Journey to the Well: A Novel

by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Marah gasped. A mina was worth sixty shekels! Two hundred forty shekels was an unheard-of price for a poor girl with no family to speak of.

  Then her mind reeled. The journey to the well, Reba’s sudden pains, and Zibeon in his Sabbath clothes. The picture came to her clearly. She shuddered with grief and felt hatred for her aunt.

  “Reba laid her plans carefully,” Hannah continued softly, yet angrily. “No one knew, until today.”

  Least of all me, Marah thought.

  Then she remembered. Jesse would be coming in from the hills with the sheep. Had he heard the news? Jesse’s parents could never afford a bride price of 240 shekels. Surely if his father had spoken to Reba, Jesse would have told her. She pictured Jesse receiving the news of her betrothal. The anguish on his face would mirror her own. Marah’s young heart ached for him. She remembered the look on Zibeon’s face earlier in the day and shuddered again.

  When Marah was calm, Hannah dried her eyes and gave her a small cup of wine for strength. Then Simon kindly led her home through the now darkening street.

  Later, as Marah and her aunt shared the evening meal, only the occasional sounds of the animals settling for the night broke the silence between them. Marah dipped her bread in the vegetable stew, but as she swallowed, the bite seemed to stick in her throat. She stared at her meager meal.

  Reba, after attempting conversation once or twice and receiving no response, left her alone. Marah started to dip her sop in the stew again only to put it down again.

  Reba was in one of her rare good moods. Why shouldn’t she be? Marah thought bitterly. She’s gotten what she wanted, to be rid of me and have money to return to Haran.

  “There is much to do,” Reba said, ignoring Marah’s tearstained face and silent desolation. “In the morning be sure the bread is set out to rise and then take the sheep out to the shepherd.”

  The shepherd. Jesse. It was dark now and the sheep were already back in their pen. He’d come and gone while she was at Hannah’s.

  She must talk to him!

  “You may also straighten the house tomorrow,” Reba continued. “You may as well get used to my choice. You’ll see it is for the best. I promised your father I would arrange your marriage when the time came, if anything happened to him.

  I have done so. You should be proud of the status you will have in the village.”

  Reba got up and began to busy herself with her things. Marah knew she was thinking of Haran and her journey.

  My status in the village. Marah shook her head. They are full of pity for me. No girl in the village wishes to be in my place.

  She got up quietly and began to straighten their few meal-time vessels. Marah could not trust herself to speak to Reba with tears so close to the surface. Only her strong will forced them back to the confines behind her eyes. Reba would not have the satisfaction of seeing her tears again.

  When her evening tasks were finished, Marah crept up the steps to the roof of the small house where her meager pallet lay. At least with the warm weather she had a place to herself and on this night especially, she wanted to be away from her aunt.

  Marah knelt down on her pallet and looked up at the night sky. A bird sang its bittersweet song and the moon poured its light on her face as the unbidden tears came once again and journeyed in wet furrows down her cheeks.

  She saw Jesse’s face as they spoke so earnestly only a few days before. His parents must not have agreed, she told herself miserably.

  Then a thought came to her. Perhaps they had come. Had they approached Reba but the bride price had not been enough? Zibeon was a prosperous merchant. Jesse’s parents were poor. Reba must have refused Jesse’s father if she had already approached Zibeon. Two hundred forty shekels. It was more than enough to buy the bride of Zibeon’s choice.

  Thought after thought raced through her mind until, exhausted, Marah lay quietly in the shadowy darkness. In the stillness she listened to the beating of her heart and thought of her father. She pictured herself sitting on his lap, in the protection of his big arms. How safe she had felt when troubles came into her small world.

  “Oh Papa,” she whispered in the darkness, “what is to become of me? You would have picked Jesse. You would not want me to be so unhappy.”

  Warmth came softly over her like a presence. She had felt it before at the death of her mother and then her father. Like loving arms wrapped around her. Filled with a small sense of peace and somehow comforted, she fell asleep.

