Rahab looked up from her work and brushed the flour from her hands. She had spent days in prayer, walking alone among the fields, keeping to herself, her mind turning over the laws of circumcision and captive brides that Joshua had read to them less than a month earlier. If her father and brothers were required to be circumcised to join Israel, how was she released from doing something to show Adonai her allegiance? Was there not some rite for women? Or did everything rest with the men alone?
“I see even now you are struggling to say it.” Eliana moved closer and touched Rahab’s shoulder. “Can you share what troubles you, my daughter?”
Rahab looked at her friend, suddenly aware of how much the motherly endearment meant to her and how much she missed her own mother. Emotion rose quickly, and she brushed a stray tear from her cheek.
“I . . .” She looked away, her words halted by uncertainty.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to tell me.” Eliana patted her shoulder, then pulled her into a warm embrace. “Let it be enough to know how much we love you and appreciate your presence among us. How grateful we are that Adonai spared your life. Joshua speaks of fondness toward you too.”
Rahab looked into Eliana’s caring dark eyes. “I miss my family,” she said, suddenly realizing just how much that was true.
“Of course you do, dear girl.” Eliana touched Rahab’s cheek, as her mother had done when she was a small child. “It is natural to grieve so much loss, especially all at once.”
Rahab nodded and looked away. “They left without saying goodbye.” She could not speak past the lump in her throat.
Eliana drew Rahab into her arms and held her, saying nothing. Rahab stiffened, unaccustomed to such familial closeness. Eliana patted Rahab’s back, then released her as if sensing her unease.
“You have suffered much, Rahab. But you are also the strongest woman I have ever known.” She smiled. “I hope my daughters will learn such strength from you.”
Rahab stared at her, though she kept her expression unreadable. She nodded, considering the woman. For all of Eliana’s kind words, could she trust her?
Eliana stood and walked to the stack of threshed wheat to carry another bundle to be ground.
“You are expecting many for the evening meal?” Rahab noted the large jars of already ground grain.
“Joshua always entertains some of the people, usually the elders or Caleb’s family.” She set some of the wheat beside Rahab’s grindstone. Rahab tossed a handful onto the millstone and turned the handle.
“Let me take a turn. Your back must be aching,” Eliana said.
Rahab did not deny it. “Thank you.” She stood and walked about, rubbing the kinks away, glancing every now and then at her friend. When Eliana’s daughters moved toward the cooking tent, Rahab knelt at her friend’s side. “I miss my family, but there is more.”
At Eliana’s curious look, Rahab drew in a breath and slowly released it. “I want to do something to show my allegiance to your God. Your men have circumcision. Surely there is something a woman can do?”
Eliana stopped grinding and studied her in silence for several moments. “You cannot earn a gift, Rahab.”
The strength of the morning sun hit Rahab’s cheek, and she glanced heavenward into the expanse of bright blue above them. Did Yahweh live in the sky like the moon god did? Or was His home higher, beyond what she could see?
“Joshua read the law to us,” Rahab said, meeting Eliana’s gaze once more. “He said, ‘For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.’”
“You remember well, my daughter. And we do love you. I hope you know that.” Eliana smiled. “You are like a daughter to us. That is why Joshua wants to seek a good husband for you. It is a father’s duty.”
Rahab glanced away. “I know that.” She squatted beside the pile of threshed wheat, sifting it between her fingers. “But if I am a widow, I do not have to marry. Your God will still protect me, yes?”
Eliana nodded. “Our God is very strict about how we treat the widow and orphan and foreigners among us. God cares for the poor, and Joshua remembers what it was like to be a poor slave himself. You have no need to fear lack, Rahab.”
Rahab sighed. “Thank you.” The words eased some of the questions that had stirred her heart since the reading of God’s law. She would be protected whether she married or not. Relief filled her.
“Does this mean you have already made your decision? You will not marry Salmon when he returns?” Eliana’s question brought sudden heat to her face. To refuse Salmon would hurt Joshua, who clearly thought them a good match.
Rahab slowly shook her head. But she took a long time answering. “I don’t love him, Eliana.”
“Well, of course not. You barely know him.”
“He despises me.”
Eliana turned the grindstone several turns, as though to end the conversation. But a moment later she stopped and looked at Rahab. “He didn’t know you, only what you were. He does not despise you now.”
“He does not love me.” She turned at the sound of voices and waited until the women of the camp passed by. “I would always doubt his sincerity.”
Eliana shifted her weight and sighed. “I cannot blame you, dear girl. You have faced much. Why should you risk marriage again?”
Rahab could only nod. “I should probably start kneading some of the bread.” Eliana had said it all, and Rahab had no more responses.
But as she kneaded flour and starter and water, she could not help asking herself if she was brave enough to risk such a marriage. If only he would agree to keep the relationship a friendship, not conjugal. She scoffed at her own ridiculous thought. No man on earth would agree to such a thing. Least of all one who seemed haunted by her past from the first day they met until now.
