Shadow Bride by Jane Peart

Author:Jane Peart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Zondervan

Since we cannot always get what we want, let us be content with what we get—Spanish Proverb

chapter

12

Spain

September 1876

FROM THE MINUTE she arrived in Granada, this city of her maternal ancestors, Blythe had the strange sensation of recognition.

The first morning after their arrival, as if responding to some inner call, she awakened early and stepped out onto the little balcony of their hotel room and was met by a breathtaking view. Beyond the hills rimming the city, snow-capped peaks glistened in the dazzling sunshine like jewels against a blue velvet drape.

For the next week, often leaving Jeff playing happily with the innkeeper’s grandchildren to whom language seemed no barrier, Blythe went sightseeing. On sun-warmed afternoons she walked down the cobbled streets winding narrowly through the city. A soft, clear light Blythe had never seen anywhere else bathed the ochre-colored stucco houses and red-tiled roofs in a mellow gold tint and gave brilliance to the flowers overflowing ornate black iron balconies. Buildings and centuries-old walls bore the patina of time. Blythe felt moved back into another time period.

An undeniable romantic aura permeated the very air she breathed. The quiet streets held their own secrets; the historic stones told their own stories.

Before coming, Blythe had read to Jeff everything she could find on Spain, its history, its people, its legends. They learned that the Moors had come to this country as conquerors, later merging their culture with that of the peoples they conquered. Remnants of the hundreds of years of their occupation were evident in the variety and style of architecture—arches and domes of the Moorish structures standing side by side with the spires and towers of Christian churches. When at last they were forced to surrender to the armies of Ferdinand and Isabella, they left behind them an amazing blend of the two cultures that lingered hauntingly.

Blythe had particularly looked forward to seeing the Alhambra, the magnificent palace built by Moorish caliphs. But neither pictures nor words had prepared her for the reality of its architectural perfection. Through a maze of fantasy gardens with dozens of fountains, courtyards opened out into smaller courtyards. She had read that the Moors, coming from their desert country, had attempted to recreate their vision of a paradise on earth, since in their Koran, heaven is described as “a garden flowing with streams.” The sound of splashing water must have been soothing music to the thirsty souls of the first Moorish kings who had lived here, Blythe thought, as she wandered in a dream-like state through the arched rooms exquisite with tiled mosaics and twisted marble pillars.

How the one-time conquerors must have hated leaving this beautiful place. She recalled the story of the last Moorish ruler of Granada who had paused in defeat to look back from a place called the Suspiro del Moro to mourn the loss of his kingdom. His mother, Queen Aicha, had mocked him cruelly in his grief, saying, “Cry like a woman for what you did not know how to keep like a man.

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