Just Until Christmas

by Carole Towriss

  But he couldn’t.

  Why would Miriam pick him? She knew he wasn’t suitable. She knew his ... failings. It was an absurd request. He would just have to tell her “no.”

  He stepped beyond camp to the southern springs where the livestock were kept, and hopped over the rock wall. Now, where were his sheep?

  There, near the spring. His beautiful sheep. The only creatures he felt truly comfortable with. Sheep were so much simpler than people. He scanned the group—all accounted for. Thirty-four. No one else had that many. He knew of one person that had eight. Everyone else kept two or three sheep, just enough for some milk. They couldn’t be bothered to keep more, couldn’t figure out how to do it. He wasn’t just being proud. He was preparing for the future.

  “Zadok!” A young boy waved him over.

  “Micah.” Zadok ambled toward the boy and tousled his hair. “How are my sheep?”

  “Everybody’s here and happy. Reuben is finishing the milking, and Jonah says a couple of the ewes are looking very uncomfortable.” Micah laughed.

  “All right. I’ll go check on them. Thank you.” He clapped Micah on the shoulder and headed for the ewes he knew were nearing time to deliver. It was early in the season, but not unheard of.

  Jonah knelt by one of the expectant sheep. Jonah was Zadok’s most recent but his best hire yet. He was sixteen—the oldest—big, strong and willing to work at night with Reuben to guard the sheep. Zadok paid the boys in milk, a commodity he had plenty of.

  “How is she?”

  “I think she might drop this lamb tonight.” Jonah rubbed his hand down the ewe’s back.

  “All right. I’ll stay with her. You watch the flock.”

  “Can I help?” Jonah’s eyes pleaded.

  “I need you to guard the sheep, but there are plenty more ewes waiting to deliver. If you can find someone else willing to work for me who can stand guard, you can help next time.”

  Jonah’s shoulders drooped, but he nodded and loped off.

  The ewe wandered away from the flock to find a quiet place, and Zadok followed. It was unlikely she’d need help, but he wanted to be close by, just in case.

  At least she wouldn’t be asking him any uncomfortable questions about his life.

  ###

  “No, I won’t! Why can’t I just stay here with you?” Abigail grasped Miriam’s wrinkled hands and pulled them to her chest as she tried to control her voice. The tent she shared with the old woman closed in on her, shutting out everything but Miriam. Her blood pounded in her ears and her heart thumped against her chest. Her legs wobbled. How could Miriam do this to her? How could she throw her away like this?

  “Abiga—”

  “Please, please let me stay here with you.” She grasped Miriam’s tunic.

  Miriam withdrew her hands and placed them on Abigail’s wet face. “You are a woman, and it is well past time for you to marry and create a life of your own. You cannot live in mine any longer.”

  “But I don’t want to. I don’t know how.” Abigail buried her face in Miriam’s shoulder and sobbed. “I'm afraid,” she whispered.

  Miriam embraced her and rubbed circles on her back. “No, no, my child, you mustn’t be afraid. Yahweh has created marriage for us, and it is a good thing. It is not something to be feared.”

  Abigail pulled back and narrowed her eyes. “But you never married.”

  “I almost did.”

  “What happened?”

  Miriam gestured to a cushion.

  Abigail released her and sank to the cushion, immediately missing the comfort of the woman. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to slow her breathing.

  Miriam stepped outside the tent. While she was gone, Abigail studied the tent that had been her only home—at least, the only one she could remember. Soft cushions stuffed with wool, covered in sheepskin, some dyed with flowers, were scattered over the floor. Their extra tunics were neatly folded in the corner. Skins of water occupied another corner. Sleeping mats lay rolled up along the back wall.

  She was safe here. How could she leave?

  Miriam returned with two cups full of hot water, then sat across from Abigail. She reached into a bag and pulled out some mint and sage leaves and dropped a few into each cup. “It was long, long ago, back in Egypt. His name was Eliab. We were two months from marrying, and he was killed in the brickfields.”

  “Oh, Miriam!” Abigail’s hand went to her mouth.

  “Obviously I was devastated. I knew I would never love anyone else like I loved him. I wouldn’t come out of my house for a month. But then one of my best friends was marrying, so I went to help her get ready for the ceremony. She was terrified! She almost stopped the whole thing. She didn’t know how to cook or sew or do anything because her imma had died when she was very young.”

  Miriam stirred the leaves in the cups. “I had always helped my mother with the house, and with Aaron and Moses, so I spent each day with her while her new husband made bricks, and taught her how to be a wife and keep house. Then another friend had a baby, so I spent several weeks with her. And then another friend needed me, and another ... and I realized I found it very fulfilling.”

  Abigail shook her head. “But you never married.”

  “Yahweh gave me something else. I could have sought marriage again; I chose not to. But it wasn’t because I was afraid. I chose another way instead.” Miriam took her hand. “What would you be choosing?”

  Abigail released a slow sigh. “Nothing, I suppose.”

  “Exactly.” She fished the leaves from the tea with a spoon, then handed a cup to Abigail. “I'm asking you to trust me, Abigail. I know this is the best life for you.”

