What would her parents think of Javan, if they had lived? If only she could believe they be happy for her, glad she had surmounted, of a sort, the barriers between their two lands. She mockingly laughed into the quiet air. Her parents were too Ammonite. The setting aside of hatreds, it seemed, was only for the young.
If only she could see them one more time, try to explain. But they were dead, and furthermore, what would she say?
The house was empty. A bowl of pomegranates, grapes and figs sat warming on the table. A jug rested beside it, water beading on its sides.
A rumble of thunder interrupted her meal. She looked through the open door and saw heavy clouds hanging above the orchard. Where was Javan? The rumbles overhead sounded serious, and she worried if he would come home in time to escape the storm.
She walked outside, searching the horizon in all directions, her view broken by hills and trees. She wanted Javan here.
An odd fear filled her. The dream she had resolutely pushed aside surfaced, fed by the heavy air, the menace of the coming storm, darkness and dread.
Her family was gone, all dead, and she was alive. Their bodies, stiff and dead, crept into her dreams last night, all of them so clear even though in the war’s aftermath she had only seen Chelmai. It was the first time she had dreamed them in many days. Why now? Did she feel she had betrayed them by laying with her husband?
She saw again the dream, the pointing fingers, the accusations.
And remembered the horror that had driven her from sleep.
Two altars had stood before her. Javan was bound on one. Her family lay on the other. Everything was ready for the sacrifice, down to the burning torches poised above the wood.
Who would live, and who would die? The decision had been up to her.
She had not been able to choose, and the priests had made the decision she could not. Her husband had died, and she had wept with joy to hold her family again.
Had she betrayed them by living? She certainly had betrayed Javan in her dream.
Taleh climbed the small hill to the east of the house, and looked over the rolling land. The thin line of trees close to the house melted into the thicker forest, interrupting her view of the distance. If she figured correctly, somewhere out there lay Ammon.
“I am not going back.” She said it out loud. She felt foolish, talking to nothing. The very lack of witnesses gave her the courage to continue, to expunge the guilt for being alive, and being happy. “I want to stay here, with my husband. I love him.”
I love him, she thought. I do.
The road she set for herself was precarious, but it was the only one her heart could tolerate. As she stood alone before the growing storm, she wondered if she was up to the task.
Javan urged the slaves to more speed, as he kept one eye on the dark clouds. The sky had threatened all morning, but there was still too much to do in the fields. They had worked until the smell of coming rain blew in with the increasing wind. The first big drops fell as they reached the rock fence that edged the border of the field.
Javan closed the gate behind the last slave and latched it, looking back at the evidence of their day’s efforts. The rain was just in time. The soil would begin to soften. His land needed the early rains more than the other farmers’ land did, for his had grown only weeds for too many years. He needed soft soil before the roots would give way to the plow. He had taken the sickle to the stalks, but so much waited upon the rains.
Next year, Javan would have crops to harvest, seed to sell and to save to renew the cycle.
He turned and watched the slaves hurry into their dwelling, eager to get out of the worsening rain. He would be wet through by the time he got inside, but rain never bothered him.
A spot of blue on the opposite hill caught his eye, and he peered through the gray rain. What possessed her to come out in this weather? She was facing Ammon, and his heart gave a strange beat in his chest.
Before he could head after her, something in her stance held him in place. She was not moving, there was nothing to indicate any attempt to escape. He moved slowly toward her, not wishing to startle her, disturbed by her unnatural stillness.
When he was close enough to see her face, her expression stopped him. Her shoulders were bowed as under a heavy load, her hands hanging limply at her sides. Her eyes looked out unseeing at the falling rain, her hair sticking to her scalp in tight, wet curls. Water ran off her face, but whether it was tears or rain, he could not tell.
No matter how many times he thought over his actions on that day, he would change nothing. He could not have taken her life. Nor could he have permitted her to become a slave. From the first time he saw her, he had known her life was in his hands. Making her his wife was the best of the ends she had faced.
Gusts of wind blew the rain in wild patterns, buffeting her frail figure as she stood, like she was in his land, separate and friendless.. He could not let her stay out here or she would become ill. She did not have his strength or years of soldiering to protect her. He could not imagine what had drawn her out to face the storm. It made no sense.
The cold finally penetrated whatever pain she carried, and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, looking about as though she finally realized where she was.
Javan stood and waited for her to make the first move.
She saw him and smiled, holding out her hand.
An unfamiliar emotion wrapped around his chest. It was relief, he told himself. Relief and responsibility. The weight of the commitment he had undertaken grew both heavier and easier to carry. He was her family now, her protector and companion.
Battered as she had been by war and death, torn by loyalties that he knew still pulled at her, he alone stood to temper the wind.
C H A P T E R 20
Obed poked his head around the corner of the three-sided sheepfold.. “Have you heard yet?” he asked, his face alive with excitement.
“Heard what?” Javan scowled at the interruption. The sheep he bent over groaned as he pressed carefully at its belly. He suspected it had found some fermented grapes, probably from some vine hanging over a fence, or at least too near one.
“It is good to see you again, as well,” Obed laughed.
