He shook his head.
Othniel stopped on the first terrace and the men gathered around him. “The soil is the same in each parcel. None is any better than any other. As soon as your lot is assigned, you can start getting your land plowed. I have two oxen, and for plowings this fall only, since we are also building and are short on time, I will lend them to anyone who needs them.”
A stocky man named Isaiah raised his hand. “I, too, have oxen I can share.”
Joab stepped forward. “I have one ox.”
Grinning, Othniel slapped his hands together. “Excellent. This is the cooperation we need to get our town growing. Next year, however, I will ask for payment.”
The men laughed.
Enosh scoffed. Excellent? Why would anyone pass up silver like that? First year or not, it was a foolish decision.
The men disbursed and examined the plots.
Enosh caught up to Jedediah, who knelt in the middle of a plot, a handful of soil sifting through his fingers. “So, everyone just takes what they get, right?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Do you think that’s fair, though?”
Jedediah rose. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean I have no children, only one sister who will move on when she marries. You have six children. But we’re just supposed to trust Yahweh we’ll get what we need.”
Jedediah remained silent, but furrowed his brows.
“But, I guess Othniel knows what he’s doing, right?” He clapped Jedediah on the shoulder and hurried off, leaving him in the middle of an empty plot, alone with the seed of doubt Enosh had planted.
Othni stepped back from the plow and drew his arm across his brow. The sun was at its highest point, warming the air more than usual for this time of year. Thank Yahweh for that. If the rain could hold off for a few more days until everyone got their seed in the ground, he would be even more thankful.
The long days behind the oxen had taken their toll. He’d worked the unclaimed land as well as his own, anticipating the arrival of several more families this winter who would claim those plots. Now he could finally begin planting. He knelt and scooped a handful of the pale earth, sifted it through his fingers. It was warm, soft and ready to receive the seed.
His back and shoulders ached, as well as his thighs. Keeping the plow pushed into the ground while the oxen were pulling it took an extraordinary amount of strength and control, more than he’d imagined. Not to mention the discipline to keep from looking back. You could only look ahead, and at the row next to the one you were plowing for a guide. Look back, and the oxen would wander off track. So different from battle, where you had to look everywhere at once.
“Othni!”
He stood, looking for the voice who had called him.
Jedediah approached from his plot, leaving an ox and plow standing. Two of his boys tagged along behind him.
Othni waved him over, and strode to meet him. “Jedediah, looks like you did a fine job. You’ve had experience, I think.”
“Yes, I’ve had a farm before.” His voice was uncharacteristically clipped. Jedediah had always been friendly.
“Excellent. I may need your advice later.” He grinned. “This is my first time.”
Jedediah pointed to the freshly plowed fields nearby. “Your lots look very good here.”
“After several tries I’ve gotten pretty good. What can I do for you?”
Jedediah took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking. You assigned the pieces of land, yes?”
“Well, Yahweh did. Is there a problem with yours?” He gestured to Jedediah’s patch.
“Well, I have six children, eight in my family.…”
“Yes.”
“And I’m not sure it’s big enough.”
“I can’t change that. The plots were assigned by lot.”
“Look at yours! It’s half the size of mine, but you have only two people in your family.” The older of the two boys, or at least the taller, looked away, cheeks pink.
“Perhaps Yahweh knows I will have many children.”
Jedediah raised his chin. “I don’t think that’s fair.”
He waited for the man to explain.
“What if I have more sons? Will it be enough then?”
“Should I give each man more land every time he bears a son? Take some away when a child dies?”
Jedediah said nothing.
“You have the biggest piece of land allotted. I don’t know what you could have to be upset about.”
Jedediah shifted his weight. Apparently, the realization caught him off guard.
“Joshua assigned all of Canaan among the tribes by lot.”
“Well…”
“How else would you have me divide it?”
The older man shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think this is unfair.”
“This was the most unbiased way I could think of. This way I had no say in the matter—it was all up to Yahweh. I even talked to Caleb about this. This is the way he did it in Hebron, and it worked there. Can you think of any better way?”
“No…”
“Tell me, how big was your land in…where were you before?”
“Keilah.”
“How much land did you have there?”
Jedediah surveyed his plot. “Not this much.” He dug the toe of his sandal into the soil.
Silence hung between them.
Othni huffed, ran his hands through his hair. “Jedediah, this isn’t like you. Where is this coming from?”
Jedediah shook his head slightly and pursed his lips. The boys appeared decidedly uncomfortable.
“Has someone put these thoughts in your head?”
Jedediah nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who this person is.”
“No, not really.”
Othni blew out a long breath. “I don’t know what I can do for you.”
“You can give me more land.”
“I can’t give you more land, unless Yahweh says I can.”
The older man flailed his arms. “You are the leader! You can do whatever you want!”
“If you believe that, you are seriously mistaken about what a shophet is.”
He scoffed. “How could you know? You are barely a child.”
