She sensed a presence beside her as another group caught up to her. She glanced over to see Kelila and Galia close the gap between them.
“Peninnah, why are you so downcast? Surely the feast was not that unfavorable,” Galia said. She led a donkey carrying two of Kelila’s younger children, while the older boys had gone off with their father.
Elkanah should take his boys with him, but that would mean they would have more contact with Hannah. I can’t bear that.
“I am fine, Galia. It is just the heat and the weight of the babe.” She smiled, knowing the lie was just one more thing to add to her growing list of sins. Surely her bitterness, her constant complaints, were not pleasing to God. Elkanah had reminded her of that often enough.
“She is just frustrated because Elkanah and Hannah are up ahead singing,” her mother said, butting into the conversation.
Peninnah swiveled her head to give her mother a silent glare.
“Singing? I don’t recall hearing Hannah sing in years.” Galia lifted a brow and glanced at Kelila. “What on earth would make her sing?”
“She used to sing,” Kelila said, “back in the early days, even before she and Elkanah wed. She loved to come to the tabernacle and sing. I think that was what Elkanah found appealing in her.”
Galia nodded. “Of course. I remember now. The girl even talked about her longing to join the serving women just so she could be among the singers.”
“I imagine she and Elkanah did that together when they came to work there.” Kelila glanced back at her daughters on the donkey. “But she has been so sad for so long. I’m surprised she is happy.”
“Surprised?” Galia said, giving Peninnah a look. “I’m astounded, considering what she has put up with all these years. And to think I thought I knew best.”
Peninnah flushed hot again. So her mother and her mother-in-law had both turned against her? “Don’t forget I am the one who gave your son children.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t need to listen to this.” She stalked off ahead of the group, despite the difficulty in increasing her pace.
Why was Hannah happy all of a sudden? She had been weeping at the meal, and Peninnah had felt she was so close to turning Elkanah away from her. What man wanted a weepy woman, after all? Her father never did. Her mother’s tears had only made him angrier. He’d said she was just trying to get her way and he wouldn’t stand for it.
When Elkanah had left her in tears on their wedding night, Peninnah had vowed to never cry in front of him again. Why then had Hannah’s tears made him want her more? Why had her tears turned to joy?
The thought nagged her, ate at her, and she could not fathom what the woman could possibly have to be happy about or grateful for. She was still barren. She still carried that disgrace. God still had not answered her prayers.
She had to be pretending just to get back at Peninnah and keep Elkanah away from her. That was surely it. Hannah had found a way to override her attempts to steal Elkanah away—again.
She bit her lip, turning that thought over in her mind. Well, it couldn’t last. Peninnah had plenty of barbs to bring back the sorrow and weeping, and one of these days they were going to work.
And Hannah would lose Elkanah for good.
32
Three Months Later
Hannah sipped mint water and watched Nava spin Elkanah’s newly shorn wool into thread. Her stomach slowly settled with ginger and mint, but she did not mind the discomfort in the slightest. She touched her middle, the knowledge too wonderful to believe, but the town midwife had confirmed her suspicions and Dana had assured her several times that she had all the signs of pregnancy.
Thank You, Adonai.
The words of praise never ceased. She awoke each morning with a song in her heart and laughed when she heard Elkanah whistle his greeting. God had heard! What had seemed completely impossible was possible! God had answered her prayer when she had lost all hope.
How good You are, Adonai.
She sipped again, feeling stronger at last, and slowly stood to retrieve her own spindle and distaff. “We will have many clothes to make if we are to have a baby and build you a suitable dowry for you to take when you leave us.” She met Nava’s gaze.
“We don’t know for sure that I will be leaving yet.” But Nava’s hope could not be extinguished any more than Hannah’s joy could be lost.
“Oh, you will.” Elkanah had already spoken to Raziela, who assured him that Ezer was free to marry. Though he was Hophni’s son, Hophni would not acknowledge him, so Raziela was free to keep him or sell him or free him. She intended to free him and to send him off with enough to get him and Nava started in their own home. Hannah smiled. This answer to her prayer was just one more wonderful blessing God had given since her visit to the tabernacle that day.
“But it doesn’t seem possible,” Nava said, doubt in her tone. “How can she just release him? Won’t Hophni hear of it and grow angry?”
“Hophni pays no attention to the servants except the ones who serve him at the tabernacle and do his despicable work of stealing sacrifices.” She hadn’t thought it possible, but Elkanah had told her it was true. When he had approached Raziela on Nava’s behalf, he had found Raziela eager to make the arrangements for Ezer.
“How soon?” Nava asked, the light shining in her eyes once more.
“Raziela should release him before I give birth to this little one. We shall celebrate the wedding after my days of purification are past. But we will hold the betrothal within the month. Elkanah said he is looking for a place where Ezer can build a home to take you there.”
“You both have done far too much for me. I am very grateful.” Nava brushed a wisp of hair away from her face.
“Nonsense. You never should have been sold into service in the first place. And your grandparents and mother should have reclaimed you when they could.” The thought that Nava’s family seemed incapable of caring for their grandchildren troubled Hannah from time to time. But she had always been grateful that Elkanah had rescued the child, and how glad she now was for their friendship. “I do hope Elkanah finds somewhere close where you can still come to visit. I am going to miss you terribly.”
