Shadow of the Storm

by Connilyn Cossette

  His grip on my wrist turned to soft iron. “Oh no. You are not going anywhere.” His voice had dropped into a dangerous tease that made my mouth go dry. “I have waited far too long for this moment.” He slipped the veil off my head and dropped it to the floor behind me.

  He leaned close and lifted my chin. “You are mine.” He brushed his lips along my jawline until I shivered. “You are mine here, alone, for seven beautiful days and seven beautiful nights. And I want to cherish you. Every. Single. Moment.”

  Although my lips were aching for his touch, he took me by the shoulders and gently turned me around. One hand slid from my shoulder and up the side of my neck, then down the length of my hair. I closed my eyes, savoring the caress against my back.

  After a kiss that traveled the length of my neck, that made my toes curl into the woolen rug and my bones turn to sweet wine, Ayal began to undo my braid.

  42

  14 NISSAN

  13TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  The smoky tang of roasting lamb saturated the air. My sisters, always eager to help, took turns spinning the meat on the spit. Fat slicked off the roast, crackling and spattering into the flames. My stomach howled with expectation.

  I was so grateful that Ayal had asked my family to join with his in celebrating this memorial feast. Eben sat across the fire with Kiya leaning back into his chest, his good arm tucked around her middle as if shielding the cocoon of their developing family. Thankfully, the baby in my arms tempered the unbidden envy that reared at times as I watched Kiya’s middle expand. She had a little over two months left, if I guessed correctly.

  I pulled Talia closer to my chest, a tiny shield against the pointed glares and behind-hand whispers of Aiyasha and Yael. The last week of secluded bliss with Ayal had wrapped me in such contentment that I had nearly forgotten just how much his brothers’ wives disliked me. They were cordial to the point of falseness around their husbands, but their laughter had a sharp edge that seemed to slip perfectly between my shoulder blades. Dvorah’s disappearance had altered their expressions from suspicious to outright contempt. None of them knew the real reason she had not returned.

  The shadowed recesses of our tent called my name. If it were not for the distraction of the baby nestling into me, her wispy hair tickling my skin, I would slide into their depths. I had missed this beauty over the past few days—the heft of her in my arms, her smell, the curve of her fingers around mine, her luminous eyes watching me as I fed her with the spouted milk jar.

  I crossed gazes with my husband, and the teasing glint in his eye fanned flames into my cheeks, causing my skin to tingle. Tradition had allowed us to drink deeply of each other for seven full days, while our families celebrated together—but it had not been enough.

  With a quick glance at the baby, Ayal attempted a smile that did not reflect in his eyes before shifting his attention back to Jumo beside him. I tensed, instinctively holding Talia tighter, protecting her from the slight. Was I expecting too much of a man who had been betrayed too often? Or would he learn to do more than just tolerate her? Yahweh, help him to see Talia.

  As she fell into full-bellied sleep in my arms, I relished the feel of her little body, slack against mine, and the rhythmic lift and fall of her tiny chest. My daughter. My heart thrilled at the word. She would call me Ima. She would come to me with her fears, her worries, her triumphs. Now that I was fully allowed to call her my own, as much as if she were my own flesh and blood, joy welled up like a song—its melody pitched high and sweet, drowning out the dissonance of my husband’s indifference toward her.

  Yonah called for our attention, standing in the center of our gathering, his tone and posture highlighting his status as head of Ayal’s family. “We have been charged by Mosheh to have a memorial feast in remembrance of our last night in Egypt. The night Yahweh liberated us.”

  My mind traveled over miles of sand and rock, through the depths of the sea, back to Iunu and the broken Egyptian people we left behind.

  Yonah gestured to Tomek’s youngest boy. “For the sake of the children, who do not remember that dark night exactly one year ago, we will recall it together as we eat.”

  With a steady tone, Yonah recalled the nine warnings Yahweh gave to Pharaoh and the devastating plagues he unleashed on Egypt. My tongue still remembered the repugnance of the bloody water and the rot of the frog-death. My skin twitched at the memory of the unforgiving burn of the biting lice.

