How was he supposed to win as a farmer? Was he supposed to beat the barley into submission? Force it to grow faster? Straighter? Higher?
He studied the loamy earth beneath his sandals. For all his hard work, he couldn’t even see a difference. It still looked much the same as it did before he started. Shouldn’t he be able to see the results of his work? Something?
Far away, war still raged in the hills of Manasseh and Ephraim, the plains of Naphtali and Dan. He could go north. Fight for the northern tribes now that Judah and Benjamin were settled. His heart raced at even the thought of victory. His breath came faster at the memory of conquest, the excitement and the glory, the purpose and the hope. The blood rushing through his body when another city belonged to Israel.
The air smelled of rain, and the day’s light languished. A chill entered the air as the heat of the sun faded. He concentrated on placing one foot in front of another as he tried to cool his building exasperation. He kicked at the clods of soil the plow had failed to break even after four passes.
He picked up a particularly large clump and heaved it as far as he could, letting loose a scream as he did.
He couldn’t leave until he’d claimed what was rightfully his. Once that was done, if being shophet wasn’t all he desired, he could return to war, leave Debir to someone else. Or stay and hire someone to work his land for him. Buy more land. Acquire flocks and herds until he had as many as Abraham or Jacob.
But until he took back what he’d been promised, reclaimed what was rightfully his, he was bound to this walled speck of desert as surely as any prisoner could be chained to a cell.
It was not Debir to him. Not a sanctuary. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Acsah ran her hands over the woven cloth. Aunt Leah and Judith had taught her well. There were no gaps, no bumps, no bits of wool sticking out. It was tight and straight. She wrapped her fists around the beam at the top of the upright loom and twisted. The cloth rolled around the wood, bringing the unwoven yarn up to eye level. She knelt and untied the weights holding bundles of threads taut, retying them to expose more yarn and letting the weights hang closer to the floor.
She stood back to examine her work. The deep indigo patches of wool matched Acsah’s mood. Placed next to the black threads, the blue seemed a bit more vibrant, but still somber. She should probably add some red, or yellow, even some dark green. Maybe later.
She stepped back to the loom, leaning against the wall of her home. The loom stood taller than she did, but it was light enough to move from room to room. Until recently she’d done her weaving out in the courtyard, but the rainy season was upon them now. Even sporadic rains for just minutes a day would ruin her creation, and she’d spent too long on it to let that happen. She added more wood to the fire, bringing both light and warmth to the room.
She passed the shuttle in and out among the threads, the yarn supple beneath her fingers. Amazing how something as soft as sheep’s wool could be turned into something as sturdy as a rug, one that could be walked on for years and years. Or perhaps a cloak that could keep a person warm on a cold and rainy day like today.
After reaching the edge of the rug, she transferred the shuttle to her other hand, then worked it back through the threads again. Then she banged the threads tight against those already woven. She continued weaving the yarn, changing between the blue and black, creating an intricate, if gloomy, pattern.
Her thoughts returned to Eilah. What could Acsah do to help her? This was a dreary time of year for many women. In a situation such as this, with the men gone more than usual and the women at home, it was easy to grow despondent. In their own cities, their own homes, they might be gathering with the women of their families to grind their wheat or weave or wash clothes. But here, many had come as single families and were left alone all day. There were many of them she hadn’t even met yet.
Was there some way to get the women together? To banish some of the loneliness each of them must be feeling?
She grabbed her cloak and left her courtyard to walk along the road that ringed Debir. With the rain threatening, most of the women were inside, as she had been. But could she just barge in and ask if they were lonely? She continued south and by the time she reached the last house, had spoken to no one.
This was ridiculous. She was a warrior’s daughter. A warrior’s wife. She could do this.
She turned around and entered the courtyard of the house nearest the southern gate, calling out.
“That’s a marvelous idea. You have no idea how much I would like that.” The girl was very young, younger than Acsah. She could likely use the help and advice of older women.
“I’ll talk to everyone else, and I’ll let you know later where you can meet.”
The girl threw her arms around Acsah. “Thank you. Thank Yahweh.”
“You’re welcome.”
That was easier than she anticipated. She moved to the next house and tried again. A woman about the age of her aunt came from the common room of the house.
“I am Acsah, Othni’s wife.”
“I know who you are.” She studied Acsah, head to toe.
“I was wondering if you would be interested in joining with some of the others each day to bake bread, or mend clothing. We’re all in the same situation, and I thought some time getting to know one another might help.”
“No. I didn’t want to come and I intend to convince my husband to leave as soon as possible.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the house.
Acsah stared after her. Was it possible there were more like Eilah than like her? Was there nothing she could do to help ease the loneliness of any of them?
His chest to her back, Othni slipped his arm around Acsah and pulled her close, relishing the warmth of her body next to his. Finally, her breathing had slowed to a comfortable rhythm, deep and slow. In the dark he said a prayer for her and then drifted off himself.
When the sun peeked through the windows, he rose up on his elbow and watched his wife sleep peacefully. She’d tossed and turned all night, even moaning in her sleep at one point. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear, kissed her cheek, then rose and slipped from their bed as quietly as possible. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her. After grabbing his cloak, he slid the curtain closed behind him then stole downstairs.
