“Just because we trust God doesn’t mean He gives us everything we ask for,” Hannah said softly. “You do want your children to trust Him, do you not?”
“Of course! What kind of a mother do you think I am?” Heat filled Peninnah’s cheeks.
“Enough!” Elkanah’s gaze hardened, and she could not hold it. “Let us eat in peace, shall we?”
He set about to serve them portions of the food they had brought with them. Tomorrow they would feast again after the sacrifice, when meat would be in abundance. But tonight the meal was the start of celebration, a taste of things to come.
“What happens after your father offers the barley sheaf to the priests?” Yafa asked Peninnah’s children as they began to eat the bread and stew offered them.
“They give a wave offering,” Eitan said, sounding pleased with himself.
Though Elkanah insisted on asking the questions every year, Peninnah was never sure the boys would answer correctly. A wrong answer made her feel like a terrible mother. Besides, even she thought the ritual rather meaningless, despite Elkanah’s explanations. She tuned out the responses and tried to ignore the way Elkanah spoke to Hannah and not to her.
They seemed to take great delight in this feast, and the realization left a sour taste in her mouth. What did they see in these festivities that she missed? How was God satisfied with barley sheaves and two loaves of bread?
But worse, why did she always say the wrong thing when Elkanah was around? Now it would take months once the feast ended to get Elkanah to come to her. And she would be large with child by then, keeping him away even longer. She chewed her bread slowly, casting a narrowed look Hannah’s way. The sound of the woman’s laughter at something Elkanah—or was it the children?—had said made the headache greater. She was so weary of this woman. Weary of her life.
Somehow she must come up with a way to make things better. She could not continue like this. Her mother’s advice all those years ago to make Hannah miserable had carried no effect. The woman was as pleasing to Elkanah as she had always been.
I must be doing something wrong. Perhaps if she was nicer to Hannah . . . But the thought caused more caustic words to form on her tongue toward the woman who had the one thing she didn’t. Her husband’s love.
Peninnah was determined to take it from her, whatever the cost.
28
Elkanah rose early from Hannah’s side before the sun crested the horizon. That she seemed to be sleeping peacefully was a relief, for he couldn’t help but hear her quiet weeping in the night.
He donned his robe and slipped from the tent. The last wisp of stars had all but vanished, but the moon still clung to the side of the sky as though it feared dropping into the abyss. A sigh escaped him as he raked a hand through his hair. The camp still slept, but he wove his way past his family’s tents toward the surrounding hills. Perhaps if he prayed here, prayed harder.
The tents seemed endless as he attempted to move in silence between them, until at last he reached the outskirts of the camp. He climbed the top of the hill and peered down on the sleeping Israelites. The hint of dawn caused a gray hue to lighten the horizon, and he wondered how God caused the dawn to continue on its course or the night to be so black. If not for the moon and stars they would have no light to see. No earthly lamp could illumine such deep darkness, nor could it illumine the darkness he felt filling his soul.
There is so much evil in this place, Adonai. Hophni and Phinehas make a mockery of Your sacrifice. My children will grow up thinking the priests’ actions are normal. And the woman I love most on earth feels worthless because You have stopped her womb. Why must it be? Do You not hear the cries of Your people? Why are You silent?
He raised his hands heavenward, the weight of them like the heaviness in his soul. How was he supposed to go on year after year with this sameness? Nothing ever changed. Peninnah only grew angrier and treated Hannah worse with each passing year. The priests’ corruption went unchecked. And he was helpless to stop either one.
What can I do? He lifted his head to gaze upon the coming dawn.
Trust Me.
Had he heard the words aloud? Surely he had conjured the thought from someplace deep within himself. And yet, he sensed in his spirit that was not true. Did not God answer prayer? Moses himself had said that God was near when people prayed to Him.
What can I do? A sense of uncompromising trust filled him. Wasn’t that why they offered the sheaf of barley, the first fruits of the ground, to wave as bread before the Lord? And wasn’t God Himself the bread of heaven, the One who had rained manna down on the children of Israel during their days in the wilderness? Perhaps the wave offering of two loaves of leavened bread was another way of giving acknowledgment to man’s sin and God’s goodness, for leaven could not sit upon God’s altar even as sin could not enter His presence.
Only by the blood of a spotless lamb could the high priest enter the presence. And then only on the Day of Atonement—because of the blood and the incense, the prayers of the people.
All of it a symbol of trust.
Trust Me.
His spirit had felt the words more than heard them.
“I will trust You, Adonai Tzva’ot.” He lifted his hands higher. “Praise Your holy name, for You are worthy to receive honor and glory and riches and power. All men bow to You. You are great and mighty, and You are good.”
He still did not fully understand, for who could understand the Almighty One, the Lord of Hosts? But as he picked his way back down the hill with the breaking dawn, he knew he could survive even the frustration and evil around him. Because now he knew. God saw. And He would not remain silent forever.
Hannah walked with Nava past the camp to the housing for the Levites—more specifically, to Raziela’s home. “We won’t be long,” she said, glancing at her faithful maid, who had stayed on with Hannah three years past her seven years’ service.
