She approached the courtyard and heard the commotion of children coming from inside the large house. A few of her sisters-in-law were working in the courtyard, but there was no sign of Galia.
“Welcome, Peninnah,” Kelila called out. “You are just in time to help us make the raisin cakes.”
“She didn’t come all this way with a babe to cook,” Varda said, setting her spindle aside and hurrying over to see Aniah. “He’s beautiful, Peninnah. You’ve done well, my sister.”
Peninnah smiled and lifted her chin. “If only my husband felt the same way.”
Varda frowned, and Kelila moved from the entrance of the house to join them. “Elkanah is not spending time with you?”
“He stops by now and then to see the boys, but he doesn’t stay. I try to get Hannah to do something about it, but she won’t.” A twinge of guilt accompanied the lie, but right now all she wanted was sympathy.
Batel, married to Elkanah’s second-oldest brother, gave her a thoughtful look. “Hannah is Elkanah’s first wife, Peninnah. You cannot expect her to willingly share him when you know even Elkanah did not wish to marry you in the first place. He had his heart set on Hannah for years. There is nothing you can do to change that.” She continued to spin wool into thread as Galia burst through the door.
“I knew I heard voices! Has my newest grandson come to visit me?” Galia rushed to Peninnah’s side. “Come, come, Peninnah. You must sit and rest.” She glanced beyond the gate. “And you came alone? I would have thought your mother would join you.”
Peninnah’s jaw clenched at the subtle hint that Galia would have preferred Yafa’s company to her own, but she kept her feelings hidden. “Ima stayed home with the other boys. We thought it best to let them rest.”
“Oh?” Galia’s brow lifted. “Have they been ill?”
Peninnah sighed, debating between the truth or a lie. “They are still napping and Ima preferred to let them. I needed time away, so here I am.” She spoke with a lilt on the last word, hoping her smile was convincing enough. “Besides, I have missed you.” She was not sure now that she had made a wise choice. She should have walked to the fields and found Elkanah instead, as Hannah often did. Why hadn’t she thought of it?
“Well, we are glad you came. Now let me see this grandbaby.” Galia took a sleeping Aniah into her arms, cooing softly to him. She would wake him and Peninnah would be forced to feed him again. Irritation spiked, and she suddenly wished she had never left the house. Elkanah’s family was not sympathetic to her at all! Curse them!
“So how are my other grandsons when they are not napping?” Galia asked as Aniah lay in the crook of her arm, still sleeping.
“They are well.” She paused, looked at her three sisters-in-law, and then met Galia’s gaze. “Though they do miss their father.”
Galia returned Peninnah’s look with first acknowledgment, then a frown. “Does Elkanah not spend time with them? Surely by now Eitan goes with him to the fields. Jeroham used to carry Amminadab on his shoulders as he inspected the fields or cared for the sheep. Eitan is past three, is he not?”
Peninnah nodded. “He is not yet trained,” she admitted, “so Elkanah refuses to take him until he is older.”
Galia looked at her, a hint of astonishment in her dark eyes. “Not trained? Whatever is taking so long? My boys were well behaved and able to hold their water by two years of age.” Disapproval weighted the air, and Peninnah longed to drag the words back.
“Some children take longer, Mother Galia,” Kelila said, smiling. “Don’t be too hard on the girl. At least she has given Elkanah sons.”
Galia’s expression softened. “Yes. Yes, she has.” She beamed, her gaze taking in Peninnah. “You have done well, my girl. You have done what Hannah could not, and believe me, Jeroham and I are most grateful that our son is not without an heir.”
“I just wish Elkanah felt the same way. I fear that he is unhappy with his sons because they are not Hannah’s offspring.” She gave a slight pout and looked at her feet.
The sound of shifting feet and hushed whispers came from the other women, but Peninnah could not make out the words. At last Galia spoke. “If my son is not pleased with his sons, I will speak to him. It is a father’s duty to train them, and he cannot shirk that duty just because Hannah is not the mother.”