Another week came and went, and still no sign of Salmon and Othniel. Rahab paced the hills near the camp, staying close to the tents but feeling a constant restlessness she could not shake. What if Salmon found Gamal? Gamal would demand her return, would probably try to force her to do things for him so he could continue to gamble away all they had.
If he still lived. And if his owners would allow such a thing.
Oh Adonai, please don’t make me face him again.
But the prayer brought no peace. Perhaps Israel’s God did not answer such prayers.
Gamal would probably enjoy seeing her forced into slavery with him. Or enjoy her earnings as a prostitute, just as Dabir had done. He had not truly been husband to her in years. And hadn’t he hinted at giving her to other men for that very purpose—to earn coins to fill his pockets?
If she married Salmon, he could protect her.
The thought made her pause. She would not marry a man she couldn’t love, and she would not use him for selfish reasons as others had used her.
Besides, if she was indeed still wed to Gamal, would not marriage to an Israelite anger their God? She shuddered at the thought, remembering Jericho, remembering Achan. She glanced at the camp swarming with women and children she had come to care for. She raised her eyes to the heavens. I don’t want to bring Your wrath on these people.
She walked to a tributary of the Jordan that fed these hills and sank down among the grasses. She looked at her hands, seeing no sign of the once carefully groomed and hennaed nails. Her nails were chipped in some places, her fingers calloused now. The knowledge brought a small sense of pride. She had changed. Surely she had.
And yet, even the sacrifices did not seem sufficient. Married or not, there must be something she could do to show her alliance with Israel. Her thoughts churned with memories as she prayed in silence for wisdom. At last she stood, determined to seek out Eliana. There was one thing she could do, and before nightfall she would do it.
“You don’t have to do this publicly, Rahab. You don’t have to do this at all.” Eliana took Rahab’s hands in hers, forcing her to meet her gaze.
“Yes, I do.” She drew a deep breath. “I want all to know that I am no longer the woman I used to be. I want to be clean.”
She walked to one of the large stones near the fire pit in Joshua’s courtyard and pulled the scarf from her long tresses, exposing her glory to Eliana and several women who stood nearby.
“Please, get your shears,” Rahab said, her pulse drumming fast within her. This was not going to be as easy as she’d thought.
Eliana nodded, retreated into her tent, and returned moments later. Rahab sensed a crowd gathering. What would these women think of her now?
Eliana stood behind her and lifted a thick strand of hair into her hands. Rahab lowered her head and closed her eyes, shutting out the crowd. “Don’t hesitate,” she said, her voice choked.
Seeming to sense her mood, Eliana quickly cut the long strands until the hair hung just above her ears. She then took a razor used to shear sheep and began to shave the hair close to Rahab’s scalp. Whispers of the women floated around her, but Rahab forced her mind to the sins of her past.
Forgive me, Adonai. I know I could have refused the men who made me do such things. I could have chosen imprisonment instead of breaking Your laws. I did not know You then, but I want to know You now. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she let them fall onto her robe as she silently recounted each sin to the Lord.
Eliana set the razor down and came to face her, gently took the headscarf Rahab had removed, and placed it as a covering over her shaved head. She then took Rahab’s hands and trimmed each nail short. She tossed the nails and hair into the fire.
“Let it be known this day . . .” Joshua stepped out into the courtyard and placed a hand on Rahab’s shoulder. Heat filled her face, and she could not lift her eyes even to look at the men and women now gathered around her. “This woman, Rahab of Jericho, has pledged her life to our God, to Yahweh. As all men of Israel and all foreign men wanting to join the worship of our God must be circumcised, so this foreign woman, though it is not required of her, has chosen to obey the law of captive bride and, despite God’s already evident mercy to her, has publicly declared to you all this day that she has put aside her old ways, and from this day forward is one of us.”
He cleared his throat, and she heard the rustling of robes in the crowd. More people had joined the few who initially watched.
“Treat Rahab with the respect she deserves as a fellow Israelite. It is because of her faith that our spies were spared. And Jericho fell into our hands in part because of her trust in Adonai. Let us learn from her spirit of humility and obey our God as freely as she has done this day.”
Joshua stepped forward and offered Rahab his hand to help her stand. She cinched the scarf tighter about her head, already feeling the loss of her hair’s weight and comfort. At last she placed her smaller hand in Joshua’s and stood. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.
He nodded and released her to Eliana. “Do you want some time alone?” Eliana asked quietly against her ear.
Rahab swiped at the tears that still seemed determined to fall. “Yes, thank you.” She moved quietly and entered her tent and let the flap fall shut behind her.
32
Salmon tugged at his turban and shook the dust from it away from the fire Othniel had built at the mouth of a small cave. They had been walking with one lone donkey carrying their gear for days, and now camped on the outskirts of Damascus.
“I will be glad when this mission is over,” Salmon said, sinking to his knees before the fire. “I must admit, I have asked myself many times why I suggested such a thing.” He reached in his pack for a handful of dried beans and set them to soak over the flames. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
Othniel pulled a different pot of heated water from the fire and mixed it with crushed ginger. “It’s no trouble. Better than sitting around the camp waiting for the next war.” He offered a cup of the brew to Salmon, who gratefully took it. “Besides, I would do the same thing for the woman I loved.”