“And I want to be here to watch the baby grow. I can’t go all these years praying for you and, now that God has finally answered, miss the joy of the child!” Nava’s words brought tears to Hannah’s eyes.
“You prayed for me?” A warm tingling moved through her, her heart full. Adonai, did You have Your people praying for me all this time? And yet the answer took so long in coming! I don’t know that I will ever understand Your ways, Adonai, but I am thankful that You saw fit to finally bless me too.
“Every day, mistress.”
Hannah stared at her. “Please, call me Hannah. You are no longer my servant. You are my friend, and soon I will give you to Ezer as though you were my daughter.”
Nava’s eyes misted. “I love you like a mother.”
They looked at each other, both emotional, spinning the thread without thought.
“And I love you as well. You are the daughter I never had,” Hannah managed at last. “We have much planning to do. You will need sheets and new garments and a robe for Ezer, and we will trade some of the cloth for cooking utensils at market. My brother can make us some clay urns for water, and cups and plates. My father cannot keep up with the work anymore, but I am glad he still lives to hold this child on his knee.”
The realization of the child still humbled her. She had begged and pleaded and demeaned herself, receiving only God’s silence, and all along He had a plan she just could not see. She was part of something bigger than herself. Part of something she wasn’t ready for in those early days. But now . . .
Now she knew it would be hard to part with this child she could not yet feel—excruciatingly so, because she already loved him. But she also knew that the God who made him would give her the strength to carry out her vow. She would give the boy back to God because he belonged to God. Because she had pro
mised. Because none of them were really their own. God, Maker of all things, was the One who gave and took away, and she had been given a great gift. Too soon she would give that gift back, because God had need of this child. Just how, she did not know, but somehow, someway, her son would do God’s will and bring Him glory.
Who will you be, little one? What will you be like?
“Do you think we can get so much made in time, along with all of the baby’s things?” Nava asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“We will enlist Dana’s help and Galia’s. I am sure all of the women in Elkanah’s household will be happy to give us aid.” Except Peninnah. The woman had spoken not a word to her since Elkanah had announced their good news.
“Will you invite Peninnah to help us?” Nava’s question startled her, causing a moment of discord in her spinning.
She stared into the distance toward Peninnah’s house, where a new infant son had brought the number of her children to six. “I am sure she is much too busy with her own children.”
Nava nodded. “She would probably just be unkind to us anyway.”
Hannah pondered the thought. “I suppose it might be an offer of peace, so she does not feel left out. All she has is her mother and her children. Even Galia does not treat her as well as she once did.”
“None of your sisters-in-law do either, from what I have seen.”
“Peninnah has brought a lot of her friendlessness on herself.” It was true. She had extended her cruelty to gossip about all of Elkanah’s sisters-in-law and even his sister, whom they rarely saw.
“I suppose I could be kind to her,” Hannah said, realizing by the shocked look on Nava’s face that she had spoken aloud.
“You’re serious?”
“I’m willing to consider it.”
Nava sighed. “Consider it. That’s fine. Just don’t make too hasty a decision.”
Hannah agreed. Peninnah was not one she cared to be close to, and even offering her an olive branch of peace was not something she was sure she wanted to do. After years of verbal barbs and angry retorts, Hannah had rather enjoyed these three months of silence.
“Maybe consider it,” she amended, the more she thought on it. “There is plenty of time to do so.”
Nava laughed. “Right up until my wedding.” When they wouldn’t need Peninnah’s help at all.
Hannah smiled. It wasn’t the kindest thought, but she was not so sure she was ready to be kind to her cruel rival.
Peninnah slammed the door to the stone house Elkanah had built for her and marched through the courtyard toward the hills. Never mind the screaming baby and noisy children clamoring for her attention. She needed to get away. Needed peace. Let her mother handle them. She seemed to think she knew the best way to deal with them. Let her nurse the boy who would not stop feeding.
She inwardly scoffed at that and nearly laughed out loud. The child never stopped. He would not sleep or let her sleep. He wanted constant feedings. And all she could think about was the fact that she had borne Elkanah a fourth son—six children, and yet he was elated over his favorite wife’s first pregnancy.
Ungrateful, wretched man! The hurt of her own thoughts cut deep, and she felt as though she was bleeding from a place deep within. Why did he ignore her so? Why was everyone against her? Would her children turn against her too once they were grown?
She would be left.
Alone.
With no one.
Even her mother would not live forever, and she was the only friend Peninnah had. The thought brought the sting of tears, which she quashed quickly with fierce anger. She deserved better.
You could learn to be kinder.
She turned the thought over in her mind.
I don’t know how to be kind.
She walked to an outcropping of rocks some distance from the house, where the sounds of her children could be blotted out, and sat, staring at the fields of wheat waving their brown stalks like greetings on the breeze.
When had her life grown so bitter? Why couldn’t things be like they had been when she was small? When Abba gave her everything she wanted, before he had turned cruel against her mother. Had he been trying to buy her affection the way she had tried to win Elkanah’s love?
