A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “It’s the least he could have done. He should have removed Hophni and Phinehas long ago. Those men were never fit to serve the Lord.” Elkanah turned and started walking them toward their quarters. “I’m sorry. I did not mean for our last few nights here in the shadow of God’s tabernacle to focus on them. But this place, despite my devotion to obey the Lord, always brings to mind the evil that goes on here, and I wish we could stop it.” He paused. “I may have caused a problem with Phinehas today.”

  He halted his agitated walk. He hadn’t planned to tell her, and now he was opening his mouth.

  “What is it?” She cupped his face with her soft hand.

  He sighed. “He made a worthless comment about me bringing you here, and I told him he didn’t deserve to be priest.”

  Hannah gasped. “Oh Elkanah. Has it ever come to that before?”

  He saw the lines form along her brow, the worry in her eyes. “No. But I walked off before he could threaten me. If he even remembers our conversation the next time we have a sacrifice, I will deal with him then. But I suspect all of their threats are just showing off their own self-importance. They don’t have the courage to refuse a man’s sacrifice. Besides, it would mean less meat for them.”

  “But you are worried.” She took both of his hands in hers and held tight.

  He nodded. “Perhaps a little. But God will protect us. And Phinehas knew I spoke the truth. I wanted to choke the man for what he said. But at least I kept my hands at my sides.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  He laughed at her slight smile, then ran a hand over his beard. “I truly hope I haven’t ruined things for us.”

  She shook her head. “I am sure you have not. I will speak to Irit of it tomorrow. Their wives may not have much sway over their husbands, but I have come to discover that they have their ways. If I make her or Raziela aware of the situation, I think they will find a way to make their men forget the whole thing.” She bent forward and kissed his cheek. “Do not worry, my love. Phinehas does not deserve to be priest. I am certain God will deal with him and Hophni. Speaking the truth was not wrong. Perhaps you are one of the only people with the courage to do so.”

  He looked at her for a lengthy moment, love for her surging within him. “How was I ever so blessed to have married you?”

  She smiled, and he pulled her into his arms. “This place troubles me, yes, but I have far more worries that trouble me right now, my love.” She kissed his cheek and he kissed the top of her head.

  “Surely not,” he said, his tone falsely aghast.

  She nodded and looked up, wide-eyed. “Have you not realized it? In two days we return to your mother.”

  He pulled her closer. “You are right. That is a longer-standing worry, though at least it is far from evil.”

  “No, not evil. Just . . . trying.” Hannah linked her hand with his as they headed to their quarters, and Elkanah turned over in his mind again how he could make their circumstances different.

  13

  One Year Later

  Hannah walked with Dana toward the river, baskets of laundry atop their heads. How was it possible that she and Elkanah had been married well over a year and yet still she felt no stirring in her womb? She glanced at her sister-in-law, whose children were back at the house, watched over by the other women while Hannah and Dana had volunteered to head to the river.

  “You’re terribly quiet today,” Dana said as the sound of the flowing water drew near. Trees stood along the shore and the grasses grew tallest before the slow decline toward the river’s edge. The water moved at a gentler pace here, the perfect place to scrub the linens and let the water rinse the soap away.

  Hannah glanced at the surroundings, taking in the scent of the nearby fir and oak trees mingling with that of the fresh water just over the ridge. “I’m enjoying the morning, I suppose. We so rarely get this chance to be away from the household and behold the beauty God has made.”

  Dana paused in her step and met Hannah’s gaze. “This is true. And I know how much you love time to worship. You put the rest of us to shame.” She said the words lightly, but Hannah felt the slightest sting.

  “I’m sorry. I do not wish to make you feel less devoted than you all must think me to be. I just find it easier to pray away from the noise of the household.” She almost revealed that she prayed for a child, but it seemed so obvious that she held her tongue.

