Galia frowned, looking Hannah up and down. “Your wedding week is over, and unless you are waking up with the morning illness of pregnancy, I suggest arriving a little sooner.”
“Forgive me.” Hannah’s stomach twisted as it always did when Galia seemed displeased, even if that displeasure was not aimed at her. This was the first sign that her new-bride status was over. She looked quickly about the area to see what still needed to be done. But Alona and Batel were working two grindstones, and Dana and Kelila were making flatbread and stirring the quick wheat porridge over a large clay kettle. Varda and Orah were shooing the children away or caring for young babies.
Panic nearly swept over her that she had missed the important tasks, until she saw the dates and raisins and apricots resting on a board on the courtyard wall. She could make her mother’s best topping for the porridge. Surely that would please Galia.
She moved quietly to the side to work, chopping the fruit and heating it over the fire, stirring in some honeycomb at the last.
“What are you doing?” Galia came from behind, her tone hard.
Hannah startled, nearly spilling the contents of the pot she’d been stirring. “Forgive me,” she said again. “I thought to make my mother’s topping for the porridge. I saw the dates and raisins and apricots, and the recipe is so simple . . .” Her words trailed off at the glower on her mother-in-law’s face.
“Did you ask me? How do you know I did not have other plans for those things?” Galia put both hands on her hips and shook her head, then whirled about and stormed off, leaving the courtyard.
Dana stepped closer to Hannah and glanced into the pot. “That smells wonderful. The porridge is almost done and I’m sure it will taste delicious.” She glanced toward the place Galia had been and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t listen to her. Well, listen to her—I don’t mean we shouldn’t try to please her, but the truth is . . .” She glanced toward the door once more. “You can’t please her. Nothing you do will ever be right. So don’t let it concern you.” She smiled, then moved back to the kettles with the porridge. She had spoken too softly for even the other women to hear, and Hannah wondered if Dana would be the only one brave enough to show her kindness. Up until now, Hannah had not felt truly welcomed by anyone in her new home.
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to give in to tears. She was a grown, married woman after all. There were obligations that came with living in the home of her father-in-law, and she simply must get used to that fact.
But as the day continued, the atmosphere around her mother-in-law did not improve.
Elkanah left the field where his brothers tended their flocks to hunt for a tree he could chop into boards to make a stout door. His brother Tahath had offered to help, but his father could not spare any of the others. Refused to spare them was more the truth of it. It had taken half the morning to convince his father such a door was necessary.
How much had Hannah suffered in silence in the few weeks they had shared his room? Everything they said and did could be heard through the curtain, especially if someone was passing by or purposely chose to listen. He fisted his hands, frustrated with the whole situation. His room was much too small for the two of them. And what if a child were to soon come along? The house was bursting with too many people as it stood, and each new marriage had only made things worse.
“This looks like a good tree,” Tahath said, stopping at a medium-sized oak. “Once we cut it down, we will have to cut and smooth the pieces and tie them together. I hope you don’t think we can get this done in one day.”
Elkanah glanced at his brother, then assessed the tree. “We can if we both work hard.”
“Father expects me back in a few hours. I’m afraid most of the work will be up to you.”
“Then I will work until dark.” He grabbed his axe and swung at the base, landing a clean blow. Anger fueled his strength, and the tree fell faster than he had imagined.
“Perhaps you will finish today.” Tahath patted Elkanah’s shoulder. “What’s eating at you, brother? Already weary of your new bride?” He laughed, but Elkanah did not join in.
“The problem is not Hannah and you know it. It’s this household. It’s Mother and Father and the way they treat her. It’s a room that’s too small with no privacy for a newlywed couple, and a young bride who has to deal with seven women who are all older than she is and look at her as though she knows nothing.”
Tahath picked up his axe and began to shave the bark from the tree. “I won’t argue with you there. But you’ve always known what they are like. And the house is too crowded. Why Father wants to keep it smaller than it needs to be makes no sense.”
“Has anyone else besides me spoken to him about this? For all the good my requests have done, I’m ready to move out and build a place of my own.” Elkanah stopped, surprising himself at the vehemence of his words. He had not even given this arrangement a chance. There was no need to rush off and change everything yet. Perhaps when the first babe came along.
“Amminadab tried talking to him about it before your wedding. Of course, he has the double portion, so for him there is no problem. He has plenty of room.” Tahath scowled as he continued to work. “I personally think that Mother has been keeping Father from acting on your behalf. I don’t think she ever got over your refusal to marry sooner—and someone of her choosing.”
“Well, it was not her place to choose for me. She pushed beyond the mere polite suggestion.” Elkanah grabbed a handful of sand and began to smooth the wood Tahath had cut. He would still need to cut leather straps to hold the wood together and make a strong latch, but his anger toward the situation continued to feed the speed of his work.
“You and I know that,” Tahath said. “But our mother is rarely pleased unless she gets her way. You’ve known that your whole life, so it shouldn’t surprise you.”
