Abba passed her a bowl of bread. “Rahab will be here momentarily. She arrived yesterday afternoon and slept at Leah’s so she would be here as early as possible. You can talk with her while Salmah and I pack up.”
“Oh, Abba, you don’t have to do that. I can pack my own things.”
“I want you to spend some time with her. You saw her seldom enough when you lived half a day away. Now you will live on the other side of Hebron. Spend the day with her. We’ll leave in the morning.”
“Uncle Caleb, I want you to know I intend to bring Acsah here as often as I can, to see you.”
Abba’s eyes sparkled. “That will be especially wonderful once you have my grandchildren.”
Acsah choked on the bread in her mouth, and Othni slapped her back. She caught his grin out of the corner of her eye.
Abba laughed as he poured pomegranate juice.
Othni broke a piece of cheese from the chunk in the bowl. “I need to go,” he told Abba. “Siah is there, but Debir is my responsibility. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll eat together in Debir, yes?”
“Unless something unexpected happens, we’ll leave this time tomorrow. Perhaps earlier.”
Othni leaned near. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered into her ear. He placed a lingering kiss on her cheek before he left.
Acsah tried to eat, but the food held no appeal for her. She was leaving Judith and the widows behind, and she had no idea who would help them with their bread each day. Who would take them the extra grain in the spring? Sell their rugs and baskets, bring them medicine?
Abba had no idea Rinnah was in love with Penuel or that Shemer’s coughing sickness had returned.
Who would take care of them if she wasn’t there?
And what about Yemima? Soon to be all alone. Without even friends to lean on. At least Judith and Miriam had each other.
Why hadn't she thought of this before? “I have something I need to take care of. Do you mind if I leave?”
“Of course not. This is why I suggested you stay behind.”
She hurried down the stairs and ran down the road. “Judith?”
The widow’s favorite blue scarf slipped off her head as she looked up from her loom.
“I thought you’d be on your way south by now.”
“Not until tomorrow. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Whatever I can do for you. You've done so much for us.”
“I was unable to persuade Ezra to allow Yemima to remain in the house. Do you think Yemima could move in here with you? I can tell you she is an excellent cook.” She glanced around, looking for Miriam. “No more oversalted stew,” she whispered.
Judith cackled. “How can I say no? I could easily be in the same position myself had Daniel not thought to put in writing his desire to allow me to inherit the house.”
“I’ll deliver the good news to Yemima. She’ll be so relieved. And so am I.” She gathered her into a hug. “I’ll miss you so much, savta.”
“We’ll miss you, too. But Yahweh will take care of us all.”
Acsah admired her faith. Envied it. Judith said Yahweh would take care of them, and He would have another plan for Acsah in Debir.
Whatever it was, she couldn't see it.
As dusk morphed into night, Enosh crept through the abandoned threshing floors southeast of Hebron. With harvest over since midsummer, no one would be here. He crossed empty disk after disk until he reached the largest one, Caleb’s. An odd satisfaction filled him at the idea of using his former leader’s property to hatch his plan to reclaim Kiriath-Sepher from Caleb’s own nephew.
He crouched low and waited. And waited. The silence became unnerving. He was used to being around an army of men, used to belches, snores, and guffaws. Blades being sharpened and orders barked. Not crickets and gently bubbling springs, rustling leaves and chirping birds.
Finally Gilad's bulky form lumbered into view.
"Over here." Although it was unlikely anyone had followed either of them, Enosh kept his voice low.
Gilad halted, looked around. The man really wasn't very bright, but at least he'd proved he could follow orders well.
Enosh hissed his name again.
Gilad turned in a complete circle.
Enosh stood tall and beckoned to his accomplice.
He slunk over. "Sorry. I didn't see you."
