Redeeming Honor Read online

  “We’ll just have to pray for your continued healing.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” Basir turned at the top of the stairs and placed his right hand over his heart to show his sincerity.

  “No need to thank me,” Ryan said with a grin. “I’ve been praying for you since I heard you got injured. It’d be wrong to quit now just because you’re out of the hospital.”

  “Perhaps.” He started down the stairs, and the sight of Meghan waiting in the hall below took his mind off his problems.

  When Ryan had first mentioned his twin sister one day in Afghanistan, Basir had halfway expected her to look like a female version of the marine. Then, Ryan showed him a photograph, and Basir had been blown away. Although Meghan and Ryan both had brown hair and green eyes, the similarities ended there. Where Ryan was tall and solid muscle, Meghan was petite with just enough curves to attract the attention of any breathing male. She wore her hair long, almost to her waist. Today she had it pulled back in a single braid down her back, but Basir vividly remembered the soft waves it had in Ryan’s photo.

  She gave him a warm smile and then glanced past him to include her brother in it as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “So, are you guys helping with chores or just checking the place out this afternoon?”

  “We will help you,” Basir said without checking for confirmation from Ryan. Although Meghan owned the farm and apparently ran it well, he couldn’t shake a sense of guilt at the thought of leaving her to do all the heavy labor. Where he came from, men did the farming while the women took care of the house and children.

  Her eyes lit up, and he had to force himself not to stare. He shouldn’t even be looking at her this much, but despite his best efforts, her beauty kept drawing his gaze.

  “Awesome,” Meghan said, her sweet voice more than making up for her flat American accent. “Let’s go.”

  She led the way through the house to the back door, and Ryan fell into step with Basir. “You’re in a hurry to get started working.”

  Basir shrugged, regretting answering Meghan so quickly. He should have realized her brother would pick up on it and question him about it. Showing interest in her so soon was a bad idea. Ryan didn’t know how much Basir had wanted to meet her since he first saw her picture. Besides, Basir had nothing to offer her. He had no home, no family, no job. Even his honor had been destroyed by his work with the Americans and his inability to protect the people closest to him from retaliation by the Taliban. Ryan would never approve of him as a suitor for his sister.

  Ryan slung an arm across his shoulders, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’d be in a hurry to do something too, if I had just spent the last several months in hospitals and physical therapy. All that sitting around and doing the same exercises over and over has to get boring real fast.”

  “I kind of liked it,” Basir said, aware of Meghan listening as they passed through the kitchen. “The security, not being shot at, sleeping in a comfortable bed every night...it was almost like a vacation.”

  Meghan opened the back door but paused before going out. She turned toward them, her gaze clouded with concern. “Was it really so bad over there that getting injured and spending months recovering is pleasant?”

  Basir glanced at Ryan, who lowered his arm and gave a small nod. Clearly, he expected Basir to be honest with her, but he didn’t want to tell her too much. Part of his job as a man was to protect women, and in this case it meant telling her as little as possible about the terrible realities of his time helping the Americans.

  He glanced at her and found her waiting expectantly. “Maybe for Ryan it was not so bad. But for me...yes, all the time recovering from my injuries was pleasant compared to what I endured before getting injured.”

  “Wow.” Meghan stepped forward and before he realized what she planned, she laid her hand on his forearm. “Basir, I’m sure you must miss Afghanistan, but if it was that bad for you there, I am so glad you’re here instead.”

  His breath caught in his throat as she gave his arm a quick rub and went out the back door. Her sympathy warmed him almost as much as her touch, but the memory of the pressure of her hand wouldn’t let him go. He turned to Ryan, hoping for some insight.

  “She touched me.”

  Ryan chuckled and nodded. “Yes, she did.”

  “But she’s not related to me.”

  “That doesn’t matter here.” Ryan put a hand on Basir’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. “American culture is different, remember? What Meghan did is show you sympathy for what you’ve been through and let you know she cares. While she normally wouldn’t show it through touch for a stranger, she knows you’re a good friend of mine.”

  “And that makes a difference?” Basir struggled to remember everything he had learned about American culture during his time as an interpreter and since coming to America.

  “To her, yes. She knows you’re trustworthy because I wouldn’t have asked about you staying here if you weren’t.” Ryan patted him on the back and grinned. “She also knows you wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt her because you’d have to deal with me if you tried it.”

  Basir nodded and followed his friend to where Meghan waited beside a large plot of vegetables. With no more time to talk without Meghan hearing, he could only hope Ryan knew he wouldn’t dream of hurting her or any other woman. After all the time they had spent together, after all the talking they had done during downtime, surely he knew Basir well enough to trust him with his sister.

  Then again, maybe knowing him so well was the issue. Could it be Ryan had already figured out that Basir was attracted to Meghan? More importantly, would he approve?

  2

  Two days of watching Basir and her brother interact, and Meghan still didn’t know much about the Afghan man now living in her house. At first, she’d thought he was abnormally shy, but then Ryan had explained that an unmarried man speaking with an unmarried woman at length just wasn’t done in Afghanistan. With that bit of knowledge tucked away in her mind, Meghan began to look for other clues about Basir’s culture. He fascinated her, and she couldn’t deny a budding attraction to him. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to a handsome man who showed her respect at all times?