Tears stung again at the way she had begged him to give her to Elkanah, but he had died before that could happen. Her mother had agreed with nary an objection, for what else was she to do? Peninnah had been certain she could make Elkanah love her like he did Hannah.
How foolish she’d been to think a man could divide his love. Why didn’t her mother tell her that men were incapable of sharing their affections? They either loved the one and hated the other or despised the one and cared more for the other. Elkanah was definitely a man designed to have one wife, and someone should have told her that. She should have seen it.
You wouldn’t have listened.
Was she truly that naïve and self-centered?
The realization felt like a kick to her gut, and she nearly stumbled with the force of it. It wasn’t true. She was not like that. She had loved Elkanah longer than Hannah had, even when she was a child.
Not with that kind of love.
Stop it! She wanted to scream her thoughts from existence. She could not go on like this. This questioning of her past, of her motives, of her whole life’s choices, had to stop. She could not have been that wrong. Hadn’t she given Elkanah his heir?
Hannah’s child could usurp that heir.
No! He couldn’t. The law said so.
She straightened, crossing both arms over her chest as a new thought hit her. Would Elkanah break the law to give the double portion to the son of his first wife? Jacob had done it with Rachel’s son. What was to stop Elkanah, especially if he outlived her?
She fisted her hands around her belt, her mind whirling. Somehow she must ensure that Elkanah did not think Hannah’s child would have any part with her son’s inheritance. He must not. Eitan must be trained in the ways of a Kohathite and learn to shepherd and plant and harvest and follow the law to be everything his father would want him to be. She would make sure. She had to make sure.
She moved forward on shaky limbs, anger and fear rushing through her like a mighty wind. She must speak to Elkanah of this. Soon. If she could get him away from Hannah long enough to do so.
Six Months Later
Elkanah walked beside Tahath, the sickle slung over his shoulder, his body feeling the aches of a long day’s work. “I’m getting too old for this,” he said, glancing at his older brother, who seemed to feel no effect from the cutting and bundling of the wheat.
“You are simply worn down by the pressures of two families.” Tahath patted his back. “Do not fear, brother. Things will improve once Hannah gives birth.”
Would they? “Her time is close now.” She had missed the Feast of Weeks, for she was too far along to travel, but still the babe had not come. Would she have a safe delivery?
“Yes, I’ve heard. Dana tells me that Ima fairly hovers over Hannah and is there with Hannah’s mother, both watching her like swirling hawks at a killing field.” He looked at Elkanah. “Sorry—that was probably not the best comparison.”
Elkanah laughed. “No, but I could picture Ima and Hannah’s mother hovering like such birds. I don’t know how Hannah remains so gracious, but I know she is glad that her mother traveled to be closer when the time comes. And Nava’s wedding is soon after, so all of the women have descended on my house and there is barely room to sit!” He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting off the start of a headache such thoughts evoked.
“You can always stay with Peninnah. Dana tells me that she will have nothing to do with the goings-on at Hannah’s house.” Tahath gave Elkanah a sly smile. “You could avoid so much commotion that way.”
“Your sarcasm is beneath you, brother.” Elkanah smirked and looked away. The truth was, Peninnah’s house was worse than the commotion at Hannah’s, for ever since Peninnah had accosted him several months ago about Eitan
remaining his firstborn with all the rights of the firstborn, he had been in turmoil.
“Just trying to help,” Tahath said.
“Well, it’s not helping.”
Tahath stopped and faced him. “Tell me what’s troubling you. You’ve been acting out of sorts for months now. I figured it was just because you were worried about Hannah giving birth, but now . . . is that all it is?”
Elkanah kicked a stone and looked toward Hannah’s house. A deep sigh escaped him. “I couldn’t say anything with Eitan here.” The boy had been working with him for weeks, but he had sent him home early when it was obvious that the binding of the sheaves was beyond his ability. “A few months back Peninnah made it very clear that she expects Eitan to keep his rights as firstborn.”
“And she would be within her rights to say so,” Tahath said, brow furrowed in concern. “The law supports her, after all.”
“Yes, I know. And I assured her she had nothing to worry about.” He glanced into Tahath’s square face. “But there is a part of me that would do as Jacob did and give the blessing to Hannah’s son regardless.”
Tahath rubbed the back of his neck, his look thoughtful. “You are not so different than anyone else, brother. In your position, I might feel the same, but I know you. Jacob’s actions came before the law, and you are too honest to go against what God gave to Moses, despite how you feel.” He patted Elkanah’s back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He began walking again and Elkanah fell into step with him.
They walked in silence for several moments, Elkanah’s thoughts moving from Eitan to Hannah’s promise to God. How would he ever bear it after all this time of waiting?
“Hannah made a vow,” he blurted as they drew near to Hannah’s courtyard.
Tahath stopped, his head tilted as if to better meet Elkanah’s gaze.
“She vowed to give our son back to God,” he said, wondering why he felt now was the right time to share what he had kept from his family for months. “The child will grow up under Eli at the tabernacle when he is old enough to go there.”
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 21
