by Lynn Austin
Yael covered her face and wept for a long time. Leyla’s death was so senseless. How could the stars be so wrong? Dazed with grief, she slowly became aware of the other women gathering around Leyla’s body, making preparations to wash her and anoint her with spices for burial. One of them held a long, white shroud in her hands. “Wait,” Yael said. “Let her brother Rafi come in to see her. He’ll want to say good-bye. And where is her husband? And her father?”
“That’s not the way we do things,” the midwife said. She helped Yael to her feet. “She is unclean from the blood. The men won’t want to become defiled. You should leave now. There’s nothing more for you to do.”
The little statue of the moon goddess had fallen from Leyla’s hand. Yael left it lying on the floor. She took one last look at her friend and fled from the room, carrying her useless charts, longing to run and run and never look back. She found her father waiting outside in the courtyard, watching the sky turn light. Rafi was gone. She linked her arm through Abba’s, pulling him toward the gate. “We can go now. It’s over.”
The farther they walked, the more Yael’s grief and anger soared. Anger at Leyla’s father for forcing her to marry. Anger at Basam for not caring enough to stay by her side during her final hours. Anger at the stars for not speaking the truth to her. “I don’t want to go home to Jerusalem yet,” she said as they neared the city. “Can I stay at your farmhouse for a few days? I need some time alone to grieve.”
“Why grieve alone? Why not let Dinah and Hodaya and the others comfort you?”
“I can’t, Abba. . . . Hodaya looks too much like Leyla, and I just can’t . . .”
He squeezed her arm. “I understand. We’ll go to the farm. I’m on duty at the altar during the day, but I’ll come back to stay with you at night.”
Yael slept and cried for most of the morning after Abba left, then ate a little bread and wept some more. She couldn’t understand why the moon goddess hadn’t revealed the truth to her in the stars. Why had all the signs led her to believe that Leyla would be happy, that she would live? All these years Yael had been angry with Zaki’s God for Mama’s death, and now her own deity had let her down.
She was lying on her mat, staring up at the rough, wooden ceiling, when she heard a man’s voice from outside calling, “Anyone home?”
She sat up, her heart racing. She decided to peek out to see who it was, then remain hidden if it was a stranger. She crept to the window, staying in the shadows.
Rafi.
“Is anyone here?” he called again. Yael wiped her face and smoothed her hair, then walked to the doorway, shading her eyes in the bright sunlight, fighting the urge to run into his arms for comfort. He looked relieved to see her. “Yael. I was hoping you were here.”
She nodded, wiping fresh tears as they rolled down her face. She walked outside to stand near him and saw that his eyes were red-rimmed with grief. He suddenly pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him in return. Embracing him felt as natural as embracing Leyla.
“I needed to hold someone,” Rafi said, his voice breaking. “I knew you would understand.” Yael felt his body shake with silent sobs as she held him tightly, felt his tears in her hair as she wept against his chest. She didn’t know how long they remained that way, but finally he released her. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Yael took his hand and sat down with him on the low stone wall surrounding the courtyard. She stared down at her feet, too angry to look up and see Leyla’s village across the valley, too frightened of her own emotions to look at Rafi. “I miss my sister,” he said hoarsely. “She was my friend ever since we were small—and she was yours, too. Thank you for being so good to her. Leyla loved you. She wanted you to be with her in the end because she knew that I couldn’t be.”
“I wish I knew if she’d been happy these past few months.”
“Basam will pay.”
“Rafi, all the money in the world won’t bring her back.”
“A life for a life. He let my sister die. It’s my duty to avenge her death.”
Yael froze, chilled by his words and by the ice in his voice. He wouldn’t really kill Basam, would he? This was anger and grief talking. “I miss her so much,” Yael murmured.
“I know. Me too.” He squeezed her hand a little tighter before letting go. Then he stood. “I’m glad I found you here. If it’s okay, I’d like to come back tomorrow. The men in my village . . . we aren’t supposed to show our grief.”
“I’ll be here for a few more days,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Yael remained sitting as she watched him walk away, following his progress across the valley.
He returned the next day and the next. When she shared her confusion about what the stars had said, she learned that Rafi didn’t believe in anything. “We make our own destiny,” he told her, “through our own power and strength. I don’t believe in gods or stars or religion.”
Yael didn’t care what he believed. They talked and laughed and wept for Leyla, and by the end of the week, when he kissed her for the first time, she already knew that she was in love with him. She had thought her first kiss would be on her wedding night, but after Rafi kissed her that first, tender time, she knew she wanted his lips on hers, his strong arms around her, for the rest of her life. Rafi loved her. And she loved him. In spite of her overwhelming grief, Yael was happier than she’d ever been in her life. All around her the world turned green, the wildflowers sprouted, the sun warmed the land, and she felt like she was awakening, as well. Dizzy and breathless with excitement, she could barely wait for Abba to leave every morning and for Rafi to come. She knew that Leyla smiled down on them, laughing along with them at their unabashed joy.
“Do you want to know when I first fell in love with you?” Rafi asked. They sat beneath her father’s fig tree on a rug she’d spread on the ground against the chill of the damp earth.
