NINE

The day of Ya’qoob’s nikkâh fell upon the family in mid-July, about a month after Noorah had accepted Ya’qoob’s proposal. Though it was to be a night of celebration, the excitement Hâroon felt for his brother was dampened by Ibrâhîm’s inconsolable rage that seemed to be ripping apart the house he and Lila shared with the volume of his screams when he was trying to bathe him in the late afternoon for the event.

Hâroon somehow managed to finish washing Ibrâhîm amidst the screams, screeches, and kicks, dry him, and dress him. Then he carried him out of the bathroom and took him to the den, where his sister, already bathed, dressed, was playing.

“Ibby is crying again,” Yusrâ said, looking up at her father. “Don’t cry, Ibby. We can play.” Her voice sounded cautiously hopeful, because she’d noticed as much as Hâroon had that Ibrâhîm didn’t play with her anymore.

Hâroon set Ibrâhîm down beside her in the hope he’d join her, but he was quickly disappointed. Ibrâhîm immediately jumped up from beside his sister and moved to a corner by himself, where he rocked and hummed, shutting everyone out from his bubble of isolation.

Yusrâ sighed.

Across the room, Lila, already dressed and sitting on the couch, stared at Ibrâhîm with an expression of annoyance. “We have to do something about him, Hâroon.”

Hâroon, ignoring her, watched Ibrâhîm helplessly. He didn’t even recognize his son. He was a completely different child than he’d been a few months before. The playful, chattering child he’d been was gone. In his place was a child Hâroon didn’t know and couldn’t understand. He never spoke, and he alternated between periods of quiet solitude and raging tantrums. Just about anything could set him off and Hâroon didn’t know what he was doing wrong or how to fix it.

He was also getting sick quickly and easily, which only made him more irritable than usual. He had chronic diarrhea that Hâroon couldn’t figure out the cause of and was constantly covered in rashes, and once a rash finally seemed to clear up, a new one appeared. Before the changes that had started showing up after his second birthday had passed, Ibrâhîm had always been a robust child who rarely got sick.

None of the doctors he’d seen in the last month since he’d started noticing the alarming changes could pinpoint the problem in either factor—the behavior and development or overall physical health. Ibrâhîm’s original pediatrician had suggested he needed a good thrashing to get him in line to stop the rages. Hâroon had immediately moved his children to Serenity Children’s Hospital after that, but none of the other doctors he’d seen since could help either. They were as mystified as he was over how a happy, quickly developing child could lose all of his skills and turn into the angry, raging child Ibrâhîm had become, nor could they pinpoint the causes of the diarrhea, rashes, and constant illnesses.

Lila was no help at all. When he needed her support and cooperation the most, she did the exact opposite. All she’d been doing the last month was complain about Ibrâhîm. While Hâroon and Ya’qoob, Maryam and Sâlih, and ’Alîyâ and Yahyâ went from doctor to doctor and talked to everyone they knew in desperate search of someone who might know something that could explain what had happened or point them in the direction of someone who could help, Lila seemed to have mostly washed her hands of Ibrâhîm. If there was someone else—anyone else—who could take care of Ibrâhîm in her stead, she was quick to hand him off. Though Hâroon had never thought her as much of an enthusiastic and nurturing mother, the complete opposite of his own, he hadn’t thought she could be so uncaring that she’d hand off Ibrâhîm to anyone she could convince to babysit just because she didn’t want to manage him. She didn’t seem worried at all—just frustrated and annoyed that Ibrâhîm wasn’t acting like she wanted him to.

Even Yusrâ was more helpful than her mother. She was usually the first to run to Ibrâhîm’s side when he was crying, and Hâroon had seen her copying his attempts to be comforting and calm him down. Unlike any other two-year-olds Hâroon knew, if Ibrâhîm wanted a toy she was playing with, she gracefully bowed out and let him have it. She seemed to understand that something was wrong with her brother and her desire to keep him happy was stronger than for the specific toy she’d been playing with. Ibrâhîm wasn’t the only one who had changed. Yusrâ was maturing too fast for her age. Lila could probably learn some selflessness from their daughter.

“I need to get ready,” he said. It was already nearing Maghrib, and the men would be gathering at the Scott home right after the prayer for the contract to be signed.

As he turned to leave, Lila shrieked from behind him, “You’re leaving me with him?!”

Hâroon rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can’t take a bath and change if I’m watching him, Lila. If it’s too much for you, just take them to my mother.” Without waiting for a response, he left the room.

By the time Hâroon had showered and dressed, the sky was already darkening and the athân was due to go off at any minute. When he returned to where he’d left Lila and the children, they were gone. He assumed his wife had taken his advice and taken to them to his mother’s.

After he’d switched off all appliances that didn’t need to be used, he locked up the house as he left. When passing the front of the main farmhouse on his way to the masjid, he met his mother and Lila leaving the house for Cherry Grove, the Montez family’s farm, where the women’s side of the nikkâh was to be. ’Alîyâ was carrying Ibrâhîm as his wife led Yusrâ by the hand.

He winced at the thought of the trouble his mother would have on her hands with Ibrâhîm at the wedding party. He knew that Lila would probably leave it to his mother to manage any difficult behavior that appeared during the gathering.

“Maybe I should take him,” he said to his mother, studying Ibrâhîm worriedly. For the moment, he seemed calm and content in his grandmother’s arms, but that could change quickly and suddenly. “He might act up.”