He stirred up the embers in the oven and added some wood, rubbed his hands together to warm them. He still wasn’t used to the cold of the negev during the rainy season.
He grabbed a piece of leftover bread and sat in the courtyard next to the oven. He was beginning to worry. Though Acsah tried to hide it, she wasn’t eating much. She slept poorly.
He had no idea what to do. He rested his head in his hands. How should he fix this?
He rose and stepped over the low wall that separated the common room from the stable area. He continued to ponder the situation as he mucked out the area, then added straw to the troughs for the donkeys and the sheep. He rubbed the neck of Acsah’s donkey. “She’s not herself, is she, Donkey? What are we going to do about it?” The animal shook his head. “You’re not very helpful. You know that, don’t you?”
He stepped into the storage section of the broadroom and grabbed the pottery jar of raisins, poured some into a bowl. When he wandered into the courtyard again Siah was waiting, along with Gilad. Othni put his finger on his lips. “Acsah is still sleeping.”
Siah frowned. “Still?”
“She’s not feeling well.”
“Anything we can do?” Siah asked.
“I’m going to stay here.” He scanned the sky. “It’s going to rain anyway. Can you go check on the fields? The barley should have sprouted by now.” He held out the bowl.
“Sure.” Siah took the bowl, snatched a handful of the dried grapes, and offered some to Gilad. He narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Are you sure everything is all right?”
He sighed heavily. “No, I’m not.”
“I hope she feels better soon.”
Gilad returned the bowl.
Othni watched the pair head for the fields. They’d been spending a lot of time together. But Othni had been consumed with managing Debir, and what little time he had left he spent with Acsah. So how could he begrudge Siah a new friend?
Othni dumped the rest of the raisins into his hand, turned, and went back inside. After tossing the bowl on the table, he paced. Pouring the wrinkled fruit from one hand to the other, he evaluated the situation as if it were a battle plan, looking for solutions.
None came.
He climbed the tower. Pulling his cloak tighter, he closed his eyes, soaking in the energy of the sunrise. Prayed for answers.
Yahweh, help me. Tell me what’s wrong. What do I do?
What was wrong? Would she tell him if he asked?
The sun was just coming up in the east, chasing away the morning mist. Bright oranges and yellows screamed across the horizon as if they couldn’t wait to begin the day. Beautiful. If only Acsah could see it. He climbed back down to his roof.
When the curtain opened, he hurried to her. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “How are you feeling? Did you get some rest?”
“A little.” She snuggled into his chest.
“Come down, and I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Let’s go.” He grasped her hand and led her toward the ladder. When they hit the floor, he seated her before the oven and handed her some of yesterday’s bread. “Wait here.” He returned a moment later with some raisins and sat beside her. She only nibbled at the bread. She hadn’t eaten much last night. She should be hungry.
She couldn’t keep going like this for long.
“Have you met any of the other women yet? More than just on the way to the well?”
She sighed. “I’ve tried. Everyone stays inside this time of year. We’re buried inside our houses trying to stay dry, and I think everyone feels just like me—alone and maybe a little scared, missing our families. And the other day I did something that might have been a little … unwise.”
Uh-oh. “Like what?”
“I went to everyone in the southeast quarter to see if they wanted to get together sometimes, help each other. Didn't get much response.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Why do you think it didn’t work?”
“No idea. A lot of them wouldn’t even consider it.”
“Have you talked to Yahweh about it?”
Her eyes moistened. She pulled her knees to her chest.
What did he say now? He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Acsah?”
“Othni, I can’t talk to Him.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. Not out here. I don’t know how.”
Because she misses the springs. “I have an idea. Come with me.”
She sighed heavily. “What?”
Just come. He led her to the roof. “Come with me.” He stepped inside the tower, and then climbed the brick ladder built up one side that led to the top. He stood to one side to make room for her.
Crimson fire streaked the sky.
“Isn’t this amazing? This is where I come when I want to talk to Yahweh. Here I can see His power and His majesty, like when you went to the spring in Hebron. Here I am reminded that He created the world and everything in it. This is where I see that He is El Shaddai, God Almighty. Where I know He keeps His promises, even though it may take hundreds of years, as it did when He brought Israel out of Egypt. He is the same Yahweh today as He was then. And He is the same Yahweh here as He is in Hebron.”
She closed her eyes, raised her face to the setting sun. Tilted her head. Frowned. “I’m trying, Othni, I really am.”
“You can’t believe Yahweh isn’t here.”
“Of course not.”
“We’ll wait here a few moments, then we’ll try again tonight.”
Yahweh, show me how to help her.
Chapter 13
"Behold, these are the fringes of His ways; And how faint a word we hear of Him! But His mighty thunder, who can understand?"
Job 26.14
Enosh jabbed his spade into the dirt. His biceps burned as he lifted it up and turned it over onto the growing pile at the edge of the hole.
Othniel obviously had chosen the northeast quadrant to work on the reservoir first because Enosh lived there—and because Enosh had challenged him publicly.
