Return to Me

by Lynn Austin

  “Yes! It means you’re strong and courageous like a lion.”

  “I think I’ll sleep now.”

  Yael spread the charts on the floor beside the bed after Leyla drifted to sleep, trying to remember everything Parthia had taught her. She wouldn’t let her friend die. Parthia had been wrong about Mama getting better, but she’d said it was because Zaki’s family lived next door. Would it be the same in this village? Would Leyla’s father hinder the stars’ power?

  “I see you brought your astrology charts.” Yael whirled around when she heard the old woman’s voice. Leyla’s grandmother searched Yael’s face as if trying to look inside her. Parthia had looked at her that way, too. “Don’t worry, Yael,” she finally said. “I believe in the power of the stars, too.”

  Yael sagged with relief. “I only know a few things. I was just learning to read these charts when we had to leave Babylon.”

  “May I see them?” She reached out with her wrinkled hand, and again Yael felt a moment of panic. What if the old woman was lying? What if she tossed them into the fire before Yael could stop her? But she didn’t. She carried them over to the window where the light was better, to study them. “Where did you get these? They are beautifully done. I didn’t think Jews like you consulted the stars.”

  “I knew a seer in Babylon. She gave them to me.”

  “I might be able to teach you a little more. But don’t let Leyla’s father see them.”

  They studied the charts as Leyla slept and discovered which heavenly bodies currently decided Leyla’s fortune. “This is very good,” her grandmother said. “Now that we know which gods we must influence, I’ll go and prepare the proper offerings to make Leyla well.” She rolled up the scrolls and handed them back to Yael, smiling.

  Yael sat by Leyla’s side all day, telling stories about life in Babylon when she was awake, describing how she and Zaki used to explore along the canal. Some of Yael’s stories made Leyla laugh, and her grandmother said that was the best potion of all. Yael didn’t want the day to end, but she could see the sun sinking lower in the sky, the shadows in the room growing longer. When she heard the door to the room open, she looked up to find Abba standing there beside Rafi.

  “Time to go home, Yael.”

  “Oh, please let her stay. Please?” Leyla begged.

  “Yes, please, Abba?”

  Leyla’s grandmother spoke to Yael’s father without looking at him, her eyes never leaving the floor. “My lord, Leyla’s father would be honored if you would allow your daughter to stay with us for a few more days until Leyla is stronger. Yael is very good medicine for her. Her stories cheer my granddaughter and help her forget her pain.”

  “Are you sure she’s not a bother?”

  “Not at all, my lord.”

  “Well . . . then I guess she may stay.”

  Leyla smiled and gave Yael’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “Please, wait a moment longer, my lord,” her grandmother said, “while I fetch some gifts to send home to your family to show our appreciation.”

  “I thank you as well, my lord,” Rafi said. “I sometimes stay with Leyla when she’s ill, but I had to work for my father today. Thank you for letting your daughter take my place.”

  For the next few days, Yael spent all her time in her friend’s room. At times, Leyla burned with fever and whimpered from the pain in her bones and joints. Yael told story after story to distract her friend and even sang songs to help soothe her to sleep. While Leyla slept, Yael studied the star charts with her grandmother. The old woman reminded Yael of all the things that Parthia had taught her, things she had forgotten in the months since leaving Babylon. At night, they walked outside into the open courtyard and studied the sky. “That’s Leyla’s sign, the lion,” her grandmother said. She pointed to the sky overhead as Yael picked out the stars in the constellation. “But see the position of the moon within her constellation? And the moon’s phase? What does that tell you?”

  “The moon is waning! That’s why Leyla is sick, isn’t it!”

  “Very good. You have a gift for this, Yael.”

  “If anyone finds my charts back home, they’ll take them away from me.”

  “How foolish! Your own people once knew the power of the stars. David, your most famous king, wrote a psalm of praise to God about learning from the stars. He wrote, ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.’ So, no matter where we go, no matter what age we live in, the heavens will speak to us and give us wisdom.”

  “I knew Parthia was right! I knew it! Wait until I tell Zaki!”

  “Be careful who you share your insights with, Yael. The spirit of unbelief can be a powerful force.”

  “That’s why my mother died. It’s why Parthia’s spells didn’t work.”

  The old woman nodded sadly. “And it’s why Leyla’s mother died, as well. But we can use the knowledge from the heavens to protect Leyla. I’m so glad you’re her friend and that you’re a believer.”

  By the time Abba returned for Yael a few days later, Leyla was well enough to sit outside and look up at the stars with them. Her father, Zabad, was so pleased that he agreed to sell Mattaniah the parcel of land he had asked for.

  “Come back and visit every chance you get,” Leyla begged as they hugged each other good-bye.

  “May I come back, Abba? Please?”

  “Well . . . you’re supposed to help Safta Dinah with the cooking. You have to do your share of the work.”

  “You must let her come,” Zabad insisted. “She has brought happiness to my daughter and made her well again. She is good for Leyla.”

  “Then of course she may visit.”

  Grandmother loaded Abba down with gifts: almonds and figs from their trees, vegetables from their garden, a skin of aged wine, and fresh goat cheese wrapped in grape leaves. “Bring your charts when you come again,” she whispered as she kissed Yael’s cheek.

