The plain stucco walls of what served as the private quarter of the inn closed in around Gabriel and his stomach soured. His feet moved as though encased in mud. He didn’t need an introduction to know he was standing in the presence of his father’s mistress. He couldn’t deny what his eyes told him when he beheld the mirror-image of his sister in the smiling face of the youngest girl.
“Gabriel and Leonidas, this is Anina Onias, and these are her daughters Miriam and Ruth.”
“Onias?” Leonidas said with his usual enthusiasm. “We go by the name Onias, too.”
Anina’s smile faded. The wadded cloth slipped from her hand.
Gabriel managed to pry open his pursed lips. “Our father is Nehonya Onias.”
Shoshana gasped. “You’re... you’re Nehonya’s sons?”
Leonidas’s brow creased. “You know our father?”
Anina clasped her red-chapped hands. “Did something terrible happen? Is he ill or hurt? Is he—”
“He’s not dead,” Gabriel said too loud. “However, our mother hasn’t been the same since she learned the truth.”
The loose woman at least had the decency to look ashamed. Anina put her hand on the oldest girl’s shoulder. “I would apologize, except I thank the Lord every day for my girls.”
Miriam, clearly old enough to understand the exchange, blinked rapidly, her lower lip wobbling.
Unaware of the tension, little Ruth offered Gabriel the bowl of food. He accepted the dish out of politeness. The fragrant smell of the herbs and spices his father favored wafted up. Looking into the eyes of young girl with lashes thick and black as Elizabeth’s, realization stuck. Miriam and Ruth were his half-sisters.
His anger fizzled. He might hate the illicit nature of their conception, but he couldn’t despise these innocent girls.
He forced a smile. “Bless you. It looks delicious. Did you cook it?”
Ruth grinned like he’d given her a shiny gold coin. “Mother cut the turnip, but Miriam and I put it in the pot and added the cumin and leeks.
Anina nodded her grim thanks. “Girls, I need you to go fetch more water from the well.”
Ruth’s shoulders sagged. “But it’s been weeks since Shoshana visited us.”
“I’ll come back soon with Jacob and Isaac,” Shoshana said looking miserably uncomfortable.
Gabriel set the bowl on the table. “We will go. We have work that needs looking after.”
Leonidas frowned. “Can’t we eat first?”
Gabriel swallowed an impatient retort. “Do I really need to answer that?”
Anina straightened and held her head high. “Take the bowls with you. Shoshana can return them later.”
Leonidas pushed his unruly hair away from his face. “I’ll take the biggest dish you have.”
The girls giggled. Shoshana hid a smile behind her hand.
Appetite gone, but not wanting to add insult to injury, Gabriel grabbed the brown bowl Ruth had given him and turned toward the door. He burst back into the dank alley and shook his head clear. “Mother of mercy, I didn’t need to have my nose rubbed in my father’s sins.”
He wondered what his brother Andrew’s reaction would be if confronted with Anina and the White Dove. Andrew, who had remained loyal to their father. But Andrew would be the first to call for a woman like Anina to be stoned.
“Will you listen to me for a moment?” Anina asked from the doorway, a tremor in her voice.
Weary and sick at heart, Gabriel scrubbed his face. “You don’t need to explain.”
“I told your father to forsake me, but he never would.”
The part of him who had been the boy and young man who held his father in highest regard wanted to cover his ears against the idea of this woman and his father sharing intimacies, but the husband and father in him wanted to understand how a good man could fall so far.
Anina looked down, sighed, and then lifted her chin. “Your father started renting rooms here shortly before my first husband died, and afterward he came regularly, and we would always talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. After few years and visits passed, we were foolishly unguarded, and then I was with child.”
He cleared his throat. “Miriam?”
Anina nodded and looked into the distance, eyes unfocused. “I would have gone into hiding in Egypt or Rome, except it would have been unfair to my other children.”
“You have others?”
“Five. Two sons, who didn’t live past age ten, and three grown daughters.”
