A high-pitched scream jarred me to awareness. The piercing sound traveled all through my body and down to the soles of my feet. Looking up, I crossed shocked gazes with Ayal, who stood just outside the tent as if he had been watching me with the baby.
Dov. Ari.
One of the boys had made that horrific sound. I snatched up Talia and followed Ayal as he ran toward the commotion. My mother, Jumo, Kiya, and Eben stood in a tight group around Dov, who had fallen into the fire. His blistered palms trembled, and his face was bereft of color. Handing off the baby to Kiya, I reached for him. His body shuddered in my arms as my mother tended his burns with cool water, honey mixed with herbs, and soft words. Shoshana and Zayna were off to the side, clinging to each other and weeping for the little boy.
From behind, Ari’s arms slipped around my neck. He pressed his face to my back, sobbing. Ayal crouched beside us, one hand on Ari’s neck and the other on poor Dov’s head, whispering reassurances to them with his lips—and to me with his eyes.
24
19 SHEVAT
11TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT
Sit still for me, Dov. I promise to be careful.” I slathered the honey-herb mixture onto his blistered palm with the least pressure possible, but he twisted from the pain, whimpering, luminous eyes pleading with me for relief.
I wrapped that hand in loose linen and, with much gentle coaxing and promises of one of the succulent dates that Kiya had bartered from a Moabite trader, succeeded in tending to the other hand.
Wiping the tear streaks from his face with a cloth, I urged him to lie down and rest for a while. He lay with arms outstretched, his small body shuddering in agony.
“Try to close your eyes, sweet boy. Ari and I will be just outside.”
He nodded, but his eyes followed me all the way to the tent door. “Shira?”
“Yes, my brave bear?”
His cheek quirked with a hint of a smile at my reference to his namesake. “Can we go visit Abba? At the Mishkan?”
I had not spent more than a few brief moments with Ayal since Dov had been injured a few days ago. The traumatic ordeal had wiped the necessary conversation from my mind that night, and the compulsion to help tend this sweet boy had kept me from saying anything since then. I would extricate myself after Dov’s hands had healed more.
I winked at him. “Yes, little bear, we will go in a while. We can take your abba something to eat. How does that sound?”
His eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure whether it was visiting his father or catching another glimpse of the mysterious Mishkan he was most excited about. My own curiosity was piqued by the idea of seeing the construction up close.
“Shira?”
“Yes, sweet boy?”
“Don’t forget my date.”
Laughing, I stepped into the sunshine, dropped the tent flap behind me, and then instantly wished I had not done so. Four sets of eyes, none of them friendly, turned my way. Dvorah and the other wives had stopped their conversation to stare at me—again. No matter how many times I told myself that their disapproval meant nothing, that my time here was coming to an end, the rejection stung like the lash of a scorpion.
I sighed inwardly. It was just as well. When Dvorah and Ayal married, it would be better for the children if the other wives accepted their new mother—perhaps the remaining bad blood would be washed away by the union. Dvorah was not unkind to the children. I believed the concern on her face when she discovered Dov was injured was nothing if not sincere.
Talia squealed from the blanket where she lay near the women, flailing arms reaching toward the canopy above her and smiling at the shadows that played across the fabric and the glints of sunshine that penetrated the weave. Although her eyes were still a light gray, she was the image of her ima. My heart cinched, both at the remembrance of the woman’s death and with the love I held for her child.
Dvorah’s scowl deepened. “It’s about time.”
I ignored the demand behind her remark and smiled. “Dov has asked to go see his father at the Mishkan. I think we will take Ayal a meal. It will be a good distraction from his hands.”
“Why don’t you go with them, Dvorah? I will watch the baby for you.” Marah pointed a barbed glare in my direction. “Ayal will be glad of it.”
Dvorah’s smug smile spoke volumes. Marah did not want me anywhere near Ayal alone. Did she suspect my divided thoughts toward him? Surely not, for I worked hard to keep my distance from him. But the fact that I was bothered by the slight disturbed me much more than it should.
