Harvest - 02 - Harvest of Gold

by Tessa Afshar

  With a disconcerting jolt, he became mindful of those around him once again. The voice of the Levite near him penetrated his mind.

  The Lord did not set His heart on you and choose you because you were more numerous than other nations, for you were the smallest of all nations! Rather, it was simply that the Lord loves you … He is the faithful God who keeps His covenant for a thousand generations and lavishes His unfailing love on those who love Him and obey His commands …

  Darius sensed that God wanted him to understand the significance of those verses not only for Israel, but also for him. As a man. His fingers dug in the dirt where he knelt, spasmodically clenching and unclenching. The Lord cared for him as an individual. That knowledge began to permeate his mind, and then deeper. Past his emotions, past his thoughts, it sank into his inmost being. He had not chosen God; God had chosen him!

  He had not been chosen because he was the strongest or the best. God had not chosen Darius because of his mother or his relatives. God had chosen him simply because the Lord of the universe loved him. He loved Darius with an unfailing love.

  Darius’s strength deserted him. His muscles, always strong and in control, became like a mass of wet silk, unable to support him. Darius fell forward, his face on the ground.

  Lord, I have failed You! I have failed You all my life. And I can’t even promise that I will stop. But Your love has never failed me and never shall. Your faithfulness is beyond my comprehension.

  He felt as though that love covered him like a blanket. The weight of it was so overwhelming that Darius could not move. Awe pumped through his veins so that he could barely breathe. He knew that the Lord’s hand had deigned to touch him. In spite of his rebellious years running from God, running from His rule and His mercy, God was choosing to impart His forgiveness and acceptance to him.

  Darius wept like a small boy and felt no shame for it. His face was drenched in tears, and he did not care. It sank into his benumbed mind that the Lord had been with him through every single moment of the ravages of his childhood. When he had thought himself alone, the Lord had been with him, loving him, guiding him. The Lord had known every sorrow, every childish fear, and had never—never—abandoned him.

  Slowly, Darius felt something crack in his heart, like an old crust as hard and cold as marble. The love of God permeated the ancient shell that had been his protection from childhood. Now God Himself would be his protection.

  The Lord your God will change your heart and the hearts of all your descendants, so that you will love Him with all your heart and soul and so you may live!

  The Lord was changing Darius’s heart, restoring it, teaching it to love again. He felt the heavy weight ease and was able to move his head. The first thing he saw was Sarah kneeling next to him, her eyes closed, her face glowing in spite of the tears that ran down the length of it.

  He was struck by such a wave of love for her that his breath caught. Like an inexperienced youth he stared at her, his mouth half-open, overwhelmed with affection so deep he lost the power of speech. It had been here all along, this love, from the early days of their union. Only he had been unable to give it rein.

  With sharp clarity, he remembered the first time he had seen Sarah on the hill outside the palace in Persepolis. He had been chasing a lion that had escaped the hunting grounds and had stumbled upon her in his search. She had faced him, her cheeks pink from a recent nap, her shapeless robe askew, her large eyes filled with humor and fearless intelligence. Six unbroken generations of Persian aristocracy running through his veins snapped into rapt attention when she confronted him with the fire of challenge instead of a simpering giggle. She had been far from beautiful that morning, with her rumpled scribal garb and her disheveled hair, but she had charmed him within moments of his meeting her like few women ever had.

  He had had to aim his arrow just past her, at the lion that was crouching behind her, and she had stood still as an old soldier, forbearing the danger that faced her from two directions. He had not fallen in love with her there, but he had been captivated enough to feel threatened. Which was doubtless why he had chosen to believe that she was just another sycophant, seeking to promote herself by flattering him. He had pushed her away as fast as he could by coming up with a likely fault to attach to her, so it was the fault he had seen, and not the sweetness of the woman who attracted him with unreasonable power.

