Lukio reached up to smooth a gentle hand over my daughter’s soft head, and, to my surprise, she did not recoil, allowing him to caress her wispy curls until her gray eyes fluttered closed.
“I have some things I must tend to, Shoshana,” he said in a low and soothing voice that would not wake the baby, “and amends I need to make. But then I am coming for you. For the only one I ever wanted to be my bride.”
A thrill went through me at the word, but I had to make certain of his intentions. “It is not only me anymore. You are certain this is what you want?” I asked, glancing down at Davina’s sweet face pressed against the base of my throat.
That enormous palm came up to caress my cheek with the same tenderness he’d offered my daughter and then slipped under my chin so I was looking into the fascinating swirl of colors within green and brown eyes that had intrigued me from the moment I first beheld their uniqueness.
“There is not one moment since you found me under our tree that I have not wanted to be close to you, Tesi,” he said, “even when I was a fool and ran away. Your children are part of you, part of the woman that I adore, and I will not wait one day longer than necessary to make you all mine.”
Thirty-Seven
Lukio
I gazed into the pool of water near my feet and smoothed my hand over my stubbled scalp, still unused to my newly shorn head.
“Just like a goat after a good shearing,” said Iyov from beside me, then reached over and scrubbed at my beard with his fingertips. “And I’ve never seen you with such a full one. You’ve finally become a man.”
I shoved his arm away. “Only took three weeks for it to completely fill in. I seem to remember yours being sparse well into your twenty-third year.” I gave him a goading grin. “We’ll see whose is longer within the year.”
“If you two are quite done comparing beards, perhaps we can begin?” said Elazar as he slipped off his sandals and stepped into the water.
Iyov nudged me with his bony elbow, a twinkle in his eye. “He never allowed us to pester him before, Abba. I have more than a few years of harassment to make up for.”
Although Elazar shook his head at the two of us, there was humor in his dark eyes. There had been such strain between myself and my older brothers during the years I spent in Kiryat-Yearim, all of it due to my refusal to believe that they accepted me as I was. I’d taken most everything they said or did as a slight of some sort, never understanding that even their gentle chastisements were offered from a place of love.
Even three weeks after my brothers had come for me, I could not fathom that they’d done so. Long ago, Ronen had said that Iyov and Gershom would go to the ends of the earth for me, and I’d not in any way believed him then. The fact that they had done just that still baffled me. There was no part of me that believed I had any right to the extravagant mercy Ronen had spoken of, but I would forever be grateful.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” asked Elazar, his expression now sober as he stood knee-deep in the stream-fed pool.
“I am,” I replied, my gaze moving around the small circle of men gathered around me, including Elazar, Yonah, Iyov, Gershom, Ronen, Shai, and my sisters’ husbands. “The last time I took this vow, it was only with my lips. My heart was not in it. I want all of you to know that I will never walk away from this family again.”
“I should think your circumcision a few days ago would have convinced us,” mumbled Yonah from my other side, and the rest of the group chuckled.
I’d made the decision on the journey from Yaffa to undergo a formal acceptance of the Mosaic covenant, something I’d only half-heartedly done as a boy to appease my sister. And back then, I’d been horrified by the idea of being circumcised and had therefore refused. Now I was determined to shed every part of my past that I could, which is why I’d even chosen to shave my head this morning. I never wanted anyone to question that my loyalties now lay fully with both the clan I’d been adopted into and the confederation of tribes that made up the nation of Israel.
When I’d approached Elazar two days after my return with the idea, I asked that it all be done as publicly as possible. Once this ceremony was complete, a sacrifice of thanksgiving would be made, and then we would feast in celebration, and all in Kiryat-Yearim were invited to witness my vows.
I’d even removed the ivory plugs in my earlobes, hoping that with time and application of the right oils, the holes I’d been so eager to inflict on myself to appear like other Philistines would eventually close and the scars would fade. But the swirling tattoos that banded both of my arms and covered much of my torso, as well as the pain I’d inflicted on those who loved me, could never completely be erased. I’d hurt myself and others in so many ways that even were I to spend the rest of my life atoning, I wasn’t sure it would be enough. But I was determined that instead of resenting those markings, I’d instead consider them reminders of what I’d been rescued from.
“Come, then,” said Elazar, gesturing for me to join him. “Let us begin.”
I stripped off my tunic, determined that nothing would remain between my skin and the water. The moment my bare feet entered the pool, my entire body recoiled from the cold, but I was almost glad for the shock of it and hoped that it would help etch in sharp clarity the memory of the day my new life truly began.
Once I was situated at the center of the pool, with the water just past my waist, Elazar recited a blessing, his hands uplifted as he praised the Eternal One for choosing Israel, the least of the nations, with which to reveal his Torah, and in doing so, blessed the world with knowledge of Himself. Once Elazar had finished the prayer, which also thanked Yahweh for the goodness of laws that invited strangers into the fold, he anointed me with oil and placed both hands on my head.
“Now, Lukio, do you—”
“Natan,” I interrupted.
