Wings of Refuge by Lynn Austin Read Free Book Online

the dark circles under Abby’s eyes and the ill-fitting clothes, she looked like an appeal for funds for the homeless.
    Downstairs, Abby surveyed the crowd around the buffet table before entering the dining room, hoping to avoid Ari Bazak. She was embarrassed to face him again after weeping in his arms. Most of the other twenty-four dig participants seemed to be college students, with perhaps a half-dozen retired persons mixed in—no one Abby’s age. She filled her plate at the buffet and took the last empty chair at a table filled with students. They all seemed to know one another after touring Athens together, and Abby hoped their conversation wouldn’t probe any deeper than who she was and where she came from. She was relieved when it didn’t. Ari didn’t come to dinner at all, nor to the orientation meeting afterward.
    Dr. Voss explained how the graduate course, entitled “The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah,” would consist of a series of lectures at both the dig site and on weekend bus tours to other ancient sites. His rambling instructions concerning the dig—the four A.M . wake-up call, the need to wear a hat in the strong Israeli sunlight, the necessity of drinking several liters of water each day—put most of the other participants to sleep. It had the opposite effect on Abby, making her eager to begin discovering Israel that very night. As soon as Dr. Voss dismissed the meeting, Abby headed for the nearest exit to take a long walk on the beach.
    The warm night was clear and sparkling with stars, and although it was after nine o’clock, the sandy beach was alive with other strollers like herself, even a few bathers. Abby kicked off her shoes and waded into the Mediterranean, allowing the gentle waves to wash over her ankles. She wished she had a friend to confide in and help lift the weight of the day’s events from her heart, but she hadn’t sought one among the other dig participants.
    She walked through the shallows for twenty minutes before doubling back to the beach below her hotel. The salty water was nearly as warm as bath water. In her mind she rolled down the world map that hung in her history classroom and pointed to the oval-shaped Mediterranean Sea. Of course it’s salty, she told her imaginary students; the water flows through the Straits of Gibraltar from the Atlantic Ocean. She smiled to herself. In spite of all the turmoil with Mark this past year, teaching had remained the one constant in her life, her students providing her with a purpose and a small measure of joy. Becoming a teacher had completed her threefold dream, all that she had asked from life—to be a teacher, a mother, Mark’s wife.
    “Thinking of taking a swim?” someone behind her asked as she stood gazing out at the water.
    She recognized Ari Bazak’s deep voice and nasal accent even before she turned to see him wading into the water beside her, gripping his boots and socks in one hand. She felt annoyed with him for destroying her solitude.
    “I’d love to, Dr. Bazak, but I can’t. My bathing suit is with my missing luggage.”
    He looked her over from head to toe, appraising the flowered shorts and garish T-shirt. “Where did you get those clothes?”
    “Dr. Voss’s wife was kind enough to let me borrow them.”
    “They look terrible on you.” He spoke with no hint of amusement. His rudeness angered her.
    “Well, we have a saying in America—‘beggars can’t be choosers.’” She waded into deeper water to get away from him, but he stayed stubbornly beside her.
    “This beach is one of my favorites,” he said a moment later. “Do you know any of its history?”
    Abby shook her head, wishing he’d go away.
    “Before Israel won its independence, we were under British rule. The Royal Navy used to patrol this coastline to prevent illegal refugees from landing here. Thousands of Jews wanted to come to Israel from war-torn Europe, but the British wouldn’t allow them to immigrate.” He crouched to