  He had not allowed himself to feel his true emotions. His austere childhood had left its mark, making him incapable of displaying that depth of vulnerability. Love had let him down once. He had learned not to give it that opportunity again. Even after they had been married long enough for him to know Sarah, to know that she was caring and loyal and generous, he could not surrender his heart. He feasted on her love like a starving babe, but he could not offer his own.

  Now that the Lord had shattered the cold walls with which he had surrounded himself since boyhood, he could no longer detach himself from her. Nor did he want to.

  He loved Sarah. The realization filled him with joy.

  Darius staggered up, his movements awkward. From a corner of his eye he saw Lysander. The Spartan was on his knees, his face covered in perspiration. The blue eyes were wide and shocked. Darius had a suspicion that the Lord had made His presence known to his friend in a way he was not likely to forget soon. Pari was lying on the ground, her face in the dirt, much like his own moments before.

  Darius widened the scope of his gaze and became aware that most of the people were weeping, some silently like Sarah, others wailing like inconsolable children. The Lord’s presence hung over the crowd like an invisible mist.

  Darius had walked through the wealthiest palaces in the world. He had experienced the lushest riches that human imagination could offer. Nothing had compared in majesty to the grandeur of God’s presence in this small, barren city. He realized that the scope of the Lord’s presence on that day was so wide and encompassing that every man, woman, and child there was bound to experience an unforgettable shift in their souls. No one would be the same after this day. The Lord had revived the zeal of His people. They hungered and thirsted for a righteousness they knew they did not possess.

  Nehemiah joined Ezra on the platform. A new gentleness colored his voice as he said, “This day is sacred. Don’t mourn. The Lord is holy, but His mercy rises even higher than our shame. Stop grieving now.”

  The Levites joined Nehemiah, calming the people with their reassurances. The governor charged the gathered crowd to rest. “Go and celebrate the Lord’s goodness with rich foods and sweet drinks. Share your bounty with those who have nothing prepared so that they won’t go hungry.

  “Wipe your tears. The joy of the Lord is your strength! Let His love fill you with joy, and you will overcome.”

  On his way to his chambers, Darius ran into Nehemiah. Without a word the older man pulled him into a fatherly embrace. Darius could feel his eyes welling up again. “Lord Nehemiah, I never knew it could be like this.”

  “Nor I, my son. Nor I.”

  Darius felt like he had a colony of ants taking residence inside him. He longed to be alone with his wife and dreaded it at the same time. He had faced fierce enemies on numberless battlefields. Yet never had he been reduced to such a puddle of fear. And all because he wished to express to his own wife how dear she was to him. He could have kicked himself for his folly. But he could not outrun the weakness that caused a veneer of perspiration to cover his forehead.

  In his room, Pari served a small feast. Darius dismissed her with a stiff wave before she had finished laying out their food. His throat was parched and he took a large swallow of sweet wine.

  Sarah’s voice was hushed as she said, “I’ll never be the same after this day. I feel like Job: my ears had heard of You, but now my eyes have seen You.”

  “I feel the same. I imagine most of Israel has had a similar experience today.”

  Sarah was busy unwrapping warm bread from a napkin. He took the bread from her and set it distrac
tedly atop a bowl. It sank into the contents. Sarah made a small sound of protest and tried to rescue the bread.

  “Leave it!”

  She turned to him with a frown. He forced out a long breath and moistened his dry lips. Her hands were arrested midway to the bowl. He captured them in his own. His fingers were trembling and he could not steady them.

  “Sarah. Sarah … I love you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I love you, sweetheart.”

  A heavy silence met his hard-won declaration. For a moment his heart sank. Would she reject him? Would she walk away now that he had bared his soul?

  Her voice sounded brittle when at last she spoke. “Say it again.”

  With sudden insight he recognized that it was not coldness that drove her, but doubt. After hammering her month after month with his dispassionate assurance that he would never love her, she could not take in his declaration. He was not a poetic man. But for her sake, he tried.