"I didn't want to be seen." Fool. He waved him toward a tamarisk tree. No sense in taking chances. “When you get to Kiriath-Sepher, find the shophet’s brother, Seraiah. The shophet is difficult to talk to. He trusts few new people. But his brother is very friendly. I want you to become his new best friend. Once you become close and he trusts you, then start questioning everything Othniel says. Nothing obvious. You mustn't draw suspicion. Just a word here and there, and only when you are alone. If you find anything that you think Seraiah actually might doubt his brother on, then you come inform me immediately. Is that clear?"
Gilad nodded. “When are you coming?”
“Not until after the Feast. That gives you several weeks to get to know the brothers before I get there. But once I arrive, I need you to be very careful not to reveal that you know me, even when we are together. No one must know. This is crucial."
He waved a hand. ”Yes, yes, I understand."
Did he? One false move from Gilad, and Enosh would lose everything.
"Tell me what you understand."
"Don't let anyone know you sent me. Don't let anyone know we know each other. Begin to cause a rift between the brothers that you can manipulate, but slowly and without raising any suspicion."
Perhaps Gilad was more clever than Enosh had given him credit for. Perhaps the plan would work.
After he arrived in Debir near midday, Othni circled the city, inside and out, and then strode toward the unoccupied portion. Over half the city was not yet rebuilt, waiting for Israelites to move in. Ash covered the ground, a grim reminder—to him at least—of the giants still roaming the countryside south of Debir.
He returned to the eastern half, where Siah waited near a pile of sun-baked bricks.
“Little brother, it’s good to be back.”
Siah slapped him on the back. “Where’s my sister-in-law? Did you leave her behind already?”
“She’ll be here tomorrow. Caleb is bringing her down in her own time. And thank you for coming for the feast. It was nice to have you there.”
“It was good of Caleb to host.”
“I think he preferred it that way.” He paused. “I’m sorry you left early. You didn’t have to.”
His brother waved the objection away. “I’ll have plenty of time to spend with both of you. I thought someone should be keeping an eye on things here. You said we’d need a lot of bricks, so I got the men started while you were gone.”
A husky man about their age approached. Bushy brows made him appear untrustworthy, but that was offset by an easy smile.
Siah beckoned to him. “This is Gilad. He arrived the day after your wedding. He’s been a great help. Turns out he’s wonderful at making bricks.” He laughed.
Gilad grinned. “I played with mud a lot as a child.”
“Great. You can teach the others, then.” Othni turned his gaze toward the edge of the city. “We need to build ladders into these towers, or the windows are no good to us. They’re too high up. And we should add some doors to the chambers in the gates. Might as well make use of all that space.” He pointed above them. “We’ll start with this one.” Othni knelt to examine the bricks. “They’re good. We need about three times this many for just one tower, though.” He stood. Then there were the grain silos, the wells, the water systems … and not nearly enough men to get it all done. And that didn’t even count the harvest.
“I’m going to check on the crops. We have to take an offering to Shiloh. Then I need to make sure my house is perfect for my bride.”
“Perfect for my bride.” Siah wobbled his head as he mocked his big brother.
“Shut up. It’ll be
your turn soon enough.” Othni tossed a small rock at him.
“Never.” Siah laughed.
“Keep talking.” Othni waved over his shoulder as he walked toward the smaller northern gate. Beyond the sloping hill on which Debir sat, vineyards and fruit trees grew in the low-lying areas where rainwater gathered between the rolling hills. He knelt and scooped a handful of soil. The loamy earth did an extraordinary job of holding moisture.
Wandering through the vineyard, he picked several of the grapes. Their sweet pulpiness filled his mouth with refreshing juice. Fig trees stood here and there, vines sometimes crawling around the trunks for support.
Farther west, pomegranate trees stretched their arms toward the sun. Pulling his knife from his belt, he yanked a pomegranate from a low hanging branch. He scored the fruit and pulled it open, revealing the blood-red seeds. He dug his fingers in and freed some of the seeds from the flesh and popped them in his mouth. Each one released its tart flavor as he crunched it.
