by Summer Lee
“Good morning,” he called up to her.
“Good morning,” she shouted back. “What’s everybody doing?”
“Getting ready for our wedding. My sons will be playing in the band.” Kenana remembered that Prince Jubal and his late wife had had several sons. Jubal then turned back to the tasks at hand, pointing with his cane, repositioning the instruments until they were arranged to his liking.
A voice from behind her: “Madam Kenana, you have visitors.”
Kenana turned, startled. Sarah was standing just inside her bedroom door.
“Who are they?” asked Kenana.
“The dressmakers. They’re here to measure you for the bridal outfit.”
“Show them in.”
Sarah stepped aside and three neatly dressed maids rushed in carrying the elaborate lace and linen wedding ensemble. They pounced on Kenana, hovering around her, moving in unison as if three parts of one frenetic animal. Kenana could only stand there and giggle. She caught Sarah’s eye, and both laughed at the sight of the three clucking seamstresses.
With all the markings in place, the women gathered around Kenana’s bed and made the final stitching. Kenana had never seen needlework done more quickly, or professionally. Each was an expert. Working together, the wedding dress was soon complete. Kenana modeled the final fitting.
Sarah covered her cheeks with her small hands. “You are a beautiful princess!”
*
Kenana escaped outside, and headed straight for the swing hanging from the old oak tree. She had to know more about the stranger she had seen yesterday, who continued to plague her thoughts—and on her wedding day of all days! The swing was empty, as was most of the garden. As she sat on the wooden slat, the camelhair rope creaked under her weight. When she was young she’d had a guardian angel who called himself Malluch. Few believed her, and as a child, she had given up trying to explain him to her mother, who brutally scolded her for such flights of fancy.
But Malluch had been real. He had come to her often at night. Kissing her sweetly on the forehead. In those days, he had been so radiant and powerful. Lately, she had been wishing he would pay her another visit. The man last night, the man sitting in this very swing, was beautiful beyond any doubt, like Malluch had been. Could that man be her guardian angel? Was it possible?
Don’t be ridiculous, she thought. Perhaps you never had a guardian angel. After all, it has been many years since he has made an appearance. Maybe you made him up. Maybe your mother was right all along.
Then how to explain the sweet kisses?
Despite herself, feeling foolish, she hesitantly said aloud, “Malluch?” She swallowed, and then plunged forward, raising her voice: “Malluch, if you were the one I saw yesterday, please come back. I need you.”
Nothing, of course. No glorious appearance by a celestial being. No burst of white light.
She recalled that this very tree had once been a setting for her most memorable encounter with her guardian angel. She had been swinging too hard, too high, trying to reach the heavens and her angels. She had tipped over, falling backward off the wooden slat. But she did not hit the ground. No, she had landed in Malluch’s arms. He had swept her up and carried her to safety, and she had felt the strength of his strong arms.
Now, she idly pushed with her feet and set the swing in gentle motion, still feeling foolishly hopeful that her angel might return. As she waited, Kenana’s thoughts strayed to her pending marriage.
What had really transpired between Jubal and her parents? In Mesopotamia, girls were not allowed to choose a husband, and most girls had never asked why. But Kenana wanted to know.
“Why do people not marry for love?” she asked the emptiness around her. As her words floated out onto the wind, she blamed her father, Eber, for her spirit of independence. With no sons, Eber had taught her, his youngest daughter, to read and to think for herself.
Then why did he allow me to be sold in marriage to his friend? she wondered angrily.
A breeze meandered through the garden, bringing with it the fresh scents of the geraniums and sunflowers, but no angel. Kenana knew something about angels. Her own grandfather, Enoch, communicated with them. She understood that blessings followed people who saw them. So, the idea that she had a personal angel seemed natural to her, and the pretense that her guardian angel could love her passionately in return was not absurd to such a young, vulnerable girl.
Golden leaves stirred at her feet.
“You called.”
She stopped the swing. Her heart pounded. “Malluch?”
Around her, the wind grew stronger, finding passage to her skin. She tightened her cloak about her. Leaves and other debris skidded off the rich soil and swirled in the air before her, in a mini-whirling dervish. She watched in awed silence as the leaves moved faster and faster, fluttering like swarms of butterflies, rising higher and higher into the morning sky.
She jumped down from the swing and was immediately engulfed in the vortex of leafy debris. She spun around, feeling both exhilarated and frightened. What was happening? The howling wind rushed through her hair, roared over her ears. She raised her arms and laughed.
The swirling stopped and the leaves see-sawed gently back down. Although relieved, Kenana felt profoundly disappointed. She stopped spinning, coming to a stop in the middle of the garden. She sadly watched the leaves sprinkle down around her with a sense of loss. It had been just a wind dervish—not an entirely uncommon occurrence in these arid lands.
She turned to head back to the palace, and came face-to-face with the beautiful man she had seen the night before.
She gasped and blurted, “Malluch?”
The man grinned. “At your command.”
