by Tessa Afshar
Salmone returned to a disheveled home. His wife sat staring into space. Her dress was askew and a dark smudge that looked suspiciously like soot marred her cheek. She wore no veil and her hair hung in tangled curls down her back. One earring hung from her ear, a single pearl dancing amongst dark blue lapis lazuli. He advanced into the tent. She did not heed him. He approached her. She continued staring.
“Is something the matter?”
Her head whipped around. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I noticed. What’s happened?”
“Oh, Salmone, I’ve lost my earring,” she wailed. “I forgot to take them off before coming to bed last night, and in the morning there was only one in my ear. I’ve looked everywhere to no avail. I can’t find it!”
“I’m sorry.”
She made a funny, kitten sound in her throat and flung her hands to either side in despair. He could tell her distress went deep. “They weren’t all that valuable, Rahab.”
“They were to me!”
“I can help you look for it.”
“I’ve looked for hours. Nothing. It’s disappeared into the air.”
“Where have you looked?”
“I’ve turned this tent inside out. I even went through the ashes of the fire.”
That explained the mess. And the soot. He crouched down in front of her. “How about outside? We walked the guests out. And then you washed the dishes in the dark. You might have dropped it before you ever came to bed.”
“Oh.” Embers of hope. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Let’s go look.”
“No, no. I’ll search for it later. You’ve been working hard all day; you must be tired. Come and have your supper. I’ll look after you are finished.”
The earrings had some sentimental value for him, it was true. They had belonged to his mother, and he could still picture her walking about with them dangling against her cheek. But the sentiment was superficial. In truth he would prefer nothing more than to sit down, drink a glass of barley water, and eat his wife’s cooking. The distress on her face, however, made that plan null. He’d choke on his food if he made her wait in the throes of her anxiety. “We’ll look now,” he said and pulled her up. Her unresisting acquiescence and the expression of relief on her face confirmed he had made the right decision.
The best strategy would be to make a systematic sweep of the area, he decided. First, they took a snail’s walk along the lanes that they had covered the previous night. It had been a rainless day with enough wind to cover something as minuscule as an earring with plenty of sand. So their search had to be methodical, and to Salmone’s grumbling belly, agonizingly slow. Their careful exploration produced no fruit. Salmone was cognizant that after a windy night even the most minute search might miss a prize as small as they were looking for, but he kept his doubts to himself, seeing no reason to cause discouragement until it became necessary.
Then they turned back to the area outside the tent, focusing on the side where Rahab’s nocturnal cleaning had taken place. Kneeling with their heads close to the ground, they swept the sand. Salmone tried to remember the direction of the winds that morning and began to widen his search according to a hunch. He noticed Rahab sitting back on the sand, abandoning hope, her features spelling dejection. Don’t give up. Not quite yet. He kept at it, a gnawing intuition goading him to continue searching.
And then his index finger touched something solid and cold. He seized upon the spot and quickly wiped away the sand. There it was! Rahab’s treasure—forgotten, abandoned, lost on the ground. From the mark of footsteps, more than one pair of sandals had trod on the delicate gold and pearl. The sight made him narrow his eyes with dawning comprehension.
Rahab, who had been watching his movements with desultory interest, became aware that his search had in fact borne fruit. She gasped and sprang to her feet, rushing over with a haste that overturned a pot.
“You found it!” she cried.
“Mmmm.”
She threw herself down by his side and reached out for her earring. He pushed her hand away. “Leave it,” he commanded.
“What do you mean leave it?”
“I mean it’s no good anymore. It’s been lying in the sand a whole night and day. See the mark of the footsteps? It’s been trampled on again and again. It’s ruined.”
“No, it’s not! I can see it is fine. It needs a careful washing perhaps, but it will be good as new as soon as I give it some proper care.”
“People have stepped on it, I tell you. It’s worthless now.”
“Of course it isn’t. Jewels don’t lose their value just because they’re dirty. It’s still a pearl even if it’s been stepped on. What’s wrong with you, anyway? Why are you acting this way? Give me my earring!”
“Not until you understand.”
“What?” Rahab’s irritation colored her voice as she reached for the earring.
He held it away from her. “You are this earring.”
“You’ve been in the sun too long. Let’s get you some fig wine.”
“I don’t need fig wine. I need you to see something. Rahab, you seem to value this earring above your other possessions. You appreciate its inherent value as gold and pearl, but even beyond gold and pearl it means something more to you. It represents great worth in your sight.
“That’s why you are like this earring. Don’t you see God looks upon you the way you look upon this delicate jewel? Only with so much more tenderness and delight. Do you remember the story of creation? It tells us that His hand fashioned us—fashioned you—in His own image. The One who created you in His image, the One who called you very good, must consider you to have profound worth. You are like this precious jewel to Him.
“You tell me that in spite of the fact that this earring has been lost, abandoned in the dirt and trampled underfoot, it is still of great worth to you. It remains a valuable piece of jewelry. You tell me that even though people have stepped on it, it is no less precious.
“Can’t you see that the same holds true for you, Rahab? You may have been discarded by your father, or by Zedek, but that has not robbed you of your true worth. You may have been stepped on by many others, but that has not changed who and what you are: a child of God, made in His image.”
