circle around the barnyard. The man nodded and touched his hand to his fez before rumbling away to the main road.
Mourad made his way into the darkened front bedroom. He set Sirak on the small blanket-covered bed, and Kristina stuffed a pillow beneath his head. His uncle and brothers crowded into the room.
Mourad sat on the edge of the bed and patted Sirak’s leg. “How are you feeling, Son?”
“I’m sleepy—even more sleepy than when we picked the cotton.”
“Ha,” Mourad chuckled. “Then you are very tired, indeed. A big boy like you needs a lot of rest after a long trip. You sleep now and your mama will bring you some dinner a little later. I promise you’ll feel better soon.”
“Papa, when can I ride Tiran?”
“Dr. Charles told me he expects you to be able to do everything you want to do in a few months. That includes riding, but you need to be patient.”
Mikael scooted past his father to the side of the bed. “I’ll water and feed Tiran, Sirak, but he won’t let me ride him.”
Sirak struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell him I’ll come see him when I feel better,” he murmured.
“Let’s let him sleep,” Mourad whispered to Mikael and Stepannos as he shepherded them out the door. “You boys go tend to the horses. Flora, feed the chickens, and take Izabella with you.”
Mourad slumped into a chair at the table.
Bedros sat down beside Mourad. “Sirak looks better than I expected. That’s a special little boy in there. His single-mindedness reminds me of Papa.”
“He’s got a temper like Papa, too,” Mourad sighed.
“He got some of that from his own Papa,” Bedros chuckled. He poured a cup of tea from a pot. “Well, Mourad, I’m glad I could help, but I must be on my way first thing in the morning. I’m sure Liza is worried sick.”
Mourad gripped Bedros’ forearm. “Thank you, Brother. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend much time together, but thank you for taking care of the children.”
“I’m glad I was here. Gourgen Papazian and several other people from church brought food to the house while you were gone. Gourgen wanted me to be sure and tell you the whole church was praying for Sirak.”
“I’ll ride over and thank him tomorrow. He is a wonderful friend.”
“He asked me to bring Liza and the children back next spring. He suggested we all plant our crops together.”
“It’ll be just like old times, and something wonderful to look forward to.”
“How did you find the situation in Chunkoush?”
“It’s total chaos. The authorities took over the hospital and threw out all of the civilian patients because so many soldiers need care—mostly from typhus, but some from wounds suffered in attacks by Andranik’s forces.”
“The Andraniks are fighting the army?”
“Yes, I heard they’re very active in the northeast. Men were dying there by the hundreds. I was afraid the whole time I was there that Garo, Aren or Alek would arrive in the next infirmary wagon. We passed thousands of soldiers on the road today and they all looked terrible. Most of them didn’t even have uniforms.”
“God help us,” Bedros muttered, with a sigh. He sipped from his teacup. “I wish there were some way to come up with the money to send the boys to America when they come home on leave.”
“I’ve thought about that every day since Alek left. If there were a way, I would’ve done it last summer, when war began to look inevitable; but even if we sold all the horses and used the money from the cotton harvest, there still wouldn’t be enough.”
Bedros tapped his finger on the side of his teacup. “We could sell this land.”
Mourad recoiled in horror. “Sell the land? You must be delirious.”
“Who knows what the future holds here in Anatolia? If the Empire blunders into this war, anything could happen. Remember when we were boys and tens of thousands of Armenians were slaughtered in Diyarbekir and villages throughout the province? I remember when Papa
Mourad made his way into the darkened front bedroom. He set Sirak on the small blanket-covered bed, and Kristina stuffed a pillow beneath his head. His uncle and brothers crowded into the room.
Mourad sat on the edge of the bed and patted Sirak’s leg. “How are you feeling, Son?”
“I’m sleepy—even more sleepy than when we picked the cotton.”
“Ha,” Mourad chuckled. “Then you are very tired, indeed. A big boy like you needs a lot of rest after a long trip. You sleep now and your mama will bring you some dinner a little later. I promise you’ll feel better soon.”
“Papa, when can I ride Tiran?”
“Dr. Charles told me he expects you to be able to do everything you want to do in a few months. That includes riding, but you need to be patient.”
Mikael scooted past his father to the side of the bed. “I’ll water and feed Tiran, Sirak, but he won’t let me ride him.”
Sirak struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell him I’ll come see him when I feel better,” he murmured.
“Let’s let him sleep,” Mourad whispered to Mikael and Stepannos as he shepherded them out the door. “You boys go tend to the horses. Flora, feed the chickens, and take Izabella with you.”
Mourad slumped into a chair at the table.
Bedros sat down beside Mourad. “Sirak looks better than I expected. That’s a special little boy in there. His single-mindedness reminds me of Papa.”
“He’s got a temper like Papa, too,” Mourad sighed.
“He got some of that from his own Papa,” Bedros chuckled. He poured a cup of tea from a pot. “Well, Mourad, I’m glad I could help, but I must be on my way first thing in the morning. I’m sure Liza is worried sick.”
Mourad gripped Bedros’ forearm. “Thank you, Brother. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend much time together, but thank you for taking care of the children.”
“I’m glad I was here. Gourgen Papazian and several other people from church brought food to the house while you were gone. Gourgen wanted me to be sure and tell you the whole church was praying for Sirak.”
“I’ll ride over and thank him tomorrow. He is a wonderful friend.”
“He asked me to bring Liza and the children back next spring. He suggested we all plant our crops together.”
“It’ll be just like old times, and something wonderful to look forward to.”
“How did you find the situation in Chunkoush?”
“It’s total chaos. The authorities took over the hospital and threw out all of the civilian patients because so many soldiers need care—mostly from typhus, but some from wounds suffered in attacks by Andranik’s forces.”
“The Andraniks are fighting the army?”
“Yes, I heard they’re very active in the northeast. Men were dying there by the hundreds. I was afraid the whole time I was there that Garo, Aren or Alek would arrive in the next infirmary wagon. We passed thousands of soldiers on the road today and they all looked terrible. Most of them didn’t even have uniforms.”
“God help us,” Bedros muttered, with a sigh. He sipped from his teacup. “I wish there were some way to come up with the money to send the boys to America when they come home on leave.”
“I’ve thought about that every day since Alek left. If there were a way, I would’ve done it last summer, when war began to look inevitable; but even if we sold all the horses and used the money from the cotton harvest, there still wouldn’t be enough.”
Bedros tapped his finger on the side of his teacup. “We could sell this land.”
Mourad recoiled in horror. “Sell the land? You must be delirious.”
“Who knows what the future holds here in Anatolia? If the Empire blunders into this war, anything could happen. Remember when we were boys and tens of thousands of Armenians were slaughtered in Diyarbekir and villages throughout the province? I remember when Papa
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