’Alîyâ shook her head. “It’s better he stay with me. No one will bat an eye if a child acts up in a gathering of women. Women are used to it. It won’t be the same with the men. I can handle him.”

Though Hâroon didn’t doubt his mother’s experience in handling children, especially after surviving Ya’qoob’s childhood years, Ibrâhîm was beyond her knowledge and experience. She was just as clueless as he was, and they were both managing as best as they could. But he knew she was right. A screaming toddler in the middle of a men’s gathering would catch attention. Most men didn’t bring their children with them until they were old enough to sit still and obey instructions.

He nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”

As ’Alîyâ and his mother headed toward Yahyâ’s car, which his mother would be driving the short distance to the Montez farm, he continued on his walk toward the exit of Elm Creek. Several minutes later, the car passed him by on the dirt road between the house and the gates and then disappeared from sight. He continued on alone, until he saw Yahyâ and Ya’qoob ahead and sped up his gait to catch up.

“Roonie!” Ya’qoob exclaimed, using the old childhood nickname that his maternal grandmother had dubbed him with which he abhorred but tolerated. Ya’qoob’s eyes sparkled with glee as he grinned, slinging an arm over Hâroon’s shoulders.

Hâroon didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother so happy, and he hoped that Ya’qoob’s marriage to Noorah would be all he hoped and more. He returned Ya’qoob’s grin with a smile, and they walked on toward the masjid in absolute silence.

When prayer had ended, the men of the immediate family—Yahyâ, Ya’qoob, Hâroon, and even Sâlih—made their way back home to be ready for Imâm Muhammad’s arrival. The nikkâh was a small one that included the immediate family of both sides, but a decent-sized walîmah would take place the following day. His mother not fond of long engagements, believing them to be a door to fitnah, had made all the arrangements with Noorah’s mother and pulled it together within a month. 

Noorah’s father and brother arrived several minutes later. When Imâm Muhammad arrived to carry out the nikkâh, the men gathered in the den with Ya’qoob, Yahyâ, and Hâroon sharing the couch as Muhammad and Mahmood sat across from them on the loveseat. Sâlih and Mukhtâr watched from the two armchairs.

Though his eyes sparkled with repressed excitement, in contrast to his usual nature, Ya’qoob was absolutely serious. He probably feared that acting like his usual self might make Noorah’s father reconsider agreeing to the marriage.

After reciting the khutbatul nikkâh, Muhammad nodded at Mahmood, and Noorah’s father turned his focus on Ya’qoob. “I, Mahmood Montez, give my daughter, Noorah Mahmood Montez, to you in marriage.”

Ya’qoob clasped his hands as he faced Noorah’s father, and Hâroon couldn’t help noticing his hands seemed to be trembling slightly. Though he hid it well, his brother was nervous. “I, Ya’qoob Scott, accept...” Ya’qoob’s voice shook slightly, but no one seemed to notice—or they were tactful enough to pretend not to. “...your daughter, Noorah Montez, in marriage.”

As the final words left Ya’qoob’s lips, Muhammad passed the contract he’d brought to him, and he signed it quickly. When Muhammad left, Mukhtâr and Hâroon accompanied him as witnesses to Cherry Grove to take Noorah’s consent to the marriage.

Cherry Grove was walking distance from Elm Creek and they arrived quickly. The men were shown into a room where Noorah sat with her mother. Hâroon hadn’t seen her since he’d graduated high school, and just like back then, she was fully covered with only her dark eyes showing, her hands clasped in her lap.

Muhammad and Mukhtâr sat across from Noorah and her mother, while Hâroon posted himself a few feet away. Just as on the men’s side, Muhammad started off with khutbatul nikkâh before posing his questions.

“Do you confirm that you’re Noorah Montez?”

“Yes.” Noorah’s voice was low and quiet, reminding him of the timid child she’d been.

“Your father, Mahmood Montez, has given you in marriage to Ya’qoob Scott. Do you accept this marriage?”

There was a very slight hesitation that made Hâroon fear she was reconsidering, that he’d go back to his overjoyed brother and have to break his heart. But the moment passed and she nodded. “Yes.” There was no uncertainty in her voice.

Muhammad gave her the contract to sign. Then she and her mother left the room in silence. Hâroon and Mukhtâr signed as the witnesses and Muhammad stamped it. Then they left to return to Elm Creek.

When they returned, Muhammad promised to stop by to give Ya’qoob the contract the very next day after he’d taken a copy for his files. He left shortly after, while the men turned to celebrating and teasing Ya’qoob about his new marital status, amidst threats from Mukhtâr of what he expected treatment of his sister to be like.

The night passed quickly, and Ya’qoob was the first to leave, all smiles. Yahyâ had already made living arrangements for the new couple and given Ya’qoob a small home on the property that was similar to the one Hâroon and Lila shared, but closer toward the farming area of Elm Creek. Hâroon had the feeling that Noorah wouldn’t be complaining about her new home as his wife had.

After ’Ishâ had passed, Hâroon made his way home and waited for Lila and the children to return home. He didn’t have too long to wait. He’d only been home for a few minutes when he heard Ibrâhîm’s screams. By the time he reached the door and opened it, his wife was already on the front step, carrying Ibrâhîm as Yusrâ followed loyally.

Without a word, Lila shoved the wailing child into his arms and stalked in the direction of her bedroom. Hâroon didn’t bother calling after her. He held Ibrâhîm against his chest and rubbed his back, trying to sooth him.