  “I will.”

  Yael hoped her father hadn’t heard her mention the charts, but on the way home he asked, “What does she want you to bring when you come?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yael, you know we don’t have much, and Leyla’s father isn’t giving me the land for free. By the time I pay for it with a portion of our crops, we’ll barely have enough to eat ourselves. What are you promising to bring her?”

  “Abba, they have plenty of food. Didn’t you see how much? And their home is three times bigger than ours was in Babylon. They don’t need anything like that from us. Leyla just wants to be my friend. She only has brothers, and her mother died just like Mama did, and so she wants us to be friends.” Yael held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask again.

  “Just be careful what you promise. Her people are very suspicious of us as it is, and we need them if we’re going to survive here in the land.”

  “Why can’t we all be friends like Leyla and me? Why don’t her people and ours get along, Abba?”

  “It’s complicated. I would like it if we all got along, but I guess our biggest disagreement has to do with religion. We believe our God gave this land to us, and they believe their gods gave the same land to them. Religion can cause the biggest divisions of all.”

  Yael remembered the argument between Leyla’s father and her grandmother over the potion that Leyla drank. And she knew she had to hide the little figurine and the charts that Parthia had given her from people who didn’t share her beliefs. Yael had learned a lot from Leyla’s grandmother, and soon she would be able to read the future in the stars and make decisions for herself. In the meantime, she couldn’t wait to return to the village and visit her friend.

  Chapter

  17

  Zechariah held the weighted cord next to the stone wall of his house and let it dangle freely.
As he had feared, the last course of stones weren’t quite straight. He would have to remove them and build all over again—and his arms already ached from lifting them into place. He groaned aloud in frustration.

  “What’s wrong, Zaki?” Yael peered around the corner of the house from where she’d been working with his grandmother.

  “My studies ended early today, and I wanted to get this part of the wall done before Saba comes home. I wanted to surprise him. Now I have to take all these stones down again.”

  “Why isn’t your grandfather working on the house with you?”

  “Because he’s rebuilding the temple, and that’s much more important.” Zechariah lifted a stone from the top row and dropped it to the ground.

  Yael came to stand beside him, one hand on her hip. “I don’t understand why you have to take them down.”

  “Because the wall isn’t straight. See?” He held up the weighted cord to show her. “If it’s just a little bit off in the beginning and you don’t correct it, it will get further and further off as you build higher. The entire wall could collapse.” He reached up to remove another stone and set it on the ground. Yael sat down on a large rock to watch him, idly jiggling her foot. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping my grandmother?” he asked her.

  “She went to borrow something from Shoshanna. You and Abba got a lot done while I was visiting Leyla,” she told him. “The walls in my room are higher than my head now. I can stand up under the tent covering.”

  Zechariah removed another block, then held up the cord again. “Saba says the Torah is like this plumb line. We can measure our lives with His word to see if we’re living straight. And if we stray from the Holy One’s laws just a tiny bit, pretty soon our whole life will be off course.”

  Yael gave a long, loud sigh. “All you ever talk about is the Torah. Don’t you get tired of studying sometimes? Don’t you want to do something different for a change?”

  Zechariah remembered going to the canal in Babylon with Yael, watching the ships sailing past, feeling free. He remembered walking to work with his father and watching the laborers unload cargo from all over the world. Now he spent all day studying with the handful of boys his age who had come to Jerusalem with their parents.

  Yes, he wanted to tell Yael. Yes, he did wish he could do something different for a change, but he didn’t dare say so out loud. “Studying the Torah is very important,” he said instead.

  Yael exhaled again. “My friend Leyla has a brother your age, and he doesn’t study all the time.”

  Zechariah felt a stab of jealousy, envying Yael’s freedom. He turned his back on her and continued working. “What do you do when you visit your friend?” he asked.

  “Well, we couldn’t play the last time I was there because Leyla was too weak to get out of bed. So I told her stories about how we used to go exploring in Babylon. Remember? She wants to go with us when she’s better. She gets sick a lot, so I gave her my—” Yael stopped so abruptly that Zechariah glanced over his shoulder to see why. She had her hand over her mouth, a guilty expression on her face.

  “You gave her your . . . what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “No, I’m curious. What did you give her?” He stopped working and leaned against the wall, waiting.

  “Just a necklace I had. She’s much better now. You should come with me sometime and meet her brother Rafi.”

  Zechariah would never be allowed to go. He felt another stab of jealousy and wished he could do something to erase the contented smile from Yael’s face. “You should stay away from that village,” he said. “Those people are our enemies.”

  “That’s not true. Abba and I made friends with them.”

  “They’re idol worshipers, you know. They don’t worship the same God we do.”

  “That’s not true, either. Leyla’s father is a son of Abraham.”

  Zechariah couldn’t ruffle her contentment, and now he felt more irritated with her than before. He leaned close to her to whisper, “Did you get rid of your pagan stuff, yet?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a shrug.

