She didn’t flinch. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
“I haven’t said anything yet because I was waiting until you were ready, until you were no longer mourning Miriam.”
She opened her eyes and looked deep into his. “I’ll always miss her. But I think I’m ready to think about the rest of my life now.”
“So … we can have the second ceremony now?”
She nodded. And gave him that smile that melted his heart.
He’d kissed Marah once. His heart beat harder, his breath came faster. But that was nothing compared to what Arisha did to him. Just being near her left him more off-balance than kissing Marah did.
His blood pounded in his ears as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He brushed his lips along her cheek, barely touching her skin. His heart raced when her hands settled at his waist, then slid up his back. Moving his hand to cradle her head, he covered her mouth with his. She tasted of the mint tea she was so fond of. Her lips were softer than he’d imagined, and the heat from the contact spread from his head to his feet. He never wanted to stop.
Completely unprepared for the rush of emotion that overtook him, he pulled back. Hoping she couldn’t hear his heart slam against his chest, he fixed his gaze on hers. Was she as affected as he was? Did he move too fast?
She seemed to be breathing as fast as he was, so … maybe she felt something too?
“Arisha,” he whispered.
She stared at him, exacting a promise with her eyes. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”
At the moment he’d promise her anything—the moon, the stars, all the milk and honey in Canaan. That he’d never leave her? Easy.
Eleven
ZADOK TOOK THE FRESHLY WASHED tunic his mother handed him as she emerged from the tent. He inhaled deeply, and the faint but familiar scent of mint filled his nose. He hadn’t accompanied her to the spring to wash clothes since he was a small boy, but he could still remember her tossing leaves in the hot water she used to rinse their clothes—a habit their savta Meri had brought with her from her days in the palace in Egypt. Meri favored jasmine, she said, but jasmine didn’t grow in the Sinai desert. “Thank you, Imma.”
“You’re welcome, habibi.” She reached up to touch his cheek. “Have you talked to Arisha yet about a time for your wedding?”
Heat crept up Zadok’s neck. “Actually, last night.”
Imma grinned. “I thought your smile was wider this morning.”
“She finally said she was ready. We didn’t talk about when, though.” He grinned. “Tomorrow would be fine with me.”
Imma laughed. “She might need a little more time than that. We have to prepare a robe for her.” She put a finger to her lips. “Just a moment…” She ducked into the tent, and emerged with what appeared to be a tunic.
He pointed to the garment. “What’s that?”
“It’s the robe I wore. And Zivah wore.”
“Ah. I remember.”
Imma draped it over her arm, fingered the blue borders. “Still just as blue as the day I married your abba. Hasn’t faded at all.” Her voice was soft, as if she were speaking to herself more than to him, no doubt remembering every last detail of that day.
“Probably like everything that has remained the same for the last thirty-nine years. Nothing’s worn out.” He glanced around camp. Not the tents, their clothes, their sandals. Only one more year …
She held up the robe. “She’s only a bit shorter than Zivah. It won’t take long to alter it to fit her.”
“I need to get to the pasture and let Reuben go home. Want to walk with me?”
“Sure. Just a moment.” She refolded her tunic and set the soft, blue-edged garment inside the tent, then wrapped her arm around his bicep as they sauntered toward the sheep.
“Abba says he waited for you for fourteen years.”
She laughed. “Yes, he reminds me of that often, especially when he wants me to do something for him.”
“Do you remember it the same way?”
She waved a hand. “Well, of course I was a very small girl for the most of that time. But I will say that before I was attracted to him or even interested in boys, whenever I thought about my future, it included him. I somehow knew he would always be an important part of my life. Like the sun rising every day, or manna falling every morning, I knew my ‘Mose would always be there.”
“And when did you know you would marry him?”
“My fourteenth summer, when Abba and Imma started mentioning other boys. At that point the vague impression I’d had of him in my life became very clear. I wanted no one else. When I told them, first they were shocked, then they laughed. He’d been telling them that for years. They just never believed him.”
“He never showed interest in anyone else?”
“You know your father. He loves everyone, talks to everyone. He is the most compassionate, caring man I know, always has been. So they thought he wasn’t ready to pick one and settle down, when he was only being friendly and waiting for me.”
“Amazing.”
“Yes, he is.”
Zadok smiled. Not really what he meant, but his parents’ affection for each other was comforting. Could he keep a relationship like theirs for so long?
She stopped walking and pulled on his arm. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
“What?”
“You know that Abram across the way died last month?” She squinted against the sun.
Zadok grimaced. “He was a mean old man.”
Imma put her hand on her chest. “Zadok! What a horrible thing to say!”
“Well, he was. He yelled at Zivah and me almost every day for doing nothing more than playing.”
Imma shrugged. “I think he was sad, and lonely. His wife died many years ago, and they never had children.”
“Isn’t his nephew living there now?”
She nodded. “He was. But he’s moving in with his mother. She is ill and wants them closer. The tent is empty, and no one in his family wants it. I spoke to the nephew and you can have it. If you want it.”