Pity for the woman crept in. He examined her anew. He’d imagined his father’s mistress as red-lipped temptress or a tawdry harlot, but from her tidy hair to her sturdy sandals Anina appeared a respectable, modest woman.
A sad smiled crossed her timeworn face. “I told your father I would find a man willing to marry a woman in my condition in order to take ownership of the White Dove. The inn has always been prosperous. But Nehonya wouldn’t hear of another man raising his daughter. So I allowed him to continue to visit me. Over and over, he promised he would marry me, but year after year went by and I eventually stopped hoping.”
Under different circumstances his mother might find much to like in Anina. “My mother was and is devastated.”
Anina winced. “I followed you to ask you to speak to your father for me.”
“I can’t. Don’t involve—”
“Please,” she begged. “For your mother’s sake.”
Much as he wanted to walk away, he couldn’t. “At this point, what could possibly be said to undo the harm?”
“Tell your father he is welcome to see our girls at Shoshana’s home or they can travel to Jerusalem. But I won’t ever see him again...” her voice cracked “...I know he is holding onto the hope he can somehow find a way to make both your mother and me happy. But it’s too late for that. Convince him this is the only way.”
Gabriel patted the forlorn woman’s shoulder, who was as different from his mother as the desert to the ocean. “I can see why my father loves you.”
She nodded and sniffed back tears. “He does... love us both, but it’s no excuse for our sin. He and I wronged your mother. That can’t be undone. But we can do what is right from now on. Tell Nehonya he is no longer welcome at the White Dove.”
Anina pushed the bowl sitting forgotten in his hand against his chest before walking away, saying over her shoulder, “Heat it up when you recover your appetite. It’s better warm.”
The motherly admonishment took him by surprise. Anina retreated inside before he could reply. He rocked back on his heels. He’d been blind with fury ever since learning of Anina. Had he judged his father too harshly? Too quickly? Meeting Anina and girls who were his half-sisters gave him newfound sympathy for the desperate measures his father had taken, and continued to take, to protect their secret. If the truth came out, Anina could be stoned to death for fornication, and his half-sisters would be shunned or treated abominably. Gabriel suspected he would also go to great lengths to ensure that never happened.
The grimy walls of Samaria overshadowed him. Home seemed far away. He yearned to discuss this with his father. But a vast army stood between them.
CHAPTER 13
Later that night Gabriel and Leonidas sat on woven mats covering hard-packed ground, circling a large, oval mat spread with bowls of heavy-grained bread, plump black olives, and milky-white goat curd. Fawn-colored rugs covered the walls and ceiling of Noach’s cave home. Oil lamps glowed softly about the room. The smell of baking bread lingered, and the dying embers of the oven provided a comfortable warmth.
The rocky opening and corridor leading to an inner compartment were the only evidence the room sat in the mouth of a cave. Leonidas regaled the family with one amusing story after another. Jacob and Isaac sat beyond Leonidas taking occasional bites of food thanks to the quiet insistence of their soft-spoken mother, Naomi. Big Lev, who somehow managed to fold his rangy limbs into a casual position, sat opposite them, adding the occasional wry comment.
At a break in the conversation, Noach leaned forward, obstructing his view, making Gabriel’s face heat like a schoolboy caught in a misdeed.
Tall and lean, with brown, weathered skin, Noach smiled. “Shoshana says you expect to finish purchasing Herod’s supplies by the end of tomorrow.”
Pleased at their speedy progress, Gabriel nodded. “We found three more mule operations able to make the trek the same day we hope to leave. Four more teams will follow later in the week. The numbers should provide safety from the bandits who’ve been attacking Herod’s supply line. I’m surprised you’ve never had problems with them before today.”
Noach’s gaze slid away. Shoshana studied her hands. The boys stopped fidgeting.