Elkanah looked up at this brother, closest to him in age. They had always seen life from a similar perspective, something he could not say about his four other brothers. But then the others were not deep thinkers like Tahath. How often had they sat with the sheep under the stars and talked of God? Tahath shared Elkanah’s curiosity about their Creator, as Hannah did.
“It doesn’t surprise me, but it angers me,” Elkanah admitted. “Hannah has been the girl I longed for since she danced one time at the feast in Shiloh. I watched the look of awe in her eyes, and I saw the way she worshiped Adonai. Any other woman Ima thought right for me never impressed me the same way.”
“It sounds like you made the right choice. Give it time, brother. Hannah will fit in eventually and Mother will accept her—grudgingly, perhaps, but she will have no choice. She can’t make you divorce Hannah, so she might as well learn to live with her.” Tahath handed a long cutting of the log to Elkanah.
“Let’s hope she agrees with you.” Elkanah rubbed more sand over the wood, wondering if even a door would be enough to separate Hannah from so much antagonism in his father’s household.
10
Hannah stood in the courtyard later that evening, watching the road. Elkanah had not arrived in time for the family meal, but sometimes the men stayed with the flocks. She knew this. Yet he had given no indication that this was his plan, so was his promise to make a door keeping him away so late?
Her shoulders ached with the tension as she worked the spindle and distaff in the growing dusk. She had never watched anything being made out of wood, but he would have to cut a tree to get the wood in the first place. She should have told him to take his time, that there was no rush. They had survived the curtain these past weeks—a few more days would not matter.
She peered again at the road, straining to see him coming her way. Footsteps behind her made her turn. Galia stood in the entryway, her eyes narrowed, her gaze moving from Hannah to the road.
“He has not come yet?”
Hannah shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Humph.” Galia stepped through the door and entered the courtyard. She t
ook a seat on a bench opposite Hannah, closer to the courtyard gate. “Tahath said Elkanah was determined to finish making a door for his room. Ridiculous idea. The curtain is perfectly fine, some of my best weaving, and how does he think he’s going to attach wood to the stone frame?” She looked at Hannah. “You put him up to this.”
Hannah’s stomach roiled, and she feared she would be sick against the accusation. Was this what her life was going to be like from now on? Would there be no living with this woman?
Oh Adonai, she’s right. It’s my fault. What if something has happened to him?
Fear crawled up her spine, a reminder of how she and every other woman in town had felt when they found Lital’s body in the woods. They weren’t safe. Not like they used to be. Though there had always been the threat of bandits and wild animals, this new fear for safety had remained at the fringes of her heart.
For months, during her wedding preparation and Meira’s wedding celebration, she had been able to push the uneasiness aside. But now, as she sat alone with Elkanah’s mother, it came to its ugly head. Whatever would she do if Elkanah died? Even if he were hurt, she would be to blame.
“We discussed a door,” she said once her voice grew steady again. “I’m sure he will be here soon.”
“You know nothing of the kind.” Galia crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the road. Did she plan to sit with Hannah the entire night until Elkanah arrived?
Hannah couldn’t leave now. She had intended to sit in the court until dawn if she had to. But to stay in Galia’s presence . . . A sudden longing to run away, to run home to her mother and father, rushed through her.
“Are we working out here in the dark?” Dana carried a lantern and lit one of the torches that stood along the perimeter of the court, and Hannah released a relieved sigh.
“We are waiting for Elkanah,” Galia said, her tone still curt.
“Oh, that. There is nothing to worry about. Tahath told me that Amminadab and Korah were helping him bring the door home. It was heavier than the two could carry, and you know Amminadab. Stronger than some of the oxen I’ve seen.” Dana laughed, obviously trying to lighten the mood. She was married to Tahath, Elkanah’s closest brother. No wonder Hannah felt such kinship with her.
Dana sat between Galia and Hannah. “They should be along shortly,” she continued when no one else spoke. “I’m sure they are fine.”
Galia muttered something Hannah could not hear, but when her gaze was on the road, Hannah exchanged a look with Dana. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
Dana simply nodded and smiled and took up her own spindle and distaff. She worked with Hannah in relative silence except for an occasional grunt from Galia.
The moon rose higher until at last the women saw movement on the road ahead. Elkanah’s father and brothers emerged from the house and headed down the road to meet the men. When Hannah at last heard the sound of Elkanah’s voice, she wanted to sing, but instead she quietly set her spindle aside and rose quickly. Galia jumped up and ran ahead of her through the gate and down the road. Before Hannah could reach the bend in the road, Galia stood at Elkanah’s side, plying him with questions, ignoring the heavy load he and his brothers carried.
Hannah caught his words as she walked closer to the group. “Mother, I am fine. You had no need to worry or fuss. It just took longer than I expected to make the leather straps for the latch.”
“Enough, woman,” Jeroham barked. “Stand back and let us get this into the house. We won’t sleep until Elkanah hangs this thing, so step aside.”
Hannah moved to the edge of the road, though Galia moved barely at all, receiving another scowling bark from Jeroham. Hannah sighed and turned to walk back toward the house. She would melt into the wall if she must until the door was in place and she could hide behind it with her husband. What she wouldn’t give to move away from these women. Except for Dana, she would miss none of them.