The sheer scale of the construction overwhelmed me. What would the Mishkan look like when it was finished? Would the grand tent stand even taller than the posts that stood like giant sentinels all around the courtyard?
Would the Mishkan echo the soaring Sun Temple in Iunu? Grand pylons, intricate lotus columns, and lofty ceilings? I blinked my eyes to clear the failed imaginings out of my head. I would leave the designs to the men selected by Mosheh, some rumored to have been employed by Pharaoh himself.
Dvorah led the way through the hundreds of men raising the last of the tall timbers, a confident set to her shoulders, as if she knew exactly where to go. She had probably visited Ayal here before, taking him a meal like we did now. Again the image of them married hollowed me. I sucked in a deep breath to fill the empty space and gripped Ari’s hand tighter. I had ordered Dov to stay between Dvorah and me, so he walked in front of me, his wrapped hands crossed over his chest.
“Shira!” My name rose above the din of tools against metal and wood and the shouts of the men at their various tasks. Ayal waved, laid down the adze he had been using to shape a post on the ground, and strode toward our little band.
“Abba!” Dov and Ari called out together, and Dov waved one linen-wrapped hand, then winced at the pain the enthusiastic gesture cost him.
Wearing only a roughly woven work kilt and dripping with sweat, Ayal approached us. Annoyed by my reaction to the strength of his lean body, I fixed my attention on Ari instead.
“Abba! We came to bring you a meal and some water!” My heart fluttered at the brightness in Ari’s greeting. He had been so sullen since Dov had been injured. This trip to see their father had lifted his countenance as well.
“Did you hear my stomach roaring all the way from camp?”
The boys laughed, and the music of it chased away my melancholy. I handed Ayal the skin-bag filled with fresh water. With a nod of thanks he tipped it to his lips and drank deeply, emptying it with haste. With a groan of pleasure he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, an easy smile turned toward me. I glanced at Dvorah, who hung off to the side, trouble in her expression.
“Dvorah has brought you some food.” I motioned toward her, hoping she would see it as a gesture of goodwill.
“There are manna cakes and some dried gazelle meat.” Dvorah handed Ayal the basket with a broad smile. The expression lit her face and highlighted the beauty of her dark eyes, her straight nose, and her olive skin. “And also a few dates, since I know you are partial to those.”
“Thank you, Dvorah.” Ayal took the basket and then turned to me. “Are you all staying to eat with me?”
His lack of acknowledgment of the woman he was to marry caught me off guard. “Oh . . . no. The boys just wanted to see you. Especially Dov.” I darted a sad glance at the little boy. “He is having a difficult time this morning, not being able to run and play.”
Ayal’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but then his eyes crinkled. “Why don’t you two show Shira the hole you helped me dig? I’m sure she would enjoy seeing the fruits of your hard labor.”
“Which was it, Abba?” Dov’s voice pitched high with excitement.
Ayal pointed to one of the many identical pillars that were spaced evenly along the perimeter of the courtyard. Even with his injured hands still crossed over his chest, Dov beat Ari to the spot, but only because Ari insisted on pulling me along by the hand.
Dov tipped back his dark little head to take in the
height of the pillar. “Abba, it’s even taller than you!”
Ayal laughed, shielding his eyes against the bright sun. “Yes, son, that it is, and you helped dig the hole it sits in.”
Both boys grinned with pride.
“However.” Ayal pointed to the western end of the courtyard where a small army of men were working. “The Mishkan will be even taller. Twice as tall, in fact. We will be able to see it from all over the valley.”
Ari slipped his hand into Ayal’s large one. “What will it look like, Abba?”
“I can only tell you what I have been told, but you see those men there?” He pointed west again. “Those men are hewing logs to build the wooden walls that will make the frame of the tent.”
He knelt on one knee and drew a rectangle in the sand, then divided it into a large portion and a smaller one. “There will be a sanctuary here, separated by tall curtains.” He pointed to the small area. “And only the High Priest will be allowed inside. The walls, which will be plated in gold, will be able to be taken down and loaded on wagons for our journey to Canaan.”