Salmon glanced at his new friend. “I don’t love her. I’m just doing this to give her peace.”
“That so?” Othniel grinned.
“Yes.” Salmon stirred the beans, wishing now he had opted for the familiar flatbread and cheese.
“Your silence tells me otherwise.” Othniel chuckled as Mishael used to do, garnering Salmon’s glare.
“And what woman is it you love who would send you off to follow your own foolishness?” He smiled at Othniel’s blush. “Someone I might know?”
Othniel sat cross-legged and sipped his cup. “Probably. She’s a cousin, the daughter of my uncle Caleb.”
“Which one?” Caleb had had several daughters during his long years on earth, though most were already wed.
“Aksah. She is the youngest and should soon be betrothed.” Othniel stared into the distance, his jaw tight.
Salmon blew on the steam from his cup. Their fathers, as all men and women from that unfaithful generation, had died before they crossed the Jordan. Othniel had no one to intercede for him with his uncle, who was one of only two aged men left among them—Joshua being the other. “Have you spoken to Caleb or Joshua about this?”
“Not yet.” He shrugged. “Uncle Caleb does not know that I love her.”
“And you are afraid to tell him.”
Othniel lifted a brow as though considering the thought. “Not afraid.” He met Salmon’s gaze. “Aksah is the most beautiful of women. I am not sure she would have me.”
“What say would she have in it? You should speak to your uncle.” Salmon stirred the boiling beans, then tossed in a handful of cumin and raisins. They had not taken the time to snare a bird or small animal, so their meals were mostly cheese and dried fruit and bread without yeast. The beans he had noticed only today. Rahab must have tucked them into his pack. Thoughts of her gave a kick to his heart. Aksah could not possibly be as beautiful as Rahab, and yet Rahab, in her unique situation, had a choice. She could refuse to marry him and leave Israel.
The thought troubled him. Truth be told, he had started to pray every day that they would not find Gamal. But guilt always accompanied that prayer.
Othniel lifted his chin, his grin mischievous as Mishael’s used to be. “I will admit this to you, my friend, but you must promise to keep it to yourself. I would not want to be forced to kill you.”
Salmon heard the humor in his tone. “Who says you would succeed?” He laughed outright. “So tell me already.”
Othniel gave a half shrug. “Aksah does not know that I care for her. She probably sees me as a pest or a brother more than a husband to obey.”
“So perhaps you need to do something to change her mind. Prove your worth and earn her respect.” Salmon dipped leftover flatbread into the simple stew.
“Is that what this is for you? To earn Rahab’s respect?” Othniel swallowed a large mouthful and they both chewed in silence.
“I told you already. I want to give her peace. Other than that, I don’t know why I’m doing this. Perhaps I want an excuse to get out of the marriage Joshua seems to want to push me into.” Admitting his thoughts only added to his guilt. “Perhaps something will present itself and you will have your answer with Aksah,” Salmon said, needing to turn the conversation away from his own troubling predicament.
“Yes, if my uncle doesn’t betroth her to someone else before I return.” He clenched a fist, then released it. “But I cannot control these
things, so there is no sense growing angry or bitter without cause. I would imagine even in this I must place my trust in Adonai’s grace.”
Salmon nodded. Grace was something he would have to offer to Rahab if indeed he married her. He shook his head, his confusion mounting, one moment wanting her, the next not sure he was capable of such mercy.
“Now, after traveling this far,” he said at last, “I truly hope our trip is worth the trouble. But if I find the man, I honestly don’t know what I will do with him.”
“Perhaps you should hear his side of the story. To prove she has spoken the truth.”
“Would God have spared her if she had lied?” Surely not. Not after what he had seen happen to Achan and his family. Even a heathen would not get far lying to God Almighty.
Rahab ran her fingers along the first soft growth of new hair on her scalp but refused to examine her appearance in the bronze mirror Eliana had given her. Perhaps her avoidance was vain, but she had spent too many years in front of the glass, trying to make herself beautiful for unworthy men.
Her thoughts turned to Salmon’s God—her God now—as she drew a plain linen scarf over her head and tucked it securely under her chin, pinning it lest it come loose and expose her. Two weeks had already passed since Salmon left for Syria, and she had submitted her life, her choices, even her future to Yahweh. Already she felt a new connection to her Maker. The brink of dawn each morning had drawn her to the river, not only to gather water before the other women could join her, but to pray. Alone, she felt the pain of her past slowly melting away, as though the sound of the river were washing her clean.
She petted the cat, hefted the jar in her hands, and lifted the tent flap, greeted by the soft gray light that preceded the sunrise. Her feet felt the cold tickle of dew as she made her way barefoot through the camp, down the well-worn path toward the Jordan.
She stopped abruptly at the sound of men’s voices and the clop of donkeys’ hooves coming her direction. A copse of trees hid her from their immediate view, but she could not cross the road without being noticed. Who were they? Joshua would want to know of strangers passing near their camp.
Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155) Page 24