Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  A purely feminine thrill tingled down her spine. For a heartbeat, her mind went blank.

  Her hands itched with the desire to touch him. She rubbed her palms quickly against her robe.

  Javan reached her side before she pulled her breathing under control. He smiled at her and she saw home-coming delight shining in his eyes. She could not look away, unable to break the link with him, as real as a touch.

  Her hands tingled again, the wishes of her mind come to life. At the laughter in his eyes, she looked down and saw a thick rough-fibered rope. Her fingers had closed over it without thought, carried away by her fancies.

  Javan chuckled. “We have four donkeys to lead home.”

  Taleh looked down the rope to its end, a crude harness around the head of a lazy-eyed, gray-haired donkey heavily laden with sacks. She felt her cheeks warm, and knew with embarrassed certainty that her face was as red as it felt. Perhaps Javan had not noticed her silly reaction. Maybe he was so happy to be going home that her unguarded response escaped him.

  And maybe the donkey at the end of her rope could fly.

  Javan settled down for his turn at nighttime watch feeling contentment seep through his bones.

  His woman was indeed falling in love with him. Jephthah had been right.

  He smiled into the darkness, reliving again the moment when he had seen Taleh devouring him with her eyes as he crossed the camp toward her. Such a look made a man feel invincible, powerful, and very wanted. It had also been very unexpected, despite Jephthah’s confidence.

  He chuckled to himself, quietly.

  They were at most two days from his family’s lands. The beauty of Gilead spread out around him, even in the dark. The air was soft, warmer than on the plains of Ammon, and rich with the familiar smells of freshly turned earth and ripening fruit. They had purchased some fresh figs from a farmer near midday, and old memories had nearly overwhelmed him. The man had a young son playing at helping, so like Javan himself had done at that age.

  But tonight was not a night to waste on grief. This was a night for the future, for looking ahead.

  The Law gave him one year free of obligations, free of the call to war, in which to make his wife pregnant and ensure his name’s survival. What would the end of that year bring? Would he find himself a father? Would his wife be quick to conceive a child? Perhaps his first would be a son. How many nights had he wondered if he would ever live to see a child of his own?

  The time was within his grasp – almost. He still had the month to fulfill.

  A month. It was a long time not to take her. Eight days had gone by since he first saw her, eight days to be grateful for duties and hard work and the constraints of many people. How else could he have endured?

  Would the villagers make him wait the full time, or would they only impose the month less these days gone past?

  His mind whirled with arguments to use on the older men of the village. When his watch ended, he presented them to Obed, barely awake, but his friend merely laughed.

  “Go to sleep, Javan,” Obed said. “You always get what you want in your dreams, and I believe that is where your arguments belong. Subtract days from the waiting period and miss seeing us suffer? Why would they want to do that?”

  Taleh woke with a start. Something brushed against her. Her heart raced in fright, her breath stuffed tight in her throat.

  “Do not panic.”

  Javan’s voice. Whispering close to her ear. Right beside her.

  He was sitting next to her, his hand resting lightly on her hip. “Just watch.” He spoke softly, so none would overhear.

  Taleh strained to look over her shoulder at him. He was so close. She saw only his shape, large and male, and the firelight’s pale reflection in his brown eyes.

  “No, do not look at me. Look that way.” He gently turned her head away from himself. She lay stiff until the first rays of the rising sun caught the underside of puffy clouds.

  She sighed in awe. She wanted to tell him how beautiful it was, but her throat was too tight. Her strong soldier woke her to watch a sunrise. She did not know which moved her to tears.

  In the first glow of morning, the valley below them took shape, tiers of olive trees standing in graduated rows down the hill, late summer flowers glowing at their base when the light touched their dew-covered petals. Birds hiding in leafy branches called greetings to each other. Fences made of white limestone rocks marked paths through the base of the small valley, and at the bottom, a white-washed house stood, its half-opened window shutters like sleepy eyes.