“I just wanted my earring,” Rahab rasped, turning pale. “Why do you bring Zedek into it?”
Salmone could taste her distress, but he went on, ruthless in his need to restore her life. “Because I want you to be free of him. His actions turned you into this earring. Instead of being cherished and treasured, you were tossed into the dust. And when he was done, he left you there. But he didn’t grow tired because you are tiresome, Rahab. He didn’t leave you because you are not good enough. He left you because of his own sin. It wasn’t any lack in you that caused him to abandon you; it was a lack in him. The same is true for your father. They lost a treasure in you when they didn’t appreciate you. Like throwing gold in the dirt and walking away from it, the loss is theirs.
“Rahab, look at this earring. Is it ruined and worthless now because it’s been in the dust? Tell me it’s spoiled beyond repair. Tell me you don’t want it anymore.”
He watched her, and then continued. “God can’t say those things about you either. You are His precious gold. You are His irreplaceable pearl. And you have never lost the value you were born with.”
Tears filled her honey eyes. She reached for the jewel, not grabbing this time, not seizing, but touching with a reverence that made Salmone hold his breath. “I’m this earring?” She gasped, her voice breaking.
He nodded. With an aching wonder she drew it near and stared at it twinkling in the palm of her hand. There was little structural damage to the gold or the gems. As she had predicted, they needed a good washing and a few adjustments to the soft wires that had become bent under the weight of careless feet. But the earring was as valuable as ever. Its gold was still gold, the pearl solid and lustrous. Rahab closed her fist around the ornament and bro
ught her hand to rest on her heart.
Something in her broke—Salmone could see the shattering of it. A keening noise escaped her lips, like the sorrowful wail of a confused and hurting child. His heart almost cracked at the sound, at the ancient pain it contained. He pulled her into his strong, protective arms. Her whole body shook against him.
“Hush, sweet. Hush,” he murmured. He knew the mountain of pain erupting needed release and didn’t intend to end it before its time. Yet he wanted her to experience his comfort as she went through the releasing of this monumental sorrow. It occurred to him that he could never judge her again after this, after witnessing the suffering child who had finally seen a glimpse of her true image in God’s eyes. He could never think of her past as a pollution of his pure bloodlines. He could never condemn her again for having been with a dozen men before him. Far from loving her less, he loved her more fiercely than ever. God had shown him that earring as much for his sake as for hers. He needed this lesson every bit as much as she. She was a jewel beyond price to him, and nothing could ever again diminish her value in his sight.
Her convulsive trembling began to subside and the keening wail turned into ordinary tears. He held her tight the while, kissing her temple, caressing her hair. Every instinct of nurture and protection in him was awakened over her. An overpowering tenderness welled up in him. “I love you,” he whispered, almost not conscious that he had spoken the words. They came out of him in a natural rush of emotion he could not suppress.
She clung to him, arms wrapped about his neck and back, pressing her whole self into him in an abandonment of trust and need that melted him from the inside. He had never felt so wholly close to another human in his life. Into the crook of his neck, she whispered something, which he missed at first, and then he realized that she was telling him that she loved him, she loved him, over and over. Salmone thought he would burst with the joy that flooded inside him.
It took him a long time to realize that someone else stood near them, clearing his throat with awkward abandon. His movements sluggish, Salmone lifted his head, still clinging to his wife. Only when he saw how bleary his vision was as he tried to focus on Ezra’s face did he come to realize that his lashes were stuck together with tears.
“Ezra?” he croaked, annoyed at being interrupted, wanting the whole world to disappear and leave him alone with his wife.
“I am sorry to intrude,” Ezra said, avoiding eye contact. “Joshua sent me to fetch the leaders of Judah. I was here once earlier and left. But you’re the last one I need to round up.”
“Joshua wants me now? What is it?”
“A delegation of men arrived on donkeys several hours ago. They want to make a treaty with us. Joshua has asked the leaders to gather and advise him.”
“A delegation! Well, Joshua can do without me on this one decision. I can’t leave my wife just now.”
Against his neck, Rahab’s words tickled with gentle exhalations of air. “Go, my love. You can’t keep Joshua waiting. I’m all right.”
Salmone shook his head. “I won’t leave you, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Ezra, will you tell Joshua my wife needs me, please? If it’s urgent, I will come. But if he can do without me, I’d rather stay with Rahab. Find out more details in either case and come back and tell me.”
“You need not have lingered with me,” Rahab said, when Ezra left. “I understand you have important responsibilities. Israel needs you.” Her face was blotchy from crying, and her alluring eyes had turned red and puffy. She had never seemed so beautiful to him. He still held her, unable to bring himself to release her. The thought of putting the smallest distance between them seemed unbearable.
“I will leave if I must. Right now I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”
“Perhaps we should go inside.”
Salmone realized suddenly that he had been clutching his wife outside their tent in plain view of any neighbor who might happen to wander outdoors. Night had fallen, providing a cover of sorts. But he would rather have some dregs of privacy. Shifting his weight, he hefted Rahab into his arms and walked into the tent. She clasped him about the neck, her head against his heart. In her long-fingered fist, she clutched the earring. He smiled at the sight of it—at the sight of her.