  All she’d managed to learn about Basir in the two days since he moved in was that he was as close to Ryan as a brother, he went out of his way to avoid being alone in a room with her, and he watched her when he thought no one was looking. That last bit was cute, the way he would suddenly feign interest in the walls or the sky whenever she glanced in his direction. And if Ryan happened to look over, the most adorable guilty look flashed across Basir’s face before he said something completely mundane to her brother.

  Still, she hoped he would relax and adapt to life in America soon. Although fascinated by his foreign upbringing shining through so strongly, she wanted to talk to him without worrying she had crossed some cultural line she didn’t know existed. When she laid her hand on Basir’s arm his first day there, she’d thought she was offering comfort. Then, Ryan had talked to her that evening outside of Basir’s hearing and explained that a woman touching a man, especially one she wasn’t related to, was taboo in Afghanistan. While it explained Basir’s shocked expression, she hated knowing she had made him uncomfortable by behaving in a way considered disreputable in his homeland.

  So now she observed quietly, hoping to find some indication of how she should interact with Basir so she could get to know him without making him uncomfortable. She had a feeling Ryan was working with him to help him understand American ways, but she longed to understand Afghan culture. Outside of the rules for interaction between sexes, she wanted to know why Basir seemed so surprised and impressed with the meals she prepared. After learning he preferred to avoid pork and alcohol due to his upbringing in a strict Muslim home, she had set about making meals with a variety of options so she could learn what he liked and didn’t like through observation. She still had no clue about his preferences, but she had learned tha
t he would eat almost anything she offered.

  The sound of approaching male voices reached her over the quiet whir of her spinning wheel. She paused in her work and glanced at the door as her brother and his friend stepped into the workshop.

  “How’s the barn?” she asked, since that was where she’d last seen them.

  “Cleaner than it was.” Ryan dropped onto his usual spot on the bench, and Basir sat beside him. “We’re getting ready to head into town for a little while. Do you need anything?”

  “Nothing comes to mind right off hand.” She started spinning yarn again. “Will you guys be here for dinner?”

  “I don’t know yet. We’ll have to see how it goes.”

  Meghan stopped the spinning wheel and lifted her head. Her brother’s guarded tone reminded her way too much of when he’d first moved in with her. Ryan met her gaze, but the slight shift of his eyes toward Basir spoke louder than any words he might have said. She studied his friend and noted the same fidgetiness she’d seen in Ryan so many times at the beginning of his stay.

  She smiled and nodded, certain her brother would realize she understood that where they ate depended on how Basir was handling everything. “Well, if you decide to grab something to eat while you’re out, give me a call so I know not to fix dinner for you.”

  “No problem, sis.” Ryan stood and Basir rose with him. “We’ll be back later.”

  “Have fun.”

  They left the room, and Meghan looked at her spinning wheel. Making yarn was far from appealing at the moment. She couldn’t get Basir out of her mind. Despite his close friendship with Ryan and the way he threw himself into helping out around the farm, he still seemed lost, as though his only goal in life was to endure whatever came his way.

  “Father God,” she whispered, “please help him to find his way. Guide him to the path You have chosen for him.” The memory of Basir’s fidgetiness intruded, and her eyes stung. “Lord, please heal him and bring him peace. I want so much to help him and comfort him the way I did Ryan when he first moved in, but I don’t know how. Please guide me in my interactions with Basir, and please help him to see my words and actions in the spirit I offer them.”

  Although setting it all in God’s hands soothed her a little, she still felt too restless to work on spinning. She left her workshop and headed outside in search of productive physical labor that might distract her.

  ~*~

  Basir walked beside Ryan, uncomfortably aware of the looks his presence drew. Ranging from mild curiosity to almost hostile suspicion, each stare burned into him and made him wonder if moving in with Ryan and his sister had been a mistake.

  “Does your town not see many strangers?” he asked after a pair of old women gaped at him then hurried away whispering.

  “People pass through all the time.” Ryan glanced at him and shrugged. “But I think you’re the first Afghan who’s ever been here.”

  “Hmm.” Basir scanned the street, looking past the people to the town itself.

  The paved street looked like so many others he had seen in America, clean and lined by sidewalks. So unlike the streets where he came from. The dust there, as well as the country’s poverty, left everything looking tired and worn. Decades of war and violence had left scars everywhere, something conspicuously absent in the American cities and towns he had seen so far. Streets like the one he and Ryan currently walked along were much more common—small shops with plate glass windows, trees shading the sidewalks, planters of flowers, and an overall cared-for appearance, as though the people had reason to hope for a bright future.

  Sunlight reflected off the windshield of a car parked at the curb and burned into Basir’s retinas despite the dark glasses and baseball cap he wore. He stopped and closed his eyes, hoping to alleviate the pain. It lessened only slightly. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the shop beside him. It looked like some kind of café, but more importantly, it would offer a reprieve from the bright afternoon light.

