She gasped at a carnelian necklace, just like the ones Adi and Zivah wore, glistening in the sunlight. Polished to a brilliant shine, it hung from a gold loop-in-loop chain.
Tears burned her eyes as she fingered the dark red jewel. The warmth of his hand under hers clashed with the chilled metal. A lump in her stomach kept her from speaking, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.
“My sabba Bezalel made them from the armbands Kamose wore when he was pharaoh’s captain of the guard. My imma and sister have one, and my aunts Keren and Naomi. My savtas Meri and Tirzah each wore one. And now you.” He moved his hand from under hers and picked up the chain with his fingers. He slid the hook from the last loop and held it up. “May I?”
She nodded, blinking back a tear.
Zadok reached around her neck, and she leaned forward while he fastened it. The play of his fingers on her skin left a trail of heat in their wake. He slid his hands down the chain toward the pendant. “I thought for many days about which one to give you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sabba made ten. The armbands had five carnelians each. Six have been worn. I could have given you one of the new ones, but I finally decided to give you the one Savta Tirzah wore.”
“Why is that?”
“You remind me of her. She was quiet, unsure of herself, and at first didn’t think she belonged in this family. I wanted you to be absolutely sure you are already part of us, by wearing her pendant, instead of starting from the beginning, with a new necklace. So every time you see it, you’ll know you belong.”
The tears broke free.
If marrying one man was terrifying, how much more was marrying an entire family?
Yet somehow, he made it seem something very desirable.
At least when she was in his arms.
Danel slipped into his home just as the sun slid behind the city’s towering stone walls. The main room was empty, but the aroma of roast beef and vegetables greeted him. He listened for a moment; gentle humming drifted in from the kitchen. He tiptoed through the larger room and peeked into the cooking area. His wife stood at the table, cutting a pomegranate in half. Then she scored the outside of each half another four or five times, popped it inside out, then held it over a bowl and hit it with a large spoon. The seeds fell into the bowl.
He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I always love watching you do that.” He kissed her neck and reached for a small bunch of grapes. “Everything looks delicious, as usual, my sweet.”
Yasha smacked his hand and took back the grapes. “Thank you. Who are you expecting tonight?”
“Aqhat and his wife, his daughter and her husband, maybe the two new men.”
She turned in his arms to face him. “Banno and Lukii? Are you sure you trust them?”
“Yes. Don’t you?” Danel reached behind her and stole a single purple grape.
Yasha shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess. It’s just that we’re getting to be a pretty large group. Don’t you think maybe we should split again? Won’t it look suspicious to have soldiers meeting regularly in your house for no reason? Aqhat and his family, yes, but random soldiers?”
He ate the grape and stepped away. “I’m not sure Banno and Lukii are ready to be on their own yet. And I don’t want to send Aqhat with them because of … you know … he needs to stay close to home to tend his wife.”
Yasha nodded slowly. “How is Zibqet? I meant to go see her today.”
“Getting worse. In fact, it won’t be long before she stops coming. And then Aqhat and Bisha will need to take turns staying home with her.”
“I don’t know how he can stand it. I can’t imagine losing you.” Her voice broke and a tear escaped.
He neared her again and wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Aqhat never says anything, but I know it’s been very hard on him. Bisha is a huge help to him. They rely on each other very much.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Danel looked over his shoulder. “That must be Aqhat. I’ll get the door.”
Yasha placed her hand over his. “Go. I’ll bring the food out.” She flashed him a tenuous smile and turned back to the table.
Danel opened the door. “Aqhat. Jebir. Where are Zibqet and Bisha?”
Aqhat frowned as he stepped inside, eyes filled with pain. “I had to leave them home. Zibqet was rambling this afternoon, and then her head began to hurt. She was sleeping when we left. I wanted to stay with her, but Bisha insisted I come and she remain instead with her mother.”
Danel squeezed his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Yasha entered the room and stopped only for a moment, eyes wide at the sight of only the men. She set the food aside and gathered Aqhat into a fierce hug. She gestured to the bench against the wall and them offered them fruit and meat.
Another knock sounded. Danel opened the door to Banno and Lukii. “Come in. It’s good to see you again.”
The young soldiers took their seats and accepted food from Yasha, who then placed the trays on a low table in the center of the room and sat next to Danel.
“So, what story will we hear tonight?” Lukii stuffed a huge bite of beef in his mouth.
“Which have you heard? I forget which ones we have already told you.”
“Tell about the flood again,” Banno said. “That’s my favorite.”
“All right.” Danel turned to his friend. “Aqhat? Jebir? Do one of you want to tell it tonight?”
“I’ll do it.” Jebir slowly lifted a hand. “I may make a mistake or two, though.”
Danel smiled. “That’s fine. That’s how we learn.”
“Any more food? Juice?” Danel moved toward the table.
Banno stood and stretched. “I think I need to be going. I have to stand an early watch tomorrow.”
Danel walked him to the door and saw him out.
“I should get home to my wife. I promised I wouldn’t be too late.” Lukii headed for the door.
“Have you decided what to do about the feast day next week?” asked Danel.