  After the third plague, Yahweh had protected us. But the horror of watching the affliction of the Egyptians beneath the heavy hand of judgment—the flies, the boils, the pestilence, the locusts, the hailstorms, the blackness—was still fresh in my mind.

  Dov and Ari, barely three years old when we left Egypt and oblivious to the destruction around them, were enthralled all throughout the telling. They had sidled up to sit on either side of me, eyes wide.

  Yonah gestured to the lamb on the spit behind him. “As you remember, each family was commanded to select one spotless lamb to bring into our homes. And again, this year, we did the same—brought one innocent animal to live among us in preparation for its sacrifice.”

  Dov and Ari had been smitten by the brown-faced lamb, taking turns leading it around by the rope. When the time came for the creature to be butchered, they’d hid inside the tent, teary faces pressed into my lap until the deed was done. The lamb’s fathomless eyes haunted me as well, its innocence reminding me how precious the blood smeared across our lintels and doorposts had been, to stay the grasping hand of death. Such a heavy price for our redemption from slavery—the lives of Egypt’s firstborn sons.

  Yonah continued, “After four days of inspecting the lamb for spots or blemishes, we slaughtered the animal and applied its blood around the doors of our houses. This was a signal to Yahweh that we had heeded his warnings and that we would be faithful to this Covenant of Blood.”

  “What is a covenant, Shira?” Dov asked in a loud whisper. Marah leveled a glare at me, as if assigning me the blame for the interruption.

  Before I could respond, Yonah smiled at the boy. “A covenant is a binding agreement, one that requires the shedding of blood. It says that Yahweh is our God and King and that we will listen and obey.”

  “By why does a lamb have to die?” Dov folded his arms across his chest and lowered his brows. “I liked him. He was nice.”

  With grandfatherly compassion in his expression, Yonah frowned. “I know. But is it better for a lamb to die or your brother?”

  Dov’s eyes widened as he gaped at Ari.

  “If we had not painted our doors with the lamb’s blood that night, Ari, who was born before you, would have died, just like thousands upon thousands of Egyptian boys did. Do you understand?”

  Dov hesitated, but then nodded.

  “And remember,” Yonah said, “way back in the Garden, when HaAdam and Chavah disobeyed Yahweh?”

  All the children nodded this time, for the stories of the Garden were told again and again around campfires, their histories entwining so completely with our own memories that it seemed only a few years ago that our first ancestors had walked with Yahweh in the cool of the evening, instead of thousands.

  “What did Yahweh do when they ate the forbidden fruit?”

  Zayna made the connection and called out, “He killed an animal to make clothes!”

  Yonah smiled. “That’s right, Zayna. Not only does this lamb we eat tonight remind us of the way that Yahweh rescued us from slavery, it also reminds us of how he took care of our ancestors from the very beginning. Even after they had disobeyed, he killed an animal and fashioned clothes for them. An undeserved kindness, for sure.”

  He lifted his voice. “So we will partake of the lamb and the bitter herbs just as we did before we left our homeland. We will remember that night when a spotless lamb’s blood was traded for our own so that we might be born into a new life as free men.”

  Weighted silence hung over us as we ate the same meal we did one year before, with our sand
als strapped to our feet, ready to flee as the cries of mothers and fathers rent the sky with keening wails for their firstborn sons.

  But just as it had that last morning in Egypt, when our faces welcomed the sunrise as free people, the somber mood around the campfire began to wane. Laughter and chatter began to fill the void left by Yonah’s strong voice.

  Eben pulled out a small lyre and surprised me by playing a song written by Mosheh, a celebration of the watery victory over Pharaoh. Although Eben lacked the same dexterity as before, the beautiful tune inspired me to sing a soft harmony.

  As soon as the song ended, Ayal leaned over Ari and brought his lips to my ear. “I wish we were alone.” His low whisper tickled my ear and warmed my blood. “And you were singing only for me.”

  “Shall I recount the glories of war?” My lips twitched at my own jest as Ari slithered from between us to go beg for the privilege of playing one of Jumo’s drums.

