moment when I saw the woman before me through unclouded eyes.
“They’re coming back sooner than I expected,” KokoGul said, thinking out loud. “But I’ll find a way to keep them baited.”
KokoGul made her own mouth water.
I saw the peaks of a hundred mountains rising before me.
CHAPTER 7
Fereiba
AGHA FIROOZ’S FAMILY APPROVED OF ME. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN flattered.
Instead, I wondered if I could have done something in that first visit to turn their attention away.
But the mother returned, and this time she brought her son along with her. Forbidden from appearing, I kept hidden. I snuck down once only to catch a glimpse and confirm my suspicions. Sitting next to his mother and appearing as proper as a prince was the boy from the market. I slinked away without anyone noticing.
Repulsed, I sat on my bed. My head fell against the wall.
I could hear KokoGul speaking in the singsong voice she used to tell witty stories. She was masterful at telling tales, creating suspense with the cadence of her words. Her eyes would brighten under the attention. She disarmed people in that way, mimicking voices and facial expressions in a way that had listeners doubled over in laughter.
People loved her. I loved her.
Since Boba- jan ’s passing, my father had grown ever more distant. I’d once placed a bowl of dried apricots and walnuts at his side while he was reading. He’d looked up from his newspaper startled. A quiet mumble and a shake of his head told me it wasn’t me he’d seen when he looked up. He still grieved my mother, as did I. He wouldn’t say a word about her, but his melancholy eyes hid nothing. He barely bothered to ask about my classes. We exchanged but a few words in the course of the day.
I wanted to ask him to forgo this suitor.
My father would see things KokoGul’s way. He always did. Not so much because she was looking out for his financial interests, but because it greased the cogs of our home. Life was easier on him when he agreed with KokoGul.
I spent more and more time in the orchard. Being in a house full of people betrayed the solitude I felt. KokoGul was exceptionally cheerful. She spent mornings in the fabric store and afternoons with the seamstress. Her closet celebrated with new lacy hems, a delicate head scarf, and a white wool shawl brilliantly embroidered in gold and emerald stitching.
The courtship continued, the ladies now expressing frankly that they were seeking a wife for Agha Firooz’s son. They did not want to be kept waiting. He was an educated young man who was in line to inherit his father’s business. KokoGul was not pleased that they would ask for an answer so quickly. For her, the dance had only begun.
“Fereiba- jan is a very hardworking girl, you know. My husband has offered time and time again to bring servants to help with the housework, but Fereiba and I, we manage everything together. And I’d rather not have strangers in my home, so I’ve refused.”
I shook my head. It was hard to keep straight truth from lie with KokoGul. I doubted she knew the difference herself.
“Good for you that you’ve been able to raise a hardworking daughter. I’ve never had my daughters do any of the chores around the house.I was afraid they would end up as servants in the homes of others if I did. But to have an aroos, a bride, who can run a household—that would be a welcome change!”
“Yes, indeed. My other daughters are not as involved for the same reason.”
KokoGul danced on, her lapis-ringed finger twirling in the air as she choreographed their exchange.
“FEREI, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO GET MARRIED?” A GIDDY SULTANA whispered as I tried to focus on my literature assignment.
I ignored the curiosity of my younger sisters. I spoke, ate, and slept very little. Schoolwork was the only effective distraction. When I had time, I returned to the orchard to sulk in privacy.
KokoGul was quietly gathering what she needed to make my shirnee, a symbolic tray of sweets to
“They’re coming back sooner than I expected,” KokoGul said, thinking out loud. “But I’ll find a way to keep them baited.”
KokoGul made her own mouth water.
I saw the peaks of a hundred mountains rising before me.
CHAPTER 7
Fereiba
AGHA FIROOZ’S FAMILY APPROVED OF ME. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN flattered.
Instead, I wondered if I could have done something in that first visit to turn their attention away.
But the mother returned, and this time she brought her son along with her. Forbidden from appearing, I kept hidden. I snuck down once only to catch a glimpse and confirm my suspicions. Sitting next to his mother and appearing as proper as a prince was the boy from the market. I slinked away without anyone noticing.
Repulsed, I sat on my bed. My head fell against the wall.
I could hear KokoGul speaking in the singsong voice she used to tell witty stories. She was masterful at telling tales, creating suspense with the cadence of her words. Her eyes would brighten under the attention. She disarmed people in that way, mimicking voices and facial expressions in a way that had listeners doubled over in laughter.
People loved her. I loved her.
Since Boba- jan ’s passing, my father had grown ever more distant. I’d once placed a bowl of dried apricots and walnuts at his side while he was reading. He’d looked up from his newspaper startled. A quiet mumble and a shake of his head told me it wasn’t me he’d seen when he looked up. He still grieved my mother, as did I. He wouldn’t say a word about her, but his melancholy eyes hid nothing. He barely bothered to ask about my classes. We exchanged but a few words in the course of the day.
I wanted to ask him to forgo this suitor.
My father would see things KokoGul’s way. He always did. Not so much because she was looking out for his financial interests, but because it greased the cogs of our home. Life was easier on him when he agreed with KokoGul.
I spent more and more time in the orchard. Being in a house full of people betrayed the solitude I felt. KokoGul was exceptionally cheerful. She spent mornings in the fabric store and afternoons with the seamstress. Her closet celebrated with new lacy hems, a delicate head scarf, and a white wool shawl brilliantly embroidered in gold and emerald stitching.
The courtship continued, the ladies now expressing frankly that they were seeking a wife for Agha Firooz’s son. They did not want to be kept waiting. He was an educated young man who was in line to inherit his father’s business. KokoGul was not pleased that they would ask for an answer so quickly. For her, the dance had only begun.
“Fereiba- jan is a very hardworking girl, you know. My husband has offered time and time again to bring servants to help with the housework, but Fereiba and I, we manage everything together. And I’d rather not have strangers in my home, so I’ve refused.”
I shook my head. It was hard to keep straight truth from lie with KokoGul. I doubted she knew the difference herself.
“Good for you that you’ve been able to raise a hardworking daughter. I’ve never had my daughters do any of the chores around the house.I was afraid they would end up as servants in the homes of others if I did. But to have an aroos, a bride, who can run a household—that would be a welcome change!”
“Yes, indeed. My other daughters are not as involved for the same reason.”
KokoGul danced on, her lapis-ringed finger twirling in the air as she choreographed their exchange.
“FEREI, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO GET MARRIED?” A GIDDY SULTANA whispered as I tried to focus on my literature assignment.
I ignored the curiosity of my younger sisters. I spoke, ate, and slept very little. Schoolwork was the only effective distraction. When I had time, I returned to the orchard to sulk in privacy.
KokoGul was quietly gathering what she needed to make my shirnee, a symbolic tray of sweets to
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