This Scarlet Cord

by Joan Wolf

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said to her one day as they sat together in the garden enjoying the early afternoon sun. “You have given me an excuse to take a holiday from work.”

  “I like being here too.” Rahab had just finished two seemingly endless hours of sewing with his sisters and his mother. “I don’t think your mother likes me, though. She took away the shirt I was supposed to be hemming today and ripped all the stitches out. Truly, my work was not that bad. But she gave me an unpleasant look and handed me a dish towel to work on.”

  His mouth twitched but he didn’t respond.

  Rahab went on, “I don’t think your sisters like me either. They look at me as if I were some kind of strange creature from another world.”

  “That’s not true. My sister Leah thinks you’re wonderful. She was so impressed when I told her about your escape from the slavers. She’s sure she could never be as brave as that. She said you must come from a family of great warriors.”

  Great warriors. Rahab snorted. “I hope you told her my family are farmers—not warriors—and certainly not rich merchants like your family. We don’t have servants like your mother does. My father and my brothers work in the vineyards and the fields, and my mother and my sisters-in-law work to feed and clothe all of us. We’re busy all the time.”

  Amusement gleamed in Sala’s eyes. “What do you do, Rahab? Clearly you do not spend your time sewing.”

  “Oh, I do a little of this and a little of that,” Rahab replied, waving her hand. “I help whoever needs help at the moment. I am the youngest, you see, and my father doesn’t want me to work too hard. My brothers say I am spoiled.” She grinned. “They’re probably right, but my papa says one day I will secure all their futures and I shouldn’t be worn out in my youth.”

  The amusement faded from Sala’s face. “I see.”

  “I don’t see how that can possibly happen, but I’m certainly not going to gainsay him. I think he just loves me so much he doesn’t want me to work too hard. But, of course, if my mother asks me to help her, I always do. I love my mother very much.”

  Sala was quiet.

  She put a hand on his sleeve and said coaxingly, “Tell me the story of Rachel again, and how Jacob served seven years because he wanted to marry her so much.”

  The sober look left his face. “Why do you always want to hear that story?”

  She didn’t have to think for even a second before she answered, “Because it shows Rachel was an important person.”

  “That’s a curious answer.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I expected you to say something about Jacob’s love for her.”

  “Sala, he only loved her because she was pretty. But he made her important in the eyes of everyone else because of what he did to marry her.” She smiled up into his face. “Not too many women are important, so it’s nice to hear a story about a woman who was.”

  He looked at her hand on his sleeve. “Perhaps he loved her for more than her looks. Perhaps he loved her because she was different from other girls.”

  “Different? How?”

  He flicked her cheek with his finger. “Perhaps she wasn’t afraid to look straight into people’s eyes when they spoke to her. Perhaps she had all sorts of opinions and wasn’t afraid to tell him about them. Perhaps she thought she was just as good as he was and—”

  Rahab’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about me?”

  “I never said that.” His eyes were dancing with laughter.

  She began to laugh back.

  “Sala!”

  Rahab turned and saw Sala’s mother, Miriam, standing in the garden door. She sighed as Miriam’s angry eyes rested upon her. No, Sala’s mother definitely didn’t like her.

  Miriam said something to Sala in a sharp voice and Sala answered. Then he said to Rahab, “My mother wants you to go with her. She is going to teach you how to hem a shirt properly.”

  Rahab rolled her eyes at him and began to get to her feet. She saw his lips twitch again before she crossed the garden to join his mother.

  Rahab’s brother Shemu awaited his sister in the large imposing room of the Israelite merchant who had contacted his father about Rahab’s whereabouts. No one in his family knew anything about Israelites, and Shemu had been deeply surprised by the evident wealth in the town of Ramac. So far he had only met the women of the family, who stood in the room with him waiting for Rahab to arrive.

  The two girls were pretty enough and had given Shemu shy smiles of welcome. The woman of the house had a face like a stone statue. They spoke no Canaanite, but when Shemu told the servant at the door he had come for Rahab, they had appeared and, from what he could gather from their words, they had sent for his sister.

  The three of them stood in silence. Shemu was struggling with mixed feelings. He was glad his sister had been found and was coming home, but he was afraid of what might have happened to her, and not just at the hands of the slavers. Who knew what a wealthy family like this might have felt free to do to a beautiful child like Rahab?

  There was a rush of wind in the doorway and then Rahab was throwing herself into his arms. “Shemu! Shemu! I am so glad to see you!”

  He closed his arms tightly around his little sister. “I’ve come to bring you home, little one. We are all so glad you’re all right.”

  Her arms were tight about his waist. A shiver of fear ran through him. “Look at me, Rahab. Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

  She released her hold and stepped back, looking up at him with the steady clear eyes of the innocent child he remembered.

  Relief surged through Shemu and he turned to the three women who were in the room with them and smiled. “Thank you for taking such good care of my sister.”

  Thank you sounded much the same in both languages, and the girls smiled back, bobbing their heads. The woman’s face never changed.

  “What is going on here?”