  Ayal slid his long body closer and his arm behind me. “As long as I can listen to your lovely voice, you may sing whatever you like.” He brushed back my headscarf to drop a kiss behind my ear.

  A giggle kindled in my chest, but the dark look Marah cut toward us extinguished it. Ayal followed my line of sight just as Marah turned away.

  “Is she being civil?” he asked, his tone seething. “If those she-wolves so much as bare their teeth at you—”

  I placed a soothing hand on his thigh. “I am fine.”

  “Yonah and Tomek ordered them to treat you with respect.”

  His statement took me by surprise. “They did?”

  “After the way you helped with the sheep? Of course. They understood then why I was so determined to have you as my wife.” The deep grooves curved around his smile. “Before that day, the flock witnessed many an argument between us.”

  The thought of Ayal clashing with his brothers over me was sobering, and I did not miss that he had omitted Noam and Yael from the conversation. “I do not want to be a point of contention between you and your family.”

  With one finger he turned my chin toward him, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Shira. My songbird. My love. You are my family now. Together, you and I, we are something new.”

  During our time of solitude together, Ayal had shared more of his life with Leisha and the pain and humiliation of his failed attempts to protect her from herself. I, too, had revealed more of my own hurts—the sting of rejection when my brother sent me away after the attack, the abuse at the hands of Tekurah, the doubts that assailed me every time I considered returning to midwifery. So many broken pieces between us, yet somehow they all seemed to fit together.

  In a sudden move that startled me, Ayal leaned forward, craning his neck as if scanning past the circle of firelight and into the dark depths between tents. Concern pinched his brow.

  “What is it?” I peered into the void as well but saw only blackness.

  “Someone was watching us.” He stood and gestured for Jumo to follow him. “Take the children to the tent. I’ll be back soon.”

  Dread snaked around my spine. Ayal had been honest with me about the tensions vibrating within the camps. The run-in Kiya and I had at the traders’ wagons had been only one of many incidents, each more violent than the last. Ayal’s swift reaction bore evidence to the truth: Although we had all walked through the depths of the sea together, there were enemies within this multitude.

  When Talia was asleep and the boys nestled together like puppies on their pallet, I slipped out of the tent to wash my hands and face in the large, rain-fed pot by the door. A chill swept off the mountain peak, where the remnants of a late snowstorm had laid a white shawl across its shoulders. I shivered as I shook the ice-cold water from my dripping hands. When would Ayal return?

  “. . . chased Dvorah off . . . she got what she wanted.” Marah’s whisper rasped from somewhere close by.

  She is talking about me. Curious, I tiptoed closer to the conversation but stayed in the shadows.

  “Do you really think they were carrying on before she died?” said Aiyasha.

  “Oh, I have no doubt. Remember, he didn’t restrain himself with Leisha either. That’s why he had to marry that crazy zonah. Mark my words, a baby will come within the next five or six months.” Yael snorted, unapologetic voice lifting. “Probably didn’t even wait until her body was cold.”

  They were slandering me. Slandering my husband. Although Dvorah had disappeared weeks ago, she was still inflicting damage. I turned, meaning to slip back inside my tent and burrow in with the children to soothe the sting of the barbed words, but Marah’s final jab stopped me.

  “She’ll probably toss aside Leisha’s brats the minute she pushes out her own.”

  Too far. Swift resolution braided my spine with iron. I spun around and strode into the middle of their circle, head high. “How dare you say such things! Ayal is a good man, an honorable man. Any mistakes he made are in the past. Forgiven.” Shock at my own boldness coursed through my limbs. “Leisha was a bitter woman. But what did you do to welcome her? Did you invite her in with open arms? Accept her as one of you? Or even treat her with the hospitality afforded a stranger?” I braced my hands on my hips, driving a look of accusation into each woman’s eyes. “No? I did not think so.”

  Their open-mouthed astonishment barely registered before I continued. “Have you ever considered that she might have been a different woman had you tried? Had you not elbowed her to the side? Cast her to the edges of your family?”