  He put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Let’s go in here. My eyes have had enough sun for the moment.”

  “Sure. I could use something to drink anyway.”

  Moments later they sat in a booth on one side of the small restaurant, glasses of lemonade in front of them. Basir removed his hat but left his sunglasses on, thankful for the darkness they provided. Although he was sufficiently healed to be out of the hospital, he still had to deal with the lingering effects of his injuries. One of those effects was the light sensitivity that could trigger a migraine if he wasn’t careful.

  Ryan took a sip of his lemonade and studied him. “How are you doing?”

  “Better.” The tension in his forehead bothered him more than his eyes at the moment, but even that wasn’t too bad. He could only pray it wasn’t the precursor to a worse headache. Taking a sip of the sweet lemonade, he glanced at the woman peering out of the kitchen. She ducked back, the door swinging shut behind her. Basir sighed and focused on Ryan. “I think the people here are scared of me.”

  “I think they’re more cautious than scared. They’ve never seen you before, but you’re obviously a friend of mine. Give them time to get used to you.”

  Basir nodded, certain his friend was right. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were judging him based on his ethnicity and assumed he was either a member of the Taliban or a terrorist. He had been confronted by both assumptions since coming to the United States. Although neither was correct, he couldn’t stop the anger and sadness that what some of his fellow Afghans had chosen to do brought shame to them all.

  “What is she doing here?” Ryan’s puzzled voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Who?”

  “Meghan. She just parked across the street.”

  Basir turned to look out the windows at the front of the café, and sure enough, Meghan was climbing out of the pickup truck he’d last seen in her driveway. Clad in the same faded jeans and loose-fitting T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier, she was beautiful and modest—and undeniably American. The women in his family would never wear pants or short sleeves, especially not in public. Of course, they would never be seen in public unescorted, either.

  Basir turned back to Ryan, filled with conflicting emotions and painful memories. “Don’t you worry that your sister is here alone?”

  “No. She was going places alone long before I moved in with her, and she’ll keep doing it long after I move out.” Ryan shrugged and looked past Basir again. “I know it’s not what you’re used to yet, but women and girls are treated equally to men in the United States. That means chaperones aren’t required, they can spend time with males if they want to, and they can make their own decisions about life, marriage, and anything else.”

  “I understand that, but even American men must want to protect the reputations of the women in their families.”

  “Most of us do, yes. And if anyone spoke badly about Meghan or tried to harm her in any way, I would defend her with my life if necessary.” Ryan finished his drink and set the glass aside. “It looks like she has some boxes to carry. Shall we go offer our assistance?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Basir gulped down the last of his lemonade and stood. As he followed Ryan through the café, he replayed their conversation in his mind. Thinking about his words now, he realized they could have been misconstrued to be an insult. When they stepped outside, Basir grabbed Ryan’s hand. “Ryan, my friend, forgive me if you were offended by my questions about Meghan and protecting a woman’s reputation. I meant nothing against you. I am only trying to learn.”

  Ryan smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “There’s nothing to forgive. I know you’re just trying to adjust to a culture vastly different from your own.”

  Before Basir could reply, an older gentleman walking toward them glared.

  “Disgusting,” he said as he passed and shook his head.

  Basir stared after him for a moment and then looked at Ryan. “Was that comment meant for one of us?”

  “I think it was meant
for both of us.” Ryan pulled his hand from Basir’s, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid that gentleman now has the wrong idea about what kind of relationship you and I have.”

  “Oh?”

  “Two men holding hands in Afghanistan is a sign of friendship. Two men holding hands in the United States is generally considered a sign of homosexuality.”

  Basir’s lungs seized, making it difficult to speak. “But we are friends, nothing more.”

  “I know. It’s just another example of the differences in our native cultures.” Ryan turned toward the street. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go see if Meghan wants our help.”

  They crossed the street, and Basir struggled to overcome the sense of shame dogging him. He hadn’t meant to cause Ryan any distress by his show of friendship, but thinking back to his time working with the American military, he realized his mistake.

  The soldiers and marines he’d worked with had been extremely uncomfortable with the common practices of hand holding and walking arm in arm with friends. Ryan had started out uncomfortable, but all the time he and Basir had spent together appeared to cure it. Now in the United States, however, it appeared Basir would have to be more careful about how he showed friendship to avoid causing others to get the wrong idea about the man he counted as close as a brother. He wasn’t as concerned with his own reputation. His honor had already been ruined before he ever left his homeland, and he wasn’t sure it could be redeemed. He planned to do his best to salvage his honor and reputation, however. To do anything less was unacceptable.

  “Hey, Megs,” Ryan said as they joined her at the back of the truck. “What are you doing here?”

  “Julia called and asked me to bring her a load of yarn.” Meghan handed her brother a cardboard box. “Since you’re here, you might as well help me carry it inside.”

  “We were going to volunteer our services.” Ryan adjusted his hold on the box and turned to Basir. “Remember that yarn Meghan was making when we left? She sells it at the little craft store down the street.”