  Marah awoke as the cock crowed the dawn.

  During the restless night, the dream had come to her again. She was walking down a long, dusty road and there was someone waiting for her. His face seemed shadowy, but there was no fear. He reached out his hand to her, and as she in turn reached out to him, wanting to speak to him, the dream faded. She shook her head as if to clear away the wisps of memory and sleep.

  Dressing quickly, Marah paused, looking out over the parapet at the quiet town. She went down the narrow steps reluctantly, each step bringing her closer to something that loomed before her like a nameless dread. She went to the small courtyard to grind the grain for bread flour. As she took a handful of kernels and began to crush them on the smooth stone, the events of the previous evening played through her mind. It all seemed like a bad dream. Perhaps today she would find it was only that.

  She mixed the coarse meal with water, salt, and a little fermented dough from the previous day for leaven, then kneaded the mixture and set it aside to rise. She sprinkled feed for the few chickens and thought about what to do. She knew she must talk with Jesse when she took the sheep to him today. Did he know about Zibeon? He must, if the rest of the village knew. What would he say?

  She was gathering the sheep from the small pen when Reba at last appeared in the doorway. Marah looked at her warily, but Reba smiled benignly, as if she could afford to be gracious on this morning of all mornings.

  She bustled over to Marah. “I have important matters to attend to in the marketplace. These things take great care.”

  She fussed with her shawl, brushing imaginary things from it. “There are neighbors to invite since your betrothal will be sealed tonight. After you have taken the sheep to the shepherd, look for some wild mustard and bring home a large bunch. Our supply of mustard oil is almost gone.”

  Then as an afterthought, “You may go alone. No one will bother you. They would answer to Zibeon!”

  Something in the way she said his name, the way she drew it out, caused Marah to look more closely. Reba had a faraway look on her face. She heaved a large sigh before she looked down at her niece again.

  Marah lowered her eyes quickly, her mind racing. Reba had eyes for him! Marah’s heart pounded. Reba wanted him. But if Reba had set her eyes on Zibeon, why had she not sought to marry him herself?

  Suddenly it became clear. He had refused her. Had Reba arranged the marriage to save her pride? Was it revenge? Against Marah or Zibeon? He would not consider it revenge. She had seen it in his eyes. He wanted her.

  Overwhelmed at the revelation, Marah barely heard Reba’s final words.

  “We will have guests this evening for your betrothal ceremony. The wedding will take place when the harvest is in.”

  Marah only nodded her head dumbly and looked away lest Reba see what she knew.

  Reba turned toward the marketplace. Marah looked back and watched her as she walked briskly down the road, and fought the hatred that burned like a fire in her belly. It was only about seven months until harvest. Reba was not even going to give her the full year of betrothal!

  After checking once again on the rising dough, she quickly tucked her mantle into her girdle and grabbed her staff. Calling to the sheep, she began to lead them hurriedly toward the hillside. She knew where to find the wild mustard, and Jesse.

  3

  The young shepherd sat on a rock and looked out over the sheep without seeing them. He was tall and slender with warm brown eyes beneath a shock of golden blond hair. The hair was a rarity
that occurred infrequently among the Samaritan tribes. His high cheekbones and firm jaw were accented by the scowl that creased his face.

  The scowl seemed to melt as Marah approached. He jumped up eagerly. “You have not brought the sheep for many days,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Reba would not let me leave the house. She was feeling ill.”

  “She is ill when it pleases her,” Jesse growled.

  “Oh Jesse, let’s not quarrel. I came to talk to you. I have sad news.”

  Jesse looked away from her toward the hills, his fists clenched tightly. “It is all over the village that you are to marry the sandal maker.”

  “I am afraid of him. I know God chooses His own way, but I had not wished for Zibeon. I had thought . . . I thought . . .” She searched his face beseechingly as he turned back to her.