Javan released a reluctant chuckle. “I apologize for my rudeness. My hospitality is lacking.” He pressed once more, and the sheep swung back a hoof. He dodged just in time. It was a good sign. The animal might be unhappy, but it would survive. “It seems there is always too much to do. It has even been a while since I was free to take Taleh to the village.”
Obed shook his head in mock reproach. “That is very cruel of you, to keep her penned here in the wilderness with only you and your flocks for company. For shame, Javan!”
Javan retorted, “If you came all this way to reproach me for my care of my wife, you are sadly misled. Each time I take my wife to the village, Saul gives her another gift. My home is overrun with pottery. I have jars, pots, oil lamps enough for ten houses, cups, bowls, and I do not know what else.”
“My apologies, Javan. I have been too busy to keep up with local gossip. Perhaps soon you could send your wife for a visit. My wife would be only too happy to see her.” Obed drew into himself for a moment, his thoughts far away, judging from the look in his eyes.
Javan felt the old familiar ripple of unease that tormented him whenever he thought of the things he should have told Obed about Merab, but had not.
Obed abruptly smiled, the shadow banished. “Have you no wish to ask what brings me here?”
“Very well. What brings you here?” Javan mimicked obediently.
“Traders are here from Midian. A big caravan, with many camels. I hope the well will hold out for their visit.” Obed slapped Javan on the back, a bit harder than necessary. “Get Taleh, and come back with me. She will enjoy it. You might even find something to give her yourself, instead of relying on Saul. Women love presents.”
“Very clever, Obed.” But the idea had merit, he had to agree.
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By the time they reached the village, Taleh was overwhelmed with Obed’s oppressive good humor. Something was wrong with him.
Merab joined them near the impromptu marketplace quite happily, and clung to Obed’s arm like a twining vine. Taleh would have doubted her earlier impression of Obed, had Merab’s performance rung true. But she was almost giddy, and Obed’s happy demeanor felt forced. His everpresent smile had a bitter edge and his laughter grated on the ear.
Merab was delighted, enchanted, effusive. The fabrics were too beautiful to be real, the gold blinded her with its glitter, the perfumes smelled sweeter than spring, the metal pans were the finest she had ever seen. And on it went. Taleh struggled with the urge to gag, and the equally strong desire to take Merab aside and slap her.
Merab flitted from one stall to the next, her movements frenetic. Taleh’s worries grew. Obed guarded his expressions carefully, but Taleh could sense he was bemused by his wife’s behavior.
Could it be she was merely lonely and heartsick, looking for something that reminded her of home? Obed must have thought so, for he finally bought her a gift of perfume. Her delight was painfully bright, her laughter too gay. Her eyes sparkled with something that felt much like desperation.
Taleh lost interest in the caravan. The brightly colored fabrics looked garish in their eye-catching display, the hastily-erected tents stifled her. The camels that rested behind each trader’s stall smelled abominably. Everywhere, the calls of the traders, and the raised voices of the buyers as they bargained, pounded at Taleh’s ears. She wanted to leave, but no opportunity arose to ask. She caught Javan giving Obed worried glances, but he said nothing, so she kept her own silence and endured.
The strain made her head ache.
When Taleh noticed Saul on the edge of the bazaar, it was as a gift from heaven. She tugged at Javan’s arm, heedless of the discourtesy. “Please, may I go and talk with Saul?” she asked, pointing.
Javan nodded. “I will come with you.”
Obed waved them off, but there was regret in his eyes. What could be so wrong that he would need a guard to spend time with his wife, Taleh wondered.
As they took their leave, Javan said firmly, “No more gifts, Taleh. We have enough.”
“I know,” she agreed. It touched her each time she visited Saul to see her place in his life, to know he ignored her origins and sought to gift her with the best of his works. Each time, she accepted, knowing how rare this friendship was. Two friends and a husband seemed a small number. She would brave Javan’s raised eyebrows and heavy sighs at the coming proffered gift, for there would be one, she knew. “I do not know how to refuse. Did you know he and his wife had no children?
“Yes, I know that.”
“This may sound presumptuous, Javan, but I feel he may view me as a daughter.” She looked apologetically at him. “That sounds arrogant of me. I am, after all, Ammonite.”
“No,” Javan said, surprised at his own lack of perception. “I think you may have it exactly right.” They walked in silence, and then he spoke again. “You must still refuse him. We do not have enough room in our house for his gifts.” He tugged at a blue-black curl, freed to the sun. She no longer wore a headdress, now that her hair had grown enough to cover her head and tickle the tops of her ears. Her new-born confidence pleased him.
Taleh giggled, whether at his touch or at his words, he could not say. “I am only too happy to let you try to refuse for me.”
Javan smiled down at her, entering her lightened mood. “So you think I will not succeed, do you?”
Taleh laughed outright. “Not just think. I know you will not succeed. I wonder what he will make you take home.”
Her mood charmed him. Javan retorted playfully, “I am stricken by your lack of faith.”
“It is not that I lack faith in you, husband.” She grinned up at him. “But Saul is older and very crafty. You will see.”
Javan caught her hand, and held on tightly as they made their way through the crowd.
