After the dates and cheese were consumed, Adi sat up on her heels. “I’m going to make sure everything is ready for you inside. We have your mat and blanket. Is there anything else you need or want, anything you’re used to?”
Arisha blinked. “Um, no. That sounds good.”
“All right then. If you need anything, even if you awaken in the middle of the night, just let me know.” Adi patted her knee and disappeared into the tent.
Arisha watched her go. “Your imma is sweet.”
Zadok chuckled. “She is delighted to have someone to take care of again.”
Arisha turned her gaze from Adi to him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”
He placed his palm on her cheek. “Never. You could never be a burden to anyone.”
Little did he know. She had been a burden to many people.
“I’m so glad you’re home.”
Home. Was she home? The only place she had ever felt wanted was Miriam’s, and even then it was always Miriam’s home, not hers.
“It’s late. I should go.” He leaned in, close enough she felt his warm breath on her cheek.
She tensed. Was he going to kiss her?
He placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered. “Good night, habibti.”
She missed the warmth of him next to her when he left. Missed his soft laugh, his gentle touch.
She could feel him slowly stealing her heart.
Slowly? She’d only been back a couple hours.
She would have to be very careful from here on out.
Nine
13th day of Ziv
ZADOK FORCED HIMSELF to try to concentrate on the words floating around the fire pit, but his mind kept going back to the time he’d spent with Arisha that day in the pasture. Nothing particularly special had happened. He’d simply enjoyed spending the day with her, as he had for most of the last several weeks. Their days had settled into a predictable but enjoyable routine. He joined his family for the morning meal, then he and Arisha took an often longer-than-necessary stroll to the pasture. He usually walked her back before the midday meal, where she helped Imma prepare the food. He joined them for the evening meal, then the women retired inside, and he was left with the men by the fire.
And even though he’d spent most of the day with her, he missed her.
Jacob’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “He’s not even listening.”
Zadok winced when he looked up to see six pairs of amused eyes focused on him. As often happened, Joshua and his son and two grandsons had joined them tonight.
Tobiah nudged him with his shoulder. “What’s her name?” Joshua’s son had been like another uncle to Zadok, living in the tent next to theirs. He’d grown up with Tobiah’s sons Elam and Eliel being his cousins as much as Naomi and Keren’s children.
“What?” Zadok tried to keep his voice steady as he accepted a cup of sage-mint tea from Abba, seated on the other side of him. He inhaled the tangy, soothing fragrance.
Tobiah wiggled his brows. “Only a woman can make a man that distracted. What’s her name?”
Zadok sipped his tea while he debated whether he should answer.
“Arisha.” Leave it to Jacob to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong.
“He wasn’t asking you.” Zadok narrowed his eyes at Jacob.
Jacob only laughed. “I know, but you weren’t telling.”
“Miriam’s Arisha?” Tobiah’s eyes widened.
“You know her?” Jacob intruded again.
And this was why Zadok didn’t want to mention her name. He didn’t need any more advice, suggestions, or recommendations.
“Miriam’s mentioned her several times over the last few months. Often, the first month. She was quite worried about her.”
“So I gathered when she told me to marry her,” Zadok said.
Tobiah laughed, a hearty laugh Zadok had always loved. Though loud, the laughter never made him feel insignificant. “Sounds like Miriam. She always cared so deeply, but she did it in such unexpected ways. So when are you going to marry her?”
Zadok took a long drink of his tea, savoring the fresh cool taste of the mint. “When she’s ready. I think she is still mourning Miriam.”
Tobiah nodded. “Probably a wise move. You don’t want her to be sad during your bridal week.”
Heat crawled up Zadok’s neck at the mention of a bridal week. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, except on the cheek. Thought about it—every time he saw that dimple, considered those full lips. But hadn’t summoned the courage to do it.
Joshua cleared his throat. “I have something I would like to discuss with you all. As you know, in less than a year, our forty years of waiting will be over. We will enter Canaan. What you do not know,”—Joshua shifted uncomfortably—“is that Moses will not be going.”
The others exchanged glances, then Jacob spoke first. “What do you mean Moses will not go? Why not?” His voice was brusque.
“Yahweh told him that because of his disobedience at the rock, when he commanded water to pour out, he cannot enter the land Yahweh has promised us.”
Eliel huffed. “I don’t understand. What did he do wrong? I didn’t notice anything.”
Joshua shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t, from your point of view. Yahweh told him to speak to the rock, not strike it, and—”
Jacob pounded his fist into his thigh, then rose on his knees. “And that’s enough to forbid him to enter? That’s ridiculous!”
Abba touched his shoulder, and Jacob sat back.
“Let me finish.” Joshua raised his finger. “Do you remember what he said?
Tobiah frowned. “Something about bringing water from the rock.”
Abba stroked his beard. “He said ‘must we bring water from the rock’.”
“Yes,” Joshua said. “We. Not Yahweh. He and Aaron took credit for what Yahweh was about to do. So neither Aaron nor Moses will enter Canaan.”
