Dinah laughed. “Has Deborah had that baby yet?”
Judith beamed so widely Arisha thought the old woman’s cheeks would burst. “Yes, she did. And they named her Judith.” She groaned as she bent to pick up the bag then tottered off, laughing to herself.
This section of the river was the farthest away from camp, deep enough to bathe in, with a thick stand of date palms providing a screen. The ladies stripped off their clothing and sank under the cool water. Hannah, Ruth and Dinah washed their clothes quickly, stepped back on the bank and dressed, but Arisha relished the feel of the cool water of her skin. The others lounged in the sun chatting while she stayed in the river, only her head above water.
“Toss me your clothes,” Hannah said. Arisha wrung the water from her tunic and threw it to Hannah, who draped it next to her own over a rod laid in the crooks of two other tree limbs jammed into the ground.
After she felt completely refreshed, Arisha climbed out of the river. She slipped the freshly washed tunic Judith had delivered over her head, then pulled her wet hair from under the neck. Running her fingers through her locks to remove any tangles, she split the bulk into three sections and began braiding it.
One more meal, then this would almost be over.
Soon the meal was eaten, the dishes washed and stored until next time, the tent swept and tied up. Arisha stared at the western mountains. Why couldn’t the sun set any faster? As soon as the orb touched the tops of the rocks, they could return to camp. She could return to … she wouldn’t be returning to anything. Miriam was gone.
She would be starting a whole new life.
Danel laughed as he tossed his grandson into the air. The six-year-old’s squeals bounced off the stone walls as he fell back into his grandfather’s arms, and his two other grandchildren laughed.
“Danel, be careful.”
“You say that every time, Yasha.”
“Because I think it every time.” Her long, light brown hair was pulled back with a ribbon of cloth that matched her fine linen tunic. Though they’d been married over thirty years, she was still as beautiful as the day he met her.
He set the boy on the floor and moved to kiss her on the cheek. “I haven’t dropped anyone yet, have I?”
“No.” She chuckled. “Come, Duni, time for bed.”
“Already?” Duni frowned and stuck out his lower lip.
“Don’t whine, little one.” She took the child’s hand and led him to a room in the back.
Danel turned to the other two. “Izabel, Mika, how about a story?”
Izabel jumped into his arms and placed her small hands on either side of his face. Her wide, brown eyes tugged at his heart.
He stroked her gold-brown hair and pulled her close, breathing deeply. “You look more like your mother every day.” The pain was still fresh, though it had been years since Shiba’s death.
They settled on the stone bench built into the three walls of the sizable room. His position as wazir afforded him a much bigger house, right outside the palace gates, than most of Arad’s residents, although all residences followed the same basic pattern.
Izabel snuggled against Danel’s chest, and Danel and her brother stretched out their legs, crossing them at the ankles.
Danel enfolded his arms around Izabel. “Whom would you like to hear about tonight? Abraham? Joseph? Moses?”
“Joseph! Joseph and the coat!” She bounced so hard she hit his chin with her head.
Danel suppressed a groan, holding his chin with one hand and clenching his teeth. When the pain subsided, he spoke. “Again? I’ve told you that one for the last six nights.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“All right. Abraham had twelve sons—”
“No, not Abraham!” Izabel turned and frowned at Danel.
Danel furrowed his brow. “No? Then who?”
“Jacob!”
Mika laughed.
“Ooohhh. All right then, Jacob had twelve sons, and Joseph was the youngest—”
“No!” Izabel huffed.
When the story was finally finished, with all Danel’s “errors” and Izabel’s corrections, Yasha appeared from the back room and beckoned to Izabel. The girl placed a kiss on Danel’s cheek, leaned over and kissed Mika, and scampered off to bed behind Yasha.
“Why do you do that?” Mika leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Do what?”
“Make all those mistakes. It takes so long to tell the story.”
“Are you in a hurry?”