  “Is your land like this?” Taleh asked, reluctant to spoil either scene or mood but curious enough to take the risk. She rolled over, to see him smiling down at her.

  “It was, except it is not in a valley. It is flatter, but there are olive and fig trees like these. Even some date palms. My father had grapevines and we made our own wine. We also had flocks of sheep and goats, and two stubborn bulls for plowing. I have no bulls, so I will have to use my donkeys.” He paused and Taleh saw the memories come to his eyes, but they did not chase his smile away. “It was a good place to live. I hope it will be again.”

  The small camp began to stir with the rising of the sun, and Javan stood. Taleh stretched, and the small movement seemed pregnant with intimacy. He reached over and held out his hand.

  Without hesitation she put her hand in his, and let him pull her to her feet. The closeness of the moments they had shared was with her as she smiled up at him. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. She laughed.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Yes, it is,” he returned, and then he went over to help pack up the camp.

  Javan watched the slaves carefully as the journey reached its end. Since he and Obed worked right along with them and took pains to treat them well, he saw no signs of revolt. It would have done them little good, for they were well inside the boundaries of Israel now and everyone knew it.

  Javan kept a surreptitious watch on Merab also, but her coy behavior seemed a thing of the past. Perhaps she and Obed had been having a fight, perhaps she had become settled in her mind regarding the man who would be her husband, perhaps it was a reaction to the lovely area through which they walked. Javan did not know, but the change relieved him. He did not want trouble between himself and either his wife or his friend.

  Had Taleh noticed Merab’s flirting of before? She gave no sign. The two women got along well with each other. Javan felt with pride that it was more Taleh’s good nature and kindness than any effort on Merab’s part.

  He had chosen well.

  C H A P T E R 12

  Taleh felt the tension in Javan. It cracked around him like a whip as they walked up to the top of another hill, steeper than the ones they had climbed so far. He stopped abruptly. She almost bumped into him.

  Motionless, he looked out over the broad valley stretching before them, beautiful despite being brown from the last of the summer heat. Sheep grazed on what was left of the grasses, and goats, dark furred spots, gamboled about on the far side of the valley. At its bottom a walled village sat, not large, but clean-looking, as though none of the buildings had yet had a chance to age.

  Taleh noticed as she surveyed the scene before her that the hillside was covered with the ruins of what must be the original town. Javan had not lied when he told her what the Ammonites had done in his land. No wonder they had wreaked such vengeance on hers. Very little had been left to rebuild, if the sad remains below could be believed. At one time, this had been a large city, for chunks of it lay halfway up the hillside. Only the sheep and goats paid any attention.

  She looked over at Javan, but his face gave nothing away. Then she saw his eyes, and knew. This had been his village.

  Nothing else could account for his coldness, for the hollow look there.

  Obed stepped over to Javan’s side. Their expressions matched, bleak and pained.

  Merab came up behind Taleh and whispered, just loudly enough to catch the
attentions of the somber men, “This is not where we are going to live, is it?”

  Taleh had been wrapped up in the waves of sadness that washed over her from the men, and Merab’s lack of perception dismayed her. “Merab, watch your tongue,” she whispered fiercely. “We must show respect for these people, else they make it harder for us.”

  Her glare did little to stifle Merab. “Really, Taleh! Surely you expected better than this! I thought I was going to a place with some grace, some refinement. Had I known, I never would have accepted Obed’s offer of marriage. He cannot expect me to agree to stay here, in this pitiful excuse for a city. I come from a family of power.”

  Obed turned toward them. Taleh was glad that look was not aimed at her. She hissed quickly, “What difference does your family make now? They are all dead.” Obed stopped in front of Merab, his expression fierce.

  “Do you remember what your precious city looked like when we finished with it?” His eyes flashed with anger. “This one looked the same. How long would it take your people to rebuild? Very few people here survived to do even this much.” Grasping her shoulders, he growled, “If you wish to join your fellows in their slavery, it can be arranged. Just remember, this is my land. These are my people. If you persist in this course of foolish pride, you will find your life here a hard and lonely one.”