Once inside, he sat down on a rug, leaning against a post, Rahab still in his arms.
“Let me fetch you some food and drink,” she whispered.
He almost shook his head to deny her suggestion when it dawned on him that she must be utterly worn out from weeping, and from the emotional strain of what had happened. Food and drink would do her good. “I’ll fetch us some,” he said.
She gave him a dismayed look. “That’s my job. You’ve worked endless hours, and Joshua might still call you back. I can at least do this for you.”
“Any day—every day—for the rest of our lives, if you want. But tonight, let me take care of you.” To his delight, she nodded, though he could tell that it came hard to her, this giving over to his care. He wanted her to understand that she was not a burden to him, that caring for her did not make her less precious in his sight. Years. I’ll need years to teach her that. He managed to find leftover sweet cakes from the night before and cheese and stale flat bread. She made the best barley water he had ever tasted, and long ago he had learned where she stored it. Bringing over the whole earthen vessel, he set it next to them along with the deepest cups he could find.
Before eating, he blessed God as was his habit. But he took time to pray longer, to praise God for His provision and guidance and mercy. He praised God for his wife, for their marriage, for their future, for the plans God had for them whatever they be. And he praised God for opening his eyes and Rahab’s to truth. Joy and hope overflowed out of him as he spoke to the Lord, for he knew that this was all His doing. Only God could take a lost earring and turn it into an instrument of healing.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Salmone was relieved when Ezra returned bearing the message that Joshua had excused his absence and did not require him to come. He watched Rahab offer their guest a plump cushion and barley water. Salmone frowned; he wanted her to rest this night and not run about burdened with duties. He scowled at Ezra when Rahab offered him some food and relaxed when Ezra hastily refused.
“The visitors have come from a distant country,” their guest said after taking a sip of his drink. “When Joshua asked them why they had come to us, they replied that the fame of the Lord has spread far and wide. They know we’ve defeated Og and Sihon, and they have heard of the miracle of our escape from Egypt. So the leaders of their nation have dispatched them here to make a treaty of peace with us.”
“How do we know they are what they say?” Salmone asked. “How do we know they don’t live nearby? We can’t make a treaty of peace with neighbors.”
“Joshua said the same. But they had the leaders of Israel examine their provisions. Their bread was moldy, their wineskins cracked, and their clothes and sandals worn out as by a long journey.”
“I see. I take it we will be praying and seeking God’s will before responding?”
“Well … no, actually. As it happens, the leaders thought the evidence good enough to make a decision. They gave their word to make a treaty with these people.”
“Without inquiring of the Lord!”
Ezra held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m only the messenger. All I know is that the other leaders were convinced of the delegation’s claims.”
Salmone took a deep breath. “Pardon. If I wanted to voice my opinion I should have gone to meet the delegation.” He turned to Rahab. “And I don’t regret not going.”
“Speaking of going,” Ezra said as he rose to his feet, “it’s time I found my own tent.”
Salmone and Rahab rose up with him. “Thank you for bringing me the news, Ezra.” They walked him partway down the trail that led out of their tent before returning home.
Ezra’s departure reminded Salmone that the
hour had grown late, and that he was weary. “Let’s go to bed,” he said to Rahab, studying her from beneath lowered lids. Try as he might, he could not keep his voice light. It grew husky with emotion. The thought of Rahab and bed in one sentence tugged so many strings in his mind and body he almost couldn’t breathe.
He had to set his longings aside, however. She was not ready. Just because she had taken a significant step did not mean he should pounce on her. A sense of loss—of anger even—for what had been stolen from them settled over him. He made the decision not to give in to such discouragement. His job was to take back the territory that had been stolen, to reclaim every particle of Rahab’s mind, heart, and body from the ravages of the past. One day, with their relative Joseph, he would be able to say about everyone and everything that had harmed his wife, and thereby him, “You intended it for evil, but God meant it for good.” Like Rahab’s snake, like his own near-fatal wound, like the lost earring, God could take the very worst and use it for good. In the meantime though … in the meantime, he had to grit his teeth and abide.
The night had turned unseasonably warm, and Rahab joined him in bed wrapped in a light shift. Half of him longed to hold her close, to experience that incomparable sense of connectedness. The other half groaned with the frustration of holding her, but only so far. She took the decision out of his hands by snuggling against his body with a shy wriggle of arms and legs. He knew how much such an overt demonstration of affection cost her, knew that she usually feared rejection too much to reach out to him first. Not for the world would he withdraw from her now. Twisting his body, he reached for her and pulled her close. The scent of her hair, infused with roses and some indefinable element that was pure Rahab, filled his mind. Without his own volition, he bunched his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back for his kiss. It wasn’t a kiss of comfort, of gentle contact, of belonging. It was a searing kiss of passion and wanting and need. He tingled with the desire to have her, and his kiss told her so as it hungrily drank in everything she had to give. More than anything, he wanted her to feel this way about him, to long for him as he did for her.