Gabriel frowned. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Big Lev grabbed for the thin-necked vase of wine, knocking it over. A rivulet of red wine washed over Gabriel’s mat. Gasps echoed around the small space. Gabriel jumped to his feet just in time to keep his tunic from being soaked. Leonidas grabbed the purple cloak Gabriel had been sitting on and held it aloft. Wine dripped from the hem.
“Sorry for the mess,” Big Lev said, but his deep voice didn’t hold much conviction.
Gabriel took the cloak back. Familiar sadness struck. Dirty and stained and suffering a small tear, the cloak, the last gift Talitha had given him, was ruined beyond repair. He stared between the cloak and the wine. He ought to sop up the mess. What were a few more splotches at this point?
“Give the robe to me,” Shoshana said, her expression solemn and intent.
He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. He had loved Talitha deeply, but he needed to let go and move on. “I’ll buy a new one tomorrow,” he said, voice choked.
Slender hands pried his fingers open, and the silky material slipped from his hands. “Let me try to save it.”
He pushed himself to his feet and helped Shoshana stand. “It’s hopeless.”
She touched his elbow. “I want to try for her sake.” He didn’t have time to read what was in her eyes before she hurried off and disappeared into the back room.
Between the boys and Naomi and Big Lev, the mess was cleaned up, the dishes and food stowed away, and bedrolls laid out next to the wall-sized brick oven. The family went off to bed.
Leonidas stretched out on the thin mat. “What a day.”
Restless, Gabriel toed the bedroll. “They’re keeping something from us.”
Leonidas yawned. “What makes you say that?”
“You didn’t notice the tense looks they exchanged before Big Lev knocked over the wine? I don’t think it was an accident.”
“What could they have to hide?”
Gabriel frowned. “I don’t know, but they’ve been on edge about something since we ran into them.”
“You’re too suspicious,” Leonidas said, yawning.
“My gut says Rahm is making trouble for—”
“Excuse me,” Shoshana said from the direction of the rocky archway leading to the back rooms.
Gabriel swung around. Lit by a palm-sized oil lamp, she walked to a wooden cupboard. How much had she heard? “Are we talking too loudly?”
She shook her head. “I came to see if you need anything. Some warmed, spiced wine to help you sleep, perhaps?”
Hungry to spend more time in her presence, and uneasy over the strength of the craving, Gabriel shifted in place.
“Spiced wine,” Leonidas exclaimed. “I’ll take two mugs.”
Shoshana smiled, set the miniature oil lamp on a shelf, and reached for a covered bowl on the top shelf of the cupboard, giving Gabriel a knee-weakening view of her gentle curves and long, slim neck.
His gut tightened.
She glanced back. “Do you want honey with...” Their eyes met and held. She swallowed. “...with your wine?”
“I’ll take extra honey,” Leonidas said.
An unsettled look crossed Shoshana’s face. She turned her attention back to the cupboard.
Gabriel needed to keep a tighter rein on his desire. He would never earn her trust leering like a barbarian. This might be his only opportunity to persuade her to confide in him. He hated the idea of Rahm menacing her. “Can I help?”
She spooned a mix of spices into an egg-sized metal ball studded with tiny circular holes, and shut the halves together. Her dark lashes swept over sun-kissed cheeks. “I never would have taken you into the White Dove if I’d known you were Nehonya’s sons.”
Gabriel winced. “I’m surprised you and your family have acquaintances in that part of town. I can’t believe my father would allow his daughters to live among that filth and vileness.”
Her chin snapped up. “Anina is a good woman.”
“I don’t bear her any grudge. Not any longer. Are you close friends?”
Shoshana grasped the pot of honey in one hand and the metal ball suspended from a fine-linked chain in the other, and, eyes flashing fiercely, she strode to the oven. The smell of cinnamon and cloves enveloped them. “Travelers passing our home on the way into the city will often ask after inns. We direct them to the White Dove and a few other respectable places. Anina shows her thanks by inviting us inside and feeding us until we are stuffed. I’ve grown very fond of Anina and her daughters.”
Glad he hadn’t had the joy of viewing the less respectable parts of Samaria, he thought better of saying so. “Anina asked me to tell my father he is no longer welcome at the White Dove.”