Tobiah closed his eyes and swallowed. “Aaron either?”
Joshua shook his head. “No.”
The group was silent for several long moments. The fire popped and crackled as a date palm limb settled in the pit.
Zadok caught Joshua’s gaze. “How is Moses?”
“He is actually still far more upset over losing Miriam than about that. I think his despair over her death was partly responsible for his actions at the rock. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”
More silence.
“So what happens now? What about Canaan?” Jacob looked at the others in the circle.
Zadok waved a hand in the air. “Canaan? Don’t you care about Moses? Or Aaron?”
Joshua reached around Tobiah and squeezed Zadok’s shoulder. “No, no. It’s a good question. Moses’s and Aaron’s future has been decided, and talking won’t change it. Time to look forward and make plans.”
Zadok took a deep breath to calm himself. Abba poured fresh tea into his cup.
Joshua continued. “We’ve talked of many different possibilities. For one thing, it might not be a wise idea to enter from the south again, as we did before.” Joshua reached for a stick near the edge of the fire and drew in the sand. “Another way would be to enter from the east. There is a river to cross but the land is flatter. Much easier to camp, to plan battles. But first, Moses wants to send messengers to Edom, to see if we can go through their land when the time comes. Otherwise we’ll have to go south around Edom, which will make the journey at least twice as long.”
Eliel turned to Joshua. “Is Moses still in charge, or has he turned it over to you now, Sabba?”
Joshua leaned toward Eliel. “Moses will be our leader until Yahweh says he is not our leader.” Joshua enunciated each word, never taking his eyes off Eliel. “And there is nothing that says I will be the next leader, either. I am his helper, but that does not mean I will necessarily succeed him.”
“But that’s not right!”
“Eliel, enough!” Tobiah spoke sh
arply to his grandson, and Eliel frowned and looked away.
Joshua poked his sandy map with the stick he still held. “For now, we need to send messengers to Edom. Each tribe will select its own men, their best emissaries. Good fighters, as well. We have to be prepared for anything.”
Danel strolled through the orchard surrounding the palace walls. Mika was at his side, a large basket hanging from his arm. “I had these trees planted next to the walls years ago, so the fragrance would reach the king’s rooms.” He laughed. “And mine. Best idea I ever had.” He reached up and plucked several ripe, plump pomegranates, peaches and apricots, then placed them carefully into the woven container.
He dropped onto the grass and set the basket next to him, grabbing a couple apricots. Biting into the fruit, he chuckled briefly.
“What?” Mika frowned.
“Keret loves apricots, but he can’t eat them. He gets a rash every time he tries. Once he ate less than half of one, and his throat closed up and he couldn’t breathe for a moment or two. That was the last time he tried.”
Mika huffed. “Don’t you have servants to collect this stuff?”
“Yes, but I like doing it. I like being outside, smelling the air, the fruit.” He sucked in a chestful of air and closed his eyes.
“We’ve been here late every night this week. Can’t we go yet?”
“Sure. Let’s get this inside first.” He stood and collected the basket.
Mika rolled his eyes as he rose.
Danel draped his arm around his grandson’s shoulder and headed inside. They dropped off the food in the kitchen, but not before placing a few of each kind of fruit in a sack to carry home.
Danel nodded at the soldiers guarding the massive wooden double doors as he left the palace, then headed south toward the small residential district of the palace officials.
He never walked through this area without remembering the single, small room of his childhood. Tucked up against the outer wall, his former house lay far away on the opposite side of the city, where most of Arad’s people lived. Once his mother became the palace cook, they moved into the servants’ area. Many nights he slept on the floor of the king’s spacious kitchen as his mother prepared food for Keret, first as prince, then as king.
As they neared their current, more opulent, home, Mika broke into a jog. Danel frowned, then noticed Demna waiting outside the courtyard. Mika grabbed her, wrapped his arms about her waist, and swung her around. The girl giggled.
Danel breathed deeply. No wonder he was in a rush to leave. Demna had an inexplicable hold over his grandson. Danel feared what she could make Mika do.
Yahweh, protect my family.
He skirted by the couple and ducked into the courtyard. Yasha stood waiting, and he went willingly into her arms.
“Bad day?”
“Not anymore.” He kissed her cheek.
“I’ll make some tea.” She disappeared inside, taking the bag with her.
Izabel and Duni bounced in with Yasha. “Papa!” Izabel clambered into his lap, and he hugged her to his chest. “Did you bring them?”
“Bring what, little one? I don’t remember you asking for anything.”
“Papa!”
He grinned. “What?”
“The pom’gants.”
He burst into laughter. “The what?”
She scrunched her face. “Don’t laugh. I can’t say it.”
“The pomegranates?”
She nodded, clapping her little hands.
“Yes, I brought some.”
She scrambled down and bolted for the kitchen, Duni following.
Danel wandered back out to the courtyard, groaning and rubbing his lower back as he took the two steps up. Beyond the wall, Mika still nuzzled Demna. Danel lifted his face to the sky. Yahweh, please …
Mika cast a dark glance to Danel, whispered to Demna, kissed her once more before she left. He locked his hands behind his back and strolled toward Danel, his face solemn. He stopped one step away. “I have decided to take my place in my father’s army.”