“No, but …”
Danel grinned. “She certainly learns it this way, doesn’t she?”
Mika patted his grandfather on the back. “Come, Papa, let’s walk in the garden. It’s such a nice night.” Danel followed his oldest grandchild outside. He often seemed so much older than his eighteen years. Out of necessity, probably.
The pair climbed the two steps, then walked through the stone doorway into their spacious garden. The pomegranate and peach trees filled the air with the fragrance of flower-filled limbs ready to burst with fruit.
“She loves that story,” Mika said.
Danel smiled. “This month. Last month it was Moses in the basket.”
Mika was quiet for a moment. “Why do you insist on telling her these stories?”
Danel faced Mika. “Aqhat and I have learned everything we could about Yahweh. I want to make sure you—and Izabel and Duni—know everything, too.”
Mika rolled his eyes. “I know all the stories, Papa.”
“It’s more than just knowing the stories. You must know Him, know His character. You must know how He is different from the Canaanite gods.”
“Yes, Papa.” He sighed.
“But you must also know that it will be dangerous for you to reject the ways and the gods of our people.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because the weeks I spent with Kamose, and what I learned about Yahweh from him, changed my life. I saw what Yahweh did for Kamose and for all Israel. And everything we have learned since only confirms what Kamose told me: that Yahweh is the only true God. A Living God, not a stone idol, who cares about His people. Kamose left the Egyptian gods for Yahweh, and I have left the false gods of Canaan for Him. Now the choice is yours.”
“And if I do, I must keep it a secret?”
Danel nodded. “For a while longer. When he left, Kamose said Israel would be coming to conquer Canaan in forty years. It’s been thirty-nine. They’ll be coming in less than a year. You can be on Israel’s side, or Canaan’s.”
“Are you asking me to decide tonight?”
“No.”
Mika crossed his arms. “Are you even sure they are coming?”
“As certain as I am standing here.”
Mika stared at the ground as he dug the toe of his sandal in the dirt. “And you are also certain they will win, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
He returned his gaze to Danel. “Against all our armies, our trained, well-armed armies with iron chariots. A group of children of former slaves who haven’t fought anyone in forty years.”
Danel nodded again. “Yes.”
“That’s incredibly difficult to believe.”
“I know.”
“But my future … You’ve started training me to take over as wazir. Or I can follow my father’s path. And what about Demna? If her family knew …”
“They would never let you marry her. I know it is a huge decision.” Danel stepped closer and grasped Mika’s shoulders. “But if I am right, and I believe with all my heart I am, then in the end, there will be nothing left in Arad anyway.”
“And if I choose Yahweh’s side, and you are wrong …”
“You would lose everything, perhaps even your life.”
Zadok sat in front of the fire, then a moment later jumped back up. He ran his hands through his hair; they came away wet. If he didn’t stop sweating, he’d need to wash again.
“Walk with me, son.”
&nbs
p; Zadok squinted into the setting sun as he glanced up at his father. “What?”
“Take a walk with me. You’ll expend some of that energy that has you ready to pounce on everyone.”
Zivah started to laugh, but a glare from Abba silenced her.
Served her right. She’d been smirking at him all day.
“Come on.” Abba tipped his head toward the pasture. “Let’s go.”
Zadok sighed and followed Abba south through Judah.
“Why aren’t you in your pasture? Why are you stalking around here with nothing to do?”
Zadok huffed. “Jonah said I was upsetting the sheep.”
Abba laughed. “You need to settle down.” He placed a comforting hand on Zadok’s back. “You’re as jumpy as a spiny mouse caught outside its hole.”
“I feel like one—like a huge hawk is circling over my head ready to swoop down on me, but I just can’t see it.”
Abba turned his soft brown eyes on him. “Why? Are you afraid to see her? Do you think she doesn’t want to see you?”
Zadok shrugged. “Now that Miriam is gone, and no longer pushing her toward me, I have no idea what she really thinks. And I, of course, have let my heart run far ahead of me again.”
