Shadow of the Storm

by Connilyn Cossette

  A faint smile tugged at his lips. “That he is.”

  “Both of them are wonderful brothers to her.”

  He agreed with a soft hum. His gaze swept over my face, landing on my lips. “And you are—you will be—a wonderful mother.”

  Although Ayal’s kind statement was meant as a compliment, my mother’s demand of silence pricked at my conscience. I cleared my throat, turning to watch the pop and spark of the campfire. Someone tossed another log into the flames, and heat flared against my skin. Truth battled submission in my heart until I could no longer sit still. I excused myself on the pretense of putting the boys down to sleep.

  I stood, looking around for Dov, who was no longer sitting with Jumo, wondering if he was off playing with Shoshana and Zayna. But instead of the little boy, my searching gaze met with Dvorah waiting just outside the circle of firelight, arms folded across her chest and open malice on her face.

  Her eyes flicked between Ayal and me for a brief moment, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. The unspoken reminder of her threat was as loud as if she had screamed it across the campfire. I’ll keep your secret. For now.

  She lifted her chin, smile charged with warning, and vanished into the darkness, having apparently abandoned her original intention to nurse Talia. I cast a panicked glance toward Ayal and nearly groaned with relief when I saw him engaged in conversation with Jumo. My silent interaction with Dvorah had gone unseen.

  I feared, however, that the secret she carried would not stay in the shadows for much longer.

  32

  8 ADAR

  12TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  Marah’s cold glare bore through me like an obsidian-tipped spear. “It was you, girl. It could be no one else.”

  “No, please believe me. I could never do such a thing.” My words scraped against one another, leaving my throat raw. I swallowed, but the swell of tears refused to retreat.

  She gestured widely to her tent, which was cluttered with many baskets, pots, and rumpled pallets. “There was no one else in here today. Only you.”

  As if hanging from the edge of a precipice, I clung to the truth. “I have no reason to steal from you. None.”

  She smirked. “I do not care what your reasons are. Give me back my necklace.”

  I turned up trembling palms. “I do not have it. You are welcome to search me.”

  She scoffed. “As if you are not wily enough to hide it while I do. What is the use? Just give it back.”

  It had been at least half an hour since Marah had trapped me in her tent and accused me of stealing her jewelry. Only one day after she had witnessed my betrothal to her husband’s brother, she interrogated me as if I were a stranger. I could do nothing but repeat my answers and continue to affirm my innocence.

  “Look at the guilt on her face.” Aiyasha jerked her chin at me. “She has it.”

  Marah pursed her lips, her superior expression reminding me of my Egyptian mistress. “Of course she does. She’s no different than that zonah Leisha.”

  Aiyasha leaned forward, her face just inches from mine. “Give. It. Back.”

  “Please, you must believe me. I would never steal anything from anyone, least of all any of you.”

  “You aren’t married yet.” Marah’s arched tone was mocking, indicating that I never would be. “He doesn’t know that you are a thief.” Marah’s face mirrored her insides—pinched, weathered, and sallow.

  There was nothing I could say to convince them of my innocence. I was glad Yael was missing from this hasty trial; with her loud voice, the whole camp would hear these accusations.

  My shoulders dropped. “What do you want of me?”

  “Ha! I knew she would confess.” Aiyasha’s beautiful face contorted into a sneer. Although she was a few years older than I and had given birth to five children, she still looked like a maiden, skin flawless and dark brows swooped high above her blue-green eyes.

  “Confess what?” Dvorah slipped in through the tent flap, eyes luminous. She had overheard our conversation.

  “This thief stole my necklace. I caught her in here earlier with the sin of it plain on her face.” Marah seemed to revel in the retelling of her account of the truth—the version where she left out the design of the necklace, a long, turquoise-beaded chain with a pendant displaying a naked Isis with outstretched wings. I had seen it around her neck before but noticed that Marah only wore it when her husband was nowhere in sight.