To Hannah’s frustration, Elkanah had not yet found a man who would marry a young woman who had been a slave most of her life. Surely there must be someone who could support her maid, her friend. If she were wed to another servant, they would never be able to leave a life of service, even when the Sabbath year said they should be free, for they would not have the means to support themselves. Not with the way the people had grown used to living during these corrupt times. Not unless someone could help them get started.
“Take however long you need, mistress.” Nava’s smile, always genuine, warmed Hannah. They turned onto the lane that led to the priest’s stately home. “I hope you find what you have come for.”
Hannah gave her a curious look. “I have not come looking for anything.”
Nava raised a brow. “Oh, of course, I know you just want to give Raziela your greetings.” She studied her feet. “It’s just that . . . I sense you are seeking something more. Forgive me if I have spoken out of turn.”
Hannah stopped, eyeing her servant’s too-perceptive look. Nava had been at her side through almost every one of Peninnah’s pregnancies, comforting her. She knew Hannah as well as Hannah would allow any woman to know her. Was she right? Was Hannah seeking Raziela for more than a greeting?
“I do not know if I seek more than mere renewed acquaintance,” Hannah admitted. “I am curious about many things, but whether those questions arise in our speaking remains to be seen. I do not even know if the woman will invite us in.”
Nava nodded her understanding, and the two moved closer to the priest’s door. Hannah’s heartbeat quickened as they climbed the grand steps leading to the home’s entrance. Nerves taut at the very thought of running into either priest, she knocked on the door, glanced at Nava, and waited. A servant opened to them, a young man who looked by the length of his beard to be nearly twenty.
“We are here to see Raziela,” Hannah said, looking him up and down. He looked familiar, but she could not determine why. “Have we met before?”
The young man looked at her, his expression wary. “No, mistress. I d
o not think we have met.”
Hannah tilted her head, studying him. “I didn’t see you when I visited here years ago? Of course, you would have been a child. Have you lived long in this place?” Was this the young man Elkanah had told her about?
The young man’s color heightened. “As long as I can remember. My mistress tells me that my mother died in childbirth, which is why she took me in.” He bent and motioned for them to sit in order for him to wash their feet.
Both women sat on an intricately carved limestone bench and allowed the young man to wash off the dust that had accumulated beneath their sandals.
“I’m sorry to hear that about your mother. Have you no idea where the rest of your family is from?”
“No, mistress. I have no other family that I know of.”
Hannah pondered the thought but not for long, as Raziela strode into the room, her beautifully adorned robe flowing effortlessly as she walked.
“Hannah! How good of you to stop by to see me.” She extended both hands, and Hannah took them and squeezed. The young man quickly finished drying her feet and returned her sandals to her. Hannah stood and walked with Raziela into the sitting room, while Nava stayed in the entryway.
“So tell me, how do things fare with you?” Raziela asked as they sat and accepted cups of spiced fruity water from a servant.
“I am well. We—that is, Elkanah’s family has grown since he took Peninnah to wife, but I remain his alone.” She refused to use the word barren, for it caused an ache in her soul.
“I sense that Peninnah is not an easy sister-wife to share him with.” Raziela’s eyes held compassion as she leaned forward to better face Hannah.
Hannah met the woman’s gaze. “No. She is not. She does her best to make my life miserable.” She chuckled. “I do try not to let her win.”
Raziela smiled, but her gaze narrowed. “And yet she causes you great pain.”
The words, said so certainly and with such kindness, brought a lump to Hannah’s throat. She released a deep sigh. “Yes,” she said, unable to say more.
Raziela took her hand again and held it. “If I can help in any way, please do not hesitate to ask me.”
Hannah nodded. “There is nothing to be done unless you have the ear of God to pray and ask Him for a child. At least then she would only accuse me of stealing all of Elkanah’s love.”
“I will pray for you, dear Hannah.” She looked briefly away. “Though I will admit, He seems silent to the prayers I pray as well.”
Hannah’s interest piqued, and she searched her friend’s face. “Tell me.”
Raziela smiled. “Oh, you know. It is always the same with Hophni and his brother. Irit and I are often troubled and offer secret sacrifices when Eli allows it. We want the corruption and sexual sins to cease. We want to see the women they abuse go back to their families, not die in childbirth or end up as personal mistresses of our husbands. But apparently we are not enough for them, and God is not listening.”
Oh Adonai, why do You not hear?
“The young man you were talking to,” Raziela interrupted her musings. “He is one of those born of a young woman who died in childbirth. We knew of no family, so I took him in. He has served me since he was old enough to know his right hand from his left.” Raziela touched her temple and closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I grow weary of it all.”
Hannah’s mind whirled. “You have seen many women give birth here?”
“Too many. Of course, many of the mothers live and go home to their fathers in disgrace.” Raziela’s gaze grew distant. “Though not all of them can.” She shook her head, and silence followed the remark. Hannah wondered if her friend would say more. “Some go on to serve and are not permitted by our husbands to keep their children. Some beg to leave and try to take the babies with them, but their families will not take them in. It is a sad situation.”
“How many children?” Hannah rubbed her arms, but the chill would not abate.