“When?”
“That day when you were at the tombs and I was with that gang of boys. You ordered them to get out of your way, and you didn’t look one bit afraid. You stood with one hand on your hip and your jaw jutting out like this, and you said, ‘Let us through!’ You were formidable—and beautiful.”
Yael laughed at his pantomime. “I didn’t look like that!”
“Yes, you did.”
“I may have acted brave, but I was terrified. They were hurting my friend. I never thanked you for helping us.”
“I had never seen a girl stand up to a gang of boys like that. I remember thinking that no man could ever capture such a spirited woman’s love, much less possess her for his own. It would be like trying to capture a flame.”
“I’m yours now,” she said, moving closer to him. “I love you, Rafi.”
“And I’m the richest man in the world. I want you for my wife.”
“Then let’s tell our families. My father will be home before sunset. Let’s tell him together. ”
“That’s not the way it’s done in my village. I will tell my father that I’ve found a wife, and if he agrees, he’ll go to your father and ask for a marriage contract. Do you think your father will accept?”
“Of course! I’ll tell him he has to accept. I want to marry you.”
Rafi left before Abba returned, but he promised to speak with his own father as soon as he could. Yael couldn’t bear to wait through such a long, tedious process. She prepared a nice meal for Abba, and as soon as he sat down to eat it, she told him about Rafi. “I have wonderful news, Abba . . . I’m in love!” Her words bubbled out in a rush of excitement. “When Rafi’s father asks you for my hand, please, please say yes!”
“Wait—you’re in love? . . . With Rafi?”
“Yes, Leyla’s brother Rafi. He wants to marry me! You know his father, Zabad.”
“Yes. I know him.” Abba had stopped eating. He set down his bowl and bread with a worried look. “When did all this happen?”
“I’ve known Rafi for years, Abba, and he’s a good man. We’ve bee
n friends, just like Zaki and I are friends.”
“I don’t think it’s a very good idea to marry a Samaritan.”
“Why not? I love him!”
“I need to talk this over with Dinah and Iddo.”
His words outraged her. “You don’t need their permission. You’re my father!”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t give you an answer until I’ve talked this over with them. You’re their daughter as much as you are mine.”
Yael knew what their reaction would be. Iddo and Dinah hated Samaritans. She waited until Abba fell asleep and got out her charts to study the stars, desperate to read what the future held for her and Rafi. She could make offerings to influence the heavens in her favor, if she had to. When the stars all told her that she and Rafi would be together, that they would be happy, she read them a second time and then a third, just to be sure. The stars had been wrong about Leyla’s future. . . . Yael lay awake for a long time, doubting what she’d just read, questioning her ability as a seer—a seer who could no longer see.
She and Abba walked up to the city the next morning, and Yael was forced to wait with the other women all day until Abba and Iddo returned home. “Why are you so fidgety?” Safta Dinah asked. “What’s the matter with you?” Yael didn’t want to tell her until that evening when the four of them sat down together after the meal. Yael would find a way to be with Rafi no matter what anyone said. She had seen it in the stars.
“Yael thinks she’s in love,” Abba began.
“I am in love!” she interrupted. “With Leyla’s brother Rafi. And he loves me. His father is going to ask Abba if he can marry me.”
“And I told Yael that we needed to talk it over with both of you first,” Abba said.
“You can’t let her do this,” Safta said, the first to object. “I promised Miriam I would find her a suitable husband, a Jewish husband—”
“Rafi is Jewish!” Yael tried to stay calm, but she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.
“Our heritage comes through our mother’s line,” Iddo said, “not our father’s. If Rafi’s mother is a Gentile, then so is he. God gave our people a second chance after they strayed into idolatry, and now His enemies are trying to tempt us away from Him again.”
“How could you possibly live with people who kill their own children?” Safta asked.
“Rafi isn’t like that.” But Yael couldn’t forget his cold, stony face when he’d talked of making Basam pay for his sister’s death.
“How do you know he isn’t like them?” Safta asked. “Once you’re married to him, he might turn out to be just like his father and all of the other men in his village. It’s all he knows, Yael.”
“Rafi is the oldest son, isn’t he?” Iddo asked. “The heir? Someday, as village elder, Rafi will marry other wives for political alliances and prestige and as a display of his wealth. Why would you endure such humiliation?”
“He wouldn’t do that. He loves me.” But again Yael felt uneasy when she remembered how the women remained separate from the men in Rafi’s household.
“What if he forbids you to come home and see your family,” Safta continued, “like Leyla’s husband did? Hodaya would be heartbroken. We all would be. Remember how you felt when Leyla’s husband cut you off from her? And you know Hodaya would never be allowed to visit you.”
“Rafi will let me come home. Our families are at peace.” Yet Yael knew that Safta was right about one thing: Hodaya could never visit his village. And she would wonder why.
“What about your work as a midwife? You would need his permission to continue, you know.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind. The women in his village need midwives, too.”
“But they don’t share our values, Yael. You know that. You only have to look at Hodaya to remember what they’re like. Do you really want to live with such people?”
Yael didn’t want to think about all these things. She and Rafi loved each other. That was all that mattered. “We’ll figure out a way to make it work.”