“Are you tired, Ibby?” Yusrâ said in a crooning voice Hâroon had heard his own mother use when trying to comfort Ibrâhîm. “It’s okay. We can sleep now.”

Hâroon looked from his mothering two-year-old to the hallway where Ibrâhîm’s actual mother had disappeared. With a soft sigh, he closed and locked the door and then led the children to the bedroom to get ready for bed.

When Hâroon met Ya’qoob at Fajr outside of their parents’ house, his brother’s bright smile told him easily enough that his night had gone far better than Hâroon’s first night—and the many that followed it—with Lila. Ya’qoob’s joy and contentment with his new wife was easy to see without him saying a word, and Hâroon wished more than ever he’d chosen someone he could be happy with as Ya’qoob was with Noorah, but it was far too late.

If the sight of his brother’s contented smile and sparkling eyes the morning after his wedding didn’t give away his feelings, the following days certainly did. There was barely a moment that he saw Ya’qoob without Noorah at his side, and when she wasn’t, his brother was eager to return home to her, reminding him of those poignant words Ya’qoob had said so long ago—that a new husband would want to spend time with his wife. Without even intending to, Ya’qoob had proved his point, and Hâroon felt lonelier than ever in his marriage.

He pushed away all thoughts of what he didn’t have with Lila by focusing on the children. Between work on the farm and taking care of the children, he had plenty to worry about without thinking about his wife, who was more often out with her friends than at home, but at least she stayed with the children when he was busy with his duties. However, that usually meant returning home to a long list of complaints about everything Ibrâhîm had done, as if he could somehow miraculously turn Ibrâhîm back into the child he’d been.

“You will not believe what that child did today!” she burst out when he walked through the door after ’Asr, making him wonder if she’d standing by the door waiting just to complain.

Hâroon plucked a screaming Ibrâhîm out of her arms and walked away, intent on ignoring her. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“I was talking to you!” she called after him, sounding annoyed.

“I’ve heard enough,” he said dismissively as he continued walking away, wondering where Yusrâ was. “I know Ibrâhîm is difficult, hard to manage, and does things we can’t understand, Lila. But complaining doesn’t help him or me.”

Before she could respond, he walked on with Ibrâhîm in his arms and found Yusrâ in the den playing by herself. Just moments later, he heard the sound of a bedroom door closing from a distance. Just like always, Lila had left him alone—but he preferred it that way, even if Ibrâhîm was difficult.

“Daddy, you’re home!” Yusrâ lit up.

Hâroon nodded. “Did you eat?”

Yusrâ nodded. “Ibby, too—but...” She sighed. “He throwed stuff more than he eated.”

Lila had at least cleaned him up since that fiasco since he saw no sign of food on his clothing. “Would you like to go outside to play?”

“Yes!” Yusrâ cried, jumping to her feet. “Let’s go!”

Hâroon smiled.

Several minutes later, the twins were happily playing in the dirt in front of the house within the fenced boundary he’d added when Ibrâhîm had started showing alarming signs of trying to run off. With the gate closed, there was no danger of that, so he sat on the steps and watched them. Even Ibrâhîm seemed happy and enthusiastic about the new activity, though Hâroon wondered if he should have thought about it more carefully when Ibrâhîm stuck some dirt into his mouth and then promptly spat it out when he discovered it didn’t appeal to his palate.

He was thinking about escorting them inside to prevent any further mishaps when Ya’qoob appeared. The fence didn’t hinder him in the slightest. He easily climbed over to join Hâroon and the children on the other side. Hâroon hoped Ibrâhîm hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want him to get any ideas. It was challenging enough that he was climbing out of his crib—especially lately.

Ya’qoob settled himself beside Hâroon. “Ibrâhîm looks like he’s been eating dirt.”

His brother was right. There were smudges of dirt on his face and all over his clothes. He grinned. “That’s because he tried to and realized it doesn’t taste as good as he thought it might.”

Ya’qoob laughed.

“I thought you’d still be stuck to your new wife,” Hâroon teased. “You can’t seem to survive without her lately.”

Ya’qoob took the ribbing good-naturedly. He grinned and elbowed Hâroon in the side. “Thought I’d visit my pesky older brother and see how he’s holding up now that he has to share me.”

Hâroon smiled, looking back toward the kids. “I’m glad you’re happy, Qoob.”

“But you’re not,” Ya’qoob said softly. “Roon, you don’t have to stay with her if you’re not happy.”

Hâroon shook his head. “It’s too late, Qoob. We have kids. And now with the things going on with Ibrâhîm...”

“What’s she doing for the kids that Mom wouldn’t be able to if you needed?” Ya’qoob asked. “Don’t torture yourself, Roon. You don’t have to.”

“Enough,” Hâroon said softly. “Not now.”

“Fine,” Ya’qoob relented, his tone resigned. “But think about it. There’s someone better for you out there. You don’t have to stay with someone who makes you miserable.”

Hâroon was tempted—so tempted—but he forced his attention to the children. He couldn’t think of that now. He had to think about the children and what he could do for Ibrâhîm. The marriage he’d wanted was just a fairytale now, and he had too many responsibilities to even think of acting on the inclination of divorcing Lila and finding someone who would actually be the kind of wife he’d want. His brother had found happiness and contentment, but he didn’t think he had much of a chance of finding it for himself.