  He returned to his labor, reaching up to remove another stone from the top of the wall. “Well, instead of sitting there, why don’t you gather up some of those smaller rocks to stuff between the cracks?”

  She did what he asked, picking up a handful of smaller stones and carefully wedging them between the larger ones. “Don’t you ever wish we could go exploring like we used to?” she asked as they worked.

  “I’m not a child anymore. I’m a son of the covenant now—and I like studying. Every time I think I’ve learned all of the lessons from one passage in the Torah or studied all of the words in one verse, I discover that there’s another layer of meaning beneath it and—”

  “You’re no fun anymore. Why did you come to Jerusalem, anyway? You could have studied the Torah back home.” She struck her usual pose, her hand on her hip, a look of disapproval on her face.

  Had he imagined that the Almighty One had spoken to him? Zechariah could barely remember the feeling of His presence on the day of his bar mitzvah. He did remember being in the tug-of-war between Saba and his father, remembered the dull pain he used to get in his stomach when they had argued about him. But God had proven that He was real, and Zechariah had obeyed His call to come. If only God would speak to him again and tell him why. What was he supposed to be doing here—besides studying? Every night he tried to remember the dreams that disturbed his sleep, hoping God would speak to him through them. The dreams seemed weighted with importance, but Zechariah could never remember them when he woke up, their content and meaning floating just beyond his grasp.

  He lifted another stone from the top and dropped it to the ground. What would he be doing if he had stayed in Babylon? Would he be working with his father by now? But staying would have meant disobeying God’s call. “Maybe after we finish building our house I’ll have time to explore again,” he told Yael. At least he hoped it was true.

  “Promise? Promise that we’ll do something fun when we have time?”

  Zechariah hesitated, aware that he had fallen into Yael’s trap before by making rash promises. But he missed her and longed to spend time with her again. Most of all, he longed to convince her to give up her sorcery. Before he could stop himself he replied, “I promise.”

  “Thank you!” She scampered off to finish preparing dinner while he grabbed another rock from the last course of stones and tossed it onto the ground. Yael had reignited a longing for adventure that still nagged him as he sat through prayers at the house of assembly later that evening. The longing intensified when Mattaniah stood up after the prayers ended and addressed all of the assembled men.

  “Listen, I received a message today from my new friend Zabad, the leader of one of the local villages. He asked me to extend his invitation to all of you to attend a celebration in his village tomorrow night.”

  “What kind of celebration?” the high priest asked.

  “It’s an annual festival to celebrate the olive harvest. But Zabad is also celebrating his daughter’s recovery. She was very ill, and he seems to think that my daughter, Yael, contributed to her recovery somehow. That’s why he’s inviting all of us.”

  A chill went through Zechariah. What could Yael possibly have done to help her friend recover? Was it sorcery?

  “Zabad has also agreed to let me farm that patch of land I wanted,” Mattaniah continued. “Our neighbors are offering to make peace with us, so I think we all have a reason to celebrate.”

  Zechariah listened as the men discussed the invitation, and when they eventually agreed that a delegation should attend for the sake of goodwill and friendship, he longed to go with them. But the frown of disapproval on Saba’s face told him that he would never be allowed to go. The restrictions Saba placed on him chafed like ill-fitting sandals, and he silently bemoaned the fact that Yael would certainly be going to the festival. Then he remembered that he did have t
he freedom to go. He was a man now. He could decide for himself what he would do, just as he’d made the decision to leave Babylon.

  “I want to go with you tomorrow night,” he told Mattaniah as they walked home.

  Saba halted and pulled Zechariah to a stop beside him. “No, son. I can’t let you go. Priests of God have no business going to pagan celebrations.”

  “But I’m not a priest yet . . . and Zabad is a son of Abraham, and . . . and I want to go.” His voice shook as he defied his grandfather for the first time. He saw Saba’s surprise and disappointment, but he drew a steadying breath and said, “I’m old enough to make my own decisions now.”

  “You may be old enough, but you’re not showing much wisdom. Did you pray and ask for guidance before deciding? I believe you should.” Saba started walking again, but Zaki slowed his steps and turned to Mattaniah. His mind was made up. “I’m going with you,” he told him.

  The following evening as the sun was setting, Zechariah walked to the festival with Yael and Mattaniah and a dozen other Jewish men. This was the first time he had ventured away from their caravan camp and their settlement in Jerusalem, and his heart raced with excitement as they hiked across the narrow valley. The unwalled village, perched at the foot of the Mount of Olives, was little more than a cluster of plastered stone houses, but at least he was away from his studies and seeing something new, something different. A snaking path led uphill from the town, and Zechariah saw the glow of flames halfway to the top and a knot of men gathered around a stone altar. The aroma of roasting meat filled the air. A tingle of shock rippled through him. Were they worshiping at a high place?

  “What are they cooking way up there?” he asked Mattaniah.

  “I think they’re making a sacrifice. It’s an ancient tradition from the time before there was a temple—and since the temple is gone, where else can they offer sacrifices?”

  A pagan image from the pages of the Torah had sprung to life right in front of Zechariah. “But the Torah says—”

  “We’re guests here, Zaki,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let’s not start preaching the Torah to our hosts.”