Abba stopped, pulling on Zadok’s bicep to halt him as well. “Habibi, your imma and I have seen the way Arisha looks at you and speaks of you, and I truly believe she loves you.”
“But I still don’t know if she is ready after such a great loss.”
Abba nodded. “True. She’s had many terrible losses. And I’m sure she’s very much afraid to risk losing again. So, she’ll live here with us, and you will be patient, and she will heal.”
Zadok sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t mind being patient if I believe there is something to hope for.”
Abba’s eyes twinkled. “There is. Trust me, there is.” He began strolling north toward their tents again. “Waiting can be pleasant. I waited fourteen years for your mother.”
“Excuse me?” Zadok halted, staring at his father. Fourteen years? The thought of fourteen more days made his stomach turn somersaults.
Abba chuckled. “Of course, I was only nine when those years began.” He smiled, looking in the distance as if at a memory. “I knew your mother was the one I’d marry when she was just a babe, the day she first smiled. And her first smile was for me, though your grandparents never believed it. They said I would hardly leave her alone long enough for her to sleep.”
He took Zadok’s arm and began walking again. “The four of us grew up together: me, your imma, and Savta Tirzah’s daughters, Keren and Naomi. I was six years older than the twins and nine years older than Adi. About the time the twins started attracting boys—even though they were too young to marry yet—Bezalel and Uncle Kamose were asking me who I was interested in. I always said Adi. She was only nine then, and they just laughed at me. They continually suggested other pretty girls. But I never changed my answer. I knew she was the one for me, so I waited.”
“That must have been very difficult.”
Abba waved a hand. “The first ten years or so I was too young to marry, and obviously so was she, so that wasn’t difficult at all. The last few, watching her as she turned from my playmate and best friend into a beautiful, marriageable woman—those were tough. But the waiting was worth it. And you know, I think Savta Meri was always on my side.”
“I wish I were as certain as you. I don’t seem to have inherited the gift of choosing the right woman.”
“Marah’s greatest weakness was her own lack of faith. And her abba’s as well. For whatever reason they believed your lack of participation in the army’s practices now would reflect poorly in your allotment of land in Canaan.”
“Is that why he spread those horrible rumors about me?”
“Yes. He was afraid you wouldn’t be able to provide for his daughter without land.”
“But that’s ridiculous. That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“I know. I consider it a blessing that Yahweh protected you from a father-in-law like that.”
“Believe me, I do. But in the meantime, how many people have believed him? Still think I am a coward, prefer to keep sheep rather than fight for Israel?”
“My son, those of us who know and love you know the truth. Trust me, the time to fight will come sooner than you would ever want. Enjoy your peace while you can.”
“Thank you, Abba. I will.”
Abba squeezed Zadok’s arm. “You’re welcome, habibi. Now go bring her home.”
Zadok stared west, waiting for the sun to drop behind the low mountains that surrounded their camp at the oasis, for once wishing they were as high as Mt. Sinai itself. Or at least the mountains in the north of Canaan.
Not that he’d seen any of them, only heard about them. But they were all higher than these foothills.
Just a little more, a little lower …
He fisted and unfisted his hands, trying to keep from pacing. He’d already received several wary stares from those in the last row of tents, wondering why he was skulking around the edge of camp.
He glanced over his shoulder. Almost. Back to the east, toward the tents of the unclean, barely visible in the distance. No one approached yet.
He’d come too early. He should have waited at his tent. But he was going insane there. Imma wanted him to eat, but he had no appetite. Zivah kept throwing smirks his way. No one mentioned Arisha, but everyone knew that was all he thought about.
At last. A tiny dust cloud kicked up, grew larger as it neared.
It slowly separated into four figures.
His heart stopped, then kicked into triple time. He shook his hands at his sides, but the tingling wouldn’t stop. If he couldn’t get himself under control, she’d want nothing to do with him. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep, slow breaths.