  “I did speak to my father,” Jesse said slowly. “It was too late. Reba had accepted the bride price from Zibeon and agreed to the marriage. I didn’t know. If only I had spoken sooner, if only . . .”

  Jesse told her of the scene with his father the night before.

  He asked his father to go to Reba and speak for him. It all seemed so simple. They would not be surprised in his choice, for Marah was favorable in their eyes.

  “I know we are poor,” Jesse told his father earnestly, “but they are also poor and I know you can reach a bride price her aunt will accept. Now that their property is sold, I do not have to worry about the Levirate law. I will work hard to take care of her.” He had looked at his father confidently, sure that they would follow his wishes.

  A look passed between his parents and Jesse was bewildered as his father hesitated before speaking.

  “Is she not acceptable, Father?”

  “She is truly an acceptable maiden, my son. Had you spoken earlier, I would have gone without hesitation. But it is not possible to speak for her now.”

  Elon looked sadly at his son, and put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “She is betrothed as of this day, to Zibeon, the sandal maker.”

  “No!” Jesse cried out from the depths of his soul. “No! How can this be? She would not choose Zibeon . . . When could this have happened?” He searched one face and then the other.

  His mother spoke gently, “The village has known since this morning, my son. Zibeon boasted that he had waited for her and the bride price would be acceptable to her aunt. The mohar is more than we could possibly pay. Two hundred forty shekels! There is nothing we can do.”

  “Two hundred forty shekels? Reba has sold her to Zibeon! How could she do this?” Jesse cried to his father. “There must be something you can do!”

  Jesse’s father drew himself up and looked at Jesse sternly. “My son, it is God’s will. You must now not covet that which belongs to another. Reba has the right to arrange a marriage as she feels best for Marah. You will not interfere! Your mother and I will seek a bride elsewhere for you. There is a young woman from among our cousins in Sebaste. Her name is Tirzah. I have heard that she is a virtuous and worthy young woman. Your mother and I will travel to Sebaste to speak to her parents.”

  Jesse’s father gripped his shoulder in a gesture of understanding and then left Jesse to deal with his feelings alone.

  Now, looking at Marah, his anger made him bold. “I don’t want another bride. You have lived in my heart since we were children. How can God take you away from me?”

  Then Jesse hung his head. “I knew it was useless to argue with my father.”

  Like Marah, he had been raised to be obedient, respecting his parents and the law. “If my thoughts against Zibeon were so many poisoned arrows,” he growled, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Trying to think of something to say to him, Marah’s eyes grew misty. “Do you remember how we met, Jesse?”

  He nodded. “You were only about six. I was much older and wiser—ten,” he smiled ruefully. “You had wandered away from the mourners after the death of your mother. You were sitting in the tall grass, weeping.”

  Marah smiled at the memory. “You wiped away my tears and gently led me back to my house and the arms of my father. He was so overcome with grief, he hadn’t seen me go.”

  “He was nearly beside himself with worry when they couldn’t find you,” Jesse said.

  As he looked down at her face, Jesse paused a moment, his eyes revealing his feelings. “I saw in the child the beauty of the woman to come,” he murmured huskily. “When you looked up at me so trustingly, I gave you my heart. I knew even then, you would be the one I would marry.”

  They stared at each other a long moment.

  “I hurried to bring the sheep to you each day just so we could talk.” She smiled shyly.

  “We were children. We were friends.”

  Marah nodded, thinking back to those years that seemed to have passed so quickly. She too had known that Jesse was the one who held her heart. Somehow between them there was an understanding, but her aunt had changed that now.

  “How I hate her!” Jesse said, clenching his fist.

  Marah, startled by his vehemence, suddenly realized he was also thinking of Reba. She shook her head sadly. If only Jesse had spoken sooner. God did not will them to be together.

  “My parents travel even now to Sebaste to make the arrangements for my betrothal to a cousin. Her name is Tirzah.” He shook his head. “If only I had not waited. If only I had gone to my father sooner. How could I know about Zibeon?” He sat down suddenly on a nearby rock.