He turned to an olive tree and examined its fruit—black, firm, and glossy. He squeezed one and let the oil run down his fingers. The grove extended south past the west gate—they would have a good crop this year. On the way back to his house, he snatched a large bunch of grapes and ate them. He needn’t have worried; they would have a perfect offering for Yahweh. If they could get it all harvested before it rotted on the vine.
A bunch of dandelions poked their bright yellow heads through the sandy soil. He’d have to remember where they were so he could come back for them first thing in the morning. A little color in the house would be a welcome sight for Acsah.
At the house he checked every wall, every window, every doorway, and every joint. They had only a ladder instead of stone steps; maybe one day he could add those. The upper floor was divided into rooms on one half and remained open on the other. He moved the curtain aside and peeked in one. Sleeping mats lay on the floor. He grabbed one and tucked it under his arm. Several windows set high in the walls allowed for plenty of air to flow through, a necessity in this dry heat.
When the sun slid beyond the horizon, Othni spread out the mat and lay down. He would not sleep in their room—that would wait until he could share it with his wife.
The stars above him twinkled. He didn’t have much to offer her—an unoccupied city, an empty house, a barren land. But he would do whatever he could to make her happy.
And keep her safe.
Before he drifted off he prayed the walls would be enough to protect them from the giants who had fled. They were the ones who had built them in the first place.
They could tear them down again easily enough.
Acsah waded into the water and took a deep breath of Hebron’s cool mountain air. If only she could take a huge pottery jar of it to Debir with her, so she could breathe it in whenever she missed home.
Home. She needed to quit thinking of Hebron as home. Debir was home now. Othni had named it Sanctuary—and he’d likely had her in mind when he’d chosen that name.
A sandpiper chirped as it darted among the reeds. Would there be sandpipers there? They seemed to be more of a water bird. Debir didn’t have any big lakes, did it? It was drier, she’d heard. On the border of the negev and the hill country.
She’d promised Abba only a quick visit to the spring before they set out on the quick trip to her new home. Home. She repeated it over and over. Perhaps soon she could believe it.
In front of her house she found Abba and Mattan tying down a large object onto a cart. A cart? How could she possibly have enough stuff to need a cart? It should all fit on a donkey. She slowed, and the object came into focus. It was the bed from Iru’s house, taken apart and stacked together.
He had given them a bed.
“Abba? What is this?” She pointed to the bulky wood pieces.
He shrugged. “It’s been sitting in that empty room for years. Iru couldn’t take it into the hills. You might as well use it.”
Oh, how Abba spoiled her.
She would miss that. Othni loved her, but he would never be able to spoil her like Caleb of Hebron could.
Abba checked the leather ties once more, then led Acsah to the front of the cart. “Take good care of him.”
She blinked. Rubbed the animal’s neck. Donkey? She turned to Abba. “You’re giving me Donkey?”
“I’m not as attached as you are.” He helped her onto his back before mounting his own animal.
She didn’t look back as they rode out of Hebron.
After a while her back hurt from trying to maintain her balance on Donkey as the road gently descended. The grass and flowers around her faded as they traveled south. Springs became fewer and farther between until there were none. The land became rocky, and the grass turned into brush.
Now they were going up. As they climbed higher, Abba pulled his animal to a stop and Acsah joined him. He handed her a skin of water, and she poured a long stream of warm liquid into her mouth.
“We’re about three-quarters of the way there. Here we leave the Judean hills and enter the negev.” He retrieved his skin and downed some water. “You can see your city, there.” He pointed to a mammoth, colorless structure south of them.
She scanned the area ahead of her, which stretched out like a dirty tunic. The land rose slowly to a hill in the distance, topped by a wall higher than Hebron’s. Towers poked up like shards of broken pottery.
Her stomach clenched. It looked more like a fortress than a city.
Were they trying to keep something out, or lock themselves in?