Lukii chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll avoid the temple prostitutes.”
Aqhat touched the young man’s shoulder. “Do you want me to assign you guard duty in another part of the city?”
Lukii’s brow furrowed. “Then how will I make my offering?”
Danel’s heart slammed against his chest, before it nearly stopping beating altogether. Had he heard Lukii correctly? Did he intend to make a sacrifice to the Canaanite god? “I’m sorry? Why would you make an offering?”
“I always make an offering on feast days.”
“But I thought you had joined us in worshipping Yahweh.”
“I have.”
“And did you not understand that you must now give up all other gods? I thought we had made that abundantly clear.”
Lukii shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I’ve heard you say that, but …”
Aqhat put his fists on his hips, stepping nearer. “But … what?”
“I didn’t think that meant giving up all the sacrifices. I thought just to Baal. I mean, how will the gods help us if we do not present the proper offerings?”
Beside him, Yasha gasped. Danel grabbed her arm as she began to sway. How had they failed so completely to explain such a fundamental concept?
Aqhat closed his eyes. Jebir slumped onto the bench.
Lukii glanced around. “What?” His eyes widened. “You can’t possibly be serious. You really expect me to stop sacrificing to all of them? Every one of you has stopped?”
Danel nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ve not made a single sacrifice at the feasts in thirty-nine years.”
“Thirt—” Lukii choked. “You’re lucky you’re not dead!”
Aqhat continued staring at his soldier, looking far too much like a commander.
Lukii held up a finger in front of his chest. “Look, I only want to make one offering—to Kathirat. My wife and I, we’ve been hoping to have a baby for over three years
… I promised her I would pray to Kathirat …”
Aqhat stepped closer to the young man. “Is that the only reason you decided to worship Yahweh? Is he just another god to you? Another possible answer to your prayers you can’t afford to ignore?”
Lukii squirmed. “Well, it started out that way. But now, I do believe that He is different. Still, I’m not ready to let everything go yet, either.” He looked at his sandals. “My wife, she cries herself to sleep almost every night. I have to do everything I can.” He looked up again. “There’s not much I can do, but this, at least, is something.”
Danel stepped between Aqhat and the young man. “But Lukii, don’t you remember the story of Abraham?” He kept his voice low. “We’ve recited it many nights. Yahweh gave Abraham and his wife Sarah a baby after many years, many more than you have waited, but you must trust only in Him.” He paused. “Did Abraham turn to other gods after Yahweh told him to leave his country?”
“No, I suppose not….”
“Then you too must put your trust in only Yahweh, not the false goddess of Canaan.”
“I can try.”
Yasha grabbed a handful of Danel’s tunic at his back, but said nothing.
“What can I do to help?” said Aqhat, his tone less strident now. “Do you want me to assign you duty elsewhere, or do you want to stay near me at the feast, or …?”
Lukii expelled a noisy sigh. “With you, I guess.”
“Good choice.” Aqhat nodded, clapping his shoulder.
“I’m going to go, then.” Lukii dipped his head and left.
Yasha dropped onto the bench. “What do we do?”
Danel sat next to her. “Do not worry, my sweet. Yahweh will watch over us.” He grasped her hand.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Aqhat glanced at the door. “I’ll let you know if I see anything worrisome. But we need to go now, too. I want to get home to Zibqet. Jebir?”
Yasha stood. “Of course. Tell her I’ll come by tomorrow with some of this meat and to spend some time with her.”
“Thank you. I’m sure she’ll love that. And Yasha?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry about Lukii.”
She offered a weak smile. “I can try.”
After their guests had left and his wife had retired, Danel sat in the darkness in the empty room and thought through every word of their conversation with Lukii over and over again.
Yahweh, give me strength. Protect us, if You will. I have no idea what the next year or two will hold, even whether all of us will survive.
I know You will not fail us. I ask only for strength, that we do not fail You.
Thirteen
ARISHA WATCHED IN AMAZEMENT AS Adi slipped the needle through the fabric over and over, producing a series of identical stitches along the bottom of the robe. They were nearly invisible on the front side. Would she ever be able to sew like that? “How did you learn to do that? I mean, it’s not like there’s a lot to practice on.”
Adi laughed. “Not according to my mother. She made me practice anyway. She said I’d need to know how when we settled in Canaan.” She held the garment out. “Do you want to try?”
Arisha held her hands up, palms out. “No, no. I’m afraid I’d ruin it. You finish.”
“All right. I have just a little more, then you can try it on. I’ve already finished the sleeves, and I’m almost done with the hem.” Adi took a few more stitches, then knotted off the thread. “Here you go. Stand up, and let’s see if it fits.”
Arisha let Adi slip the robe over her shoulders. Her fingers traveled along the soft blue border along the neck and down the front. “It’s so beautiful, Adi. Are you sure you want me to wear it?”
“Of course. Zivah wore it, and now you must wear it when you marry Zadok.” She placed her palm on Arisha's cheek. “You’re my daughter too, now.”
As had happened every day—sometimes several times a day—since she and Zadok had agreed on when to marry, tears burned her eyes. She blinked to keep them from falling.