Above the constant drumming of the late afternoon rain, the steady knock on the door pulled Taleh away from her cooking. The message must be urgent for anyone to make the trip in this weather. They had barely made it home dry.
She wished Javan was here. But he was out in some field with the slave boys, helping them round up the flock. Sheep were livelihood and needed care, and the storm had caught them unprepared.
Stepping around the over-sized water jar Saul had tricked Javan into accepting, the very sight of it making her smile again, Taleh cautiously pulled the door open. Merab stood outside, water dripping off her cloak, her short hair sticking to her head, and hanging limply over her ears. She was out of breath, and clung to the doorpost gasping for air.
“Merab! What is wrong?” Taleh quickly pulled her inside, alarmed by the look on her face.
“Taleh, are you my friend?” Merab’s voice was harsh.
“Of course I am,” she responded, puzzled.
“You must promise you will not tell anyone what I am about to say. Do you promise?”
A warning went off inside Taleh. What reason could Merab have for such a request? “Why?”
“I have to leave here,” Merab burst out. “I cannot stay. I must go home.”
“To Obed?”
“Obed? By the gods, no! To Ammon!”
“You are leaving Obed?” Taleh could not think. He was a good man and she knew he was kind to Merab, whatever the problems that lay between them.
“You must promise to say nothing!” Merab gripped Taleh’s shoulders like a wild woman. “Promise me!”
“Merab, do not do this thing,” Taleh pleaded. “Whatever has happened, surely you can work it out with Obed. I know he would never hurt you. Talk to him. Please.”
“I cannot. I will not. I have to get away.”
“But why? Oh, Merab, please tell me what is wrong.”
“I am pregnant.”
Something dark, the color of despair, filled Taleh, choking off speech. A terrible premonition raised its ugly head. She stared numbly at Merab. “You are leaving Obed because you are pregnant.”
“I am not like you, Taleh. I will not give up what I know. I have tried to remain faithful to Molech. Obed tried to stop me, but I found ways. I will not bring evil upon my head by failing my responsibility. If Obed knows I am carrying his child, he will never let me do the right thing for Molech, so I have to go before he finds out!”
“You are going to sacrifice your child?’ Taleh’s lips were stiff as she forced the words out.
“My uncle is a priest of the Baals, and he still lives. I found out today from the Midianites. I still fear the wrath of the gods, even if you do not. You think you are too far away for Molech to reach you? I know better. I will do my duty, and how better than to take vengeance on Israel. Leave with me.”
If a cobra had appeared suddenly, Taleh could not have been more repulsed. “I can not! My life is here now. I will not go.”
“I should have known! You have actually fallen in love with your husband, am I right?” Merab began to laugh, a cold mocking sound. “And I suppose you think he loves you in return? You, an Ammonite, an enemy? You silly fool!”
“How will you get away?” Taleh asked quietly, to turn Merab’s pointed words away from her heart.
Merab laughed again. “And let you tell Javan, so he can tell Obed? I have it all planned, never fear. I know what I am doing. This is your best – your only – chance.”
“But, Merab, if you leave now, he will know you have gone.” Taleh willed her mind to work, hoping for an idea, an inspiration, anything to stop this from happening. “He will be after you before nightfall, and he will catch you, too. He was a soldier for many years. Have you thought of that?”
“He would never follow me. He will be glad to have me gone.”
“You. Are. Wrong.” Taleh spaced the words out for emphasis. “Because I will tell him you carry his child and plan to kill it. I have come to understand some of ho
w these people think, and I promise you, he will come after you.”
Terrifying rage disfigured Merab’s face. For a moment, Taleh feared for her life, but she stood her ground. As though pinned before a poisonous viper, where a single movement could bring death, Taleh waited in stillness for the threat to break or pass by.
Merab blinked, and the spell was broken. “Very well. Perhaps you are right. He is watching me. I will wait.”
For what, Taleh wanted to ask, but she contented herself with the small victory. “You are doing the right thing.” She tried not to show her relief, tried to stiffen the knees that wanted to wobble. “It will get better. Give it time.”
“I must go back. If he comes home early, he will wonder where I am. It would not do to make him suspicious.” Merab’s last words were bitter.
And she was gone. Taleh sank limply onto the bench, her hands shaking. Merab was not telling her the whole truth, she was sure. But she did not think Merab would leave in this weather.
The next day broke cool. The sun was weak, and rather than endure a lonely meal in the autumn wind, Javan had come to eat with her. She cooked his favorite meal, trying to forget it had been a sheep she might have known not long before.
Sudden pounding on the door interrupted them. Obed’s voice thundered through the heavy wood, “Javan, open up!”
For a startled instant, the raw fear in his voice froze them both. Javan reacted first, with the warrior’s speed that still awed her. Obed stood in the doorway, a fist raised to give another blow. His face was reddened with exertion and the chill of the day, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
Taleh knew, before he said another word, the news he brought.
“Get in, before you let out what little warmth we have.” Javan grabbed Obed’s upraised arm, and tugged him inside.
Obed searched the room quickly, and the despair on his face tore at Taleh. What a fool she had been!
Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel) Page 20