Images flashed through his mind—happy, delightful pictures of life with Arisha. “That would be perfect. Just a few tents down … close enough so she won’t be lonely while I’m gone … “
“Lots of room for babies …”
Zadok’s cheeks flamed. “Imma!”
She laughed.
Averting his gaze, he picked at the hem of the tunic in his hand, but the thought of children with Arisha warmed his heart.
“It will be a week until the tent is cleansed. I took some honeyed manna cakes to the nephew and his wife yesterday after they returned from the funeral. I thought to welcome them, but that’s when they said they weren’t keeping the tent. They said you could have it, but I think maybe some milk would be appreciated.”
“Of course. I’ll gather wool for them as well.”
“That’s very sweet of you, habibi. You know, I think they were just happy to know a family would be there once again. He told me how often they had visited Abram, and that they had asked him several times to come live with them and their children, but he refused. He kept saying he wanted to be left alone.”
“Some people are only happy when they’re not.”
“That’s an odd way to put it, but I think you’re right.”
Danel watched silently from the edge of the training field as Aqhat put the newest recruits through the drills yet again. The clang of iron on iron rang in his ears as one line of perhaps twenty young men advanced against another. Aqhat had distributed the heavier weapons today, after a couple weeks with wooden swords, and several of the young men were having trouble with the added weight under the burning sun.
Not Mika.
Danel wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with his fingertips and smiled. Like it or not, Mika would make a good soldier.
It wasn’t so much that soldiers were bad. They protected Arad, protected their king, their way of life. Aqhat was a warrior. D
anel knew many other fine soldiers and was thankful for their services.
So why did it bother him so much that Mika wanted to join the army?
Danel closed his eyes as memories skittered though his brain—of Shiba sitting in his kitchen, tears coursing down her cheek from another blackened eye. The power and prestige had taken over Kirtu’s personality and transformed a loving husband into a man who expected to be worshipped at home as he was on the battlefield. And when Shiba and Mika didn’t move fast enough, he took out his frustrations first with his words, then with his fists. Since Mika was too little, Shiba received the brunt of them all.
And when she finally had a new and happier life, a gentle and faithful husband who also worshipped Yahweh, an adorable little girl and a baby boy, that horrible accident claimed not only her but her husband as well. Mika was left without a father—again—and Danel and Yasha were left with three grandchildren to raise.
Was Mika strong enough to resist the bad influence the army might have on him, as it had on Kirtu?
Then of course there was the issue of the Canaanite gods. Officers were required to make sacrifices on a regular basis and on all feast days. And the feasts were notoriously decadent. Aqhat managed to avoid them by assigning himself guard duty. And at his age it wasn’t suspect. But a young man like Mika? He would be expected to show up and partake of all the feasts had to offer. And Danel doubted Mika would have any problems enjoying the wine, the food, the music … the girls. Fidelity was not a quality to be admired among Canaanite warriors.
And what about worshipping the false gods? Mika had no regard for Yahweh. He would fall right into line and believe stone idols could protect him, keep him safe in battle, grant him the life he wanted.
Danel knew better. He’d prayed often enough to them as a child, sacrificed grain, watched his mother sacrifice wine, give her last coin. But now he knew the difference between them and the only Living God. Why hadn’t he been able to show Mika that difference, make him see, make him believe? He closed his eyes and winced at the thought, pain piercing his heart as fully as one of the swords on Aqhat’s training field.
The strident sound of a horn’s blast drew his attention back to the present. The recruits brought their swords to their sides, chests heaving. A few had dribbles of dark blood running down their arms where they had failed to block an opponent’s blow. The swords must be dulled, as none of the cuts seemed deep.
Aqhat shouted something Danel couldn’t make out, and the men divided into pairs and practiced sparring while Aqhat made his way to Danel.
“He looks good, no?”
“I must admit, he does.”
“He can go very far, very fast.”
“I pray it doesn’t go to his head. That is exactly what happened to Kirtu. And we know how that ended.”
Aqhat placed his sword tip down into the soft earth at his feet, resting his hands on the pommel. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll slow him down as much as possible. The ranks above him are actually overfilled, so it will be easy to keep him back for a while. He won’t be quite as powerful and influential as he wants. But he’ll still get his commission, and be able to marry, so maybe that will quench his hunger some.”
Danel paused a long moment. “But I don’t want him to marry her.” He spoke almost to himself.
Aqhat chuckled. “You don’t really have any say over that now, do you?”
Danel exhaled a long breath. “I know.”
“Not that he’d want one, but it’s not like there are many Yahweh worshippers around here for him to choose from. And he wouldn’t know who they were, anyway.” Aqhat glanced up at the sun, now at its highest point. “Tomorrow? Your house?”
Danel nodded slightly. “Sunset.”
They watched in silence a while longer, then Aqhat signaled an attendant, who blew the horn again. The men halted, then formed two lines.
“Time for the midday meal. Want to join us?”
“Perhaps. Let me see if Mika wants to talk.”
Aqhat nodded and led the line of recruits into the long, low shelter built next to the outer wall of the city. Just a roof held up by wooden poles—barely enough to keep out the sun and rain—it sheltered the men during meals and instruction. A single table lined with benches and set with pottery plates and bowls stretched the length of the shelter. As the men headed for seats, two cooks approached, one with an enormous, steaming pot of what was most likely stew, and the other carrying a massive platter of meat.