  “It is harder for you than it was for the rest of us. But I think Galia does not help things.” Dana touched Hannah’s arm, then turned to walk down the embankment toward the river. “These clothes will not wash themselves.”

  They knelt in the grass and took tunics and undergarments and even a few robes from the baskets, especially those of the children, who tended to drop food in their laps. Hannah took up the homemade soap and hyssop branch and scrubbed each one.

  “I can wash the personal items,” Dana said as Hannah scrubbed a small tunic, trying to hide the tears that streamed down her face. How she longed for such a tunic to belong to her own child! And the baby wraps and swaddling clothes. Her sister-in-law Kelila had borne another child during the year that Hannah waited.

  “Thank you,” Hannah managed, handing her the linens. The cool water would wash the blood away . . . along with her dreams. Every month it was the same. She knew Elkanah had to wonder what was taking so long, but he never asked.

  “Are you worried?” Dana held the linens in the water, allowing the chilly liquid to soften the fabric.

  Hannah met her friend’s gaze. “I should be, shouldn’t I? I mean, yes, I am, for Galia will not let me forget my duty. I feel her standing over my shoulder each month, adding to the feeling of failure I already have.”

  Dana nodded, then focused on the linens she was washing. At last she met Hannah’s gaze once more. “I’ve asked Tahath to speak to his father and Elkanah. I think you need to move away.”

  Hannah felt as though something had pierced her insides, her thoughts whirling with the suggestion. She swallowed hard, fighting emotions of both hurt and relief. “You want me to leave?” Surely Dana did not think such things.

  “Of course not! I don’t want you to go anywhere but where you are, but I think that living with Galia is too hard for you. I wondered when you first married Elkanah—remember, he is twelve years older than you are.” Dana pointed a finger at Hannah as if she were a child.

  “I am well aware of how young I am compared to all of you.” She didn’t mean to sound harsh, but sometimes being the youngest woman felt awkward. It was as though no one took her seriously.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Dana smiled. “How sensitive you can be sometimes! Now, don’t get offended by my suggestion. I only thought that if our father-in-law would agree to let Elkanah and Tahath have a piece of property near the end of the barley field, they could build homes for us and we could both be away from the chaos. Even Jeroham realizes that the house is too small for the many babies that keep coming.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Forgive me. You know I didn’t mean anything against you. Your time will come. Perhaps it would come much sooner if you had more peace.”

  Dana grabbed the hyssop and put her full weight into scrubbing the linens as if chasing away the devil himself. Hannah laughed at the scowl she wore in her determined efforts.

  “I think your idea is wonderful,” Hannah said, laying one of the tunics on the branches to dry. “To live near each other but away from the others—at least some distance away—would be . . . well, wonderful!”

  “Wonderful indeed.” Dana smiled again. “I wish I could think of a better word, but that sums it up. Now we just have to convince our husbands to convince their father.”

  “Galia will not be pleased.”

  Dana nodded, her expression suddenly sober. “It won’t be easy to convince anyone.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  “But I think we should try. Agreed?”

  Hannah smiled. “Definitely.”

  Elka
nah walked the length of the barley field that bordered the far edge of his father’s land. Three months had passed in negotiation with his father and brothers, but in the end he and Tahath had convinced Jeroham that his household needed to expand, and more houses some distance from the first were simply an extension of his home with a few fields in between.

  Elkanah dug his staff into the soft earth, releasing a deep sigh. The land, a gift from a grateful Ephraimite, was larger than any Levite should expect, but it had been in the family for decades now and Elkanah knew his father’s wealth was not to be taken for granted. The parcel he had requested was adequate for both his household, with room to grow, and Tahath’s bulging home. The thought of his brother’s success in this brought the sting of failure to his heart.

  Dana had already birthed three sons and recently announced they were expecting another child, while he continued to wait and watch but was too timid to ask what every man wanted to know. Does your womb grow life? But he could not broach the subject. Instead, he endured his mother’s quiet suggestions that his wife was barren, words that often came back to haunt him at night, especially when Hannah did not know that he heard her weeping.