  A young man came striding into the room from the same direction Rahab had come. He said in Canaanite, “Who is this man, Rahab?”

  “This is my brother, Shemu. He has come to take me home.”

  The young man approached. Shemu could see that he was sixteen or seventeen years of age and he was handsome. When he stopped in front of them, Shemu also saw that he was tall. Shemu had to look up at him.

  Rahab took the boy’s hand and said, “This is Sala, my brother. He saved me from the slavers. I was running through the streets of Gaza, not knowing where to go or what to do, when he stopped me and brought me to his father. They have been so good to me! So kind.”

  Sala’s eyes were fixed upon Shemu. “You are not traveling alone?” The words sound like an accusation.

  Shemu bristled. “Of course not. My wife and another of my brothers are waiting for me outside the city gates. We have made arrangements to travel with a contingent of Syrians as far as Jericho.”

  “Good,” Sala said. He lifted an eyebrow. “We don’t want to have Rahab kidnapped again.”

  There was something about this boy’s tone Shemu did not like. He was making it sound as if it was his family’s fault Rahab had been captured.

  Shemu said evenly, “That will not happen.”

  “Good.”

  Rahab looked from one male face to the other, clearly sensing something was wrong but not understanding what it might be. “Sala saved my life,” she told her brother. She looked at the boy. “I can never thank you enough.”

  He shrugged. “It was your own cleverness and bravery that saved you.”

  Rahab was still holding the boy’s hand. It looked so natural that she didn’t even seem to realize she should not be doing such a thing. She looked up at him and said softly, “Will I ever see you again?”

  Shemu thought, A stupid question. Of course she won’t ever see him again.

  The Israelite said, “It is in the hand of Elohim. Good-bye, Rahab, and may Elohim keep you safe on your journey home.”

  Tears sprung to Rahab’s
eyes. Shemu put his arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the boy, saying as they went toward the door, “My father has sent you a barrel of our best wine. It is at the inn and I will have it brought over. Thank you for all you have done for my sister. Good-bye.”

  Rahab stumbled as he led her out into the sunshine and now he could see the tears rolling down her face.

  “Atene cannot wait to see you,” he said brightly, referring to his wife. “She has brought you some clothes and some of Mother’s nut cakes. You know how you love her nut cakes.”

  Rahab nodded, sniffled, and composed herself.

  “I can’t wait to see Atene either. I have missed her.”

  “Those Israelites may have been good to you, but they’re not our kind, Rahab. Best to put them all right out of your mind.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you’re right, Shemu.” Then she added wistfully, “I’ll try to do that.”

  PART TWO

  Second Meeting

  Five

  RAHAB’S PARTING FROM SALA HAD BEEN SO ABRUPT that she had scarcely any time to reflect upon how she felt about leaving him. And once she was home, she quickly slipped back into the easy ways of her old life. However, as the seasons passed, and Yarih, god of the moon, waxed and waned, the carefree days of her childhood began to run out. Most of the girls her age from the village were betrothed or married, and she knew her turn was near. Her pleasant life as a much-indulged only daughter was coming to an end; soon she would be a married woman with a house to tend and children to rear.

  Rahab accepted the reality of her future, but she was not eager to rush it. She did not envy her girlfriends a single one of their husbands. An idea lay hidden in the back of her mind about the kind of man she would like to marry, and she hoped such a man would come along before her father made his choice.

  The thing that saved her was that she was late coming into womanhood. Her thirteenth and fourteenth birthdays passed and still she had not shown her first blood.

  Girls could not marry until after they were ready to bear children and Rahab knew she could keep her freedom for as long as she remained officially a child. Meanwhile, her mother and father watched her like craftsmen guarding a precious pot. She was into the second month of her fourteenth year when her body, which had been changing slowly, made a dramatic leap forward. Her breasts took form and she had her first blood.

  The women of the village held a ceremony in Asherah’s grove to celebrate Rahab’s changed status. It was the traditional ceremony held for every girl at this time of life, a ritual intended to bless the young woman and help prepare her for the difficult tasks of being a wife and a mother.

  The first night of the ceremony, when Rahab had to stay by herself in a small tent, keeping awake and tending the small fire until morning, she was forced to face for the first time the reality of her future. It had been easy to push it aside when she was still slim as a boy, larking around the farm and helping her mother and sisters-in-law with their tasks. But now, almost overnight, she had left the freedom of her childhood behind. Her hips were curved, no longer slender like her brothers’. She was all grown up.

  She would have to get married. She would have to get married and she could not think of a single boy or man in her village who attracted her. They were all so boring. She loved her father and her brothers dearly, but she wanted to marry someone different, someone who knew things about the world outside of Canaan, someone who was brave and daring and liked adventures.

  Someone like Sala.

  He was the ideal who had been floating in her mind for the last two years. She acknowledged this to herself and, at the same time, she acknowledged that she would never see him again. She watched the smoke from her fire going up and out the smoke hole in the tent roof, and for the first time she allowed herself to think about the time she had spent with him in Ramac. Other girls had confided in her how frightened they were of having to stay by themselves in Asherah’s grove but Rahab wasn’t frightened at all. She was glad of the chance to be alone so she could think.