  It was Aiyasha who had sent me to Marah’s tent, indicating Marah had a small pot of medicinal ointment for Dov’s scars. If I had not run out of oil this morning and been unable to find Reva, I would never have asked any of these women for help in the first place, but for Dov’s healing, I would endure any torture.

  “I do not doubt it. She is nothing if not deceitful.” Dvorah folded her arms and relaxed into a smug stance.

  Aiyasha giggled, curiosity in her lifted brow. “Oh, do tell, Dvorah.”

  Dvorah smiled, the malicious movement unfurling slowly, as if to lengthen my distress. “I caught her kissing Ayal.” She divided a look between the two women. “Well before Leisha died.”

  She had seen us? On that awful, confusing day? Fighting the instinct to flee from the horror of her revelation, I curled my toes into the sandy floor. My mind reeled back to the stream: my open invitation to Ayal’s advances, his lips on mine, the searing touch of his skin against my cheek. All of it had been an enormous mistake, and the woman who hated me had been witness to my greatest sin.

  Marah and Aiyasha stood like pillars, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, as if stricken with the loss of speech.

  “Obviously, it was her plan from the start to seduce him, and who knows what else?” Dvorah left the insinuation hanging in the air, but by the gasps from the other women, there was no question as to her accusation.

  How could I possibly defend myself against such allegations when the hostility in Aiyasha and Marah’s eyes proved that they believed every word? I opened my mouth to explain, to refute Dvorah’s conjectures, but my tongue refused to comply. Whether or not he had deceived me, I had welcomed Ayal’s attentions, craved them like honeyed wine. It was my fault. Hot tears trailed a fiery path down my cheeks.

  Just like when I was thirteen, my shame was on full display.

  “That’s right, you have nothing to say. You are, at the very least, a liar and a thief. My husband and his brothers will be told.” Marah flicked a hand toward the exit, dismissing me. “Consider this betrothal broken.”

  “Where have you been?” Kiya met me at the edge of camp, concern setting her golden eyes ablaze. “I thought you went to fetch ointment for Dov.”

  Under the shade of a nearby canopy, the boys were taking turns tossing almond shells into a pot—one of the few games Dov could take part in. My shoulders sagged. In the upheaval of Marah’s accusation, I had forgotten the oil I set out to retrieve in the first place.

  Kiya took hold of my arm when I did not respond. “Shira—sister. What is wrong?” Pulling me close, she engulfed me in a hug.

  The natural embrace—from this woman who used to stiffen whenever I touched her—knocked down my last defense. Fear, hurt, and confusion spilled over, watering Kiya’s shoulder. She rubbed circles into my back, murmuring encouragement, coaxing me to explain such anguish. Before I could tighten my fraying emotions or braid together my unraveled composure, rambling confessions tumbled over themselves in between sobs: the allegation of theft, Dvorah’s accusation, Leisha’s death, my involvement with Ayal all those months ago.

  When the well of revelations ran dry, Kiya pulled back, compassion and surprise written on the tablet of her face. “You have been keeping secrets, my sweet sister.”

  A stab of guilt pierced me. “I have, forgive me.”

  “Why?” She frowned. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I do! You know I love you.”

  “Then why would you hold back what was going on inside your heart?” She placed a gentle hand on my cheek. �
�You know I would neither accuse nor condemn you.”

  “I do.” I inhaled. “I was afraid.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “I did not want you to worry, or to say something to Ayal or Eben.”

  “Eben would have throttled him.” Kiya lowered her chin.

  “Yes. He would have.” I winced. “But it really was—” I stopped and tugged at my braid.

  “Was what?” She flattened her lips, waiting for me to finish my thought.

  “My fault.”

  “You think it’s your fault that Ayal took advantage of you?” Her tone was incredulous.

  “I had been . . . dreaming about him . . . wishing that he were mine.” My face flamed. I escaped her searching gaze to stare down at the hands that had clutched Ayal’s tunic with such eagerness. “I all but begged for his advances.” I flushed again but braved a glance at her. “But I did not know about Leisha, or I would never have done such a thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter that you did not know!” She threw her hands in the air. “He should have kept his hands to himself, no matter how you looked at him!” Kiya’s voice spiraled upward, and I shushed her with a finger to my lips, tossing a glance around the campsite. Thankfully, only Dov and Ari were nearby. My mother must have taken Talia and the girls with her as she worked with the other master weavers. She seemed to have already taken to her new role as a grandmother.