“I’m sorry, Jedediah, but this is the only way I know of to do this. So unless Joshua or Caleb tells me otherwise, the assignments stand. Now, I need to get all these unassigned plots sowed and then plowed over, so unless you want to help, please excuse me.”
Jedediah groaned and stalked off. The older boy shrugged before following.
Someone had gotten to him, that much was clear. Knowing who Jedediah had staying at his house, there was only one choice.
Was it going to be this way with every decision Othni made? Was Enosh going to challenge him every time he tried to accomplish anything? Truthfully, he’d rather Enosh come right out and do it in the open rather than go behind his back and cause dissension like this, create rifts among the people. Those divisions could have effects that lasted far longer, have far greater impact.
But there was nothing he could do about it now. He knew if he tried to defend himself or his decisions, it would only get worse.
All he could do was continue doing what Caleb told him to do. Be honest and open.
And let Yahweh be his defense.
Chapter 12
Where now is my hope? And who regards my hope?
Job 17.15
Acsah awoke alone, again, the sun barely up and Othni already gone. She’d hardly seen him at all since the last Sabbath. The first winter rain occurred a week after they returned from Hebron, giving the men just enough time to get the first plowing finished and allowing the land to soak up the life-giving water.
He’d been in the fields every moment the sun was up, plowing and sowing every tiny bit of soil he could find, the land assigned to him and every unassigned part as well. When he wasn’t working the land, he wa
s helping finish houses at least to the point where everyone could be inside before the rains hit hard. Eilah and Simona and the girls had already moved into theirs.
She saw him for a few moments each day when he came home to eat their first meal late morning. At night he made it back just before dusk, managed to stuff some food down, and fall asleep with hardly a word between them.
She dressed, braided her hair, and settled her mustard-yellow scarf over her head. After grabbing a water jug, she tucked it in the crook of her arm, and trudged through the southern gate to the well outside town. A warm breeze flicked the edges of her headcloth around her face, and the scent of rain hung in the air. She nodded to other women who passed her or who were already returning, in a hurry to tend to their families.
The list of tasks remaining for the day floated in her head: grinding, baking, weaving, mending, cooking…
All of it alone.
But perhaps it wouldn’t always be that way. Soon, it must get better.
Mustn’t it?
Acsah plodded back home, set the jug down, and stepped into the broadroom. After opening the jar of grain, she poured a bowl of barley kernels, and returned to the grinding stone.
She dumped a handful of grain on the quern then placed the stone on the pile. Back and forth, back and forth. Same as yesterday, and the day before that. And probably every day after this one. Endless days alone, repeating one after another.
No, she needed to focus on something good. Like all the progress Othni was making. The houses were nearing completion. The planting was moving along nicely. Soon it would be the rainy season, and they could relax a little, allow Yahweh to work the fields.
“Hello?”
Acsah started, jerked her head up to see Eilah at the gate.
“How are you?” Acsah asked. “How is your new home?”
“It’s fine.” Eilah flashed a joyless smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”
“Used to it?”
“To being alone.”
“Why do I have to get used to it?”
“Because you’ll be alone a lot.”
Acsah’s hands froze around the upper stone, stilling it in mid stroke.
“What did you think? It would be like your bridal week the rest of your life?” Eilah laughed dryly.
Well, she could hope…
“It takes hard work all day long to bring food out of this rocky soil. Your husband will be gone from sunup until sundown. But you’ll have plenty to do yourself. You’ll hardly have time to miss him.”
Acsah rose to join her at the low wall that surrounded their courtyard. “We’ll always have the Sabbaths together.”
“Yes, yes, the Sabbaths.” Eilah’s voice was almost mocking.
“It’s good to rest together, and worship Yahweh,” Acsah said. “I always find that brings me peace.”
The woman huffed but said nothing.
Acsah leaned back and studied her new friend. “Don’t you agree?”
Eilah’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. The Sabbath brings me peace as well.”
Her words seemed not quite genuine, but Acsah chose not to pursue it. “Do have any children? None came with you. Are they back in Bethlehem?”
“Our only son died a year ago in Ashkelon. Our daughters married and moved to live with their husbands. We have no one left in Bethlehem.”
“I’m so sorry.” She grasped the older woman’s hand.
“My husband couldn’t stand to live there any longer with the memory of our son. When your husband conquered this city, he thought it might be a good place to start over, a place where we could come and not see him everywhere we looked.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“It’s been an utter failure. In every way.” Eilah stared at Acsah. “I wish we’d never come here.”
“Why?”
“After all that fighting, Judah did not take Ashkelon. The Philistines still control that city. And I still see my son. Every day. Every moment. Everywhere. Even here. And the friends I had in Bethlehem I left behind. I have lost everything, and I have gained nothing.”
“Eilah, truly it can’t be as bad as all that. You have Yahweh, your husband, there must be something … it can always get better.”