  Letting go, he turned his back on her and walked over to check the ropes holding his plundered goods to the donkeys. His every movement was stiff with rage.

  Taleh took Merab’s hand. “He is right, you know. We cannot expect the people to welcome us. Most of them would rather see us dead. We will have to earn their respect. Let us not make it harder on ourselves than it has to be.”

  Merab pulled away, still sulky, but Taleh saw worry and perhaps a bit of fear in her green-flecked eyes.

  A sudden puff of wind blew dust at Taleh. The flocks had arrived. The sheep and goats had long ago tired of the march. Keeping them with the rest of the group was a frustrating task, requiring all the efforts of the slave boys who drove them along.

  After days of holding back, the sheep finally showed an interest in what was up ahead, and began to bleat with enthusiasm. Taleh watched Javan. The noise and flurry pulled him from his thoughts. Taleh was relieved when she saw him come back to the present. Javan nodded at his slaves, struggling to hold the eager animals back, and the group moved down the hill.

  As they neared the bottom, Taleh saw what attracted the animals. A huge trough had been carved from one of the stones left among the ruins. Water filled it. Sitting in the meager shade on the other side of the well conveniently located next to the trough, a little boy with tousled brown hair drew pictures in the dirt. At the sound of their arrival, he jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Taleh could imagine what he thought. They were a mixed group, the hardened men with their tired women and slaves, and the thirsty flock that eagerly pushed toward him and the scent of water. At the fear in his wide dark eyes, Taleh knew he recognized them as Ammonites. He turned to run, giving a shriek as he did so, but Javan caught him in a few steps, swinging him off his feet and clapping a hand over the little boy’s mouth.

  “Do not be afraid. I am an Israelite, just like you. I have been fighting with Jephthah. The war is over.” He repeated it over again, until the boy’s eyes calmed. Javan removed his hand from the child’s mouth.

  The little boy’s fear had transformed into excitement. “Were you really with Jephthah? Did you fight lots of wars? Are they all killed? Did you kill them yourself? Will you come and tell my father? What is your name?”

  Javan laughed, and the little boy laughed with him, pleased to have a new friend. “One question at a time, young man. Yes, I really did fight with Jephthah. I was even one of his chiefs.”

  The boy’s eyes got bigger, and Taleh covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Really and truly?”

  “Really and truly,” Javan answered, grinning at the child. Then he knelt, and Taleh felt a curious pain in her heart as she watched. Javan said firmly, “I killed a lot of people, but I did not like doing it.”

  “Why not?” the boy asked, the concept plainly confusing his dreams of vengeance.

  Javan held his hand out to Taleh. She hesitantly walked to his side. Clasping her hand firmly, Javan said, looking up at her, “This is my wife, or she will be today. Her mother, father and sister are all dead.” He knelt down, and looked firmly at the boy. “That is what war is, losing your family. I hope you will never see a war in your whole life.”

  “Oh,” the boy responded, “but I want to go fight. I want to have a sword and bows and arrows. I would be a good shot, I just know I would.”

  “Yes, you would, I am certain,” was Javan’s only reply to such childish eagerness for blood. He rose, still holding Taleh’s hand. “Now I would like to see if I can find a place to stay while I rebuild my own house. Can you tell me where I can find lodging for all of us?”

  “My father can help you. He makes things out of leather. His name is Jesse, and he works in the village sometimes. The rest of the time he has to work away from it, he tells me. He’ll probably take you to Old Sarah.”

  An odd sound from Obed caught Javan’s attention, and he turned to look. Obed was staring fixedly at the little boy, his face pale and his eyes wide. “Obed? Are you all right? What is it?”

  Obed blinked, and looked back at Javan. “It is nothing. Truly. For a moment, I thought . . . but I must be mistaken.”