“They are still too young,” Batel said, her voice sterner than Peninnah expected. Perhaps Hannah had more supporters in this family than just Dana. “You heard Peninnah say they are not trained. Elkanah is likely waiting a little longer.”
Peninnah looked up to see Batel meet Galia’s darkened gaze.
“Give Elkanah time, Mother Galia. It is Peninnah’s job to raise them until he can take them off to teach them the tasks they must learn.” Batel glanced at Peninnah, her expression sour.
Peninnah stared again at her feet, feeling the heat of anger rise up her neck.
“Well, enough of this,” Galia said, handing the baby back to Penninah. “You must be hungry after that walk. Let me get you something to eat.” She hurried into the house, her absence followed by silence.
“I remember what it was like to nurse,” Kelila finally said, offering Peninnah a smile. “You are always hungry.”
Peninnah nodded. When Galia returned with a tray of dates and cheese, she accepted the food, grateful for the change of subject. “He does eat a lot.”
“He’s growing. Of course he eats often.” Galia smiled, but even she seemed to have cooled toward Peninnah. Did Batel have such power as to cause even Galia to grow unsympathetic to her plight?
She finished a date and stood. “I really should go.” She moved to retrieve the basket with Aniah’s linens, covered Aniah with a blanket, and held him near her heart. At least her children loved her. And her mother, when she wasn’t being caustic.
“Do give your mother our greetings,” Galia said as Peninnah moved toward the gate. No one attempted to stop her, and she struggled to understand why. She had not said anything bitter, had she? She had merely suggested that Elkanah could spend more time with the boys, hoping that Galia might take it upon herself to intervene, as she had when Peninnah married her son.
“Thank you, I will,” she said without emotion, though her thoughts were spinning wildly out of control. She walked to the road heading home, barely acknowledging the goodbyes from her sisters-in-law. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she walked, but she straightened her back and clung to her son, unwilling to let those who might still be watching see how vulnerable she felt.
No one in the family, not even her husband, cared about her or her needs. No one loved her except her boys, and they were too young to know what love was. They simply needed her. And they did need her. A wave of relief swept briefly over her. Being needed was almost as good as being wanted.
But as she passed Dana’s house and approached Hannah’s, she realized just how erroneous were her conclusions. Being needed didn’t last.
24
Four Years Later
Elkanah kicked at dusty stones along the path to Shiloh. Tahath held the donkey’s reins while a perfect lamb rested on Elkanah’s shoulders—an offering he had taken to giving every time he performed his Levitical duties. Surely God would hear his prayers soon. Surely.
Memories of Hannah’s request to come with him flitted through his mind. Why had he refused her? She enjoyed accompanying him and working with Raziela while he was busy performing his yearly tasks. But the truth was, he needed time alone, away from both women, the children, his household.
Even Hannah? A sigh escaped.
Tahath turned to meet his gaze. “Those thoughts must be troubling.”
Elkanah quickened his pace to come alongside his brother. “Call it guilt, I guess.”
“Guilt?” Tahath leaned closer. “You have done nothing wrong, Elkanah.”
“Sometimes it feels that way. I can never please Peninnah, and with each new babe, she grows increasingly bitter. She has three sons and two daughters, and just last w
eek she told me another is on the way, yet she is never happy unless I spend every moment with her. So I flee to Hannah’s house, but if I talk about the children, she grows quiet and sad. I can’t please either one of them!”
Tahath smiled and nodded his condolence. He stroked his beard as if searching for the right words.
“And don’t tell me it’s my own fault for marrying two women.” He already knew it was. He should have been stronger, should have stood up to his father and refused. Even if the law did make provision for a man with two wives, it was not so in the beginning. He knew in his heart that God intended marriage to be between only two—one man and one woman—not three or four. Or many, as the heathen kings did in their bulging harems.
“So do you want honesty or do you want me to lie to you?” Tahath’s dark eyes grew serious. “You know having two wives is always a struggle. It was why you didn’t want to do so in the first place, if you recall.”