🌾

From the outside looking in, Ya’qoob’s marriage was exactly how Hâroon had once envisioned his own would be; before he’d married Lila and his dreams of a stable, loving relationship had died with the exposure of what she was really like. Since the twins’ birth, the way she treated him had improved, but it was nowhere close to the relationship he’d wanted when he married. Except for when she wanted to complain about something, usually Ibrâhîm as of late, she ignored his existence and he afforded her the same courtesy. They were like practical strangers sharing a house; nothing like the married couple they supposedly were.

The more he watched his brother, the more he missed what he didn’t have. He didn’t want to be jealous of Ya’qoob. If anyone deserved to be happy and loved, if it was his little brother who had never wavered in his affection and loyalty to Noorah since he’d decided he was going to marry her at the age of ten. But when he saw the couple together—when they visited his parents’; walked the property of Elm Creek; or borrowed horses for a ride—he sometimes couldn’t control it. He should have been as discerning and intelligent in picking his wife as his brother had been. Though he’d never had the degree of interest in any of the girls he crossed paths with growing up as his brother had always had in Noorah, he had grown up with several good girls besides his cousins who would have been a far better choice. But it was too late for regrets.

Even if I did what Ya’qoob suggested, that doesn’t mean any of them would accept me now, he thought to himself as he observed his brother making a clown of himself in grooming a horse just because his wife stood by watching. He thought of his two-year-old twins and Ibrâhîm’s growing behavior problems. No girl would want to marry into that.

Lila did nothing to curb Hâroon’s feelings of frustration and envy. If anything, she made it worse. Whenever he walked through the door after a long day of work, she had more complaints about Ibrâhîm, what he’d done that day, and the growing tantrums. While Hâroon grew more and more concerned, Lila only seemed to care that she couldn’t control him or make him behave the way she wanted. He and ’Alîyâ had already taken Ibrâhîm to several pediatricians in just one month alone, but the doctors were as mystified as he was; they gave suggestions about discipline that didn’t help at all.

Not only were Lila’s complaints continuous and unending, she had found something new to harass him about other than Ibrâhîm; their place of residence, something which he didn’t plan on compromising on—ever.

Or so he thought.

“We should move,” Lila said casually as she sat across from him at the kitchen table for dinner after the twins were finally in bed.

Hâroon methodically twisted strands of sauce-covered spaghetti onto his fork, stabbed the meat ball, and then popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. He didn’t raise his eyes from his plate or respond.

“Did you hear me, Hâroon?” Lila spoke again after several minutes of peaceful silence he’d been enjoying.

“Of course I heard you. Just because you said something doesn’t mean I have to respond,” he replied. “Most of the time the things you say aren’t worth replying to.”

The old Hâroon—the one who had existed before Lila had shattered his pride and crushed his dreams—would have never said something so hurtful to another person. But marriage to her had changed him and not in a good way. He never cared to curb his tongue around her. The restraint and self-control, the drive to be kind had been lost.

“That was mean,” she said softly,  sounding hurt. That wasn’t the wife he was used to.

He glanced up. She was staring at him with pained eyes. He was taken aback by the expression. She’d never looked at him like that before. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright,” she said in the soft tones that were reminiscent of the way she’d spoken to him during their marriage meetings. “I forgive you.”

The memory of the last time she’d spoken that way made him uncomfortable; it reminded him of how easily he’d been taken by a soft voice and beautiful smile. It reminded him of how he’d been so wrong and his family had been right. With nothing to say, he continued eating in silence, hoping she would drop the subject and let him eat in peace.

But it was not to be.

“Are we really going to spend the rest of our lives here in this tiny place?” she asked. For once, she didn’t sound accusing, irritated, or entitled; just disappointed. “We can do better, can’t we?”

“We’ll take the main house eventually,” Hâroon pointed out. In retrospect, the day he’d be given the house was probably very close since Ya’qoob had married and moved out. His parents no longer needed the extra space and were both rather attached to the smaller home they had given Hâroon. “Probably soon.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “Are you really satisfied living out your life like this? You have a degree. You could get a really good job. But you’re just going to be working here on the farm?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, tamping down the frustration he was beginning to feel. It wouldn’t be right to lose his temper when her tone was nothing but kind; as if she didn’t understand him but was trying to, which had never happened before. “That’s always been my plan.”

She sighed softly. “Right. Of course.”

Hâroon waited for her to say more; something sharp to put him down for his choice. But she didn’t. Instead, she looked down at her plate with such a dejected expression that he was wondering where the sharp-tongued Lila he was used to had gone.

“We asked if you minded living on a farm,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. I have no reason to feel guilty, he consoled himself. She knew. She has no one to blame but herself.

“I guess I wasn’t listening very well,” Lila said in so low a voice he barely heard her. “I got so excited about you coming to see me that I barely heard most of what they asked me.”

Hâroon didn’t know what to say to that. She had seemed happy to see him that long ago day he’d visited the Kendall home with his mother and sister. But that day felt like forever ago, and any feelings she’d had then had probably died long ago.

Lila looked up then. For a moment, she looked more like the sweet, loving Lila he’d thought he come to know toward the end of high school; after she’d embraced Islâm and changed for the better—or so he’d thought. Is she playing me again? What for?

She placed a hand over his. “Isn’t there a way for us to reach some kind of compromise?” she asked softly. “I know you love it here, but I’m miserable. Isn’t there something we can do?”