The line of sweaty young soldiers-in-training passed him, and Danel reached out to touch Mika’s shoulder. His son tensed, stopped. The men filed around him.
Mika turned slowly to face him. “Yes?” His eyes held a coldness Danel had never seen.
Yahweh, help me. Danel stopped himself from flinching and instead smiled. “You looked really good out there.”
Mika softened—almost imperceptibly. If Danel hadn’t been looking for a reaction, he’d have missed it. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind if I eat with you?”
Mika hesitated, stiffened again. “Why? Want to talk me out of staying?”
Danel resisted fighting back. “No. I just wanted to see you. Spend a few minutes with you. I promise I won’t try to change your mind.”
“All right.” He held up one finger. “But one word about the army, or Demna, and you’re gone.”
Danel noticed four other young men who had not yet taken their seats standing about six long strides behind Mika, arms folded across their chests, eyeing Danel.
Danel nodded. “Sounds fair.”
All six walked toward the shelter. Three took seats at the end on one side. The fourth scooted in on the other side, then Mika sat next to him, leaving Danel the last seat.
The cooks moved behind them, ladling the fragrant stew into bowls and plopping generous amounts of meat onto the plates. Danel held up a hand to stop them, but he was too late. He’d never eat that much. “Looks like they feed you well enough.” Danel chuckled.
Mika gave a hearty laugh Danel hadn’t heard in months. “They do. It’s not as good as grandmother’s, but there is plenty of it.”
A crack in the wall. Not a big one, but a start. Thank you, Yahweh.
Twelve
ARISHA ROLLED OVER ON HER mat. How long had she lain awake? She reached toward the flap, but couldn’t stretch quite far enough. She shoved her body forward until she could push aside the tent fabric. The sun had painted the sky a dull gray at this early hour.
She could either keep lying there, or get up. She tossed aside the light blanket and grabbed her sandals. She ran her fingers through her hair, then crawled out, dragging her cloak behind her.
Shivering, she shrugged into her cloak. Spring was nearly over, but the mornings were still a bit chilly, especially in this oasis surrounded by hills and low mountains. The cloud above them kept the air warm enough to sleep comfortably, but the morning still had a bite to it.
She picked up the empty pot left by the fire last night and headed for the sand that lay beyond the tents to collect the day’s manna. Only a few other women were out yet, and the quiet allowed her to recount the conversation in her mind over and over. Why did she tell Zadok she was ready to marry him? The smile in his eyes—he was so happy. But was she really prepared?
She told him she was because every time he touched her, or smiled at her, she lost all rational thought. All she wanted was to be near him, to be protected by him, to be loved by him. To finally have a home. Forever.
But no one could promise forever.
And that was the problem. As soon as she let her life become entangled with his, she would end up alone. Again. Somehow, she always did.
But she had no choice. She had to marry someone, and it may as well be him. The thought of it terrified her.
She finished gathering the manna and took the pot back to the fire pit. No one else was awake yet. She looked south toward the pasture and smiled. Was Zadok up yet? Why did she long to see him so badly?
She headed south, and was almost at the wall when Zadok hopped over. Drawing near, he laid his hands on her upper arms. “You’re up early. I was just coming to eat.”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come see you.”
He frowned and stepped back, his eyes skimming over her. “Are you well? Is something wrong?”
How could she tell him the truth? “No, no, I feel fine. I just wanted to see you alone, before the whole family awakened and it became too hard to talk to you.”
His face relaxed and a smile took over. “You can always come here to see me. It’s just me and the sheep. They won’t tell.”
She giggled and took his hand. She led him back to the wall and sat.
He perched on the wall next to her, pulling one leg up so he faced her sideways. “Did you want to talk about anything in particular or should I just tell you how beautiful you are?” He pulled her close, almost in his lap, and nuzzled her neck.
She leaned into his chest. “When do you think we should have the ceremony?”
“Tomorrow.”
She smacked his arm. “Be serious.”
“I am serious. I only say tomorrow because it can’t be this afternoon.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“Yes, I am.”
She laughed. “No help at all.”
“No, I’m not.”
“All right, then, what about after the next Sabbath?”
He pulled back, his brows rising. “In three days?”
“That would be after this Sabbath. I said next Sabbath.”
“In a week?”
“Ten days.”
He tilted his head. “That’s long enough for you?”
“You want to wait longer?”
“No! Of course not. I just thought you would.”
She shrugged, then quickly added a smile. Don’t let your fear show. “Yes. It’s long enough.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
She pulled his head toward hers and kissed him the way she should kiss him after they were married. That should convince him. It was enough to convince her.
He moaned and pulled her even closer for another moment while his breathing slowed. “I guess you’re sure.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. When he looked up, he reached into the bag he kept tied to his belt, and pulled out an object wrapped in lambskin. “Since we’ve decided on a day, you can have this.” Holding it in one hand, with his other he turned hers palm up. He slid the object into her hand and set aside the skin.
The Walls of Arad (Journey to Canaan Book 3) Page 12
