At a loss, Annah looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. Finally she said, “I know you’re grieving, Haburah; I’m sorry.”
Haburah responded with a swift, vicious, open-handed slap to Annah’s left cheek. Annah cringed, putting up her hands to ward off a second blow. She heard Naomi utter a cry of fury and saw Noakh start up off the mats, then sit down again.
Hands—warm, callused, and protective—settled on Annah’s shoulders. Shem glared at Haburah, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Don’t touch my wife again, woman! She’s suffered enough at your hands. You’re a family of vipers, all of you—it’s a wonder she’s survived.”
To Annah’s amazement, Haburah burst into tears, covering her face with her hands as she cried. Annah had never seen Haburah cry before, not even when Parah and Chathath were murdered.
Ayalah put her arms around Haburah defensively, saying, “She couldn’t help it. She’s so unhappy. The wives of Naham begged me to take her out today to try to cheer her up. But now, instead of being consoled by this visit … well …” Ayalah faltered. “If Naham had known that Annah was not mad—and that she could speak—he would have taken her as his wife instead of Haburah. Haburah can’t help being angry.”
Shem gave an abrupt, disbelieving laugh. “Am I supposed to accept that as an excuse? Am I supposed to be glad that Naham-the-Iron-breaker-monster would have preferred to abuse my wife instead? As for unhappiness, where were you when Naham caused Yerakh to beat Annah five months ago? In fact, where were the two of you when Yerakh killed your father before Annah’s very eyes, then turned on Annah and choked her half to death—and she was no more than a child! Who consoled her then?”
Staring at Shem, then at Annah, Ayalah lowered her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
Annah summoned her courage. “No one ever told you, did they, Ayalah? But then again, it wasn’t terribly important to anyone else. Yes, I saw Yerakh beat our father bloody, then strangle him and snap his neck like a dry branch. Then Yerakh grabbed my throat and told me not to say another word. He choked me until I lost consciousness. I was surprised to wake up, Ayalah! Then I was afraid to utter one sound because Yerakh had threatened me. I was a child, and I obeyed.”
Ayalah swallowed, her expression squeamish. Annah looked at Haburah—who was now wiping her face, recovering from her fit of tears. Very quietly, Annah asked her older sister, “Didn’t you wonder why I never dared to speak? Why I always looked away? Why I hid beneath the veil? It was to save my life, Haburah!”
Infuriated by Haburah’s dark silence, Annah continued, “You’ve decided to be angry with me because you were forced to marry Naham. But years ago, you knew that he had asked for you. You could have prevented this. When Naham asked for me, I decided to run away before he could take me into his lodge. I’m sorry, Haburah, but you chose to stay in the settlement.” She paused, compelling the defiant Haburah to look her in the eye. “As for living in sorrow … for the past twenty-five years I was waiting to die, and you never once comforted me. Didn’t you care?”
Her eyes fierce, shadowed with tears and rage, Haburah said softly, “Ma’adannah, O cherished daughter of my father! O delightful one. Or so our father said. Ma’adannah!” Her voice rising, Haburah sneered, “I was glad when you stopped speaking, stopped asking so many questions, dear Ma’adannah! But now you’ve found your voice again, and all the questions are coming out. Well, I’m not going to stay and listen!”
Haburah stood and nudged Ayalah with one bare, slender brown foot. “Come. We’re leaving this lodge of the insane!”
Startled, Ayalah argued, “But we’re still visiting—we haven’t eaten yet, and I’m not ready to leave.”
“Oh, yes, you are!” Haburah reached down to snatch her sister’s arm.
Ayalah ducked away. “Don’t! I’ll come. Go on ahead of me.”
“Stay then.” Haburah turned and marched out of the lodge. Annah was relieved to see her go, but equally frightened. Haburah will tell Yerakh everything she saw and heard here today, which means I am dead.
Obviously ready to end the visit, Shem stood, helping Annah to her feet, then helping his parents to stand. Naomi was thoroughly distressed and silent, but Noakh was thoughtful. Curious, Annah followed Noakh’s gaze. He was watching Ayalah.
Annah saw that Ayalah longed to stay and visit. I don’t want you to stay, Annah thought to Ayalah. But then again, my feelings have never mattered to you, my sister. You are nothing more than a rude child. Unwillingly, Annah offered her sister a courteous but less-than-loving hand.