He opened his eyes. He could see her clearly now.
Arisha.
“Your betrothed is waiting for you.” Hannah nudged Arisha as they neared camp.
Arisha sucked in a breath as she watched him pace, then turn back toward camp. Why did he turn away? Had he seen her? Did he not want to meet her? Then why come to the edge of camp? No one asked him to come and wait for her.
He turned again and his gaze caught hers. His face brightened, and warmth flooded her.
A smile took over her face, even though she fought to remain impassive. She didn’t want to allow him to affect her so, didn’t want to give him such power. But she couldn’t resist. His excited grin conquered every defense she had set in place.
He hurried out to meet her.
Hannah squeezed Arisha's shoulder. “We’ll see you later, dear. I enjoyed our time together very much. I do hope we can see each other again soon, but I think someone else has a claim on your time right now.” She and the others veered off, leaving her to take the last strides toward camp alone.
Her heart fluttered as Zadok strode confidently toward her. Exactly what was he expecting? She was not ready to immerse herself in a new relationship—she was still saying goodbye to Miriam.
She couldn’t make her feet move, while he seemed to be gliding effortlessly to her. Her chest ached, until she realized she wasn’t breathing. She forced a breath in, then out. She glanced at him, the tents, the mountains, her feet, back to him. His soft brown eyes were locked on hers every time her gaze met his.
Before she was ready, Zadok stood before her.
He skimmed his hands down her arms, his palms barely touching the fabric of her tunic. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?” His gaze searched her face.
“I- I’m not sure.”
“I’m sure this is still very difficult for you.” His hand touched her cheek. “You know Miriam wanted you to come to our tent, to my family’s tent. She didn’t want you to be alone.”
Miriam had mentioned that. Arisha hadn’t thought about it much before now.…Was she supposed to marry him today? Right now?
“I�
��ll sleep in the pasture. I do most of the time anyway. You can sleep in the space that used to be mine. Imma is very excited to have you there. So is Zivah. I think she always wanted a sister.” He chuckled softly. “But don’t let her boss you around.”
Arisha drew in a shuddering breath.
“Are you hungry? Did you eat yet?”
“Ummm … yes, we ate before we started back.”
“Well, you might have to eat again. Imma has dates and milk and tea.…”
So many people … “Oh. All right.” She wasn’t ready to face them all yet. Could she do this?
Zadok placed his hands on her waist. “Don’t worry. Tonight it’s just Imma and me.”
Arisha released a sigh, much louder than she wanted to. “Oh, good.” Oh, no. She looked up at him with wide eyes. Did she really just say that aloud? Had she insulted his whole family?
Zadok laughed and pulled her near. “I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t be ready for everyone tonight. Zivah didn’t like it, but she’ll just have to wait.” His arms encircled her and held her close, putting his mouth next to her ear. “Besides, tonight I don’t want to share you any more than I have to.”
Arisha rested her head on his chest. Why did he feel so good? He was not making her decision to keep her heart safe from him easy.
Zadok took her small bundle from her, then grasped her hand as they strolled through camp. “Do you still have anything in Miriam’s tent? Someone sent over your mat and the dishes Miriam had when they purified her tent.”
Arisha shook her head. “No, all I owned was my other tunic.” Grief gripped her heart yet again at the thought of an empty tent. “Who is going to live in her tent now?”
“I think a priest who had another baby and is leaving his parents’ tent. I’m not sure.”
Zadok’s imma waited by the fire when they arrived. She jumped up and gathered Arisha into a hug. “Habibti, you must be so tired. It can’t be easy sleeping out there all alone.”
Zadok sighed. “She wasn’t alone, Imma. There were three others.”
“Still. No family. It’s not the same. Now sit.”
Arisha obeyed, and Adi handed her a plate of dates and goat cheese and a cup of milk. “I know you had manna, but that’s not enough.”
The Walls of Arad (Journey to Canaan Book 3) Page 9
