Ollie's Cloud by Gary Lindberg

years, while performing medical and spiritual healing among the Hindus, I became relatively fluent in Farsi, taught by a Persian expatriate who had moved to India.
    “Finally I began the first of several missions to Persia. I quickly learned that the Muslims—the followers of Muhammad—took a very dim view of Christians attempting to convert their own. If a Muslim changes religions, he can be put to death for apostasy. The one who entices him to convert can also be executed.
    “During my wanderings, I arrived in a hamlet called Bushruyih and called upon the mayor to pay my respects. The mayor and I talked for about an hour and then, quite unexpectedly, he told me that one of the slaves in his harem claimed that she could speak some English words. Now if the mayor had been a strict Muslim, he never would have escorted me to the anderun where the women were kept. Fortunately for all of us, the mayor was not a deeply religious man. In fact, he was a nephew of the shah, and so part of the secular order.”
    “It would be quite some time before I would lay eyes on Anisa’s face because of the obligatory veil. But when the mayor introduced us, I can remember saying to her, “Good morning,” and being quite startled when Anisa responded by saying, “Good afternoon.” She was correct, of course, as it was half-past noon.
    “Anisa implored the mayor to engage me as her English tutor. I believe he found the novelty of this idea quite amusing. And he probably found me quite innocuous. At any rate, I began to teach English to Anisa—Anne—and then to her son. I stayed in Bushruyih for about one month. But I had other obligations, so I had to leave and did not return for another three months.
    “During our separation, I began to put the pieces together. An English-speaking slave girl, the mystery of the vanished missionaries two decades earlier—well, you see where this was leading me. On my next visit to Bushruyih, I was once again engaged as Anisa’s tutor. But this time I prevailed upon her to recall her early years. And I discovered that her parents indeed were the fabled Chadwick missionaries. I can’t begin to tell you how excited and terrified I was. Here was a child, an English citizen, held against her will in a foreign land and now grown up. An English child who had survived misadventures and cruelties beyond imagination.
    “It became my mission to return Anne to her family in England. When I proposed this to her, she immediately seized upon the idea and we hatched a plot to escape. But my time in Persia was too short and my financial resources too depleted to implement the plan at that time.
    “One of my remaining obligations was to return to England for a speaking engagement—a fund-raising tour, actually, for our missionary work. So within several months I found myself in London. I looked up Mrs. Chadwick and told her the story. She contributed a generous sum of money to our cause, which allowed me to shorten my tour and return to Persia. I landed there six months ago, and here we are today.”
    Mrs. Chadwick suddenly stands straight up and says, “I know this may appear rude, but I have grown very weary. If you don’t mind, I’m going to retire. Gibson?”
    The entire group stands. Gibson enters and takes Mrs. Chadwick by the arm, leading her out the door and into the shadows.
    Herbert turns to Gordon and Anne. “Well, I say, this has been a most gripping evening, but I think I’ll shove off as well. May I call you for another conversation? I would like to hear more of the details for the article in The Times .”
    “As you wish,” Gordon replies.
    Reginald pats Gordon on the shoulder. “An Evangelical, eh? My, my.” He staggers out the door without another word.
    Ollie is staring at a large oil painting, a portrait of a stern-faced man with brows like a thick hedge, eyes with droopy lids, and pouting lips.
    “That is Mr. Chadwick,” Herbert explains. “Edward Chadwick, your great grandfather.