  “You know it is within your right to take another wife if your first wife is barren.” Galia folded her arms and lifted her chin in that proud way she had. “I realize, of course, that Hannah’s father made it impossible for you to send her away, but that doesn’t stop you from adding another.”

  He stared at her, wondering why she continually wanted to meddle in his business. “I have a wife, Mother, and I am not going to discuss this with you.”

  “You have a barren wife, my son.”

  “You do not know that.”

  At his scowl she had simply raised a brow and given him a look that made him feel like a child again. He had turned and walked away then, and he increased his pace now. He and Tahath would begin building soon, and the quicker the better. Hannah’s problem was more likely his family’s treatment of her, of them, than barrenness. He’d heard of women who could finally conceive once they were in quieter settings.

  He could travel with her, visit Mount Moriah or some of the other landscapes in Israel’s history. Moriah. Where Abraham had offered Isaac, who became a man of patient waiting. A man who prayed for his wife when her inability to conceive had gone on too long.

  Had he prayed for Hannah? He stopped midstride and stroked his chin. The scent of ripening wheat wafted to him, and the sun had reached the midpoint in the sky. He glanced heavenward, shading his eyes.

  Adonai, won’t You please bless my Hannah with a son? You know how much we desire a child, Lord. Is there a sacrifice I can give, something I can do, to convince You to bless my beloved?

  He paused, listening for some response—a whisper, a sense of peace. Nothing. Had God heard? Were such prayers only heard at the tabernacle?

  A sudden feeling of fear hit him square in the gut. Had his words to Phinehas caused this? Corrupt or not, the man was a priest, and men and women were to respect priests. Even Levites needed to honor their leaders, whether or not they deserved such honor.

  Should I offer a sacrifice? An apology to Phinehas?

  He recoiled at the very idea, for he knew no apology was truly needed. He had spoken the truth. It might have been better if he had taken another Kohathite with him as witness, but as it stood, he knew his words had not been wrong. They had done no good, for there had been no change in the practice of either priest, but they were as true today as the day he had spoken them.

  Perhaps a sacrifice was in order. The next time they went up to Shiloh for a feast, he would offer a special sacrifice in case of any unknown sin that might be keeping Hannah from bearing. Surely then God would listen and answer their prayers. Though he had never prayed so specifically for her until this moment, he was fairly certain her walks alone behind the house at night were for that very purpose.

  He continued moving, examining the area where they would build the stone houses. He stopped near the river, listening to the sound of the water meandering here, rushing over rocks there, on its way to the sea. Laughter caught his attention, and he glimpsed some women on the opposite bank, one older and one much younger.

  “Peninnah, don’t get so close to the edge. You know better,” the older woman scolded. “You are almost a woman. Stop acting like a child.”

  Elkanah gripped his staff, not wanting to be noticed. He recognized Yafa and her spoiled daughter, who was by no means a woman yet. He shook his head. His mother was a friend of the irritable woman, and Elkanah had no use for women’s gossip or manipulative ways. That daughter would make some man’s life miserable someday.

  He stepped slowly back and slipped behind the cover of bushes to make his way to the place where their house was to be built, considering just how to design the house to make it most pleasing to Hannah. He glanced heavenward, a sense of gratitude filling him.

  Thank You, Adonai, for my Hannah. I would rather live with her barren all of my days than share my life with anyone my mother would have picked for me.

  The words surprised him, for he definitely wanted sons. But he realized that it was Hannah who made his life meaningful. And despite his mother’s good intentions, he would rather live with peace and no children than contention and a houseful of sons.

  14

  Six Months Later

  “I hope you know what you are doing.” Galia stood watching, arms crossed over her chest, as Elkanah and Hannah filled a cart with their few belongings. Dana and Tahath had already gone on ahead of them with no reprimand or comment from Galia. Why did her mother-in-law always make things so difficult?