Hâroon studied her for signs of manipulation and trickery, but her expression appeared sincere and her smile sweet. This was the wife he’d thought he was getting when he’d married. If all it took was to give her the one thing she wanted to make her act that way toward him, to fulfill the kind of marriage he’d wanted, he would do just about anything—even give up his childhood dream for her.

He linked his hand with hers, watching her expression. She responded with a slight squeeze of his hand. A kindle of hope formed in his chest. It had been a long time since he and Lila had really had any kind of relationship and he’d put away all his hopes and dreams of ever having the kind of marriage he wanted. But watching Ya’qoob with Noorah made those longings stronger than ever, and now she was showing signs of changing for the better, bringing hope back to life. He could forgive the past if the future was better.

“Let me think about it, Lila,” he said finally.

To his relief, she didn’t have the usual fit the old Lila would have. She smiled, nodded, and withdrew her hand as she resumed eating. “Thank you.”

Hâroon returned his attention to eating as well, wondering if he was about to make the best or worst decision of his life. While Lila smiled brightly for the rest of the meal, he felt nothing but conflict and anxiety.

Since he’d been young, it had been understood that Hâroon would learn from his father and eventually take over the farm. Now, if he actually took his wife’s side, he would be destroying all those plans by leaving for the city. Ya’qoob, who still held onto a deep resentment and dislike for Lila, would probably be incensed and his parents would be heartbroken. But if there was any chance of changing the nature of his rocky relationship with his wife, he had to risk it.

For the next few days, Hâroon carefully observed Lila. A miraculous change seemed to have come over her since that night. She didn’t bring up the subject of her dissatisfaction with living on the farm again, nor did she complain about Ibrâhîm even once. She didn’t even escape the house to hang out with her friends when he returned home. For once, she was actually enjoyable to be with, even after the children had gone to bed and they were alone.

She was kind, sweet, and almost loving in the passing days. She didn’t invite him into the bedroom he’d left after they’d stopped having intimate relations and he wasn’t quite ready to ask her about that, but she was almost the perfect wife otherwise. The more he was around her, the more he watched her, the more he became aware that his old feelings for her hadn’t completely died. They were rising up again, pushing him to do all he could to keep this version of his wife from disappearing.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at your place lately,” Ya’qoob observed as the brothers followed Yahyâ for the early morning rounds of the farm after Fajr. “More than usual.”

“Lila and I are doing better,” Hâroon said vaguely. Given his brother’s suspicious nature toward his wife, he thought it best not to give away too many details. “I think we might be able to work out something after all.”

As he’d expected, Ya’qoob’s curious expression turned to one of suspicion. “She wants something, doesn’t she?”

She did, but it wasn’t exactly as Ya’qoob seemed to think. It was different this time. She wasn’t manipulating him or pushing him to get what she wanted. She hadn’t even asked about it since that night she’d brought it up. But if he explained it to his brother, he wouldn’t understand. He’d find something to point out as suspicious. He appreciated Ya’qoob’s attempts to protect him, but he was the elder brother and he would handle his marriage and wife as he saw fit without allowing his brother’s negative feelings toward Lila cloud his judgement.

Even if his brother was suspicious, Hâroon knew he was wrong this time. Lila was sincerely changing. It seemed as if he might finally be able to pursue the kind of marriage he wanted; the relationship he’d dreamed of having. If he had to sacrifice something else for it, it would be worth it in the end.

“Don’t worry about me and Lila,” he said without responding to the accusing words. “You have your own wife to think about now. I can handle my wife.”

At the mere reference toward Noorah, a grin crossed Ya’qoob’s face that Hâroon could only describe as lovesick. In all the years since Ya’qoob had announced that he was going to marry Noorah, instead of his feelings gradually mellowing over time, they seemed stronger than ever. But this time Hâroon didn’t feel that disturbing prick of envy toward his brother. Instead, he felt hope for the future.

Maybe one day soon Lila and I will be as happy as Noorah and Ya’qoob.

As the days passed by with a continuous improvement in Lila’s behavior and treatment of him, Hâroon’s decision became clear. He would probably hate the city, but he would do it for her. It was what she wanted and would make her happy; and if she was happy, she’d make him happy as well.

“I’ve thought about what you said,” he told her over a week later after they had put the children to bed and were sitting in the den. “You’re right. We should find a compromise.”

Lila looked up from the novel she was reading, her eyes both hopeful and wary. “What have you decided?”

He took her hand and smiled. “I’ll do it. I’ll find a job in the city so we can move there. I want you to be happy.”

She stared at him with shock. “You mean it?”

“Yeah,” he said with sincerity, making up his mind to find a way to be happy in the city. “It might take a while to find a job and stuff, but—oof!”

He was interrupted as Lila, abandoning her book, slammed into him, hugging him hard. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! You’re the best!”

It was the first time since they’d married that she’d shown him any real affection. Taken aback, he looked down at the blond head against his chest. With a soft smile, he put his arms around her and rested his chin against her hair. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all... If it makes her happy with me, I can do it.

Telling his family would be hard. But it had to be done. Without a doubt, his parents would be hurt and disappointed. Ya’qoob would probably be angry and blame it on Lila. He wasn’t quite sure how Maryam would react. At times, she had the worst temper, but sometimes she surprised him with her level-headed manner.

