by Misty Moncur
By the time we had reached the southern border of the land of Melek, I had talked to almost all of them.
At the sight of the yellow fields below, I slowed my pace and sidled up beside Gideon.
“I was wondering when you’d get to me.”
“Well, it’s not now.” As if I could say my last goodbye here, like this. Did he think he was the same to me as the others were? Did he think I had kissed them all in the guard tower? “I was just wondering if you were going to stop to see your parents.” I gestured to the fields we were passing.
“Not this trip,” he said. “If we went there now, my father would make everyone help with the harvest.”
“The other men would help. They’re strong. They would be willing. Perhaps it’s fortunate that you’re here during the harvest.”
“There is nothing fortunate about this trip,” he said quietly.
“Well, I don’t suppose we can change our minds now.” I recognized an unauthorized note of wistfulness in my voice and hoped Gideon hadn’t noticed it.
But he had. His eyes shot to mine.
I looked away from him. I couldn’t help but think of the things Enos had told me. Was Gideon not so very firm in his decision?
I changed the subject quickly. “Gideon, how come you don’t like your parents?”
I had met his father several times when he had come to bring provisions for the striplings. I had eaten barley he had harvested with his own hands. He was a very nice man and very much like Gideon.
Gideon looked at me with surprise. “I love them.”
“But you resent them.”
He lowered his voice a little. “It’s difficult for me to accept their decisions. I can’t always be there to protect them.”
“I understand that, Gideon, I do. I still wonder if my father’s death was necessary, if it could have been prevented, if he could have shown his commitment in some other way. And I think of that time with Mother in the meadow. I can’t stand to think of what might have happened if I hadn’t been there or I hadn’t been able to protect her.”
Gideon looked down at me. “I forget sometimes that every man in this army struggles with the same feelings.”
“You just called me a man.” I feigned offense.
“And you, Kanina, just called me Gideon.”
I had been avoiding that. I had been trying to call him Gid or Captain like the other men did. But to myself, I thought of him as Gideon. I always would. Gid was my commander. Gideon, my friend.
I wore a bracelet with gold discs my mother had given to me. She said it had been my father’s. I loved it, but glancing ahead to see that no one was watching us, I slipped it off.
“I want you to have this,” I said to Gideon. I hadn’t planned it, but I suddenly loved the idea of him having it.
He stared down at the bracelet in my hand. “I can’t accept that.”
The reluctance in his voice stung, but I could see his hand was halfway poised to take it, so I quickly pressed the bracelet into his hand.
I thought of that moment he had eased my hand away from his scar. Had nothing changed within his heart? Was I the only one of us who fallen in love?
“Ket, I can’t take it.” But he clutched it in his hand. “I couldn’t wear it. Everyone knows it’s yours.”
That’s the point! I wanted to cry, and I don’t care what everyone thinks. But I did care. “I want to talk to Lib before we get there.” Without waiting for him to give the bracelet back, I jogged forward to catch up to Lib where he walked with Ethanim at the head of the party.
When Lib noticed me at his elbow, his posture changed, and he gave me a sad smile.
“So this is to be goodbye,” he said.
“It had to come sometime, Lib. We cannot stay at war forever.”
I had already spoken to Ethanim early on, but he kept pace with us. I thought he would discreetly fall back, but he didn’t, even when I made my eyes wide and nodded to the rear in a gesture that told him to disappear.
Ethanim grinned. “Lib was hoping for a more private goodbye.”
I understood immediately, and I could see by Lib’s embarrassment that he hadn’t wanted Ethanim to blurt it out like that. “Okay,” I agreed quickly. “I’d prefer that myself. In Melek then.”
When I fell back to walk next to Zeke, he smiled at me. “Did you get everyone?”
I hadn’t discussed it with Zeke, but everyone could see what I was doing, trying to have a last conversation with each of the men I now loved so much. My heart was breaking a little more with each goodbye, but through the sadness I could feel the excitement of returning home.
“Almost.”
“What were you and Gid talking about?”
Had he seen me pass over the bracelet? “His parents. I asked if he would stop to see them before he goes back to Manti.”
He quirked a brow.
I laughed. “Did you think we were planning to run away together?”
“If I did?”
“You have so little faith in me?”
“I guess I never thought of you two as being friends.”
I knew what he thought, and it was true. But it couldn’t matter, not anymore.
When we arrived in the village it didn’t take long for the word to spread that a band of striplings had marched in.
The curious and welcoming faces of the people greeted us as we walked in a group down the main road of the village. When we neared Zeke’s home, Dinah came rushing out to greet us on the street.
She flew into Zeke’s arms first, hugging him tightly and then stepping back to hold him at arm’s length and look at him. Then she glanced around.
“Your brother is not here?”
Zeke shook his head. “No. And I am not here to stay. We are escorting Leah and Keturah home. They will be staying.”
She was disappointed at his words, but she continued hugging everyone—Micah next, Mother after that, and they hugged and giggled like girls.
As I watched this, I noticed Cana and two of her little sisters come forward. Cana hugged Zeke, but the other girls were too shy—they barely knew him.