And their famous leader didn’t like it. Wanted to teach Enosh a lesson, put him in his place. Make sure he never confronted him again.
He threw another spadeful of dirt away from the ever-deepening hole. So maybe openly threatening his authority wasn’t the best plan of action. He’d have to think of another way.
Leading a cart full of supplies and straw, Seraiah sauntered over.
Cocky, just like his brother. Irritation burned in Enosh's chest.
“We have to get all this earth we’ve just dug up out of here, so we may as well use it to make mud bricks. I need some of you to help.” Seraiah stood with his hands on his hips like he’d somehow inherited his brother's right to rule. A growl rose in Enosh's throat, but he silenced it. No use alienating both nephews of Caleb.
Enosh placed his palms on the ground that was now shoulder high and pushed himself out of the hole. “I’ll do it.”
Some of the others waiting for their turn joined Seraiah as well, who pointed at several jars on the cart. “We need those filled with water. You four.”
Those assigned grabbed a couple jugs each and headed south toward the well.
Enosh and the others followed Seraiah to an open area, where he laid out wooden forms. “We brought these from Hebron. The loamy earth here makes excellent bricks.”
He grabbed a few handfuls of straw from the cart and tossed them into a wooden box-like container. He added several shovelfuls of earth then dropped to the ground. Plunging his hands deep into the soil, he mixed the two elements thoroughly. With a jut of his chin toward a jug still on the cart, he asked one of the men to add some water. When it was thick and well-mixed, the consistency of plaster, he scooped up a double handful and dropped it into one of the molds, packing it tightly.
Seraiah stood and slapped his hands together. “We’ll need a lot of desert grass. It’s essential to hold the bricks together.” He pointed again. “You four.” Four others took off for the eastern gate.
“We can start putting the mixture in these boxes.” Seraiah pulled out more of the wooden containers, laying them in neat rows.
Glancing at the man’s hands covered in mud, Enosh suppressed a shudder. He hated mud. Anything wet and sticky. He’d somehow managed to avoid making or applying plaster so far during the weeks of building. He’d rather move stone than plaster.
Still, it was better than digging, and might be an opportunity to drive a wedge between the brothers. He grabbed his spade and started shoveling.
“Looks like your brother left you the dirty work.”
Seraiah answered from where he knelt, mixing another batch of brick mud. “What?” Lines creased his forehead.
“He sent you to dig holes and make mud while he supervises.”
“He’s lifting rocks and carrying them up towers. I wouldn’t say he got the easy part.”
“Do you really think he’s lifting rocks?”
“Othni never asks someone to do anything he is not willing to do himself.”
“Well, you're not there, so how can you be sure?”
Seraiah pulled his hands out of the mixture and rested his forearms on his knees. He fixed a harsh glare on Enosh. “As I recall, he was one of those who was wounded while rescuing men felled by the Anakim in your ill-planned attack. An attack in which you did not participate. But every time … every single time Othni sends out his archers, he is the first in line. So I have absolutely no doubt that he is carrying stones to the tops of towers. But if you need proof, you have my permission to go see for yourself.” He returned to the mixtur
e, never losing his temper, raising his voice, or even looking again at Enosh.
Not the reaction Enosh expected, and not one that would do him any good. He needed to remedy this—and fast. “You’re right. I apologize. There is no need for me to see for myself. It is far more important to get these forms filled and get bricks made to finish those towers.”
Seraiah nodded. The men returned with the water, and shortly after, the others returned with grass. Seraiah instructed them on the proper ratios of grass to earth to water and seemed to harbor no ill feelings at all toward Enosh.
Unlike his brother.
As mud filled the last row of bricks, Othniel strolled up, his group of workers behind him. He glanced at the sun creeping toward its midpoint. “Time to eat, don’t you think? Or are you trying to outwork me?” He laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder as he surveyed the rows of filled forms. “Nice work. The reservoir wasn’t a big enough task for you?”
“Of course not. I always work harder than you. You’re married now. That dilutes your focus.” He smacked Othniel’s shoulder as they ambled toward their home, the rest of the men following.
Enosh cracked his neck as he trailed behind them. His brothers had never stood up for him like that. They would denounce him in a heartbeat if it benefited them. He’d seen that kind of loyalty among warriors, men who had earned that type of allegiance through shed blood, but not from a brother.
This would be much harder than he thought.
Thwop. Thwop. Thwop. The men of Debir gently tapped the branches of the trees with sticks, and the last of the ripe shiny black olives dropped to the ground, thudding on the cloths spread below.
The air, heavy with moisture, was almost oppressive. Sweat trickled down Acsah’s back. She lifted her headcloth and moved her hair off her face.
Yahweh, I know we need the rain, but please keep it away until we finish. We can’t waste these olives.
The smallest children giggled, chasing olives as they rolled around on the cloths. Simona’s girls filled basket after basket. Once the woven containers were full, Acsah and the other women carried them to the stone press nearby. The olives tumbled into the round, waist-high basin that was about as wide across as one man and a hand deep.
Prize of War Page 17