  “I want to grow old with you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. I want to feel my children growing inside you. Sarah, my love. I want to worship the Lord with you, and hear your laughter until the day I die.”

  “What changed?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “You said yourself that you could not feel that way toward me. Are you driven by duty to say these things now? You called me sweetheart before, but didn’t mean it. Is your new faith the source of this pretty speech?”

  “Of course not! Could I lie to please the Lord? You should ignore everything I said before. I was an idiot. I meant it when I called you sweetheart. I meant that and more.”

  Her smile was sad. “I know I’m not pretty enough for you. You would have chosen someone like Roxanna as your wife if you had been free to make your own decision. Someone athletic and stunning. Someone highborn, like you.”

  Darius wrapped his hand around her forearm and pulled her toward him. His face contorted with frustration. “I could have married Roxanna years ago if I had wanted. Which I didn’t.”

  “But you didn’t want me either.”

  “I wanted you almost from the start. I think I fell in love with you before we arrived at Ecbatana. I was just too dense to admit it to myself. Sarah, my darling, I have not desired another woman but you since then.”

  He saw doubt in her eyes, and beyond it, the lack of confidence that drove it. He had caused some of that insecurity. He ached when he thought that his own behavior had diminished her ability to receive his love. To trust it.

  He pulled her against his chest, his movements laced with tenderness. He kissed her forehead, her chin, her neck, her cheeks. Desire washed over him in powerful waves. He had always wanted her with an intensity that seemed to grow regardless of their circumstances. But now, he tried to instill into her the reality of his feelings. It wasn’t just her body that he wanted. It was all of her.

  “God gave me the desire of my heart when I married you, Sarah, and I did not know it. He gave me a marriage of love. The Lord made my most cherished dream come to pass, and I was too ornery to notice. I don’t deserve such lovingkindness from the Lord. You are my gift from Him. And I aim to keep you, my darling. And to cherish you until you believe me.”

  He moved away from her and examined her expression. She was smiling, her face illuminated with an inner light that made his heart pound. “You really love me, don’t you?” she whispered.

  “With all my soul.” He kissed her until he felt dizzy with wanting.

  “I love you, Darius.”

  As he drew her hard against him, their child poked him with such a firm thrust of a little limb that he felt it through his clothing. Sarah made a short sound of protest.

  “Are you all right? That must have hurt.”

  “He was just making his approval known.” She laid her head against his chest. And then she called him sweetheart, which she had never done before. Darius decided that he would not grow tired of hearing that particular endearment until the day he died.

  How could one small woman bear so much pain? Darius wondered. If he saw her swallow one more scream, he would become unhinged. He had suffered numerous injuries in battle—knife stabs, dislocated shoulders, head wounds, broken ribs. Weathering them had been easy. But he found Sarah’s suffering unbearable. She had been in labor over one whole day and night. And still she pushed and heaved. And still the child would not come.

  In between the ravages of pain, sometimes she lost consciousness, a mercy for which he was grateful. At other times, she vomited with a violence that made him wince.

  Lysander had found an experienced midwife who came with glowing recommendations from the lords of Judah, and they both attended Sarah. Neither seemed particularly worried. To judge by their expressions, watching a woman being torn asunder by contractions was the most prosaic thing the world had to offer. Darius had learned to keep his mouth shut in the early stages of the birthing process. Lysander had threatened to expel him from the room if he did not stop making annoying comments. As it was, he had had to argue his way into being allowed to stay for the labor.

  His fingers had long since lost feeling as Sarah pressed them when the pains came upon her, which were closer and closer together.

  “Good one, Sarah,” the midwife cried. “One more like that and his head will be out.”

  Darius snapped into focus. He no longer cared about the birth of the child. He only wanted Sarah to be free of this infernal anguish. Sarah screamed. It wasn’t a human sound. Darius felt his whole body go rigid. Perspiration drenched every orifice. He realized that he was praying with the desperation of a petrified man. Darius Pasargadae, scion of the great king Cyrus, was shaking with fear.

