his hands, Syble managed to free the parchment. Wrinkles and folds creased its weathered surface, though it didn’t seem to be as old as its container. Frissons of excitement trembled inside Syble’s stomach before she’d even unfolded the parchment.

  “It’s a map, Marcus!”

  His eyebrows shot up above his glasses. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yes, look at this…” Syble moved closer so he could see the faded drawings and symbols covering the parchment. There were miniature pictures of villages, ruins, palm trees, and hills. “Do you think this might be the Nile?” She pointed at the thick line running at a twisting diagonal from the top right-hand corner down to the bottom half of the page. “It has to be,” she said, answering her own question. “Because that drawing there looks just like the Temple of Luxor.”