Elkanah shifted the lamb’s weight on his shoulders. “Am I so weak that I couldn’t even make my own decisions? How could I have allowed our mother and father to convince me that this was wise?”
“It did give you sons.”
“And if I had died without them, would it have really mattered? You would have all divided my inheritance and given more to your children once Hannah was cared for.” Was he even glad for having had children?
“You would have eventually come to regret growing old with just Hannah and no one else to care for you in your old age.” Tahath chuckled. “Admit you made a mistake and let it go, brother. You can’t very well change things. If you divorced Peninnah, what would happen to her children? The law clearly states that Eitan is your firstborn and heir whether you love Peninnah or not. Even if Hannah bears a child, he can’t usurp Eitan’s place. And you can’t send Hannah away to find peace with Peninnah because of your agreement with Hyam, so I suggest you learn to live with the situation.”
Elkanah scowled at Tahath, who looked away, still chuckling. “I see no humor in this.”
Tahath only laughed harder. “I’m sorry. I was just picturing your life if you hadn’t married Peninnah. Mother would have been on your doorstep every day with a new suggestion. You know she wasn’t going to quit.”
Elkanah gave him a withering glance, then let himself fall back a pace. He should have brought Hannah. At least she would have taken his mind off Peninnah. She had made it a point to never complain about the woman. It was only the children who seemed to bring her pain. And though he would rather do as Jacob had done with Joseph and give the favored wife’s son the double portion, he knew the law, and he couldn’t in good conscience ignore Eitan’s rights as firstborn. Was his distancing himself from Eitan and Peninnah’s other children causing the discord he felt?
Oh Adonai, I’ve made such a mess of things. Please let this offering I’m coming to give You be acceptable, and in Your mercy answer the prayers of Your servant.
Would God answer? What would happen if He finally gave Hannah a son? How could Elkanah make himself favor Eitan above any child Hannah conceived? Though he knew if he didn’t give Eitan his rightful place, Peninnah’s bitterness would only increase. A child born to Hannah—was it even possible?—would surely make everything worse.
He closed his eyes briefly, wishing the thoughts away.
Shiloh stood as a shining city in the distance. They would be there long before nightfall. Then Elkanah would offer the sacrifice and greet the priests—and their wives for Hannah’s sake—and perhaps even ask Eli to pray for Hannah. If he could summon the courage to do so.
The sacrifice went better than Elkanah expected. Even Phinehas seemed to have lost some of his arrogant edge. Perhaps Tahath’s presence rather than Hannah’s had made a difference in the priests’ attitudes. Perhaps God had heard his silent prayers.
Weariness filled him as he made his way to the rooms where he and Tahath would sleep. Evening sacrifices had ended, and after a quick meal, Elkanah found himself longing for a place to lay his head.
He passed Levites and some of the children of the priests as he walked through the buildings adjacent to the tabernacle. He had thought to stop in to give Raziela Hannah’s greetings, then decided tomorrow would be a better day. But as he looked toward the end of the row where the priests’ large homes stood, he saw her walking toward him.
They met before Elkanah could turn aside to one of the sleeping rooms. “Shalom, Raziela. Hannah sends you her greetings.”
The woman wore a troubled look but managed to offer him a smile. “She is not with you?”
Elkanah shook his head. “No. Not this time.”
“She is not ill?”
“No.” He fidgeted, not wishing to lie, but he was not about to confide in this woman. “Perhaps she will come next time.”
Raziela nodded and looked beyond him, appearing distracted. “Did you see a young man pass you recently?”
Elkanah clasped his hands behind him and took a step back. “There are many men, young and old, coming and going here. Would this be someone I know? A fellow Levite, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” She looked this way and that, clearly thinking about the object of her question. “He is a servant of mine, raised in our home since he was but a babe. His mother died giving birth, so I took him in.” She met Elkanah’s gaze. “It was the only thing to do since Hophni said the child had no other family.”