Chapter Five
It was the same man from the swing, and even more stunningly beautiful than before. He was wearing a long flowing cloak, his silver hair a wavy mane that flowed over his broad shoulders. He stepped toward her, moving carefully and confidently as if he, rather than Jubal, were crown prince of Adah. More than anything, he was tall. So very tall, towering over her and anyone. His dark, brooding eyes watched her carefully, and Kenana couldn’t escape the feeling of being stalked.
Yes, she had seen him as a child, she was now sure of it. Kenana inhaled deeply, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Are you the one I know as Malluch? The one who came to me when I was a child?”
“Yes, Little One. I am he.”
Her heart warmed. “Little One. That’s what you used to call me.”
“Yes.” He bowed slightly, tilting his head but never taking his eyes off her. “I am the one who watched over you and protected you from your vicious mother. I am the one who watched you grow into a beautiful woman.” There was a touch of melancholy in his soft voice and an unknowable pain that whispered to her soul on a level far below her consciousness.
He moved effortlessly and easily, as if gliding on air, as if his feet never truly touched the moist soil. His dark eyes were fathomless and unreadable.
She had often daydreamed of this moment. Perhaps she was still dreaming. She reached out her hand. “Are you real?”
“As real as the beating of your own heart.” He stepped forward and took her hand. A small wave of fear swept through her, which she fought off.
“Thank you for coming.”
He bowed and gently pressed his lips onto the back of her hand; she shivered, a wave of cold sweeping through her.
“Look down, Little One.”
She did—and gasped, grabbing hold of Malluch’s strong arm. She was rising slowly up over the palace garden. Malluch laughed and pulled her closer to him. Below, she could see the neat rows of flowers and vegetables. The wind was stronger up here, blowing her long locks across her face and eyes. She did not dare move, let alone brush her hair free from her vision. She gripped his arm tightly.
Malluch’s long silver hair never moved, immune to the elements. His robe, however, flapped around his muscular frame. A grin touched his lips.
“Are you frightened?”
“Yes.” She found that she was trembling. “I mean no. Not with you.”
He laughed again and they drifted slowly down until she was once again standing on firm ground. She breathed a sigh of relief. He searched her face, and then stroked her cheek with a surprisingly soft touch.
“Why are you so sad?” he asked.
Shouldn’t he know if he was her angel? “I’m being forced to marry the old prince against my will.”
He looked away for a moment, and she saw that his profile was perfect. He smiled sadly, as if something weighed heavily on even his pure soul. “I can save you from harm, and I can protect you. But I cannot save you from this marriage, Little One. It is beyond even me.”
“Then why have you come now?”
“To protect you.”
He turned to face her, and Kenana realized he was hovering above the ground. His sandaled feet were hanging loosely down. “It is not customary for descendants of Seth to marry descendants of Cain. Your father and Jubal broke that edict to pacify the warring Cainites. You were a peace offering, but now, your life is in danger from those who do not approve of this union.”
She grabbed his arm. “Then you must help me. I cannot stay here.”
“Fear not,” he said. “For I am with you, Little One.”
The boughs of the mighty oak creaked. Leaves blew crazily in a whirlwind. “I must go,” he said.
A swirling dervish of flower petals appeared, rising up from the moist soil, surrounding him. His features were barely distinguishable. He smiled down on her through the leaves and debris, and it was the same warm smile she had seen as a child. The smile she had built her dreams on. And with it came the same heartache that now ripped her soul apart. She cried bitterly, for long ago, she had fallen in love with her angel, and it was terribly unfair for him to make an appearance now, on the cusp of her arranged wedding.
But he was not here to love her. He was here to protect her from those who wished her ill.
The leaves swirled faster and faster, obscuring her angel before her. And then they stopped abruptly, falling to the ground.
Malluch was gone.
“Don’t forget me,” she said to the emptiness.
Her words were carried away by a gentle breeze.
*
When Kenana heard the crackle of leaves nearby, she assumed that Malluch had returned. Sitting in the swing, she lifted her head eagerly, and saw that it was not the angel standing before her, but the head servant, Asher.
“Tears are not for a princess,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “You should not be weeping on your wedding day.” His tender eyes met hers. “Come, Madam Kenana, I’ll walk you to the palace.”
He took her hand and led her back through the gardens. His big callused hand completely smothered hers. Although his touch was gentle, she sensed his raw strength. If forced to, she sensed that same hand could wield a deadly sword or deliver a crushing blow.
He led the way down a narrow path covered by a canopy of intersecting cypress branches. The filtered sun sprinkled the walk in a latticework of light. Wind rustled the overhanging leaves.
“Have you served the prince long?” she asked.
“Twenty years,” the head servant said. “Prince Jubal has been a good master.”
“Where are you from?”
“Mesopotamia. Like you. There was a war and my home was destroyed, my parents killed. I was sold into slavery as a small boy.”
“I am sorry, Asher.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Do you miss your home?”
“This is my home,” he said simply.
“I mean the home of your childhood.”
“That home was burned and razed. The bodies of my parents, for all I know, still lie in its ruins.” He turned and stared hard at her, his grip tightening slightly. “Prince Jubal took me in at a young age, and has been very good to me.”
The path opened and the sprawling estate lay before them, glittering majestically in the sun. Before the main entrance, she noticed a dozen donkeys and carts tied to hitching posts. The carts had not been there earlier.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, allowing herself to smile.