  “I know that he was wrong,” I said. “Very wrong, and he still has not explained himself, which leads me to wonder whether he is even ashamed of it. But he did try . . . I think, once, until Marah interrupted. Even so, I could have walked away. Whether he was married or not, I should not have thrown myself at him like that. And then I let his wife die—”

  “Stop!” Kiya’s eyes blazed with fervor as my disjointed explanations fizzled out. She gripped both of my shoulders, as if ready to shake me. “Don’t you dare blame yourself, Shira. It had nothing to do with you. Nothing. As long as I have known you, you have always taken the blame, even when you did not commit the sin.”

  Stepping forward and deceiving Tekurah about who had broken her treasured ebony box had been an easy decision, and one I would gladly make again to protect Kiya. Without my acceptance of those consequences, she and I might never have become friends, and therefore Jumo most probably would have died in that last devastating plague in Egypt.

  “You should have left me to my punishment, but you took the burden on yourself that day—practically begged Tekurah to flog you. And here you are, blaming yourself for a woman’s death you had no control over, and for Ayal’s deceitful, lustful behavior. This must stop, Shira. When will you stand up for yourself? And the truth?”

  I shuddered, the tail end of my sobs reverberating in my chest.

  Kiya pulled me close again, her sweet breath on my forehead and her growing belly pressed between us. Four more months, whispered my midwifery training. “You had such courage the day you stood up for me. You did not flinch as you told Tekurah that you had broken that cosmetic box. I was in awe of you—confused”—she breathed a laugh—“but in awe. I could not understand how such a fragile girl could be so strong.”

  “I do not feel strong. I feel like one stiff gust will snap me in two.”

  “But you are. You are the most loyal person I know. You will go to any length to protect those you love. You stood against that woman at the traders’ wagons. And you even stood up to your own brother when he was hesitant to take in an Egyptian girl, her crippled brother, and her mother the night before we left Egypt.” She gripped my arm and squeezed. “Why won’t you believe me? You are one of the strongest women I know. Stronger than me, for certain.”

  “This coming from a woman who sacrificed herself to an Amalekite for my freedom?”

  She brushed aside my deflection. “Now, are you going to confront him about what he did?” She frowned at me in challenge. “Because if I need to tell Eben, I will.”

  My heart beat frantically against my ribs. “No, you can’t do that—”

  “Oh, I can and I will, to protect you.” She cut off my argument. “There is nothing I won’t do for you, my friend. And if you don’t clear this up with Ayal, I will be forced to bring Eben this information.”

  I searched her face and saw nothing but determination. She had me in a corner. “How would I even begin such a conversation?” I rubbed a thumb into my palm.

  “You like him, don’t you?” One corner of her full lips tilted. “You said you had been dreaming of a life with him before his wife died.”

  I shifted backward, startled by the blunt question.

  She prodded me with a high arch of her fine brows. “Don’t you?”

  The truth demanded to be free of its fetters and Kiya was the sister of my heart—I trusted her implicitly. I heaved a sigh. “I do.”

  “And you want to be his wife? You want to be a mother to Talia and those sweet boys?” She gestured to Dov and Ari who were scraping together mounds of dirt with their toes and then smashing them with loud giggles, blissfully oblivious to our tense conversation.

  More than anything. I nodded.

  “Then you must talk to him, Shira. Stand up for yourself, lay out your concerns, and ask him to explain himself. I cannot believe you have let it go this long without doing so. I only know of Ayal what Eben has told me, but he has only good things to say about him. Something was very wrong between Ayal and Leisha, although Ayal did not confide the cause. But Eben rarely saw them together. Ayal spent most of his time with the sheep. My husband is not perfect by any means, but he is a fairly good judge of character. Perhaps there is much more to this than we know.”