  She rose from her place by the fire and ducked under the tent opening to go outside. It was the time of year when some days it felt like winter and some days like spring. Today had been a spring-like day and tonight the air was chilly but not cold. Rahab wrapped her cloak around her and looked up at the sky.

  All her life she had loved to look at the stars. There was no moon tonight, and the stars shone so brightly and looked so close she thought she should be able to reach up and touch one.

  Her father had once told her they were many miles up in the sky, in a place no person could ever go. She had asked him if the gods lived up there, but he had not known for certain.

  Rahab shivered. What did the gods care about her? She had been put on the earth to do woman’s work: to bear children, to bake bread, to minister to the sick and dying, and finally to die herself. That is what women did in this world. Why should she be different? Why should she long for the impossible? She was only making herself unhappy.

  She was a fool to cherish Sala’s memory in her heart. He was probably married by now and never gave her a single thought. She must stop thinking about him and be practical about her own future.

  She would marry whomever her father picked and make the best of it. That is what all women did, didn’t they?

  She went back into the tent, sat in front of the fire, and angrily brushed her tears away with her fingers. She was not a baby. She was a woman now and she must act like one. She reached out and put another stick on the fire.

  Mepu had already picked a husband for Rahab. His father was a local man who owned cattle and the son desperately wanted to marry Rahab. The negotiations over the bride price started the day after her initiation ceremony was finished, and Rahab’s sister-in-law, Atene, kept her informed about how they were progressing.

  “They’re talking about five hundred silver shekels, Rahab!” she reported one morning as the two young women were spinning dried and stripped flax fibers into yarn. “No one has ever paid that much for a wife.”

  Rahab’s hands slowed. They were working outside in the courtyard, and as she gazed out across the fertile landscape of her father’s farm, she sighed.

  Atene shook her head. “I don’t understand you. Any other woman would be thrilled she was valued so highly. Just think of how well you will be treated. No man will abuse something he has paid so much for.”

  This comment did not cheer Rahab as it had been meant to. She carefully smoothed one of the longer fibers back into its ribbon and said, “I suppose that is a good thing.”

  Atene stopped spinning. “I know you love your home, but try to think about how fortunate you are,” she urged. “You were born beautiful, and because of that your life will be an easy and pleasant one. As Shulgi’s wife you will have a servant to do all the work for you. You should be happy, Rahab, and instead you go round looking as if you’ve been cursed.”

  Rahab felt as if she had been cursed, but she couldn’t say that to Atene. She couldn’t say that she dreamed at night of a different kind of man than Shulgi, with his eager, protuberant eyes.

  “Shulgi doesn’t know me at all. All he knows is he likes the way I look. We might even hate each other once we are married.”

  “I’m certain such a thing won’t happen.”

  Rahab looked at her sister-in-law. “Were you happy when you learned you were to marry Shemu?”

  Faint color stained Atene’s cheeks. “I was happy.”

  “Did you know him before you were betrothed?”

  The color in Atene’s cheeks deepened. “Yes, we knew each other from the village ceremonies.”

  “You liked him,” Rahab said, almost accusingly.

  “I liked him very much.”

  “I’m not going to like Shulgi. I know I’m not going to like him.”

  Atene patted her hand. “You must try to like him, Rahab. Your happiness depends upon it. You must try.”

  After she and Atene f
inished with the flax, Rahab went back into the house to see if her mother had any other chores for her. She had entered by the back door, and as she walked down the short hall she heard the sound of voices in the front room. Her father was there with her mother and they sounded as if they were having a disagreement. Rahab stood just outside the door so she could hear what they were saying.

  “Do not argue, Kata,” her father said. “My mind is made up. If Shulgi is willing to give so much money for Rahab, just think of what the rich men in Jericho would pay.”

  “You don’t know that, Mepu.” Rahab could hear distress in her mother’s voice.

  “Have you looked at her lately, Kata?"

  “Yes.”

  “Does she look like a farmer’s daughter or a farmer’s wife to you?”

  “No.”

  “You were a pretty girl, my dear, but Rahab . . . Rahab is more than pretty. More than beautiful. There is an air about her . . .”

  Her mother’s voice was sharp as she replied, “I know, my husband. I see how men can’t keep their eyes off of her. And I am afraid some rich man will want her for something other than a wife. She is an innocent girl, my husband. We were fortunate to get her back with her virtue unimpaired. I don’t want to see her sold—”

  Her father interrupted, his voice full of anger. “Do you think I would sell my daughter into prostitution? I would never do that. Never. Shame on you for thinking such a thing.”

  “I am sorry.” Her mother’s voice trembled.

  “We are going to Jericho to find Rahab a husband, Kata. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do understand. I am sorry, Mepu. I did not mean—”

  “I know, I know.” Her father’s voice softened. “I love her too, Kata. She is a special girl. Even apart from her looks, she is special, and I want her to have the best.”