The Widow and The CEO.

Prologue 2. – A Mother’s Plea.

Prologue Two – A Mother’s Plea.

“Ruth! Ruth!” Marsha shouted to her daughter. She had laundry to scrub, yet, as always, she was nowhere to be found.

Marsha already had a good idea where her daughter was, she would be hiding out in the dunes just beyond the village, with her nose in a book, reading, and learning. The fact Ruth was so driven filled Marsha’s heart full of pride. However, books and learning were not going to wash their clothes for the week, and as she was getting older, she really needed Ruth’s help.

Stepping out of the small hut that she called home, Marsha saw a troop of soldiers walking into the village. The young kids had gathered around them, knowing that they would receive sweet treats, and the boys would enjoy a good game of soccer. A smile teetered on her lips. The British soldiers had all made good friends with the villagers over the years. Every six months they would get a new batch, all of them as kind as the others. She placed her hand over her eyes, to block out the hot sun, to watch the men arrive, all of them flanked by the children, excitedly waiting for the chocolates and jelly sweets they never failed to bring. Seeing a familiar silhouette, Marsha blinked, not quite believing her eyes.

“Ruth, the soldiers are here, I think it is the one from before who gave you your books,” Marsha shouted excitedly. She had long thought that neither her daughter nor herself would see the man again, and he had been so kind over the years.

Clay looked and saw Marsha stepping out of her house, clearly shouting for Ruth. A broad smile lit up his face, as he approached the woman dressed head to toe in black, her hajib tight around her head.

He raised his hand towards her in a wave, as suddenly a young woman rushed into the village from the dunes just beyond her home. Her long dress was dusty from the sand, and her black curls hung wild a free. She was still young, but no longer a child. Clay strode towards her, only to hear Marsha shouting something, clearly distressed, and gesturing wildly with her hands at her daughter.

Ruth came to a standstill, as her mother began to shout, not at all happy with the state of her dress, most importantly that she did not have a head covering on.

“How many times must I remind you? If the men see you, even in this village, you will be punished. Cover your head. Look, the soldiers are here, make yourself fit to be seen!” Marsha called out in dismay.

Marsha secretly worried, there was gossip amongst the villagers, that lately the remnants of the old regime had gathered, and were invading the small outposts once more, that did not afford the protection their village enjoyed. Rumours had circulated that soon the British and American soldiers would leave these lands. It was being hailed as a positive thing, the new democratically elected government deemed fit to rule the land in a fair manner, but all she felt was dread. She knew that some, even in their small oasis, still believed in the old ways, and that would not bode well for her forward-thinking daughter.

Clay approached Ruth and her mother, Hussain, his translator by his side, as Ruth rushed inside the small home, to return with a black headscarf tied perfectly, hiding her long flowing curls.

“Hi, do you remember me? Staff Sargent Clay Miller, I was Corporal Miller the last time we met, ” Clay smiled at the mother and daughter.

Hussain translated, as Ruth nodded her head.

“Please, come have some tea as before,” Ruth said in perfect English.

Clay was taken-a-back for a moment, not quite believing his ears. The little girl, who was now a young woman, had taught herself English, and a sense of pride filled him, feeling that he had somehow been able to help, in a small way, her to learn a new language.

Clay nodded his head, as Marsha gestured for him to enter the small hut, sitting down on the large cushions that adorned the floor that was their home. Ruth hurried off with a large metal teapot in her hand, heading to the well, drawing some precious water to boil and make the mint-flavoured tea.

“If the girl speaks English, can I go help some of the others?” Hussain asked.

“Yes, however, you should wait until Ruth comes back so that I am not alone with Marsha,” Clay smiled, remembering the customs of the village. As a widow, Marsha was at risk of gossip, or worse, punishment if she was alone with just one man, especially one that was a white man, from Britain.

“Of course,” Hussain nodded, remaining in the house to act as a chaperone until Ruth returned, and placed the metal teapot on a small fire in the corner that was surrounded by stones, to heat the water.

“So, please, thank your mother for her generous hospitality, as always,” Clay said to Ruth, remembering his manners.

Ruth quickly translated, as Marsha spoke to her, in fast Arabic.

“She thanks you for taking time to visit us again, and for your continued protection,” Ruth said, sitting back from Clay, and ensuring not to make eye contact with the man.