  Kiya was right. I had allowed this to drag on too long. I must demand answers—today—and reveal my own secret before Dvorah did it for me. Yet, with the accusation leveled at me this morning, would he even listen?

  “But Marah and Aiyasha, they will say—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Stop worrying about what they will say. You know the truth. Tell it. Ayal will know.” She squeezed my arm again, encouragement in her steady gaze. “He will know.”

  33

  Dvorah

  If I had any chance of turning Ayal’s head away from Shira, it was now.

  Marah’s shrill voice echoed around the campsite, informing Ayal of Shira’s theft after he had returned from the sheep. I slipped my hand inside my belt and whispered a prayer to Isis. What fortune, that Aiyasha had sent Shira into Marah’s tent only an hour after I had slipped inside and lifted the necklace from a basket. I had hoped that Marah would not notice for days, but it had worked in my favor—it was Shira they blamed, not me.

  This morning I had given Leisha’s golden Isis charm to Hassam, which appeased him for the moment, but this beautiful one I kept close to me. I stroked the shimmering turquoise beads and the golden sun-disk crown of my lovely goddess. The Queen of Heaven would ensure that my plan succeeded because I would rely on her arts, one more time.

  With his mind full of tales of Shira’s treachery, and Marah’s strong opinions on his dalliance with the girl before his wife died, Ayal would be off-balance when he returned to this tent, his guard down. I could not fail.

  Arranging myself on his sleeping mat, I folded my head into the cradle of my knees and drew upon jagged memories from my childhood. I let myself linger there, just long enough to summon tears to my eyes, but not enough to distract from my singular purpose—protecting my son. The alluring scent of my lotus perfume wafted around me, giving me confidence that my purpose would be realized today. I tugged at the laces of my tunic, ensuring they were loose.

  A shuffle of sandals outside announced his presence and my pulse strengthened, thumping out a call to action in my temples. The orange afternoon light had dimmed, and Ayal held no lamp. To my great satisfaction, he did not notice me curled up on the mat as he came inside and dropped the flap behind him. He released a weighted sigh and dug his fingers into his thick hair.

  With another quick prayer
to Isis, I lifted my head and sniffed.

  Ayal started and gasped, his hand at the dagger on his belt.

  “It is only me.” I swiped at my eyes. “Dvorah.”

  “Dvorah?” He dropped his defensive stance and shifted back on his heels. “What are you doing here? The baby is with Shira.”

  “I am so sorry. I did not know where else to go.”

  “Is something wrong? Should I fetch Marah?”

  “No, please, I only want to speak with you for a moment and then”—I sucked in a shuddering breath, playing my role just right—“I will go.”

  His shoulders dropped a bit, and concern colored his voice. “Has someone hurt you?”

  Who hasn’t? “No. But my son . . .”

  “Someone has hurt your son?” He bristled.

  Excellent. I had chosen the correct weapon. Now to twist the knife of truth just enough.

  “My brother-in-law is tiring of caring for Matti and me. He demands that I give him all of the milk and wool and says that without it he will no longer protect us. And now that Talia is nursing less and less . . . and then with you marrying Shira . . .” My words tumbled out in a well-calculated rush.

  “He would turn you and your son out?”

  I nodded, making a show of covering my face and letting out a sob.

  “Oh . . . now, please don’t cry. We will find a solution.” Ayal’s voice was closer now, he’d swallowed the bait.

  I shook my head. “There is not much I can do. Matti is getting older, and Hassam’s wives grouse about watching him. Soon I will no longer be able to do midwifery either.”

  Dropping my hands from my face, I stood. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I came here. You have more to deal with than my problems.”

  His face was a mass of confusion and compassion. “No. I want to help—”

  I cut him off. “You have always been so kind to me, and I hoped that . . . well, I don’t know what I hoped.” I stepped forward. “I’ll just go.”

  He put a hand on my arm, and my hope drew fresh breath. “Please. Dvorah. Let me help you. You came to my assistance after Leisha died, and I am grateful.”