Hannah touched the edge of the door as she passed through their room on her way to the fields. A month had passed since Galia’s impassioned objection to Elkanah’s door, but at last the woman seemed to have accepted the change. Though Hannah still struggled to accept Elkanah’s household.
She stopped in the cooking rooms, deserted now since the morning meal had passed, picked up a basket from a shelf, and filled it with some leftover bread from the morning’s baking, a round of soft goat cheese, and some choice dates recently picked. She would check the garden behind the house on her way to meet Elkanah to see if the cucumbers were ripe enough. Someday soon she would make a cucumber sauce for him to dip his bread in . . . if his mother would allow it.
She glanced about the large room filled with shelves and cooking utensils and even a large oven that vented to the outside for them to bake their bread. Elkanah’s father had definitely amassed a good living. Surely he could grant more of it to his sons.
At the sound of footsteps, she snatched up the basket and hurried through the back door. She did not wish to face Galia and have her come up with some reason to stop Hannah from spending the day in the fields. Perhaps it would be better to wait until next time to visit the garden.
She slipped around a corner of the house and half ran toward the path Elkanah had taken earlier that day. Guilt filled her that she was abandoning her work, but it had been Elkanah’s idea for her to join him, and she did bring her spindle and distaff.
She tucked the scarf tighter about her neck against the wind and continued her hurried walk, looking this way and that. When at last she could see the house in the distance and the fields just up ahead, she slowed her pace and released a long-held breath.
Elkanah stood and walked toward her, glancing behind him at the sheep eating among the grasses. She picked up her pace and ran into his arms.
“Well, this is a greeting I could get used to.” He swung her around, basket and all.
She laughed. “And coming to see you is something I could get used to.”
He set her on her feet and kissed her soundly, then took her face in his hands. “Do you know how much I love you?” He brushed his thumbs across her eyebrows down to her cheeks, then kissed her again.
“You have a nice way of showing it.” She smiled up at him, wishing this moment could last forever.
He turned and walked her toward the sheep and the place where he had settled beneath a terebinth tree. “The others have split the flock and taken some of them elsewhere to graze. And three of my brothers are with my father, checking the olive groves.”
Hannah smiled again, a feeling of ease settling over her. “The grape harvest and olive ingathering are two of my favorite harvests. I hope your mother will allow me to help,” she said, watching his expression. “At my father’s house, pressing the olives was always a time of celebration and joy.”
“If my mother gives you any difficulty, you must tell me. I will speak with her. But,” he said, gently taking her chin in his hand, “you also must try to ignore her slights.”
“I try.” Hannah sighed, sorry she had mentioned Galia at all. She did not want to ruin this moment. “Dana is teaching me not to let her words wound me. I think your sister-in-law may become a good friend.”
He touched her arm. “I am glad. I have hoped that at least one of the women would befriend you.” He glanced at the basket she held and rubbed his middle, which rumbled at that very moment. “Did you bring me something good?”
She chuckled at his hopeful, almost childlike expression, feeling a release of the tension that had built up for weeks. “I have bread and some cheese I made last week, and some of the dates we picked a few days ago. I would have brought more . . .”
“This is plenty.” He lifted the cloth she had placed over the food and picked up the bread, broke it, and shared it with her.
“I wish I could come out here with you always.” She looked at him, courting a smile, hoping he did not think her ungrateful. “It is easier to pray and worship Adonai here than in a noisy household.” She spoke truth, for she tru
ly did miss walking in the fields behind her father’s house, but felt a hint of guilt that she had used worship to cover her desire to complain.
“I too find it easier to pray here than I do even at the tabernacle when it is my turn to serve,” he said, apparently unaware of her wistfulness. He reached for her hand. “And you may join me in the fields whenever you feel the need.” He took the goat cheese, pulling off a small hunk and popping it into his mouth.
“You may find I am here every day.” She touched his cheek, feeling the softness of his beard. “But of course, that would not be possible.”
“No, I suppose it would not.” He took her hand again and looked out over the sheep, silent for a moment. She knew he was mentally counting to make sure they were all there.
“Let us pray things improve at home and in Shiloh,” she said.
“I have to take my turn there next month.” He looked at her. “Do you want to come with me?”
She held his gaze, wide-eyed. “You can do that? But what would I do? And would it be safe?”
“It would be safe. I would check on you often, and when I cannot be near, you will stay with Hophni’s wife. At night you would be with me.”
She searched his gaze, memories of Lital flashing through her thoughts. “And Hophni’s wife can be trusted?” How skeptical she sounded.
He nodded. “Raziela and Irit both detest their husbands’ indiscretions. I have no fear for you if you are in either of their homes.”
Relief filled her, and she threw her arms about his neck. “Yes, yes! I would love to go with you!” To be alone with her husband without fear of censure . . . What could be better?
He pulled her down beside him in the grasses, both of them gazing at the heavens. “In a month then. We will be together without strife.”
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 6