“Yael, I’m saying this because I love you,” Safta said. “You’ve always been stubborn and independent, but for once in your life, please listen to our advice. After the first rush of love fades, you’ll be trapped in a village that’s completely different from ours, living among people who aren’t your family, people who think and believe differently than we do. And you’ll have to obey your husband without fail for the rest of your life.”
“But—”
“Dinah is right,” Abba said. “I know how the men in that village think. You’ve always gone your own way, but not this time. I can’t let you marry Rafi. It would be a mistake. I’ve known Zabad for more than ten years. I know how he lives and . . . and I can’t let you live that way.”
“Abba, no! Don’t listen to Safta!” Yael’s tears began to fall as she scrambled to her feet. “You can’t refuse us, you can’t! What will you tell Zabad when he asks for my hand? That his son isn’t good enough for me? That our marriage would be a mistake? You’ll start another war! Remember what happened when you said the Samaritans weren’t good enough to worship with us?”
“My mind is made up, Yael. I won’t listen to any more arguments.”
She ran to her room where she could cry in private, hoping that Safta or Abba wouldn’t follow her. But a few minutes later, Hodaya came in to comfort her.
“Why were they talking about me, Yael?”
“They weren’t, little one, they were talking about me. They’re trying to stop me from marrying the man I love, but I won’t let them. Nothing can stop Rafi and me from being together.”
“But they were talking about me. I heard them say, ‘Look at Hodaya and remember.’ Remember what?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Yael said as she pulled her close. But Hodaya wiggled out of her embrace.
“It has to do with my real parents, doesn’t it? Why won’t anyone ever talk to me about them?”
“This isn’t the time. Everyone is upset about Rafi and me. Wait until all this blows over.”
“When you move away with Rafi, can I go with you?”
Yael closed her eyes. It was impossible. Yet how could she walk away from Hodaya, whom she loved like a sister? She would miss her every time she looked at her husband and saw the resemblance. But it would destroy Hodaya if she ever learned the truth. Her father had rejected her. He had ordered her to be smothered to death beneath a soaked blanket. Rafi’s father.
“There has to be an answer to all this,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
Late that night when everyone was asleep, Yael took her star charts and a lamp outside to the courtyard to see, once again, what the heavens had to say. But before she had a chance to study them, she heard the familiar thump and scrape of Hodaya’s crutch on the cobblestones and quickly rolled them up. “Why are you up so late, Hodaya? Go back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep. I’m worried that you’re going to leave me.”
“I won’t leave you.” But Yael knew that she wouldn’t be making that decision, Rafi would. Hodaya limped closer.
“What are you doing? What are those scrolls?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s go back to bed.”
For now, her future with Rafi would have to remain unknown.
Chapter
32
In living quarters as close as theirs, Zechariah could easily hear everything that was going on. Yael was in love with a Samaritan and determined to marry him. He heard all of his family’s well-intentioned pleas and arguments, and he knew that his free-spirited friend would do whatever she wanted to in the end. Zechariah had tried for years to lure her away from the Samaritans and their astrology, but he had failed. Once she married Rafi and moved to his village, no one would ever see her again. He would never win her back to God. She would die with the pagans.
The morning after Yael arrived home with the news, a familiar dream jolted Zechariah awake just before dawn. But it had a differ
ent ending this time. The storage basket with Yael hidden inside was tightly bound with ropes so she couldn’t escape. In the dream Zechariah cut through the ropes with one of the sacrificial knives he was learning to use and set her free.
He lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it meant. As the sky grew lighter, he heard his grandparents talking outside in the courtyard. “Iddo, we have to do something! You know what those Samaritans are like. It makes me sick to think of Yael living with them. They’ll destroy her. She’s like my own daughter, and I can’t bear to lose her. We can’t let her marry him.”
“Don’t worry, Dinah. Mattaniah assured me that he’s going to refuse Zabad’s offer.”
“She’ll run away with him—I know she will. We haven’t convinced her that she’s making a mistake.”
“Mattaniah asked us to watch her and make sure she stays here. We can’t let her go to the farm.”
“She ran away from here once before, remember? She went all the way to the village to see Leyla. She’s fearless.”
“I know. But Mattaniah needs time to figure out an honorable way to decline Zabad’s proposal. Yael was right when she said that a flat refusal will start another war. We can’t risk insulting him and causing more trouble.”
Zechariah climbed out of bed and hurried outside as the solution to the dilemma suddenly came to him. The dream had shown him the answer, and it seemed so obvious, so inevitable, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Saba, I know of an honorable way for Mattaniah to decline Zabad’s proposal. He can say that Rafi’s proposal has come too late. That he already chose a husband for Yael and settled on a dowry. He can show him a signed marriage contract. Then if Rafi runs away with Yael, he would bring shame to his family. He would be stealing another man’s wife.”
“I cannot advise Mattaniah to lie.”
“He won’t have to lie. Mattaniah can sign a contract with me. I’ll marry Yael.”
“No, Zaki,” Saba said. “You should marry a wife who loves you—and who loves God.”
“Yael is a Levite’s daughter and—”