He couldn’t put it off the news for very long. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner it would be over so he could turn his attention to making the move happen. So one evening when he and his siblings had gathered in his parents’ home for a family dinner, he decided it was the opportunity to come clean.

“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you about something,” he said as they were eating dinner. His gaze flicked to Maryam and Ya’qoob. “And you guys, too.”

Hâroon didn’t think he’d given away the kind of news he had to share in his tone, but Ya’qoob tensed and stared at him with wary eyes. His brother knew him better than he’d thought. He already knew he wasn’t going to like what Hâroon had to say.

“Alright,” Yahyâ said reasonably. “What is it?”

What he was going to tell them would probably ruin dinner, so he thought it best not to mention it at the dinner table. “Let’s talk about it after dinner.”

The instant the words were said, his parents and Maryam turned just as wary and tense as Ya’qoob was. Now everyone was already assuming that what he had to say may not be something positive due to his reluctance to share it over dinner—and they were right.

Maybe I should have waited until we finished eating to mention it, Hâroon thought to himself as an awkward, tense silence settled over the table.

Dinner seemed much longer and a less enjoyable occasion than usual. When it was finally over, Hâroon felt no relief as he helped clear the table and then washed the dishes while Maryam and Ya’qoob shared the duties of cleaning the rest of the kitchen. Instead, anxiety plagued his nerves as he wondered how his family would react and behave.

After they were done, the three siblings gathered in the den where ’Alîyâ and Yahyâ were already waiting, seated on the loveseat. Hâroon took one one of the armchairs and Maryam dropped onto the couch. Instead of sitting beside their sister, where there was plenty of space for his broad, six-foot-three frame, Ya’qoob opted to perch himself on the arm of Hâroon’s chair, crowding the little space there was.

“Why are you sitting here?” Hâroon asked with a sigh. “There’s barely any space. You’re not a little kid anymore, Qoob.”

“Just in case I might need to strangle you for whatever stupid thing you’re about to say.”

Hâroon bristled. “I am not about to say something stupid.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell.”

Though tempted to snap back at his brother, he restrained himself. Since when did we disagree and argue so much? he thought to himself. We didn’t fight this much when we were little.

They had barely fought at all as children. Most of their childhood had consisted of Hâroon pulling his brother out of scrapes and giving him a lecture, to which Ya’qoob always smiled and nodded before going on his merry way. But even though his little brother had frustratingly seemed not to learn from his mistakes, they had never really argued or fought. This dynamic of their relationship was far more recent than their childhood.

Since Lila, his mind reminded him. It’s been this way since you got involved with Lila. It was true, he realized. The first time Ya’qoob had truly become angry with him was because of Lila and his pursuit of her. He’d never outgrown his dislike for her.

But it was not something Ya’qoob could change. Hâroon and Lila were married, and she was going to be a part of the family for the rest of her life, whether his brother liked her or not. Now that things were starting to change and go well for him and Lila, he wasn’t going to allow his brother’s feelings get in the way. Noorah would hopefully distract him from being too focused on Hâroon.

“What did you want to talk about, Hâroon?” Yahyâ asked, bringing his attention away from his thoughts and to the matter at hand.

This is it. I can’t go back. I already promised her. Hâroon swallowed, clasped his hands, and then faced his father directly. “I’ve decided to look for a job in the city.”

His mother gasped; his sister looked shocked; and his father’s eyes gazed at him with disappointment. But Ya’qoob outdid them all.

He jumped up from his place. “Leave the farm? Go to the city? You love the farm! You hate the city! This is your inheritance, Roon! This is because of her, isn’t it?”

Hâroon could say nothing, because every word his brother had said was absolutely true. There was no place on earth he loved more than the farm; nowhere he’d rather be than working it with his father, uncles, and cousins. He hated the city; there was no place worse than it to him. If Lila hadn’t pleaded with him, he would have never considered it.

“You’re supposed to take over the farm, remember?” Ya’qoob continued. “How can you leave? What are you thinking?!”

“Enough, Ya’qoob,” Yahyâ said in a firm, steady tone of voice, as if his world hadn’t turned upside down by Hâroon’s decision—but Hâroon knew it had. Yahyâ had been grooming him for the role of manager and owner of Elm Creek since he was twelve years old. “Sit down.”

Fury continued to spark in Ya’qoob’s leaf-green eyes, but he complied without argument. This time, he moved away from Hâroon and sat beside their sister. It hurt that his brother didn’t want to be near him after the news he’d shared, but it was probably for the best. He wasn’t completely sure Ya’qoob wouldn’t strangle him.

After his brother had turned silent and sat down again, Yahyâ turned his attention to Hâroon. “I was prepared for this,” he said. “When us boys grew up, no one wanted the farm but me. I knew it was possible that my children might not want it or might lose interest in it. You have a choice, Hâroon. It would be my greatest pleasure that you take over after me, but you don’t have to. I have a backup plan.”

Hâroon knew his father’s backup was probably one of his cousins. His mother’s brothers and their sons all worked the farm. If Hâroon didn’t wish to take over management of his family’s legacy, any one of his cousins would probably be willing to step in. The thought of giving up his place to one of them hurt, but he pushed away the pain. He had made his decision and had to go through with the promise he’d given his wife.

“Thank you, Dad,” he said sincerely.