“When will that be, Abba?” asked Dov.
Ayal lifted his face toward the boy. “I do not know. But I would guess from all the construction that we are undertaking, it may be months.”
“Won’t it rain inside the walls?” Ari pressed a finger into the center of Ayal’s drawing. “It needs a roof.”
Ayal laughed. “That it does. Hundreds of weavers have been working on two layers of coverings that will span the gap, making a tent over the frame of the walls. And this afternoon many of us will be leaving to go back to the sea to hunt animals whose hides will provide the last layer, a waterproof covering.”
“Are you going hunting too, Abba?” Dov’s brow furrowed deeply.
Ayal ran a gentle hand across the boy’s unruly curls. “Yes, son, I am going too. But I will not be gone long. I will miss you too much.” His eyes lifted and met mine with inexplicable intensity. “Perhaps we will have a celebration as soon as I return.”
“We will?” Ari clapped his hands. “A feast?”
Even Dov perked up at the idea. “Will you bring back some meat, Abba?”
“That I will.” He knelt down and brushed the bronze curls from Dov’s face. “And I have a secret—” He leaned forward to whisper in the boy’s ear, and Dov’s mouth rounded in surprise. “If your hands feel better when I return, we will go. All right?”
Dov nodded and leaned his head on his father’s shoulder. “I will miss you, Abba.”
Ayal brushed his fingers through the boy’s hair. “You and Ari will take good care of the women while I am gone?”
Dov sneaked a furtive peek at me. “Even Shira?”
“Yes,” said Ayal with a glance of his own as he placed his hand on his son’s cheek. “Especially Shira.”
A thread of unbidden emotion snagged against the memory of his hand on my own face, as if I could still feel the warmth of his work-worn skin. My lungs refused to expand.
“We must go.” Dvorah’s sharp interruption commandeered my attention.
“Yes . . .” I held out a hand to Ari. “Your father has much to do. Shall we see if my ima has any treats for you?” I wiggled my brows. “Jumo discovered a beehive in a cave yesterday.”
Ari licked his lips, and Dov’s eyes could have engulfed the moon.
“Shira,” said Ayal, “I need to speak with you.” His solemn tone sliced through my mirth, hinting at the gravity of the forthcoming conversation.
It is over. He is announcing his betrothal. I nodded my head but did not answer for fear that my lips would tremble. I had known it would be coming for so long now, I had justified in my mind every reason why this man should marry Dvorah, but for some inexplicable reason, my heart refused to listen to rationality.
“We are leaving for the hunt in an hour, but perhaps before I leave?”
“Of course—”
A pained cry halted my response, and I swung around. Dvorah was on the ground, one leg twisted beneath her. I dropped Ari’s hand and rushed back. “Are you injured?”
She rebuffed my concern with a brusque flip of her hand, but when Ayal approached with the same question, she lifted her head, a guileless expression softening her features.
“I’ve twisted my foot on a rock,” she said with a grimace.
“Can you walk?” Ayal put out a hand to aid her.
Dvorah attempted to stand but cried out when her foot met the ground, a reaction that seemed a bit contrived, considering the small stone she had slipped on. She slumped back to the ground, looking as helpless as a child.
“I will take you back to your campsite,” Ayal said. He offered a quick explanation over his shoulder to his fellow workers, slipped his tunic over his head, and then scooped Dvorah off the ground with perfect ease, as if she were as light as one of his boys.
“Will you be all right to take the children back to your family, Shira?”
His lack of confidence in me flared irrational annoyance. “We will be fine.”
Ayal walked away, cradling Dvorah. She snaked her arm around his neck, looking up at him and smiling as if the sun had newly risen in his eyes. She said something I could not hear, and Ayal’s laughter floated back to me. Clutching Ari’s hand, perhaps a little too tightly, I walked back to the campsite with the children, firm in the knowledge that my time with them was all but over.