Encouraged by Annah’s polite gesture, Ayalah took Annah’s hand and hurried outside, forgetting to thank Noakh and Naomi for their courtesy. Even so, the older couple followed their guests out of the lodge.
Ayalah began to chatter, lightly, sweetly. “Ma’adannah, I never knew how much Haburah despised you! But where is Haburah?” She peered at the fields. “Never mind, there she is.”
Annah saw her stalking down the path toward the trees that shielded the bridge.
In her loudest voice, Ayalah called out, “Haburah, are you so eager to return to the lodge of Naham?”
Haburah stopped almost midstep and lowered her head, acknowledging the truth; she was not eager to return to the lodge of Naham. But she wasn’t willing to return to the lodge of Noakh, either. Instead, she sat in the grass beside the path to wait for Ayalah.
Smiling gleefully, Ayalah said, “I always have to do as she pleases; this once she can just wait for me.” Pulling Annah along, she commanded, “Show me this giant’s box behind your lodge.”
In despair, Annah looked back at Shem. He shrugged and followed them. Before she turned the corner of the lodge, Annah saw Naomi run her hands over her face in a gesture of furious, tearful disbelief. Noakh took Naomi in his arms, soothing her. Annah could not bear to see her mother-in-law so distressed. Exasperated, she pulled her hand from Ayalah’s grasp.
Unaffected, Ayalah headed for the ramp leading up to the massive darkness of the pen. She talked all the way up the ramp, her tones honeyed yet disparaging. “This is unthinkable; why should that Noakh bother to build such a useless structure? K’nan said that the father of your husband has been a madman for as long as K’nan could remember. Does that Noakh really believe in the Most High?”
Annah stopped inside the doorway of the pen. Shem halted just behind her, grim and quiet. Unwilling to allow her sister to deride Noakh, Annah said, “I’d rather ask you a question, Ayalah. What do you believe in?”
“What should I believe in? Things are as they are. And Yerakh is right; the Most High is nothing but an ancient story.”
“But Yerakh believes in the Nachash,” Annah persisted.
“But the Nachash is real,” Ayalah countered indignantly, her wide dark eyes flashing in her pretty, childlike face. “She exists.”
“She’s an old woman,” Annah said softly. “She’s an old woman who takes grain from Yerakh without payment. Have you ever heard of Yerakh allowing anyone to take anything from him? Particularly an old reed of a woman?”
“No–o,” Ayalah agreed, uncertain now. “And you’re right, I’ve never understood why he allows the Nachash and those whisperers to do as they please on his lands.”
Annah stared at her sister hard, willing her to understand. “It’s because he believes they have all the powers of their beloved Serpent. And if Yerakh believes in the powers of the Serpent, then why should he scorn the existence of the Most High?”
Rolling her eyes impatiently, Ayalah said, “Ha! Don’t make me laugh, Annah. Next, you’ll say you believe in the Most High too.”
“I do believe in Him. And knowing that He exists causes everything else to make sense. Think, Ayalah; what about when the earth moves? Don’t you wonder why it shakes?”
“No, I don’t. The earth shakes, then it stops, and everything is as it was before. Really, Annah, you’re every bit as empty-headed as you’ve seemed all these years. I won’t discuss your Most High. Now, show me this place. Are all these stalls for a
nimals? And look at all this food!” She opened baskets and bins, peering inside.
Watching her sister, Annah thought, She is not moved by this place as I was. She’s only eager to satisfy her curiosity and to have something to tell K’nan at their evening fire. Shem stood with Annah now, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, then caressing her cheek where Haburah had slapped her. Annah leaned into him, watching her sister.
Ayalah opened a basket of dark, rock-hard grain cakes. Without asking permission, she took one, nibbled it, frowned, then nibbled it again. Annah heard Shem suck in a quick breath; he actually shuddered. Wondering, she glanced at him. He was staring at Ayalah, seeming oddly fascinated, yet thoroughly repulsed and queasy. Perplexed, Annah looked back at her sister.
Still holding the dark grain cake, Ayalah grimaced. “This tastes odd. What did you use to flavor it? Whatever it was, you shouldn’t use it again.”