“Oh, habibti.” Adi hugged her tightly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Arisha laughed as she wiped her eyes. “It seems everything makes me cry lately.”
“That’s perfectly normal.”
Arisha turned at the voice behind her. “Zivah!”
“And now I have the sister I always wanted.” Zivah wrapped her arms around her newest relative.
“Oh, let me take off the robe before something happens to it.” Arisha shrugged off the garment and folded it before handing it to Adi.
“How about some tea?” Zivah knelt before the fire and poured water into a pot to heat.
Arisha laughed as she sat next to her. “I’m always in the mood for mint tea.”
Adi handed her a faded piece of blue linen. “This is the fabric my imma used to teach me to sew. I taught Zivah and I’ll teach you if you like.”
Arisha's eyes widened. “You would do that?”
“Yes. It’s easy to learn the basics, but it does take practice to do it well. Come, watch me.” She picked up a fishbone needle with a piece of linen thread, then poked it through the underside of the fabric. “There’s a knot at the end to keep it from pulling all the way through. We go a little way away from where we came up, and go back down. Then we come back up next to the first spot, and back down again, and just keep repeating. Want to try?”
It didn’t seem all that difficult. Arisha took the cloth from Adi. Up, down. Up. Down.
Zivah gestured to Arisha's necklace. “I see he gave you a pendant. Which one did he decide to give you?”
“He said it was his Savta Tirzah’s.” Arisha continued working the needle.
Zivah smiled. “Good choice. That was my recommendation.”
Arisha glanced up at Adi. “And yours?”
Adi grinned. “Mine, too.”
Arisha fingered the red stone. “They are exquisite. Each one must have taken days to make. Maybe weeks.”
Adi nodded. “I remember Abba working on them. I was very young, so the time kind of blurs, but I remember sitting by him at this very fire pit as he made the chains with the tools he’d brought from Egypt.”
“Just the chains?”
“He’d already cut the stones from the bands—which he also made, by the way, during his time as a palace artisan—to make the pendants, then melted the rest of the gold. He formed that into thin sheets, and cut those into wires. He did all that outside of camp since it involved so much fire. Here, he rolled them between two pieces of wood until they were even thinner. He cut them to size, formed them into tiny loops, and sealed them with heat from the fire. Then he squeezed each loop, slipped it onto the previous one on the chain and folded it over until it made a chain of just the right length.”
Arisha fingered the chain around her neck. “That must have taken forever.”
“He worked on them for many, many nights. Weeks and weeks.”
Zivah poured the hot water over the mint leaves in the cups, and gave Arisha and Adi each one.
Arisha blew on the hot liquid and took a sip. Then she continued practicing stitches. Up. Down. “But why … why did Bezalel decide to make Kamose’s armbands into pendants in the first place?”
Adi sipped her tea before she answered. “When Kamose left to retrieve the wounded, he’d only been married to Tirzah a few weeks. He was no longer wearing the bands, so he took them to Abba the night before he left and asked him to keep them, and if he didn’t return, to use them to make wedding jewelry for Tirzah if she ever married again—which he doubted she would—or for the girls. He came back, as you know, but when Abba tried to return them, he didn’t want them.”
“So then what happened?”
“Well, Abba kept them for about eight or nine years. Everyone nearly forgot about them. Then Keren and Naomi were of marriageable age, and he came up with the idea of the necklaces. He didn’t tell anyone but Imma what he was doing until he came into camp one day with the ten pendants
and the wires.”
“That must have been quite a surprise.”
“Oh, it was. He let Kamose decide what to do with them. So of course Tirzah and Imma got the first ones, the girls each received one when they married, and the rest were saved for future daughters and daughters-in-law.”
“I wish I could have known them.”
“Kamose and Bezalel?”
“And Tirzah and Meri—all of them. They all sound like such amazing, strong people.” Not like anyone I’ll ever be. She held up the cloth. “Ugghh!”
“What?”
“Look at these stitches! They’re horrible!”
Adi held out her hand. “Let me see.” She studied the fabric, turning it over and looking at both sides. “Actually they’re not that bad for a first time.”
Arisha set the cloth in her lap and picked up her tea.
“Do you know what Tirzah did when Kamose didn’t come back with the others?” asked Adi.
Arisha pursed her lips. “Someone like her? I don’t know … looked after the wounded that were brought back? Went after him herself?” She smirked.
“No. Not exactly.”
“No? Then what? Waited patiently?”
“Now I was a baby, but she herself told me that she crawled into her tent and wouldn’t come out for several days. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk to anyone … finally Rebekah, Bezalel’s imma, dragged her out and made her eat.”
“But … she seems so strong from everything you’ve told me.”
“No. She learned to be strong. And you will, too.”
“Danel!”
Danel cringed as King Keret bellowed his name. He was still several rooms down the hall. Thank Yahweh the pitcher of pomegranate juice he carried was covered, or it would have splashed all over the hunk of goat cheese and loaf of bread he’d placed beside it on the tray.
The Walls of Arad (Journey to Canaan Book 3) Page 13