Danel’s heart stopped. “You what?”
“I am joining the army of Keret. I want to protect the kingdom of Arad, as did my father, and his father before him.”
Danel tried to accept everything that statement meant. “So, you will be an officer.”
“Of course. I am assured a commission as my father’s son.”
“But why do you want to do this? You’ve already begun training with me as the next wazir.”
Mika’s eyes smoldered. “It will take me years to become the true wazir, not just your assistant. I need something that will get me some respect now.”
“And you will be forced to worship Canaan’s false gods.”
“You have shown me no proof that your Yahweh is any more real.”
Danel spread his hands. “What has any of these gods ever done for you? For anyone? Can you show me one thing any one of them has ever accomplished?”
Mika pointed his finger. “Can you? All you have are stories from the Hebrews, stories a prisoner told you forty years ago when you were a child.”
“I am not the only one who heard those stories. Everyone, every nation has heard them and cowers at the name of Yahweh.”
“But what has He done for you?”
“He took a cook’s son, the son of an Egyptian trader and made him the highest ranking man under the king in this city. Aqhat, the same thing. A common soldier without the guaranteed commission you have, and yet now he is commander of all the army. We saw what Yahweh did for Kamose. We sought Him out. We worshipped Him. He blessed us.”
“I say you earned those positions on your own.”
“And how many times have you seen men promoted who don’t deserve it? And those who do, held back because others buy their way ahead? Yahweh looked out for us, put us where He wants us, where He needs us. Of that I have no doubt. Just like He sent Kamose here to teach me about Him.”
“So Kamose suffered so you could learn about his God?” Mika threw his arms in the air.
“I am sure of it.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
Danel tried to calm himself. “Believe as you wish. But make me understand. Why the army? If not wazir, there are a number of other—”
“Because I want to be like my father!” Mika, red-faced and breathing fast, turned and stalked away.
The words, flung at him like rocks, hurt Danel much as any stones would have. He had spent the last ten years trying to erase the memory of that awful man.
Obviously, he had failed.
The morning sun had chased away the evening’s chill and the animals had retreated to their homes to wait out the heat. Arisha scrubbed the pan and handed it to Adi, then reached for another plate.
“Thank you, habibti.” Adi flashed her a bright smile.
“Last one.”
Adi stacked the plate with the others, then turned her gaze on Arisha. “How are you feeling? It’s been a more than a month since you came to live with us.”
Arisha shrugged. “Some days are better than others. Some days … I wake up and almost forget. For a moment.”
“I remember when my imma died. It was only a few years ago and I was much older than you are. But I remember the pain.” Adi’s gaze drifted to some distant point over Arisha's shoulder, and she fingered a pendant around her neck.
Arisha had noticed it before. It was always under her tunic, so she wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it hung on a cord made of gold chain. She’d seen the same one on Zivah’s neck as well.
Adi returned her gaze to Arisha and smiled. “It may not feel like it now, but it does get better.”
“Can I ask you … what helped?”
“Ahmose. Zadok and Zivah.” She paused. “She wasn’t the first person I’d lost. Kamose was the first to go—he was never quite the same after he came back from Arad.” She brought her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Keret’s competen
ce when it comes to torture is well-known, even beyond Arad. That’s why I can never go back.”
“I was just a baby when he returned. But Ahmose was nine, and he remembers. Tirzah left us several years ago; Abba a few years after that.” Her eyes moistened again. “Imma didn’t last long after Abba died. She wasn’t old enough to be under the pronouncement—only those twenty and older were prohibited from entering Canaan. But I think she just couldn’t face living there without Abba.”
She cradled Arisha's hand in both of hers. “No matter how many people one loses, it doesn't get easier. At least not at first. But the hurt? That’s actually a good thing. People you knew died in Canaan, right?”
“Of course.”
“And did it bother you?”
“No. I didn’t care.”
“Because they meant nothing to you, and you meant nothing to them. The pain in your heart is because you were a part of Miriam, and she was a part of you. And she always will be.”
“But the pain … it will lessen?”
“Yes. And your memories will remain. And we will be here to help you through it.”
Arisha had to admit it had been nice—very nice—being around Zadok’s family. Better than she had imagined. They had taken her in and loved her like she belonged. She glanced toward the pasture. “I wonder why Zadok didn’t join us for the morning meal.”
“Probably one of his sheep needed him. Why don’t you go to the pasture and see if he’s there?”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’m sure he’d love it.” She smiled knowingly.
Arisha kissed Adi on the cheek and raced toward Zadok.
She slowed when she reached the gate. Couldn’t be out of breath when he saw her—it wouldn’t look good. She found him amongst a group of lambs.
He brightened when she approached. He bent to kiss her cheek, and his touch left heat when he pulled away. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it this morning.”
“It’s all right.” But you have no idea how much I missed you.
The Walls of Arad Page 10