Turkish Delight
TURKISH DELIGHT by Geneva As we finally crested the last ridge over the hill, and the panorama of the valley unfolded, my father held up his hand to halt our little party in the muddy track. The spring afternoon was hot and humid, and my Uncle Otto, riding beside me, gulped down some water from a flask at his saddle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned to me. "So, Franz, we finally get to your father's new lands!" I nodded. "Yes,...