Dvorah
Ayal was lean but strong. He carried me as if I weighed nothing. The job of a shepherd must be more strenuous than I’d guessed.
“How is your ankle?” he asked, polite concern in his voice.
I moved my foot, causing the silver anklet to jingle and hoping to bring attention to the curve of my exposed calf. I feigned a wince, sucked a breath through my teeth, and summoned a sheen of tears.
“That bad?”
I sniffed. “Next time I will spend more time watching where I am going instead of gawking at the construction.”
He laughed. “A good plan.”
I could not help but compare Ayal’s eyes to my husband’s again. They were nice—warm even—but could not match the fire of Tareq’s sapphire ones and the look of them as he promised to rescue me from my chains. Come with me, Dvorah. I’ll take you away from here. You’ll never have to sell your body again. And he had been true to his word. He snatched me out of my misery, only to lose interest as soon as my belly began to grow with his child.
Shaking off the memory, I determined that its echoes would not interfere with my goal. My ruse must be convincing. Even so, I could not forget that Ayal was one of the Levites. One of those who speared my husband without compunction. I drew a steadying breath through my nose, girding myself for what I must do—make Ayal forget all about that little Levite girl.
Shira had walked away, one boy on each side. Silent. Obedient. It was almost laughable how subservient she was. This won’t be difficult at all.
Since Leisha died, Shira had been extra careful to not be alone with Ayal, or even within his vicinity. She met me at his campsite every morning with Talia, sat quietly as I nursed her, and then herded the boys back to her own campsite while Ayal went off to the fields. In the evening, the process was reversed, since the boys slept with their father.
She rarely spoke more than a few words to him. In fact, today was the most I had seen them interact. And as usual, Ayal had eyes for nothing but her. Ridiculous.
But I knew how to get what I wanted. I was my mother’s daughter. I had spent the last couple of months convincing Marah, Aiyasha, and Yael that I was the perfect wife for Ayal. Now all I had to do was convince him.
“I so appreciate you helping me.” I curved my body in closer and, dredging up what little charm I had left beneath the ash, turned up an innocent smile. “I feel quite foolish.”
He looked away, shoulders tensing as if to brace against the effect of my body against his. “And I appreciate how much you have helped with the baby.”
Curious. In the past f
ew weeks that I had been nursing Talia, I had never heard Ayal say her name. Not once. It was always the child or the baby. Strange that he would reject the little one. Was it grief that made him do so? No. He looked at Shira as if she were the only star in the sky. Ayal was not pining after his dead wife.
He seemed to genuinely care for the boys. He doted on them, taking them with him into the field, playing games and wrestling with them. An ache for my own son and the empty place his father had left began to throb. Would Ayal do the same for my boy? Or would he reject him like he did Talia? I flicked away the thought. It did not matter—anyone, anything, was better than Hassam.
I adjusted my body in his arms, tightening my grip around his neck, my fingers slipping into his dark hair. His muscles stiffened, and he flinched—not a reaction I was used to from men. Perhaps a different tactic?
“Dov’s hand is healing well. The swelling is down, and it’s beginning to scar over.” Of course the boy would let no one but Shira touch him, so I hoped my guess was accurate.
He sighed. “I am glad to hear that. He is being quite brave, isn’t he?”
“He is. He is a strong boy.”
Pride lit his face. Victory! The way to Ayal’s heart was through his boys. Pushing my discovery further, I continued. “And Ari seems to be very intelligent, for one so young.”
“I agree. He helps me count the sheep and asks so many questions.” Ayal’s chest seemed to expand. “It amazes me how fast they learn and change.”
“It is true. My Matti is younger than your boys, but every time I return to camp it seems he has grown a little—” I stopped, shocked at myself for revealing so much. Keep to your plan, Dvorah.
“Perhaps you can bring Matti to play with Ari and Dov one of these days. They certainly could use some playmates.”
Shadow of the Storm Page 13