  “We aren’t going very far, Ima,” Elkanah said, using the more endearing word. “I’m sure you will find reasons to visit now and then.” He gave his mother a smile, then looked Hannah’s way.

  “Of course you will be welcome,” Hannah said. She smiled but knew her lips were taut. She turned to the cart and fussed with the bedding, though she had already folded and refolded it twice. “I think we are ready,” she said, keeping her voice low.

  Elkanah moved from the cart to hug his mother, then waited as Hannah quickly did the same. He moved to take the donkey’s reins, and Hannah hurried to catch up to him. They said nothing until the house was well behind them and his mother out of earshot.

  “I can’t believe we are actually getting to move!” The exuberance in her heart brought a true smile to her lips. “And to our own home.”

  He laughed, but a moment later he sobered. “I am sorry it took six months. Between tending the sheep and the crops and dragging the rocks from the river and the fields, it took far longer than I’d hoped.”

  She took his hand and kicked a stone in the path. “It matters little now, my love. We are at last going to be truly alone. Even occasional family visits cannot change that fact.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and held her gaze. “Except for the fact that Yafa lives across the river and is almost as annoying as my mother can be at times. I hope you do not have to endure too many visits from her on her way to see my mother.”

  “Or mine,” Hannah said, chuckling. “Remember, they are all friends—when they are getting along.”

  “Well, Yafa has to get a handle on that daughter of hers. She’s going to make a miserable wife—like her mother—if they don’t stop spoiling her.” Elkanah patted the donkey’s head. “In building the house, Tahath and I often heard the girl calling foolish things to us across the river.”

  Hannah pondered that Elkanah had taken so long to tell her this. She recalled when Peninnah had acted far too opinionated for a child of thirteen. “She is about fifteen or sixteen by now, is she not?”

  Elkanah shrugged. “I didn’t ask. You would know these things better than I. She is a child.”

  “She is much closer to being a woman—in fact, she is probably already considering marriage.”

  “Which is why I hope whoever marries her is ready for a spoiled wife.” He smiled.
“I am so glad you are nothing like that.”

  She blushed under the compliment. “Well, I will continue to try not to act like a child.” She returned his smile.

  “As for my mother . . .” He paused.

  “Yes?”

  “I know she annoys you.”

  “I can’t imagine how you ever came to that conclusion.”

  They both laughed, but Elkanah soon sobered again. “We all know it is true. But I don’t honestly think my mother realizes how she acts, and truly, she doesn’t mean to be unkind. I saw a very giving side of her in the years of my youth. I think she’s just feeling less useful and is afraid of not being needed.” He searched her face, his expression earnest, as though trying to convince her to believe the exact opposite of what she had experienced in the past two years. “Try not to think too ill of her?”

  Hannah drew in a breath. She lifted a brow, giving him a curious look. “She has not been very kind to me since we wed, beloved. Forgive me if it’s hard to find reasons to see her that way.”

  “But you can understand fear, yes?”

  Why was he pushing so hard now that they were moving away from his mother?

  She nodded. “Yes. I can understand fear.”

  “That’s where her caustic tongue comes from, Hannah. She fears so many things. She fears I will never have a son. She fears growing old. Think about how she must have felt to give Meira away and replace her with daughters-in-law. Her sons don’t show her the time or attention Meira used to. They simply don’t have time with all the work of the household.”

  Hannah felt a sudden longing for her own mother and father. She hadn’t seen them in weeks, months even. It wasn’t a daughter’s place to go home to her father’s house once she married. Did Ima miss her as terribly as she missed them?

  “I imagine being a mother is a hard thing from either perspective. Having a child and then having to give it up someday . . .” How could she possibly do such a thing? She touched her middle, where a babe should lie, and sighed. She could never do it. If God ever saw fit to give her a child, she would keep it close, boy or girl, all her days.