“If you say so,” Shem answered, his eyes now sparkling roguishly.
They followed Ayalah through the pen, leading her up and down the ramps, letting her look at everything until her curiosity was satisfied. “It’s all madness,” Ayalah declared as they were leaving the pen. “That Noakh put more than a hundred years of work into this foolishness—more than a kentum of his life! Not to mention wasting all this valuable timber on something so useless. No wonder everyone laughed the other day when Bachown talked about him.”
Stopping at the base of the door ramp, she said, “I should go find Haburah. I wish you well, Annah, even if you did make fools of us for all these years. What will Yerakh do when he realizes you can talk?” Dropping the cake, she walked away, smiling, self-satisfied.
Watching Ayalah saunter off, Annah thought, You and Haburah are eager to tell Yerakh about me, I know. You hope he kills me. And my death won’t affect you in the least.
Hugging Annah, Shem chuckled. “Well, we’ve had our first animal in the pen, and she was a carrion-eater.”
Annah blinked. “What?” Carrion-eaters were all the sharp-toothed creatures of the earth that ate the bodies of fallen animals—a nasty but necessary function. “Why do you call Ayalah a carrion-eater?”
“That cake she ate—my brothers and I call those blood cakes. They’re made with raw meat. And your sister took two bites. Wait until I tell my father and brothers!”
“Ayalah ate the flesh of another creature?” Horrified, Annah thought, I’m glad she didn’t kiss me before she left. She shuddered and accused her husband, “You watched my sister eat flesh and you didn’t warn her.”
“She ate it before I could say a word,” Shem protested. “You know, beloved, she’s too quick to use her mouth, but not her mind.” He chuckled again, coaxing her to enjoy the joke. “It’s laughable. Admit it.”
“I think it’s sickening.”
“Never mind; my father and brothers will enjoy hearing it.” Shem bent to kiss her hair. “But one day I’ll hear you laugh.”
I can’t find much to laugh about, Annah thought, burying her face in her husband’s warm, leather-clad shoulder. Yerakh’s going to come after me soon, though his marriage to Taphaph will keep him busy for a while. Perhaps he will wait another week. O Most High, give me some time.
“You are worth more than both of your sisters,” Naomi told Annah fiercely as they rinsed the clay cups and pitchers after their evening meal. “I cannot believe you’re still sane after living with them for all those years.”
“They believe I’m mad,” Annah said, stacking the last of the cups into a basket. “And it’s just as well; if they believe I’m mad, they might leave me alone.”
“That sort never leaves you alone,” Naomi sniffed, setting a pitcher into the basket with a muffled clatter. “Look at those herdsman-cousins of my husband, always coming and going from the flocks, always leaving us and sneering at my Noakh. But as soon as their bellies shrink a bit with hunger, they’re back again, pretending nothing happened.” Sighing, she passed a weary hand over her face. “Sometimes I wonder how many times must I forgive those fools for calling my dear one a madman.”
“As many times as he is willing to forgive them himself?” Annah guessed.
Naomi smiled, shaking her head. “I’m not as patient as my husband.” She settled the last of the wooden serving spoons into the basket. “There. Finished.”
Before Naomi could take the basket, Annah grabbed it and stood. As she carried the basket to the storage room, Annah called back over her shoulder, “Don’t touch the rinse-tub, I’ma! I’ll take it out to your garden and empty it.”
Annah enjoyed stacking the cups inside their fragrant wooden storage chest. It felt good to behave as a normal-speaking person should behave. She would be completely happy, if only she weren’t so afraid of Yerakh. But I am afraid, she thought, her emotions suddenly raw, eating at the pit of her stomach. If only I could put all thoughts of Yerakh away until I see him coming to kill me. O Most High, please calm my fears.
Naomi was sitting near the hearth when Annah returned to the main room. She smiled and patted the mat beside her. “Don’t empty the rinse water yet, daughter. I want to talk to you.”
Curious, Annah knelt beside her mother-in-law and waited. Naomi had her hands carefully folded in her lap, hiding something from Annah’s view.