“Can I ask, you have clearly learned English, what else have you studied?” Clay asked Ruth directly.

Ruth took a breath, it felt unusual to speak with a man about her learning. Even in her village, which had embraced so much change over the years that they had not lived under the strict regime, there were still those who felt that, as a female, she had no right to knowledge and learning about the world.

“I read in English and Arabic. I also like the numbers, to add up and take away. I must thank you, I got the books you sent from your country,” Ruth smiled, then lowered her head, so as not to make too much eye contact.

“You got them? Great, I was not sure if the men would bring them for you,” Clay grinned with happiness.

“It was a woman soldier. She was very kind. She came here for a while. But, when she left, to go back to your country, then the books stopped,” Ruth said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, I am glad she came and gave you some of them,” Clay nodded his head at her.

“Men, fall in,” the captain’s voice echoed around the small village, and Clay stood to his feet, thanking Marsha for her tea. It was not English Breakfast and had a distinct taste to it, but he appreciated their kindness. Nodding his head at Ruth, feeling happy he had been able to make a positive difference to the young woman’s life.

For three months, Clay returned to the village at every opportunity, always visiting Ruth and Marsha, taking more pens, pencils, notebooks, and any learning tools he could find from the ELCAS tent, where the soldiers could study, to give them qualifications that they could use in civvy street when they left the army. He was laid in his bunk, the tent doing nothing to protect him from the stifling heat, the ever-present sweat dripping down his back, as Danny walked in.

“Have you heard, staff?” Danny asked.

Clay looked up at his brother-in-arms, a furrow on his brow.

“What?” he asked, the heat making him crankier than he would have liked.

“We are moving out; the order has come. We leave in four days, all troops are being pulled from this area,” Danny said, his tone matter of fact.

“You are kidding me! What the hell was the point in coming here if we are just going to leave them high and dry!” Clay growled out his disapproval.

“Ours is not to wonder why, just to follow orders,” Danny shrugged.

“They cannot be serious, those people in the remote villages will be the first to fall under the old regime. What about the people? What about all the work we have done? What about our brothers and sisters who gave their lives to free this land!” Clay raged, anger pulsing through his veins. His own brother James had been one of those lost when an IED blew up the convoy he was travelling in.

“Politicians” Clay spat the word as if it were a curse, shaking his head. They sat in their ivory towers making decisions they knew nothing about. None of them had come to this country, and witnessed with their own eyes, the reality of the situation.

“We are going to the village for the last recon in an hour. I am gathering you are going to volunteer to lead our unit?” Danny asked, already knowing that Clay would be the first to stand in line to do the mission.

Clay sighed and nodded his head, then gathered some more books his mother had sent to give to the young Ruth, just hoping that she would be able to continue to learn when the land was left, with little or no help to keep the tyrants from grasping the village and its people in its steel grasp.

“Of course, I am coming,” he growled, grabbing his ration pack of sweets, before he walked out of his tent, heading towards the captain in charge of the recon, and instantly volunteering.

Clay listened as Ruth gently explained to her mother that this would be the last visit from any soldier, how they were all heading home to England. The fear in Marsha’s eyes clenched at Clay’s heart, as disbelief clouded her features.

Marsha began to speak fast, as Ruth shook her head. Clearly, they were having a disagreement.

“What is she saying, Ruth?” Clay asked.

Ruth looked at him and then lowered her head, clearly uncomfortable about repeating the words of her mother. Suddenly, Marsha grabbed hold of Clay’s arm.

“Please,” she said, the first time she had ever uttered a word that was not her own tongue.

“What is she asking me to do, Ruth?” Clay asked, yet still, the young girl remained silent, bowing her head, almost afraid to translate.

“Hussain!” Clay shouted, wanting to know what the woman who he thought was a friend was trying to ask him.

The translator walked into the house, as Marsha gripped Clay’s arm, speaking in fast Arabic, clearly pleading with him.

Hussain spoke back, shaking his head, as if what she was asking was impossible.

“What is it?” Clay asked the translator, infuriated that neither Ruth nor Hussain would repeat Marsha’s pleas.

“She begs you to take her daughter with you. She fears that soon the village will be taken back, under the old control, as many have around these parts. She is fearful that her daughter will die at their hands because of her learning or be taken as a wife for one of the cruel men, and she is not sure which would be worse. I have told her it is impossible, but she is begging you to take her daughter with you.”