The rest of my unit stopped in the road and watched the happy reunion, perhaps wondering what their own reunions with their loved ones might be like.
Dinah finished greeting both Mother and Kalem and stepped toward me.
“Where is Hemni? I asked as she enfolded me in her arms.
“He’s out at the tannery. He’s got Isabel with him.”
When she released me, Cana stood at her elbow waiting to embrace me.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you hear about the betrothal?”
“I can’t believe it either. And yes, I heard.” I wanted to ask her so many questions about it, about how it had come to be—all the things I couldn’t ask Micah.
All Micah had told me when I finally asked him about it was that he had taken some extra time during one of his embassies to Zarahemla to travel here and discuss it with Hemni. That wasn’t nearly enough information for me.
“Good. Then we may speak openly about it.”
I stepped back and searched her face. Her eyes were bright, but her mouth was slightly pinched. She was happy with the arrangement, but nervous. I caught a shy glance she sent toward Micah, and I was convinced it was what she wanted.
“Here, let me introduce you to everyone.” I led her around the crowd of men, my unit, who had no family here to greet, and I introduced her. Each one in turn laid an appropriate hand on her shoulder and said hello. The way they looked at her though, I wanted to announce she was spoken for. I sent my own glance to Micah where he was conversing with some of the men from the village, and I wondered if perhaps he should be standing here next to us.
“And this is Gideon—Gid,” I said.
Gideon gave me an all too knowing glance before he greeted Cana.
Cana sent me a glance of her own. She knew about Gideon. She had bee
n my only confidant before I had left the village. But that had been four years and a thousand experiences ago.
“Keturah and I are to be sisters,” Cana said brightly, rising up slightly on her toes in her excitement.
Gideon stilled but gave her an uncomfortable nod. I could see he fought to keep the smile on his face, and the glance he sent me then was much darker than before.
“Cana is—”
“Zeke’s sister,” he finished. “I’m familiar with the way it works.”
I had been going to say Cana was to be betrothed to my brother, but I didn’t get the chance because Dinah was herding us all to her home so she could feed us. Other women were already bringing more food.
“Gideon,” I began again.
“It’s Captain,” he said.
Both amused and exasperated, I said, “You’re no longer my captain.”
“Then it’s Gid.”
“Alright,” I said, trying not to show how it hurt me. “You misunderstand.”
“What is there to misunderstand? You’ve wasted no time in betrothing yourself to him.”
And before I could respond or refute this, an accusation the way he said it, he stalked away.
“I’m going to wash up in the stream,” I told Cana quietly.
She hesitated, her attention shifting toward the busy yard. “I should help my mother serve the food.”
“So should I,” I said, recognizing that here in the village my role would be different. “But I need a few minutes alone.”
She had heard the whole exchange and sent me away with a sympathetic look.
“There will be time to talk later,” she said.
I nodded and hurried away. How wonderful it was to talk with Cana again. I would be bidding farewell to many friends, but I was returning to friends, too.
I sat on the edge of the stream, not washing up at all.
“Is it true?”
I hadn’t even heard his footstep behind me, but of course he had come.
“No, it’s not true. Well, yes, Cana is to be my sister, but because she is going to marry my brother.”
He sat beside me and put a comforting arm around me.
“Why does it have to be so confusing?” I asked him and dropped my head onto his shoulder.
“If you are still conflicted, perhaps you have made the wrong choice.”
I sighed. “You’re not exactly in a position to give me advice about men. You’re completely biased.”
I felt him smile. “I am the only one to give you advice, because I love you. I would never lead you astray.”
“Lib, that is not helping,” I whined pathetically.
“Your happiness. That’s all I want. You can trust me, Keturah.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past four years?”
“Fighting me, complaining, disagreeing, sneaking away unprotected…”
I laughed and looked up into his worried eyes.
“I don’t like leaving you here,” he said, his eyes roaming over the forest I loved. “With no walls, no guard towers, no embattlements.”
The village was vulnerable. His worry was not unfounded, but this was my home. “If there is danger, we can run to the walls of Melek. I will be fine here.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You’re not fine, Ket.”
I sighed. He wasn’t talking about my home any longer.
“So, Gid thinks you’re already betrothed to Zeke,” he said. “Why does it matter?”
There was a sudden tightness in my throat. “I don’t know.”
But of course I knew. I had hurt him. It was exactly the thing he had tried to prevent that day at the Sidon when he said he would yield to Zeke. That had nothing to do with Zeke. He meant to spare me from having to hurt one of them.
And I had done nothing but hurt all three of us over and over.
“You have chosen between them?”
I nodded.
“Zeke?”
I nodded again.
“And the Spirit has confirmed this?”
I looked up at him and knew my anguish and confusion showed on my face. “I think so.”
He searched my face until I turned away and rested my head on his shoulder again. He stayed silent and strong beside me while I thought glumly about things. I had grown to find comfort in Lib’s presence, but I knew I had to stop relying on him.