  “His head is out!” Lysander shouted. “The hardest part is over. One more push now, Sarah.”

  Sarah groaned, her voice hoarse. She had been kneeling on the mattress, Pari behind her to support her back. Her body bent over, and she pushed. The midwife had her hands on her belly, helping the body’s natural contractions. Darius’s eyes grew large as he saw a bluish grey creature emerge from his wife’s body. Half his mind was captured by the image of the child, which lay as still as a wooden statue in Lysander’s large hands, and the other half grappled horrified with the large gush of fresh blood which suddenly soaked the sheets beneath Sarah. She collapsed backward into Pari’s arms. With exquisite care, the handmaiden laid her mistress on the pillows behind her.

  Sarah’s lips had turned a purplish hue. She was as still as the child she had birthed. “Sarah!” Darius cried, and laid a desperate hand against the side of her neck to ensure she lived. He felt the thud of her pulse. It was weaker than it should have been.

  He could tell that it took all her strength to open her eyes. “My baby,” she whispered. “Why isn’t he crying?”

  Darius looked over to where Lysander held the child by the ankles, upside down. He slapped its back once. Then again. Nothing. Darius’s heart sank. The child was dead. Lord have mercy! After all this, the child was dead.

  And then suddenly, without warning, the baby took a breath—its first upon the earth.

  “It’s all right, Sarah. He breathes. He lives! We have a boy. A son!”

  As soon as he had taken that initial breath, their son began to wail, making his displeasure known to everyone in the room. Darius didn’t begrudge his vociferous objections. He would not have enjoyed the indignity of being held upside down, and the additional insult of a none-too-gentle slap, either.

  Darius spent a short moment thanking God for that miracle before returning his gaze to the midwife who had been tending Sarah. Once the entire afterbirth had been pushed out, the midwife did what she could to stop the unnatural flow of blood. She caught his distraught gaze and gave him a reassuring smile.

  “She’s fine now. The bleeding has slowed. We’ll have to watch over her for the next few days. She’s bound to be frail at first. But the immediate danger has passed, and with proper care, your wife shoul
d recover and give you many more children.”

  Darius leaned against the wall, too weak to stand without help.

  “You want to hold your son? He’s a noisy little Persian,” Lysander said.

  Darius saw the longing look in Sarah’s eyes. “Give him to his mother, first.”

  Lysander had washed the babe with warm water and salt and rubbed olive oil into his skin after cutting and knotting the umbilical cord. He placed the wriggling bundle, cleaned now and pink, covered in soft cotton swaddling, onto Sarah’s chest. Her arms went around him weakly. Tears streamed down her face as she beheld him. “He’s your very image, Darius,” she murmured.

  Darius studied the wrinkled face surrounded by the thick shock of dark hair and kept his remark to himself. The babe stopped his wailing as soon as his mother’s arms wrapped around him. His son had good taste.

  Pari, who was quietly cleaning away the bloody sheets, whispered, “The Lord be praised!” She had come to believe in the Lord as the true living God the day Ezra had read the Law. Darius smiled at her and nodded agreement.

  He drew a gentle finger down the side of his son’s face. The tiny mouth gathered and made a suckling motion. He felt a powerful tug on his heart. His soul rose up with the desire to protect this helpless creature against every danger.

  “Your boy is hungry,” the midwife said. She arranged him against Sarah’s breast. Darius looked at the unfamiliar scene, fascinated. His wife held on to the baby with an emotional strength that overcame her physical weakness. Pride washed through Darius. Pride that this woman and this child belonged to him. And then he was humbled by the thought that God had chosen to gift him with both.

  He bent over and kissed Sarah on the crown of her head. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you more than I can say.” For the first time since he was a child, a sense of completeness filled him. He felt utterly at peace. In spite of not knowing how to meet the challenges the future would offer him and his family, he felt bathed in the assurance of the Lord.