  The pain in her heart was tempered by a small gladness. He had gone to his parents. It was just too late. She sighed. There was nothing that either of them could do. How could they have foreseen what different paths their lives would be taking?

  “There is so little time, Jesse. Reba has set the wedding date for after the fall harvest.”

  “She does not give you the full year?” His face showed the anguish he felt.

  Marah watched him struggle with his emotions. He remained quietly regarding her, and then with a sigh, he smiled at her.

  “Marah, I have something for you. You must take great care.” He bent down and lifted a stone near the tree. Taking out a small bundle wrapped in lambskin, he held it out to her.

  Her eyes grew wide as she anxiously unwrapped the gift. Jesse had carved another flute. She thought of the first small flute Jesse had carved for her out of olive wood, and of her joy when he placed it in her hands.

  “Oh Jesse, you can carve anything! It is so beautiful,” she had cried, her face radiant as she carefully took the little flute. She had few possessions, making this a wondrous gift.

  Covering the small holes with her fingers, Jesse showed her how to hold it and blow gently, producing the notes. She had kept it hidden under her pallet, taking it with her when she took the sheep to the fields. Then, one day, as she returned, it had fallen out of the folds of her mantle. Reba had snatched it up and noted the fine workmanship.

  “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

  “The shepherd made it for me. He carved it.” Marah waited anxiously for Reba to return the flute.

  “You have more important duties to attend to while looking after the sheep, such as making sure we have enough yarn! You can spin from your distaff to the spindle if you have that much free time. You are too old for such foolishness!” Reba chastised.

  Marah watched helplessly as her aunt bore the beautiful little flute away and hid it somewhere among her things. With a sigh, Marah turned away, wondering what to tell Jesse.

  When Jesse noticed the absence of the flute, she had told him sadly where it had gone.

  Anger blazed on Jesse’s young face. “Reba took the flute away?” He would not let Marah make excuses for her. “Are you the only one in the village who cannot see what kind of a woman she is?”

  “Reba is all the family I have,” Marah reminded him.

  Jesse snorted in disgust.

  It seemed like only yesterday. Then, aware Jesse was speaking again, she turned from her thoughts.
>
  Venting his anger, Jesse almost spat the words. “So now Reba arranges a marriage for you to Zibeon. He is too old for you! When I think of the two of you together and the wedding.” He paused and Marah lowered her eyes. “If Zibeon hurts you—” His voice trailed away as if he could not speak the thoughts he contemplated in his heart.

  The bleating of the sheep brought Marah back to reality.

  She ran her hands gently over the new little flute, feeling its smoothness. “Oh Jesse, I shall treasure it always.” Wrapping the flute gently in the lambskin, she would have taken it with her, but then she remembered Reba. She looked sadly from the flute to Jesse.

  Sensing her dilemma, Jesse gently took the flute and put it back under the stone. “It will be our secret. Reba shall never know.”

  Marah nodded and tried to smile. “It will be our secret, Jesse. I will always remember you as my friend.”

  “And I shall remember you as my friend,” he answered.

  Marah looked into his earnest face. She could not touch him she knew, but like gentle fingers, her eyes caressed his face.

  Rising slowly, she adjusted her mantle. “I must cut some wild mustard to take home.”

  Jesse glanced at the sheep, grazing peacefully, and surveyed the surrounding pasture. All was peaceful.

  “Let me help you,” Jesse offered. It would prolong the time.

  They walked together on the hillside, cutting the wild plants and glancing back from time to time to make sure all was well with the sheep.

  “I must return. I am to prepare the house for our betrothal ceremony tonight. Oh Jesse, I . . .” She strove to hold back the tears and be strong for them both.

  The anguish in his face nearly broke her, but she knew she must not allow Jesse to embrace her. She was a betrothed maiden, and if anyone saw them, she would be compromised.