  Abigail’s eyes filled with tears once again, but she blinked them back. “When do I have to do this?”

  “Not until you are comfortable with him.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

  Miriam laughed. “Of course. I am not trying to get rid of you.”

  Abigail frowned. It certainly felt that way.

  “You may not believe me, but I am doing what is best for you.” She took a long sip of tea. “I was happy living alone, helping other people. I am quite demanding, I love to be in control, and I hate taking orders. It would take a very special sort a man to live with me. I never found another one like Eliab.” She shrugged. “But you, my sweet, would not be happy. We were not created to live alone.”

  “But I am not alone! We have each other. Why can’t it stay that way?”

  Miriam set her cup aside, then took Abigail’s hand in both of hers. She waited until Abigail’s gaze met her own. “I know that most people haven’t been very good to you so far, and you don’t trust most of them. But I have known this man since he was a baby. I know his father, and his grandfather, and his great-uncle. He is an honorable, gentle man, and he will never abandon or mistreat you. You have trusted me for three years. Trust me now.”

  Abigail sniffled and managed a nod as Miriam exited the tent. After a few moments, Abigail left as well. She wandered along the path between the tents and the outer curtain. The sun hid behind the tabernacle but hadn’t quite set, leaving her in the shadows.

  A pair of Laughing Doves flew over her head toward the springs, their snickering call lightening her heart. They were the most beautiful of the desert birds. She picked up her pace and headed after them for the water.

  Soon she reached the north spring, the biggest one. A warm breeze blew in off the mountains to the north, tossing her hair over her shoulders. Beyond those fabled hills, the hills of the spies, lay the land they had waited for. The land of freedom. But how would she be free, even there, if she were forced to marry a man she did not wish to wed? After she’d finally begun to feel safe?

  Women came and went, carrying skins full of clear water to their waiting families. Always the women, always alone. Miriam said marrying brought man and woman together, but from what she saw, women stayed with women and the men were still with the men.

&nbs
p; Why should she marry anyone if she would still be alone?

  ###

  Zadok swatted at the wetness on his cheek and rolled his head away. Too early to wake up. Wet pressure jabbed him in his neck, and after a moment, his nose. He opened his eyes to a year-old lamb nuzzling his face.

  Chuckling, he reached up to rub the animal’s head. “What’s the matter? Can’t find your imma, Neshika?”

  The yearling baaaed at him, then nuzzled him again.

  “Fine, I’ll get up.” Zadok sat up and rubbed his eyes, squinted against the sun at his flock lying around him. He stretched and groaned. How much sleep had he gotten? Not much. The first lambs of the season had been born. After the first ewe delivered, he discovered another in distress. Actually ended up pulling the lamb out of its mother that time. And then of course he had to sit and watch as the mother licked the baby clean, and the lamb in turn began to suckle. There wasn’t a more satisfying experience in the world than seeing a newborn stand and begin to walk.

  “Zadok?”

  He twisted toward the voice. “Jonah? You’re still here?” He stuck out a hand and Jonah pulled him up.

  “You looked like you could use the sleep, so I stayed a while longer than usual. Reuben isn’t here yet, but Micah is. Are you up now?”

  Shivering in the cool morning air of early spring, Zadok brushed off his sheepskin cloak he’d used as a blanket and shrugged into it. “Yes. Thank you for staying. You can go now. Get some sleep yourself.”

  Jonah gathered several skins of milk and jogged toward camp.

  Zadok picked up the lamb at his feet, checked its ears, eyes, looked in its mouth. “Doing well today, Shika. Now run off.” He moved to another lamb and did the same.

  A third cowered near its ewe trembling. He knelt beside the lamb, ran his hand along its back, down its flanks. What was the problem? Gently taking hold of the head, he pulled the nose toward him. There it was—a nasty scratch on its face. He reached for the horn in the bag tied to his belt. “Hold on, girl. Hold on.” He removed the skin cover, then dipped two fingers into the ram’s horn full of olive oil and rubbed the cool liquid into the wound. The lamb jerked her head at first, but calmed as the oil soothed the sting. “Better now?” He drew his fingers over the rest of her head, checking the rest of her skin just in case.

  He strolled through his flock, inspecting the youngest and the oldest. All thirty-four, no, thirty-six with the two newest from last night—present and doing well. He glanced at the low wall they had built soon after Yahweh had decreed the Israelites must remain outside Canaan for forty years. Huge rocks dragged and rolled from the rugged hills south of camp sectioned off an enormous area for the sheep and goats, full of abundant grass and three large springs fed by an underground river. The mountains and the noise of the people kept the sheep safe from most predators, but Zadok took no chances and kept at least two people with the flock at all times.

  He searched the hills anyway, as he did several times every day, searching for anything that might harm his animals. He turned to see Moses coming toward him.

  “Your flock is well cared for, Zadok.” Moses smiled as he took stock of the sheep around him.

  “Thank you. That means a lot coming from another shepherd.”