  Aiyasha glanced away, the first to soften her stance.

  “At the very least, there can be no excuse for treating her children with such antipathy—children who are among the sweetest I have ever known. Children who I would never, never in a thousand years, walk away from. Even if I was not barren.”

  Satisfying silence followed me back to my tent. I ducked inside, heart pounding, and found my husband with a broad grin across his face.

  “Apparently,” he said, wicked delight dancing in his amber eyes, “she-wolves are no match for my songbird.”

  43

  19 IYAR

  14TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT

  I plunged the sheet back into the icy water, scrubbing with vigor against a large rock. My body ached from the strain of squatting with Talia on my back, but this would be the last chance to wash our linens and clothing in the lake before we left the foot of the mountain tomorrow.

  In the distance, the men were rolling up the second layer of the Mishkan covering. Ayal had been gone since daybreak, working alongside the other Levites to disassemble the huge tent and its gold-plated wooden walls, pack the sacrificial implements, dismantle the altar and laver, and then load each item on wagons and carts. He and his brothers had already merged their own small herd with the large one that belonged to all of the Levites. When not taking his turn among the other priests, Ayal would be working among the sheep he loved, guarding the lambs that would be offered for sacrifice one day.

  “Why must we leave?” Yael muttered, gesturing to the sparkling lake and the abundance of green that had sprung up along its edges. “There is food here, fresh water, and no one has bothered us.”

  Aiyasha laughed. “Who would, with the Cloud guarding us? The traders won’t even come into the camps.”

  I had been astounded when Aiyasha had come to my tent this morning with an invitation to wash linens with them. It had been over a month since I’d stood up to the three she-wolves, as Ayal called them, and although they still ignored me most of the time, I’d noticed the other children had begun including Dov and Ari in games—a victory that thrilled me even more than the begrudging acceptance by the women. Marah had even offered to watch the boys today.

  Yael twisted a towel in her hands, squeezing the moisture from its coils, then snapped it in the air as she chatted with Aiyasha about how much she had left to pack, and that Noam refused to help.

  A tall Nubian woman with her hands on her hips spun to face Yael, her tiny beaded braids bouncing with the m
otion. “Watch out! You are spraying me with water!”

  “How dare you speak to me like that?” Yael aimed a murderous glare at her.

  The Nubian woman pursed her full lips, an incredulous eyebrow arched high. “Forgive me. I did not know I was addressing a queen.” She bowed with a flourish, one hand over her heart.

  I clenched my lips tight, desperately willing a laugh not to escape. Unaccustomed to anyone lifting their voice at her, and even less with being mocked, Yael narrowed her eyes to tiny slits of fury. “If I were a queen, I certainly wouldn’t allow your kind in this camp.”

  “My kind?”

  “Yes. Your kind.” Yael’s voice rose, as did the ugly sneer on her face. “You gerim who are not part of any tribe but continue to live among us as if you were one of Avraham’s children.”

  Everyone within our vicinity had halted their work, all eyes on the two women. I hoped this altercation would not mirror the one Kiya and I had been snared in, especially not with Talia strapped to my back. A few other foreign women with all varieties of skin tones moved to stand behind the Nubian woman, ready to defend their fellow outcast.

  All trace of jest vanished from the Nubian woman’s face. “I am just as much a part of Avraham’s family as you, dear lady. My husband was circumcised with the rest of the men after the Covenant, and I spoke the same binding words you did. As Mosheh says, our heritage does not matter, only our commitment to Yahweh.”

  Yael snorted, a distinctly unfeminine sound. “I doubt your commitment would be so strong if food did not fall from the sky every morning.”

  The Nubian woman lifted a basket and placed it on her head. “I will go wherever Yahweh leads—food or no food.” She turned and walked away.

  The woman’s simple statement and abrupt departure silenced Yael. The onlookers melted away, satisfied there would be no more sparks between the two women, and I breathed a prayer of thanks that the brawl at the traders’ wagons had not repeated itself.