Shoshana dropped the ball of spice into a stout earthen crock half full of dark red wine resting in a warming niche, and looped the chain through a notch in the rim. She peered up at him and frowned. “I could never stay angry with your father. When he came, Anina and the girls would beam with joy for weeks before and afterward. He regularly sent coins and gifts. And when Miriam was deathly sick a few years ago, Nehonya rushed to her side and wouldn’t leave until she began to recover.”
Gabriel remembered the sudden emergency that had taken his father away for three weeks one winter. At the time, he thought it strange his father was so distraught over the vine dresser’s illness that sent him rushing off to the family’s Galilean farm. “My mother’s happiness and welfare are still my utmost concern, but meeting Anina, and Miriam and Ruth, has given me compassion for their suffering.”
Shoshana poured wine into clay mugs. “Here,” she said passing him one. “The cups are hot.” She smiled at Leonidas, who was sprawled by the hearth. “I believe it’s too late for him to drink the two cups he requested.”
Their fingers brushed, lingered skin to skin. Gabriel’s blood thrummed.
Shoshana pulled her hand back. “I ought to take my wine to my bedchamber.”
“Please stay.”
“But we’ll disturb your brother.”
He glanced at Leonidas. Arms and legs askew and head lolling to one side, Leonidas looked like a puppy exhausted after a hard day at play. “The world could end around him, and he still wouldn’t wake.” Gabriel sat crossed legged and patted the bedroll. “Stay. I have more to say.”
She bit her lip and stared.
He held his breath.
Clutching her mug, she sat with her knees drawn up and her shoulder to him.
He gulped a mouthful of wine. The fruity, spiced mixture warmed his belly. “Something has you and your family on edge. I’m guessing it has to do with Rahm.”
She dipped her head, and her hair cascaded over her shoulder, hiding her face. “I wish you wouldn’t concern yourself with our affairs.”
Frustrated by the screen of tresses separating them, he itched to touch his finger to her silky hair and tuck the copper-hued locks behind her ear
. “There’s no reason to trust me, but—”
“Our problems won’t bring harm to you and your family.”
Her dejection pained him. “My worries are for you. Not for myself.”
She dropped her head onto her knees and turned her face toward him. Lamplight caressed the hint of freckles crossing the bridge of her nose. Sorrow shone in her glistening, cinnamon eyes. “Why?”
“I want to help ease your burdens” The overwhelming need to protect her was justifiable, but not the growing desire to taste her mouth. He drank deeply of his wine, but it did nothing to quench his thirst.
Shoshana’s brow furrowed. “Now you are talking like my grandfather and nephews. They worry I have taken on too much. I expect my life will turn decidedly dull when my nephews are old enough to take over the mule train operation. Do you have children?”
He pictured his daughter’s soft curls and chubby cheeks. “Helen is three. Talitha and I hoped for more children, but...” His throat constricted.
Shoshana straightened. “Forgive me for reminding you of your loss.”
His gripped his cup. “Talitha was killed when the Parthians invaded Jerusalem. I plan to do everything in my power to avenge her.”
“Is that what she would want?”
He frowned and shook his head. “She’d be horrified. Talitha hated violence of any sort. Her eyes would tear up when she saw the shepherds driving the sheep and goats to the Temple for slaughter. Table knives were the closest thing to a weapon we owned. We were at the soldiers’ mercy when they stormed into our home.”
“You probably would have been killed if you’d resisted,” Shoshana said gently.
He stared down at the dark red wine quivering against the sides of the clay cup. Why was he confessing so much? “My father’s cousin promised we’d be safe. I shouldn’t have trusted others to protect what’s mine.” Yet he was doing it again—trusting James and his father to protect Helen, Elizabeth, and his mother, while he charged off to join Herod. And to what end? To become a glorified supply officer?
“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Shoshana said.
Warring Desires (The Herod Chronicles Book 3) Page 9