Elazar’s thick silver brows arched high. He was clearly surprised by my declaration, but from this day on I chose to be known by the Hebrew name my sister had given me all those years ago. I’d already shed everything else that I could of Ashdod. I would leave Lukio behind as well.
“I choose to be known as Natan, Abba,” I said, emphasizing the title I had never honored him with, even during those rare times in my childhood when I’d felt somewhat connected to this man and his family.
His gaze was intense on mine as a sheen of moisture glossed over his dark eyes, yet he did not speak for so long that I wondered whether I’d offended him in some way. But then he swallowed hard and his palms slipped to my shoulders and squeezed.
“Then that is who you will be from this day forward, Natan ben Elazar, of the clan of Abinidab and the tribe of Levi.”
His declaration was more than clear. Long ago he’d chosen me as his son, offered me a home and love and protection just like one of his children, but today I chose him as my father. It did not matter that Philistine blood ran in my veins. I was now and for always his child. I prayed that one day Zevi might feel the same way about me.
I sank into the water until every part of me was submerged, and then I rose again. I stretched my palms upward as I did so, asking that Yahweh would take the hands that had done so much damage and consecrate them, vowing that never again would they be lifted in anger or violence, only in defense of those who could not defend themselves.
When finally I dropped my arms, my father reached out to cup his palm around my neck and draw me close. I let my head fall to his shoulder in surrender. “My son,” he murmured, kissing my temple. “I am so very proud to call you my own.”
Thirty-Eight
Shoshana
It had been so many years since I took this trail that I nearly turned back a number of times, worried that I’d gotten lost and would not be able to find my way in the darkness. However, each time I considered it, I felt the weight of the object in my palm and remembered my purpose for venturing out in the night, alone.
A hoot and the flutter of wings in a nearby tree startled me, but when the shadow
y form of an owl flew overhead, I had to laugh at myself. I’d survived far worse than a walk through the forest at night over these past few years, but perhaps my unease was more a product of what was at the end of this trek and less about what dangers, real or imagined, might be along the way.
I recognized a certain curve of the slope that told me I was indeed on the right path. The moon was gloriously full and the sky clear, lighting my way so well that in some gaps between trees it was almost like midday.
And then, before I could truly prepare myself, I’d arrived at my destination.
The sycamore had not changed all that much, though its boughs stretched out wider and its topmost branches reached new heights, but the same dark cave created by the thick mass of curled and sprawling roots on the eroded slope was still there—although it did appear much smaller than it had when I was twelve.
And standing before me was the boy I’d met in the shadow of that same enormous tree. One whose tear-streaked cheeks and wounded soul had called to me. Now, he was no longer a boy, and the weight of anger and resentment no longer sat heavily on his broad shoulders.
“You came,” he said, a slight note of wonder in his voice.
I put out my hand and uncurled my fingers, revealing the sycamore fig in my palm. “How could I ignore such a summons?”
Earlier today, I’d been shocked to discover the fig on the sill of the small room I’d been sharing with Galit and the children in Safira’s home. Although I was well aware of its meaning, I’d been stricken with the strangest attack of nerves, unable to concentrate on anything but the message I’d received. But I’d had to wait until all the children were sleeping and Galit was breathing evenly before I could slip out into the darkness and hasten to the tree.
It had been a month since he’d formally taken the name Natan and publicly declared himself not only fully loyal to the people of Yahweh and the tribe of Levi, but also as a true son of Elazar. The celebration after his cleansing in the stream had been one of the most joyous I’d ever attended, even over the marriage feasts of Elazar’s sons and daughters, because no longer was there a pall of concern for Lukio hanging over the household. He was, after all this time, finally in perfect shalom with the family who loved him so much.
Since then, he’d been extraordinarily busy working alongside his brothers, cutting down trees again and tending to a multitude of tasks around the compound—usually with Zevi and Igo in tow. Of course, I, too, was occupied with my children and doing my part to help with the many duties the women who lived atop the mountain tended to on a daily basis, but I could not help but be frustrated that after all this time of separation we’d had very few moments alone. I was anxious to begin our life together, yes, but I also simply missed my friend.
“Is everyone asleep?” he asked.
“They are,” I replied, “although I had to whisper orders to Igo three times not to follow me.”
He laughed. “He is as much enthralled with you as he is with Zevi and me.”
“You should see how patient Igo is with the children,” I said. “Asher and Aaliyah can practically ride the animal like a mule and he simply stands there and lets them. Even Davina squeals and thrashes about with delight whenever he follows Zevi into a room.”
“Zevi seems to be adjusting,” he said.
“Asher and Aaliyah adore him already. And his new friends are helpful, for certain.”
I had little doubt that Zevi, Avidan, and Gavriel were already well on their way to becoming lifelong friends. And even though Shalem was younger than the rest of them, they included him in all their romps through the woods as well. When Zevi was not with them, however, he was with Lukio.
Lukio’s brow furrowed, and he slid his fingers through the short hair that was just beginning to curl on his head. “He still has not revealed all that much about the life he had before Ashdod, nor the raid that enslaved him.”