“Ket,” he said quietly. “If you plan to betroth yourself to Zeke soon, what difference does it make if Gid believes it’s true now? It is doubtless better anyway. It will help him move on.”
I nodded slowly. I hated the idea of Gideon moving on. “It’s just, I thought Zeke would speak to Micah, make the arrangements while he was here,” I confided quietly. “I thought that was why he came. But as far as I know, he hasn’t said a word to Micah. I don’t…” I swallowed hard. “I don’t think he wants me.”
Zeke and I had rebuilt our friendship, but I knew I was still very different from the kind of woman he wanted for a wife. I wasn’t the kind of woman who could prepare a meal. I was the kind of woman who could prepare a meal with one hand and slit a throat with the other.
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to encroach upon Micah’s own happy betrothal.”
So the news of it had been announced in my absence. Everyone knew. Of course he didn’t want to infringe upon his sister’s happiness. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Perhaps he’d like a chance to speak to his parents about it, or spend some time with his family before he takes on other obligations, a consideration Micah did not have to make before taking a wife.”
I hadn’t thought of that either.
“Or perhaps he waits for you to know your own heart.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t want you to marry me because you thought you had to. I doubt Zeke wants that either.”
I didn’t say anything to that, and we sat in silence until someone spoke from behind us.
“You two look very cozy.”
I felt Lib turn. I didn’t have to.
Zeke.
Chapter 13
“Just talking,” Lib said easily with none of the panic in his voice that I felt.
I turned to look at Zeke from within the curve of Lib’s arm. He leaned against a tree a short distance away with his arms crossed over his chest. He stood close enough to have heard our conversation, but I had no idea how long he had been standing there. His expression was unreadable.
“Keturah’s telling me goodbye.” Lib sat firm and didn’t remove his arm from around me. He even pulled me closer in a hug. If he felt any guilt in our closeness he didn’t show it to Zeke. I wasn’t sure if that was admirable or very unwise. “But I think she’s about done with me.” He looked back at me. “At least, I’ve heard everything I need to hear.”
“Oh, Lib.” My eyes fell to my lap. I knew what he was saying.
He removed his arm from my shoulders and stood.
“Bye, Ket,” he said, and I already felt the hollowness of his absence. I knew it was hard for him, too, from the terseness of his words and the way he turned on his heal and left me. He stopped in front of Zeke, but after a few words spoken in tones so low I couldn’t hear them, he was gone.
I hadn’t even thanked him for all he had done. I had only thought of myself. I drew my knees up to my chest and hung my head.
“My mother has the food prepared,” Zeke said to my back.
I didn’t want to face a group of people, but I reluctantly got to my feet and slowly turned to face Zeke.
I didn’t know what I expected, anger maybe, but I was unprepared for the warm embrace he offered. He moved with care, urging me into his arms. I hesitated—why was I resisting?—and I knew he sensed it. He sighed and nearly let me go, but I took a step forward and relaxed into him, grateful for his affection. I had been relying on my unit for years, but I had to learn to rely on Zeke now.
“It must be torture saying goodbye to all your friends at once. Your unit
. They’re more than friends, more than brothers. I know mine are.”
I nodded.
I felt his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. “I wanted you to be free during this journey to say goodbye to them without feelings of guilt. You have developed a closeness with them—all of them—that you can’t just ignore. I know that when you commit to something, Keturah, to a betrothal for instance, your loyalty will be boundless and unbreakable, and to betray it would give you unbearable guilt.”
That meant he had heard most of my conversation with Lib. He knew I had been expecting the arrangement of our betrothal to be made final.
I eased away from him so I could look into his face, but he looked down at where he absently stroked my shoulder with his thumb, avoiding my eyes.
“I thought my presence could give you strength, but all it has done is cause you confusion.” His eyes found mine then and he said earnestly, “Keturah, there is time. Take it.”
How could I ever, ever deserve Zeke?
“I overheard what happened. I’ll speak to Gid and tell him you are not betrothed to me.”
I couldn’t. I couldn’t ever deserve him.
“No, Zeke. You don’t have to. Lib’s right. It doesn’t matter.” I couldn’t even imagine that conversation.
He didn’t reply, but I felt his resolve when he kissed me, a kiss that fell flat for both of us.
“Once, my friend gave me this.” He drew away, and I saw he held the beaded tie I had made for his dark hair. It draped over his long fingers. “He told me…” He paused for a moment and considered the tie. “He told me the truth. He removed the clouds of my emotion and gave me the chance to make my decisions fairly.”
I fingered the tie. “You never wear it.” Not since the battle of Cumeni.
He pressed the tie into my hand. “It holds a promise you are not ready to give. Come on.” He jerked his head toward the village. “I’m dying for one of my mother’s meals.”
I led out, and he followed me through the forest.
Micah and Zeke stayed in the village with Mother and me, but the other men departed to deliver letters from the militia to their families in the nearby villages. Mother and Dinah offered to mend and launder their extra tunics while they were gone, and I was glad when they left them because it meant they would come back before they left the Land of Melek to return to Manti.