Moistening her lips, Naomi said, “Your father must have loved you completely to have given you such a name, Ma’adannah. I’ve been thinking that if he had been alive, he would have worked gold for you, anticipating your wedding day. He would have given you something special, like this.” Lifting her hands, Naomi held out one of her beautiful gold cuff-bracelets to Annah. “Take it, child.”
“But this was from your husband,” Annah objected, shaking her head in disbelief. “How can I take this?”
“My husband has given me many gifts, including another bracelet like this one,” Naomi said, almost stern. “But your father is gone. He never had the chance to give you a wedding gift. You must have this—the work of his hands.”
Tears welled up in Annah’s eyes. The gold danced and glittered before her. “My father wouldn’t listen to your husband. He rejected your husband’s words, as he would have rejected me.”
“Does that make the bracelet less beautiful?” Naomi argued. “Does that make your father less than your father? No. Forgive him and go on, child. Remember him kindly; he did love you.” As she spoke, Naomi took Annah’s right hand and pushed the bracelet over her wrist. On Naomi, the bracelet fit her wrist. On Annah, it stopped securely at her forearm. “There.” Naomi sounded satisfied. “Now, give me a kiss and go empty the water. Your husband will come looking for you soon.”
Wiping the tears from her face, Annah kissed her mother-in-law and hugged her. “Thank you, I’ma!”
“Empty the water, then go find your husband,” Naomi repeated, affecting impatience. “Go.”
Carefully, Annah lifted the carved, resin-coated water tub and went out the back of the lodge. The evening air was scented with moisture, and the sky glowed a deep ruddy pink as the sun lowered in the western horizon. Calmed now, Annah lugged the tub to Naomi’s garden, off to the right of the door. Stepping cautiously into the dark, loose soil of the garden, she tipped the tub gently, allowing the water to trickle over Naomi’s cherished root vegetables and herbs.
As she worked, Annah sensed the presence of others near the pen. Shem and Yepheth emerged from the great door, trotting down the ramp. Shem grinned at her. Annah smiled in return, unable to resist him. She spilled water on her feet. Don’t become distracted, Annah scolded herself, returning to her task. By the time the tub was empty, Shem was beside her, pulling it from her hands.
“Put this thing down and come with me,” he urged. “Have you climbed up to the roof of the pen?”
“No. Should I?”
“Come see for yourself,” he said, taking her hand.
As they moved away from the lodge, Yepheth called out, “Remember, brother, it’s your turn tomorrow night to keep watch over the herds!”
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br /> “You’ll be gone tomorrow night?” Annah asked Shem, dismayed.
“I take the watch from Khawm tomorrow,” Shem answered regretfully. “But forget that now; we’ll miss the sunset.”
He hurried her northeast along the base of the pen until they reached the far corner. There, he pulled Annah up a series of steps leading to a broad platform, then up more steps to a second platform above.
By the time they reached the second platform, Annah was swallowing hard, trying not to look down. Why should this be any different than climbing a tree? But the steps were not as solid as the pen itself, and this unnerved her. A final series of steps above the second platform led to the roof of the pen. Encouraged by Shem, Annah gritted her teeth and climbed onto the roof. Though the roof of the pen was broad, solid, and gently sloped, Annah felt insecure enough to snatch at Shem as he stood beside her.
He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be afraid, but I won’t argue if you want to hold me.”
“Don’t tease me about this!” she warned him. “I’ve never been this high off the ground before, though obviously you think it’s nothing.”
“Then let’s sit here. Although, I thought we would walk to the other end….”
“No, please, don’t ask me to walk along this entire roof!”
They sat, facing westward. “Look,” Shem persuaded Annah, wrapping his arms around her. “See how beautiful everything is from up here?”
Slowly Annah relaxed and looked out over the landscape. It was beautiful. She had never thought of being so high up off the ground and able to see the sweep of the land, the low, dark curves of the distant mountains, the rose-gold gleaming of sunlight slanting over the fields. The light also illuminated the leaves of the treetops, gilding them. And the rose-violet sky seemed nearer than ever before. Annah felt that she could almost touch the first stars of the evening.
“There are the herds,” Shem said, nodding toward the western fields.
“And you’ll be out there tomorrow night,” Annah whispered.
“Every third night from now on,” Shem agreed. “And when Yepheth and Khawm get married, I’ll take their turns out there for a few weeks—as they’ve done for me.”
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