“I know,” I said, “but there is no doubt he trusts you. It may take some time, but I think he will eventually allow both of us into his heart.”
“Now I know the frustration Abba and Ima felt during all those years I kept them at arm’s length. I can only pray that Yahweh will give us wisdom with him, and that we won’t have to wait until he is grown before he truly lets down his guard.”
Hearing Lukio speak of looking to Yahweh for guidance was still so foreign, but it filled my heart with overflowing gratitude. The God Who Hears had been so faithful to both of us—protecting us, bringing unexpected help into our lives, and eventually drawing us back together—and I would never doubt his goodness. And the way he’d transformed Lukio from the vicious champion of Ashdod into a man who’d offered up his life for others on multiple occasions would never cease to amaze me.
In addition to the shearing of his long hair, the growth of his beard, the change in his clothing from Philistine to Hebrew, and the removal of the ivory plugs in his earlobes, it seemed as though he’d left behind the burden he’d been carrying for as long as I’d known him. And the new man who stood before me now, still breathtaking in his beauty but even more so in his spirit, was one I was more than eager to get to know.
“You did not leave me a fig only to speak of Zevi, did you, Lukio . . . I mean, Natan?”
He grinned at my stumble over his name. “As much as I want to leave all of my past behind me, I do not mind if you continue to call me Lukio in private. I will likely always call my sister Risi, after all. It’s too engrained to think of her any other way. As for why I brought you here”—a twinkle of mischief sparked in his mismatched eyes—“I have waited far too long to be alone with you.”
He crossed the short distance between us and took the fig from my hand, dropping it to the ground before entwining his fingers with mine. I held my breath as I met his potent gaze.
“As I said the day I returned, I had a few things to tend to—first among them joining the Covenant, so we can begin our lives together as one, not only in body but in the spirit of Yahweh’s Torah. And I also needed to prepare a temporary place for our family to reside until a home can be built up here atop the mountain. Fortunately, when the Gibeonites unsuccessfully attempted to overtake Kiryat-Yearim ten years ago, they left their homes behind when they fled the mountain. I discovered that, for some reason, the one where my old friends Adan and Padi lived was still vacant, albeit in rough shape. It’s not too far from here, and I’ve repaired it enough to make it livable.”
“You made us a home?”
Our betrothal had been declared publicly, the same day that he’d joined the Covenant, but since I was as good as fatherless, nothing about it had been traditional. No mohar, no formal ketubah—only a joyful announcement and many days of anticipation as I waited for him to come for me. I’d certainly never expected him to have already prepared us a place to live.
“I have,” he said. “However, I will begin building a new and better one for you closer to my family as soon as I can fell enough timber and collect enough stone. I’ve found a grove of oaks that will do nicely. It certainly won’t be anything like my villa in Ashdod, but—”
I lifted a hand to cover his mouth. “Any home with you and my . . . our children will be a palace.”
He pulled my hand away and kissed the center of my palm, sending warm delight through my limbs, then he tugged on my arm, pulling me fully against him. “I hoped you might say that.”
I let my arms slide around his waist and laid my cheek on his hard chest, reveling in his warmth and nearness. I could never have imagined that terrible moment I heard him announce his betrothal to Mariada on the terrace that I would be here, planning my life with the man I’d loved for so long.
“Do you remember,” he began, “when we made plans to live out here?”
“Of course,” I said, “and you told me that you would build a fortress up in our tree so my father would never find me and that you could see Ashdod from its branches. I used to dream about staying out here with you and never going back home.” With my chin
still on his chest, I tipped my head back to look up at him. “You aren’t going to build me a house in the tree, are you?”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his big body as he caressed my back. “No, but tonight we perhaps might recapture a bit of that joy we found here as children. When it was just you and me and all our far-fetched dreams. Dreams that aren’t impossible anymore.”
“Lukio,” I said, craning to look over at the sycamore. “That cave beneath our tree was small enough when you were a boy. You will not fit in there.”
He tilted his head back and laughed, startling more than a few night creatures into flight.
“I’m not certain I could even fit in there anymore,” I said, squinting at the dark hole we used to squeeze into and talk until nearly sunrise.
“Of course you could, Tesi.” He placed a kiss on my nose, making my heart flutter like one of those startled birds. “You’ve not changed so much.”
I frowned playfully at him. “I’ve given birth to three children. If nothing else, my hips are more generous.”
He bent to speak directly into my ear, his breath hot and teasing as his palm slid down my side and gripped one of those hips. “Hmm. I’m not certain about that. I’ll have to determine that for myself.”
“Lukio,” I gasped out on a shuddering breath. “What are you doing?”
“I told you,” he said, “that I would not wait one more day than necessary to come for my bride. And I know that it is customary for the bridegroom to come for his new wife with great fanfare, but I felt this would be much more fitting for our wedding night.”
“What do you mean?”
He kissed my lips, slow and searching, as if he had all the time in the world to explore. “Come,” he said, parting from me only enough to whisper against my mouth. “I’ll show you.”
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