Eilah only shook her head. “No. Sometimes it cannot.” She shrugged and padded off.
Acsah didn't want to end up like Eilah. Without hope. Spreading her joylessness.
But what could she do?
From his courtyard, Othni leaned over the low wall and looked to his right. A crowd of men milled around the gate, waiting for him. He stepped back.
Acsah set the pointed end of the jar in the hole by the cistern after she poured the water into it.
He slid his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry we’ve not had much time together.”
She backed into his chest.
“I’ll be back soon. I’m going to talk to the men.” He kissed her temple.
Opening their gate, he glanced at the cloudy sky holding in some welcome warmth this early morning. Rain was likely today. Again.
Siah jogged to catch up with him. “There’s a supply of mud bricks waiting at the western gate. There should be enough to finish one tower and maybe even start on the second. Gilad can get some men and start on another batch, if that’s all right. We’ll need twenty or more batches to finish them all.”
“Thank you. Great work. I don’t know what I’d do without you, little brother.”
“What else do I have to do?” Siah laughed.
“Find a girl. Get married.”
“Not me. Not yet.”
Othni chuckled. “We’ll see.” He approached the gathering. “Good morning.” He addressed the men waiting for him, some his soldiers from Debir, some family men from Hebron or Bethlehem.
Almost all older than he was.
“I believe all the houses are complete now, at least for the most part. There may be some final touches on the insides, but those can wait until the heavy rains come in a couple weeks. Now, I think, is the time to repair the reservoir. Having the women go out to the well every day is dangerous and unnecessary when we could have them draw water right here in town.”
“How will it stay filled?” Amram, Simona’s husband, asked.
“That’s one reason I want to get it done now. The rainy season has just started, so if we finish quickly, it can catch the rainwater. The land slopes down toward it, as the reservoir in Arad does. In good years, it will catch a year’s worth of water. Other times, we can all pitch in to fill it from the wells. It would be a lot of work once or twice a year, but it would be much easier the rest of the time.”
“Why can’t the women do it?” Gilad called from the back of the crowd. “They’re the ones we’re saving from extra work.”
Some of the others snickered.
“All right.” Othni shrugged.
“All right?” Gilad laughed. “Great. I’ll go back home.” He turned to go.
“Excellent. You’ll be needed there.”
“Wait—why?”
“Well, someone will have to grind grain and make the bread if your wife is here all day.”
The older men laughed loudly while Gilad, neck reddened, took his place once more.
Enosh, at the front of the group, swept an arm to the south and west. “Don’t you think we should get those towers finished? They might be more important than the reservoir. We do have the wells and the cisterns, after all.”
Othni nodded. “But they are not meant for daily use. We can build the towers any time. We need to get the reservoir dug out before the rains reach their heaviest. It’s full of ash and debris and I’d like to make it a little deeper. It also needs a fresh coat of plaster. The more rainwater we collect, the less we have to carry from the wells.”
Enosh crossed his arms and stepped toward him. “I think making sure we can protect the city is more important. Don’t you?”
The crowd hushed. No one moved, wa
iting for Othni’s answer. Caleb’s words flashed through his mind. Don’t argue your points in front of him. Not only what he said next, but how he said it would be crucial. Yahweh, help me focus. Help me forget what he did to Malachi, to Acsah.
“We can protect it now from the ramparts and from the towers even though they are unfinished. We’re not in any danger. The reservoir will be completed first.” He swept his gaze over the group. “However, only so many can dig out the hole at any one time, so we will divide the laborers by quarters. Those living in the northeast quarter will dig this week. The rest will work on the towers, starting with the ones on the western gate. After the Sabbath, those living in the southeast will take over, and after that, the northwest.” He fixed his gaze on Enosh. “Everyone clear?”
Enosh turned and stalked away. The others followed, headed either for the center of town or the western towers.
Siah squeezed his shoulder. “You handled that well.”
Othni massaged his temples with his thumb and fingers. “Can you oversee the work at the reservoir? I don’t want to deal with him any more today. He’ll keep trying to start something with me, and I can’t have that happen.”
“He doesn’t give up, does he?”
“No. And I don’t think he ever will.”
Until he destroys me.
Enosh stood alone in the middle of his field. The other men had returned to their homes, or at least to where they stayed, for the evening meal. In every field the seed was sowed and plowed over, and there was nothing more to be done. The day was drawing to a close, and the scent of cooking fires reached him from the city.
Looking over the lot assigned to him, he counted the long, straight rows now full of barley seed safely hidden beneath freshly churned soil. He should probably take some satisfaction in his accomplishment. He’d plowed and planted the field. In several months, it would be bursting with golden barley, waiting to be reaped. He should be proud.
He tried to be, but he wasn’t.
He was outraged.
A sigh escaped him. He was a farmer. For the last seven years, he had been a warrior. Being a soldier required courage, strength, discipline, determination. Warriors were winners.
Prize of War Page 16