Abba grabbed her donkey’s lead and kicked his animal. They trudged on. Her breathing became labored as the ground came more and more barren. The air felt heavy.
Where was the water? Surely Abba wouldn’t put her out here with no spring? No wadi? No well? How would they live in this place without any water?
More importantly, where would she find Yahweh here? How could she hear His voice in the midst of this desolation? How could she feel His touch with no gentle breeze?
She looked over her shoulder, back toward Hebron. She could no longer see its walls, let alone its abundant springs. She turned back to Debir, sitting forlornly atop the barren mountain of sand.
“Acsah?”
Abba’s voice pierced her gloom.
She tried to smile before she looked up at him.
“What’s wrong?”
How could she explain?
She smiled weakly. “Nothing, Abba. Just the heat, the long ride.”
“I know you better than that, my daughter. Talk to me.”
“I worry … that I won’t be able to hear Yahweh as clearly here as I do in Hebron.”
“What difference could a city make? Yahweh is not defined by location. He was with us in Egypt. He was with us in the wilderness. He is always with us.”
“I know. Of course. It’s just that …”
“What, motek?”
“I hear His voice in the water. On the breeze. I don’t know how to do it anywhere else.”
“He will speak to you, I promise you. You might need to learn to listen a different way, but He will always speak to you.”
Learn to listen a different way? He said it as if she were supposed to take a different path to market, not discover the voice of El Shaddai.
But if Abba said His voice existed somewhere here in this barren land, she would search for it.
Because she could not survive without it.
The sun was not yet at its highest point when Othni, on his fifth trip to the wall, determined Caleb and Acsah were close enough to the eastern gate to go open the doors. He resisted calling out her name—she was still too far away. Besides, he would look like a fool. He scrambled down the ladder to the roof, then down the second ladder and out of his house. “Siah!”
No answer.
He called again.
Where was he? He wanted both doors opened, a royal welcome. He ran around his home to Siah’s rooms. Not there. Where else could he be? He jogged past th
e houses of the eastern half looking in each courtyard, searching for his errant sibling.
There. Chatting with a girl grinding grain, her mother maintaining a discreet watch inside.
“Seraiah!”
His brother whipped around. “What? Why are you yelling?”
“She’s here. Help me open the gates.”
He rolled his eyes but followed.
Othni sprinted to the gates, his brother lagging behind. Othni yanked the bolt to one side, then they pulled back on the doors, walking backwards.
When he stepped around the door, Acsah was but a moment away. Othni ran his hands through his hair and smoothed his tunic.
“It’s no use.” Siah chuckled.
“What?’
“You can’t get any better looking at this point. It’s too late.”
Othni punched his arm.
“Violence between brothers?” Caleb laughed as he alighted from his donkey. “Now what could you have to fight about?”
“Never mind,” Othni muttered.
“Come, I’ll help unpack.” Siah grabbed the donkey by its harness and led it, with the loaded cart, ahead. Caleb fell into step beside him.
Othni reached for Acsah and helped her down from her mount. He folded her into his arms and kissed her. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She pulled him closer. “I thought you said a day or two was too short a time to miss someone.”
“I was wrong. So wrong.” He kissed her again, slower this time. “Let’s go see your new home. It’s not as nice as Caleb’s, I’m afraid.”
“Do you think I care about that?”
He wasn’t sure. He studied her face. She seemed to be sincere, but something was off ... He let her go and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
They strolled through the chambered gate. He was in no hurry to share her again. He’d love to take a walk all around the city, but now wasn’t the time. Too soon, they reached the house. Caleb and Siah had pulled the cart to the side of the courtyard.
“Let’s eat together first, shall we?” Caleb said. “It’s been a hot, dusty trip, and we could use a break first.” Caleb motioned Siah away from the cart.
Othni agreed. “I brought fresh pomegranates and grapes from the fields this morning. We have no bread, though.” He winced as he remembered the wildflowers he had forgotten to pick.
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