Elkanah gave her a curious look. “How old is this boy?”
“About sixteen. I sent him on an errand some time ago. I expected him to return by now.”
“I’m sure he will.” Elkanah studied the woman a moment, his mind whirling with past rumors. Could Raziela have taken in Lital’s child, whose mother, Rinat, was now old and frail but would fairly leap for joy to know a child of her daughter’s lived? “Do you want me to help you look for him?”
Raziela glanced at him, then turned slightly to head home. “No, no. Do not trouble yourself. I am sure he will return.” She moved past him, her skirts flowing after her in the breeze. How much did Raziela suffer from Hophni? How much did Irit know of Phinehas’s dealings?
If this boy was truly Lital’s son, then Raziela was a better woman than Hophni was a priest or a man. Surely she knew. But had she heard the rumors of Lital’s bereaved mother behind the walls Hophni had built to keep her in? Did Raziela know the boy’s mother had died and left a widowed grandmother who could have cared for him?
Oh Adonai, why do You not act? Why do You let the evil go on and on? Why do You allow your place of worship to be continually defiled? When, Lord? When will You send us a deliverer?
Might that deliverer be him? He examined his heart as the moon shone down on his exhausted body. I am willing, Lord. He would do anything to bring back what Israel had lost.
But thoughts of Hannah and Peninnah flashed in his mind’s eye, and he knew he could not leave them and all of his responsibilities to lead a charge against the priesthood. Could he?
Are You asking it of me?
He knew that God spoke to prophets in visions and dreams, but despite his devotion, despite his eager desire to help, to fix things, despite his prayers for a deliverer, never once had he had such a dream or vision. Never once had God told him to go and lead.
The thought pained him, and he shook it aside. Until God called him, he was in no position to bring charges against the priests or to replace them with worthy sons of Aaron, if any could be found.
He could barely manage his own household. How could he ever imagine himself capable of making a difference in anything here?
Hannah sat in the shade of the sitting room, where she had moved the loom from the heat of day. With summer upon them, she could no longer work with the sun blazing down on her. The robe for Elkanah was taking shape beneath her skilled hands, and she was anxious to finish the work before he returned at the end of the week.
How long a week could seem! She worked tan threads through the weft, her heart aching with missing him. Nava’s company hel
ped, but it was not the same. She glanced at the girl sitting opposite her, spinning freshly dyed wool into useable thread. Together they had made many garments and large lengths of cloth to sell to the merchants.
“The robe is coming along nicely,” Nava said, interrupting her musings. Of late, despite Nava’s company, Peninnah’s taunts had put Hannah in a perpetual state of sadness—to the point that Nava had again offered herself as a replacement. Hannah always refused, more determined than ever to find the girl a husband. Surely Elkanah would agree.
But how lonely she would be then. She even stayed away from Elkanah’s family except on special occasions or feast days because she knew Peninnah was the accepted one there. If not for Nava and Dana . . . but no, she could not let herself dwell on what was not.
“You agree, yes?”
She looked up at Nava’s comment. “Yes, yes. It is. I hope Elkanah is pleased.”
“Oh, you know he will be.” Nava’s voice carried a comforting lilt, and Hannah looked up from her weaving and smiled.
“That wool accepted the dye better than I expected, thanks to your extra time stirring it. I think the green will mix well with the tan and red.” She spoke for something to say, but a moment later she returned to her weaving in silence. She chewed her lip against the ever-present bitterness, wondering just when she had become so obsessed with having a child. One did not go against Adonai’s wishes, and He obviously had decided that she was unworthy to bear children. What more was there to be said?
Approaching footsteps and a woman calling through the open door soon broke the quiet. “Shalom, Hannah. Are you there?”
Hannah bristled at the sound of Galia’s voice. She nodded to Nava to rise and greet her.
“Welcome, Galia,” Nava said as she met the woman at the entrance. “Would you like some water and some sweets to refresh yourself?” She backed into the room, allowing Galia to sweep inside as if she belonged there.
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 15