“Hâroon, are you sure this is what you want?” his mother finally spoke up. “A city job and lifestyle are very different from the life you live here; and you can’t forget the fitnah of the mainstream workforce and how people might treat you based on how you dress or behave. You’ve mostly been protected by that here. Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“I have to,” he said softly. “She’s not happy here. If I have the means to make her happy, I should try. Maybe we’ll find a good doctor for Ibrâhîm there too.”

“I knew it was because of her,” Ya’qoob said, but a warning look from Yahyâ stopped him from saying anything else.

His mother sighed and nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“There are certain things you compromise on in a marriage,” Maryam said, ever the voice of wisdom. “But is this one of them? This was your dream, Roon. Plus, we asked her if she’d mind living on a farm, remember?”

“I can find a new dream,” Hâroon said. “I have to do this.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Ya’qoob said. “Count my words. You’ll regret this.”

More infuriating than his brother’s interference was the fact that Hâroon sensed he was right. He was leaving all he loved behind for the kind of place he’d never liked. The only thing he saw in his future was regret.

I can learn to like the city, he consoled himself. If I want Lila to be happy with me, I have to make some sacrifices.

“I have some contacts in the city who might take you on,” Yahyâ said. “I’ll make some calls.”

Hâroon was both surprised and grateful that his father was helping him in his goal. “Thank you, Dad.”

Yahyâ smiled. “The least I can do is try to find you a good place to work.”

When Hâroon finally walked home from his parents, he wondered if he’d made the best or worst decision of his life. But when he walked through the door and found Lila reading Yusrâ a bedtime story, and she glanced up at him and smiled, he decided he could live with it.

🌾

Things moved fairly quickly after Hâroon had told his parents. The pace was even too fast for him. By the end of the week, Yahyâ had arranged a meeting with a potential employer in an agricultural company that made contracts with farms; something within his realm of knowledge and expertise, though it wouldn’t be anything like working on an actual farm, which he’d miss.

“His name is Brandon Eckhart,” Yahyâ told him from behind his desk in the administration offices of the farm. “If you’re hired, you’ll be working directly under him. He’ll come down here to meet you next week. I’ve done business with him before and he’s an upstanding sort of guy. If things go well, he’s willing to help you find a place to live as well.”

Hâroon, seated in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, nodded and smiled in gratitude. “Okay. Thanks, Dad.” But inwardly, he wasn’t as happy about the news as he portrayed. Too fast, he thought. Everything is moving too fast.

But it was too late to stop it; and he couldn’t go back on a promise. I’ll manage somehow, he assured himself. This is the right thing to do for us.

“Where is the company, Dad?” he asked.

“Arkansas,” Yahyâ told him.

Hâroon’s heart dropped at the news. So far away, he thought to himself. Not only would he leaving the farm and his family if the interview worked out, he’d also be leaving the state. It was too much, but he only had to be reminded of how happy Lila was to resolve himself to it.

Exactly a week later, just as his father had promised, Brandon Eckhart arrived at Elm Creek to meet him. He was a tall, slender older man between his late fifties and early sixties, with silver hair that had looked as if it had once been black in his youth and  gray eyes. Despite his age, he had the physique of a man who was active and the demeanor of one who was probably well-liked.

They met in the administration office, where Hâroon’s interview was conducted. His father took himself elsewhere to give them privacy. Even with his reservations and reluctance about the move he was about to make, Hâroon couldn’t help but like Eckhart. He was warm and friendly, and he showed no signs of the contempt or amusement that Hâroon often faced when he met non-Muslims.

The interview seemed to go well, and Hâroon felt cautiously hopeful as it came to an end.

“One last question, if you don’t mind,” Eckhart said. “I hope you won’t find it offensive. I don’t mean it to offend you.”

“Go ahead,” Hâroon said. The man couldn’t possibly say anything worse than what he’d heard in the four years of high school.

“Will you be wearing that to work, too?” Eckhart nodded toward Hâroon’s thawb.

“Yes,” Hâroon said firmly. “Is that going to be a problem?” He could not and would not accept a position that couldn’t accept and respect his lifestyle choices. He had started wearing the thawb full-time, just like his father and uncles, when he was twelve; and he didn’t intend to stop.

“Not with me,” Eckhart assured him. “But I think you should mentally prepare yourself for comments you might receive. As long as you dress professionally, I really don’t care what you wear.”

Hâroon nodded. “I know, Mr. Eckhart. I’m prepared.”

“Good.” Alright then.” Eckhart stood and held out a hand. “If you’re agreeable, I’d like to take you on. I’ll bring your contract down here so you can take a look at it and see if there are any changes you’d like to make. What do you say?”

It was probably one of the best offers he’d get—an employer who respected his beliefs and wouldn’t expect him to assimilate and compromise. He accepted the hand offered to him and shook it. “I’d be happy to join your workforce.”

“Great.” Eckhart smiled. “Your father mentioned you’ll need a place to live, too. I’ll look into that for you. Any requirements?”

The reminder that he’d be moving all the way to Arkansas pricked his heart, but he smiled. “I need a place for a family in a good neighborhood,” Hâroon said. “I have two young children.”

Eckhart nodded. “I’ll find a place. Do you want to buy or rent?”

Hâroon could probably afford to buy. Since the age of fifteen, his father had been giving him a cut of the profit along with his basic wage. Except to pay zakâh on it, he’d barely touched the money. He hadn’t even told Lila about it since he’d known she would demand a more luxurious lifestyle if she realized its existence. Though Lila now seemed drastically different, he still hesitated at the thought of telling her. He meant to save that money as a security for hard times or for the day Ibrâhîm and Yusrâ went to college.