  Javan regarded his friend closely for a moment, but Obed shook his head. “Pay it no mind.” Obed’s voice was very firm.

  It would be a waste of time to pry, Taleh could see from the finality in Obed’s voice. Javan seemed to realize it as well. The little boy tugged at his arm, and he knelt again.

  Taleh did not hear any more of the conversation. She had stopped listening after he said she would be his wife that day.

  That day.

  During the past week and more, she had come to know Javan, and was beginning to accept her fate, perhaps even welcome it. He was kind and protective. He was strong enough to carry her burdens as well as his own, and he was faithful to his word. It would not be hard to be his wife, but she felt a thrill of fear.

  That day.

  Part of her wanted to get the joining over with. Part of her wanted to put if off as long as she could.

  She needed to sit down. Javan let go of her hand, and she sank to the ground.

  The boy busily pointed parts of the city out to Javan, who nodded knowledgeably, even though a city wall blocked the way of the little finger. He would never be able to find anything if he followed the child’s explanations and gestures, but the child was trying so hard to help that Javan could only agree and try not to laugh. Or cry. Finally, he pressed a piece of silver into the boy’s palm, successfully stopping the endless prattle. While the boy was distracted, he pulled Obed aside a few paces.

  “I think I remember this ‘Old Sarah’ he spoke of, Obed. There may be others with rooms to share, but we should start with her.”

  Obed still seemed pale, but maybe it was just the sun glaring down on them, washing everything in its glare. “I agree. We also have claims to make. If there are people here who remember us, it will help. What about your land? Do you foresee problems?”

  Javan rubbed a hand over the back of his sore neck. “I made it clear before I left that I was not abandoning my ancestral lands. If there are any records here, my claim will be among them. There should be little trouble proving who I am, at any rate.”

  Obed nodded. “It is getting late. We have too much to arrange to stand about in the sun. Shall we go?”

  “Both of us?” Javan nodded behind him at the slaves watching the flocks. “We may be deep in Israel, but do you think they will stay here because we tell them to?”

  Obed looked at the worn, dirty faces of the young men. “Yes, Javan, I think they will. I think they could fall asleep where they stand. Running back to Ammon is the farthest thing
from their minds.”

  Javan studied the people he now owned and decided Obed was right. Jumping on a nearby rock, he called the group to attention. “Obed and I will arrange lodgings and food. You may take your ease. Satisfy your thirst and rest, but do not let the flocks wander. Our journey is done.”

  Despite their fatigue, the slaves gave a tired cheer and flopped as one onto the hard ground. Obed grinned at Javan. “No rebellion today, my friend. Shall we go?”

  Javan looked at Taleh, sitting on the ground. He wanted . . . no, needed to remind her that she was his. She did not know what awaited her. What would it take before she would welcome his attentions after this night passed?

  “One moment,” he said to Obed, and he walked to her side. He reached down and grasped her arms, lifting her to her feet. Her lips were chapped and dusty, but he did not care. It was enough to feel their fullness under his own. He slid his fingers into the richness of her hair, easing her head back. He claimed her mouth as his, rejoicing in her acceptance, something to remember after she hated him.

  He forced himself to pull back. He still held her hair, and as it slipped through his fingers, he felt an embarrassing lump in his throat. Tonight it would all be gone, and he would have to shave it off himself. It was hard to think of cutting off this beautiful bounty. He had grown attached to it, watching it slide over her cheeks as she bent to her work, seeing it shimmer in the sun while it dried, feeling it drift across his fingers whenever he found an excuse to touch her. It draped her like an exquisite black garment.

  Would he still find her beautiful without it? Yes, he thought so.

  But what would she think of him?

  Taleh touched her fingers to her lips, a dazed look on her face. Javan smiled. Before he had a chance to try again, Obed jerked on his arm.

  “We will be late,” he snapped. Obed hurried down the path to the city gate, his anger obvious. The little boy who led them tried valiantly to catch their attention as he skipped along at their side.