“Perhaps thirty?” Raziela shrugged. “I’ve lost count. My servants raise them. I just make sure there is food enough and clothing enough to keep them warm and fed. When they grow up, some of them work in the fields and are not kept here in the house. Our husbands acquired more land than they were allotted by forcing some of the men of Shiloh to give them fields. The children, when they are old enough, work the land.” Her chest lifted in a deep sigh. “I fear . . . I fear God is going to bring disaster on us for the sins of our husbands.”
Hannah felt the chill grow deeper inside her. Would all of Israel feel the effects of the priests’ sins? What would happen to Raziela and Irit?
“The young man you mentioned earlier,” Hannah said. “He is about the age of a child born to a friend of mine whose body was found in the woods of Ephraim. It is possible he has a grandmother still living.”
Raziela looked at her, eyes wide. “How can you know that? We searched for family members . . . that is, Hophni said he searched . . .”
“He has the features of one of the old women in our village,” Hannah said, wondering if bringing this up was wise. “Her daughter, my friend Lital, worked here about twenty or so years ago. Elkanah’s sister and I found her body. It was evident she had borne a child, and her mother later confirmed it, yet she had no husband.”
Raziela’s hand covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. “And you think one of our husbands is responsible.”
Hannah held her friend’s gaze. “There was never any proof, except for the fact that she worked and lived here. No one ever found the body of a baby, boy or girl.”
“And they searched.”
“For weeks. Some even searched the river.” Hannah’s hands shook as she spoke, and she again questioned why this mattered to her and why she was so certain that the young servant belonged to Rinat. What if she was wrong?
“I have no way of proving you are right or wrong, Hannah.” Raziela’s expression held sorrow. “I do not know his mother. All I know is that one day Hophni handed me an infant and said the child had no one else, do something.”
“You knew he was Hophni’s child though.”
Raziela gave a brief nod. “He also looks like his father. But he can never lay claim to the rights of the priesthood, for he is illegitimate and Hophni would never admit that he is his child.”
“I am sorry for you,” Hannah said, wishing now she had not brought up the subject. “I should greet Irit as well, but I must get back.”
Raziela nodded and stood. “I understand. Thank you for telling me about the possible grandmother. Perhaps someday we can find a way for them to meet.”
“Yes. Perhaps we can.” Though she had no idea how that would be possible.
The two women walked to the door, where Hannah found Nava speaking with the young man in question. She looked between the two. They were of similar age, and . . . was that a sparkle in Nava’s gaze?
“Thank you for your time,” Hannah said as they bid the two farewell. They walked down the steps until they reached the street, where they were alone.
“Perhaps it was not just me who came looking for something,” Hannah said, giving Nava a knowing smile. “What was his name?”
Nava blushed a delightful shade of rose. “Ezer. It means help. Rather fitting, isn’t it?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes. It truly is.” They walked in silence a moment. “Do you think he likes you?” A servant couldn’t very well ask his mistress to let him marry, but perhaps Elkanah could approach Raziela.
Nava nodded. “I think so. He is very interesting. I would like to get to know him better.”
“Perhaps you shall.” Hannah hid a smile. She must speak with Elkanah soon.
“And did you find what you came for?” Nava asked.
“Yes and no.” She looked heavenward and sighed. “I found that some things might never be answered unless God reveals them, and sometimes evil men marry godly wives.” She looked at Nava. “I am glad that I have to share Elkanah with only one other.”
29
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br /> The visit to Raziela had taken only a brief part of the morning, but Hannah slowed her step at the sight of Peninnah standing beneath her tent’s awning, watching the road. Was she looking for her?
Hannah shook herself and hurried into her own tent, away from the woman’s scowl and her presence, away from the worry of the woman’s scorn. If only she could avoid her altogether.
“You know we can’t hide from her indefinitely,” Nava said, as if reading her thoughts. “She’s probably wondering where we went and why we aren’t already there to prepare for tonight’s feast.”
Hannah sank to the woven rug that doubled as a sleeping mat. On feasts like this, they did without the comforts they were used to at home and slept on the ground with little cushion between them and the hard earth.
“I’m too tired to deal with her.” She met Nava’s gaze. “I slept fitfully last night, and I feel as though I have aged in the two days we have been here. I’m beginning to think, by the signs my body is telling me, that my chances and my days of ever conceiving are coming to a swift end.” She didn’t have actual proof of that, but when she woke up aching, she felt as though her body had betrayed her yet again.
Nava came and knelt at her side. “If you but say the word, I would bear a child for you. He would be yours to raise and name. At least then you could have reason to ignore Peninnah’s taunts, for you could focus on your son.”
Hannah’s chest felt tight with an emotion she could not name. If she truly trusted God for a child, she would be faithful and wait. She could not do as Rachel and Leah had done. What a mess they had caused each other and Jacob!
She looked at Nava, so young and comely to look upon. But she could not give her to Elkanah. “And what of Ezer?”
“Ezer is a servant who will likely never be free to live away from the priest’s house. He will probably never marry.” The look in Nava’s eyes told Hannah that they had at least alluded to their futures in that short time away from their mistresses. Did Ezer truly believe that he would never be released? Surely Raziela could be convinced.
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 18