Though he had the opportunity to buy, Hâroon wasn’t tempted. In a small corner of his heart, he hoped that once Lila got her taste of city life she’d consent to them returning to Pear Orchards, to his life at Elm Creek.

“A rental would suit me best right now,” he said.

Hâroon thanked the man and saw him off. Then he retired to the office and stared into space as he once again wondered if he was making the right decision.

Brandon Eckhart returned a week later with a two-year employment contract to be reviewed and signed as well as a collection of pictures of homes that were available for rent and purchase. Hâroon and Yahyâ both reviewed the contract before it was approved, signed by both himself and Eckhart, and then stamped. He was expected to start work after three months. That was hopefully enough time to find a house and make the move.

“Let me know about the house,” Eckhart said as he prepared to leave. “I can take care of everything for you if you’d like, or you can come down and I’ll take you to see them.”

“Thank you,” Hâroon said. “I’ll let you know.”

He and Lila pored over the pictures he’d been given for about two weeks before she selected a six-bedroom house in Oak Village. To Hâroon, it seemed too large for a family of four. It was bigger than the farmhouse he’d grown up in, and they only had two children, though he did hope for more in the future.

“Six bedrooms is a lot for us, Lila,” he pointed out. “We should take one of the smaller ones.”

“Please, Roon,” she begged, throwing her arms around him. “I really like this one. We might need those extra rooms later, don’t you think?”

Hâroon couldn’t resist her pleas; not when she was so close, so affectionate. We might need those extra rooms later, her words repeated in his mind. Is she thinking along the same lines as me? His chest bursting with hope, he gave in.

“If it’s the one you want, then we’ll get that one,” he said, curving an arm around her.

“Oh, thank you, Roon!”

To his disappointment, she didn’t stay in his arms very long. Moments later, she drew away. He was tempted to pull her back, but he didn’t want to push too fast and too soon. Their marriage was just starting to go well. For now, he would accept what she gave and be thankful for it.

With the house selected, things moved at an accelerated pace that terrified Hâroon. The very next week, he and Lila made the drive down to Arkansas to see the house in person just to be sure it met their requirements. The children were left with ’Alîyâ for the day.

They met Brandon Eckhart at the pre-scheduled meeting place—in the parking lot of a coffeehouse in Oak Village—and then followed his car to an average-sized neighborhood. The houses were neither very large nor too small. Everything about the street was ordinary and average, the classic middle-class suburban neighborhood—until they pulled up before the house they’d be moving into.

The first thought Hâroon had as he looked up at the house was that it was definitely too big and extravagant for him. In fact, it was the best house on the street; like that of a wealthy man who had decided to build his home in the center of middle-class neighborhood to stand out among his less wealthy neighbors. The other houses were smaller and fairly ordinary in appearance and far more to Hâroon’s liking. He had no desire to stand out or make himself appear pretentious.

But the sparkle in Lila’s eyes and the glowing smile on her face prevented him from saying a word. Instead, he accepted the keys Brandon had gotten picked up from the housing agent, and he and Lila went inside to look around. The house was unfurnished and empty. He and his wife wandered from room to room as she exclaimed happily over the decor of the house; extravagant compared to the basic interior of their own back in Elm Creek. Hâroon, who had always enjoyed simplicity, only felt uncomfortable.

“It’s amazing!” Lila said. “We have to get this one.”

Hâroon forced a smile. “Are you sure? You don’t want to look at any of the others? They might be more to your liking in person.”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “Let’s get this one.”

Hâroon looked around the house that just didn’t seem suited to a farmer’s son at all. Despite his discomfort, he nodded. “Alright then. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Then he and Lila left the house, returned the keys to Eckhart, and started the long drive back home to Pear Orchards. For the whole drive, Lila chattered happily about the house, while Hâroon feigned a happiness he didn’t really feel. His stomach twisted in knots as he thought about the situation ahead. With every step forward to actualizing the promise he’d made Lila, he felt more uncomfortable and more worried that he was making the wrong choice.

The very next week, he and his father drove to Oak Village to meet the owner of the house and his agent. They reviewed the rental contract that had been drawn up, signed it, and put down a deposit.

It’s done, Hâroon thought as he stared out of the window of Yahyâ’s silver 4WD as they drove back home afterward. I can’t go back now.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Hâroon?” Yahyâ asked, interrupting his dismal thoughts. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Hâroon held back the temptation to admit his conflicting thoughts and emotions. “I’m sure,” he said, inserting a confidence into his voice that he truly didn’t feel. “I know what I’m doing, Dad.”

Yahyâ placed a hand on his shoulder. “If you change your mind, just tell me and I’ll help you.”

Tears pricked his eyes, which he quickly blinked away. Not everyone had the kind of unwavering, supportive parents he had. No matter what he chose, whether they agreed with him or not, he could count on his parents to be there for him. “Thanks, Dad.”

Nothing else was said the long drive home. Wandering in his thoughts, Hâroon thought of the long road that stretched ahead him now, full of unknowns and uncertainties.

It will be worth it, he assured himself. If Lila is happy, I will be happy. That’s all that matters. In those moments, he picked up his resolve, steeled his heart for what lay ahead, and determined to put his trust in Allâh for good to come his way, despite all he’d given up.