“Come and see,” said Asher, taking her elbow and leading her through the courtyard and into the dining hall. The massive doors were wide open, and she heard laughter and music coming from within.
Chapter Six
There was a crowd waiting inside, and when she appeared with Asher, they erupted with cheers and applause, raising their mugs of ale and wine in her honor. The room was full, everyone smiling, and all were dressed regally.
Kenana, standing just inside the entrance, froze in mid-step. She covered her mouth, which had dropped open, with her hand. “Why are these people here, Asher?”
“To honor you.”
The dining hall was elaborately decorated in colorful tapestries, scented candles and fresh flowers. She beamed. “But the wedding isn’t until tonight.”
“Your wedding guests will spend the day here, celebrating with you. It’s a surprise from your husband-to-be.”
Across the room Jubal was huddled with a small group of men. He was holding a tankard of ale and laughing uproariously. He caught her eye and waved to her. She waved, smiling, her reservations about the marriage temporarily pushed aside.
A platter of roasted lamb smothered with vegetables filled the middle of a large table. Massive stone jars of wine lined the huge room, enough to make her entire village back home drunk ten times over. A variety of fruits served in white calcite oval bowls with lug handles were scattered on limestone pedestals about the room. The aroma of good food filled the air.
“Everything looks and smells so wonderful,” she said to Asher, clapping. “And I’m starved.”
“The cooks labored all night for this occasion.”
Many well-wishers, both men and women, all smiling, rose from their seats and came over to her, shaking her hand warmly. An old man pressed his dry lips onto the back of her hand and bowed his head reverently. Kenana was too shocked to move or to mutter more than a few words of thanks.
Grinning, Asher took her hand. “Come. You must join the groom now.”
“Will you be joining us, Asher? This is a celebration, after all.”
“A celebration for the privileged, madam. I am but a servant.”
“At least get a plate of food, Asher. I insist.”
“I eat with the slaves, madam. This is your party.”
At Jubal’s table, Asher bowed and departed. As a man of formidable size, he cut a wide swath through the milling crowd. Servant or not, it was clear Asher was heavily respected by those present at the celebration.
Jubal’s eyes were round and wet—filled with either love or drink. She doubted it was love. “Toast to my bride to be!” he said loudly, raising his clay jar. Everyone cheered and clashed their mugs together.
She looked out across at the dozens of smiling faces, both young and old. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, sire.”
The prince took her hand and helped her onto a cushion. Debra came from a side door and placed two plates of hot food before them.
Kenana was shocked to see that no one had eaten a bite of food yet.
“Everyone waited for me?”
“Of course, my dear. But don’t be too concerned, they’ve been enjoying the wine in the meantime.” He pointed, chuckling. “Those men there are my generals, each more revered than the last. Look at them, as drunk as common sailors.”
Indeed, the three bearded men were dancing in a tight circle, holding on to each other’s shoulders. As one fell, the others held him up. Jubal laughed and slapped his knee.
Kenana recognized some dancers as the servant girls who greeted her the day before. Hands joined, they danced to the low beat of a drum. Jubal’s sons joined the drummers, playing pipes and lyres. A mug of ale was placed before her and she drank from it, i
gnoring her food for now. She drank it quickly, watching the beautiful dancers, who had also attracted the attention of the generals.
“Your father, Eber, is one of my closest confidants,” said Jubal, the alcohol perhaps inducing him to reminiscence. “I had hoped, as did your father, that you would someday marry one of my sons. But when my wife—El rest her soul—passed away, I decided I would have you for myself.”
Have me? she thought angrily. She opened her mouth to protest but immediately thought better of it. Now was not the place to reveal her streak of independence—cultivated by her father, no less.
Kenana felt the sting of her father’s betrayal all over again. They had always been close. Kenana thought they had a special relationship. Until now.
“Wasn’t the hamlet of Adah named after your wife, sire?”
He laughed. “No, my wife was Hannah. Adah was my mother—and a great woman she was. She had only two sons, but she encouraged us to follow our hearts and find what we were best gifted to do. You’ll meet my brother, Jabal, today.”
“Jubal and Jabal,” said Kenana, pronouncing the words carefully around her tongue, which seemed to be thickening with the alcohol. “Are you twins?”
“Indeed, but not identical. Jabal is much uglier.” Jubal slapped his knee heartily. “Jabal became the first of the herdsmen to live in tents. I am, in reality, the first musician in our clan. My father had a mistress, and we have a half-brother and sister. I never see them. But Jabal and I stay close.”
Dessert was served, date pudding and honey-covered apples. Kenana thought she would burst.
After they had eaten, Jubal said, “Come to my music room.” There was pudding on his chin and down the front of his robe. The man ate like a pig. “I want to show you my creations.”
Before Kenana could reply, he snatched up his cane, grabbed her hand, and led the way outside. Along the way, guests bowed and prostrated themselves before him, mumbling their thanks. He ignored them all. A wide path opened, and soon they were in the fresh air. The old man moved surprisingly fast, his cane beating a rapid staccato along the stone path.