  “There are times I miss caring for one of Yahweh’s simplest creations.” Neshika loped near and nudged Moses’s leg. The old man bent to pick her up, his staff hooked on his arm. Even at one hundred twenty years old, he moved with the ease of a man a fraction of his age. He held her and stroked her nose, and she nuzzled his chest. He laughed. “She’s quite affectionate, isn’t she?”

  Zadok smiled as he rubbed her ears. “That’s why I named her kiss.”

  Moses gently set the lamb on the grass. He leaned on his staff and was quiet for several moments. “I hear Miriam asked you to do something.”

  Zadok scoffed, then leveled his gaze at Moses. “Do something? She asked me to marry someone I've never even met.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I’d have to think about it.”

  Moses shrugged. “Could be quite an adventure.”

  A chill ran through Zadok. “I don’t like adventures. That’s why I'm a shepherd. I like peace, calm, predictability. It’s the same year after year, season to season. The rains come when they are supposed to. Lambs are born when they are ready. The sun rises every morning.”

  “A life like that can be tedious, my son.”

  Zadok crossed his arms and gazed at the mountains. “Maybe. But it’s safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “Danger ... risk ...”

  “Heartache?”

  “Maybe.”

  Moses studied Zadok and stroked his white beard. “Are you going to hide from her your entire life?”

  “I'm not hiding from her.” Years of keeping his voice low around the sheep kept Zadok from raising it, but his chest tightened. How dare Moses make such an accusation?

  “You’re certainly letting her define your life.”

  That was perhaps more accurate. But he didn’t want to admit to even that. “I won’t go through that again.”

  Moses’s gray eyes were gentle. “Miriam wouldn’t let you.”

  Zadok paused. “I believed every word she said.”

  Moses frowned for a moment. “Miriam?”

  Zadok shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  Realization down on Moses’s weathered face. “Ahhh...her.”

  “Yes. I loved her. I thought she loved me. And then to do that to me ...” Zadok rubbed his thumbnail on his lower lip. “I just can’t,” he whispered.

  At those last whispered words, Moses pursed his lips. “Have you considered that this is what Yahweh, and not just Miriam, wants from you?”

  Zadok breathed a heavy sigh. “Why would you think that?”

  “For one, Miriam rarely makes decisions involving others, especially to this extent, without hearing from Yahweh. Second, she has known you since you were born. She adores you. Do you really think she would do something so serious, on her own, if she had any inkling it would hurt you? And third, in my experience Yahweh seems to take a particular delight in turning our world end over end when we are at our most content.”

  Moses turned and left without waiting for a response.

  Most content. Was Zadok content? He’d limited his world to a narrow, carefully controlled existence, designed to keep out pain and loss. It worked, as far as that went. He had been free of pain and loss since ...

  But content?

  Probably not.

  Also from Carole Towriss...

  Journey to Canaan - Book 1

  An artisan’s world has been destroyed one too many times.

  Can he conquer his anger to see his ability for what is—a gift from El Shaddai?

  Or will he let his resentment rob him of his chance to build a masterpiece?

  Bezalel is a Hebrew slave to Ramses II. Though he is an artisan of the highest order, Ramses has kept him in the palace even when all other Israelites have been banned. Bezalel blames El Shaddai for isolating him from his people.

  When Moses and Aaron appear one summer, and El Shaddai shakes Egypt to its core, Bezalel must reexamine his anger. Over the course of the next year, Bezalel’s life becomes intertwined with those of an Egyptian child-slave, the captain of the guard, and especially a beautiful, young concubine.

  That spring, all escape with the young nation of Israel. But that’s only the beginning...

  Journey to Canaan - Book 2

  A young widow knows nothing but yesterdays filled with abuse and neglect. A displaced soldier anticipates only empty tomorrows. A spy sees just a today he can manipulate to gain the power he craves.

  Will they allow Yahweh to give them what they need?

  Kamose, once Egypt’s most trusted soldier, no longer has a country to serve or king to protect. Moses insists God has a plan for him, but Kamose is not so sure.

  Tirzah’s cruel husband d
ied shortly after they left Egypt. She escaped his brutality, but now she’s alone, and once they reach their new land, how will she survive?

  Gaddiel, Tirzah’s brother-in-law, is chosen as one of the twelve spies sent to scout out Canaan. He’s supposed to go in, get information and come back, but all he really wants is to bring down Joshua.

  Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

  I usually wrote Biblical fiction. I wrote most of Just Until Christmas when a publisher was looking for novellas for a Christmas anthology. It had to be set in a small town, and it had to be about Christmas. It was fun writing something where I didn't have to research nearly every single paragraph: Did they eat this fruit in this location? In this season? What fabric did they make their clothes from? What was the temperature in the summer?

  The publisher closed its fiction division before they collected the stories, so it sat on a shelf. This year I decided to finish and release it.

  I hope you enjoy it.

  You can keep up with me and my new releases at www.caroletowriss.com. You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

  Carole Towriss grew up in beautiful San Diego, California, and now lives just north of Washington, D. C. in a Maryland suburb. She shares her home with her husband of 30 years and their four children, Three of which are adopted from Kazakhstan. In between making tacos and telling her four children to pick up their shoes for the third time, she reads, watches chick flicks, writes and waits for summertime to return to the beach.