“I suppose I’ll stay with your parents,” Annah sighed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep alone in their hut near the woods. Except for that one night in the ancient Tree of Havah, she had never spent the night away from other people. And Yerakh might find me alone and kill me, she thought. But it would be worse if he found me at the lodge of my husband’s parents … I’d endanger their lives as well.
Shem kissed Annah’s cheek, then smoothed her hair, interrupting her thoughts. “Perhaps you should avoid the river for a while. I’m sure your sisters will tell Yerakh that you’ve been able to talk all these years. If he decides to come after you, then you should be here with us.”
“Perhaps.” Annah deliberately made the word sound like an agreement. But as her husband was talking, she thought, If you were to meet Yerakh and fight him, then you might die. I can’t allow that to happen. Therefore, I won’t avoid Yerakh.
“I was also thinking,” Shem said, kissing the palm of her hand, “that Ma’adannah is a good name for you; your father chose well. I know it means ‘delicate’ and ‘delightful’ as he intended, but it also means ‘influence’. And later, when we’re old, you will be an influence on others.”
“I like my name,” Annah agreed. If I live long enough to become used to it.
And if I ever can forget the hatred in Haburah’s eyes.
Haburah, it hurts that you and Ayalah hate me. What have I ever done to either of you, but to exist? Now, you’ll tell Yerakh. And my husband is in danger because of me.
“What are you thinking?” Shem asked, fingering the gold bracelet on her forearm. Annah leaned against him, watching the sunset.
“I am thinking that I love you.”
How much do you love your husband? Noakh had asked her. How would you measure your love?
I would give my life to save my husband’s life.
That is the true answer of love.
Remembering this, Annah shut her eyes against the beauty of the heavens. O Most High, help me not to be afraid.
Fifteen
ANNAH PICKED the weeds out of Naomi’s garden, casting them by handfuls into growing heaps around the edges of the garden. All the while, she was eagerly anticipating Shem’s return from his night of keeping watch over the herds. Tonight, Yepheth would go out to the herds, tomorrow night it would be Khawm’s turn, then Shem would go out again the following night. I cannot complain, Annah lectured herself. Every third night is reasonable, and I enjoyed visiting with my husband’s family last night.
Her husband’s parents and brothers had amused her with their banter around the evening fire. Later, Methuwshelakh had joined them, smiling as a dreamer smiles, enjoying the laughter of his great-grandsons. Even more wonderful, at Naomi’s request, Yepheth had retrieved a polished wooden harp from the storage room and played it.
Annah was astonished. She never would have suspected that the somber, taciturn Yepheth could play so beautifully. Not to be outdone, Khawm had produced a set of reed pipes and joined his brother, his music by turns lilting, soothing, and spirited. Annah could have listened to them all night.
“Does my husband play music like this?” she had asked Naomi, amazed.
Khawm laughed. “Why would you care to listen to him? He’s only your husband!”
Naomi silenced her youngest son with a sharp look, saying to Annah, “All three of my sons have learned music; the sounds are soothing to the herds.”
There was no music in the lodge of Yerakh, Annah thought now, wrenching another thorny weed from Naomi’s patch of beans. No music, no joy. Only quarrels and hatred.
“Daughter!” Naomi scurried out of the lodge, carrying a tapering clay water vessel. “Yepheth says there are traders approaching. We need water. Don’t worry about the weeds; wash your hands and feet, then come help me.”
Her heartbeat quickening, Annah took the clay vessel from Naomi. She bounded onto the dark wooden platform built over the well and plunked the vessel down next to the carved wooden dipping bucket, which was attached to the platform with a rope. Kneeling, she lifted the small, square well cover built into the surface of the platform, then lowered the dipping bucket into the water.
When the dipping bucket was full, she had to stand to haul it up. Feeling like a child, she splashed the deliciously cool water over her dirty hands and feet. No playing, she scolded herself. Briskly, she checked her hands and feet for any last traces of dirt, then she filled the clay vessel. It took two buckets of water to fill it almost to the top. Satisfied, Annah replaced the well cover, then braced herself to shoulder the tapering curves of the clay vessel. The surface was rough against her cheek, but she didn’t care; the work was a joy.
“Do you still love going to the well?” Naomi asked as Annah entered the lodge.
Her hands and feet tingling from the water, Annah lowered the vessel to the earthen floor. “Yes, it’s good to be able to go draw water from a well like a normal person.”
“I’ll ask again in a few days,” Naomi chuckled, busily arranging grain cakes and nutmeats in polished wooden bowls. She began to think aloud. “These and the juice of the vine-fruits, and some olive paste, flatbreads, and pressed afal cakes should satisfy our visitors until the evening meal. Now, child, carry these mats outside, and I’ll bring the food; the traders won’t want to leave their goods, so we’ll ask them to sit in the shade on the eastern side of the lodge. Yepheth is leading them here.”
Annah carried the rolled woven-grass mats out to the eastern side of the lodge, where the shade was beginning to creep over the grass. Unrolling the mats, she created a large sitting area that would eventually be covered by the shade. Then she helped Naomi set out the food. Just as she was placing the last dishes on the mat, Annah heard the squeaking clatter of a cart and Yepheth’s low voice calling out, “I’ma, they are here.”
Hovering at the corner of the lodge, Annah watched the trader approach with his ox-drawn cart, which was heaped with goods and protected with a covering of leather hides and cords. Behind the cart were the trader’s wife, one grown son, one round-faced boy-child, and a young woman—the trader’s daughter, Annah decided.
They all stared up at the overwhelming darkness of the pen until Yepheth spoke again, abruptly. “This way.” As Naomi approached, Yepheth simply said, “I’ma, this is Qeb-al of the Kinah, seller of wares.”
Qeb-al beamed at Naomi, his brown face ruddy with the warmth of the day, his black hair rough and barely contained by a headband of leather. With a brief, respectful nod, he said, “Mother of Yepheth, I am pleased to happen this way; my family is favored by your son’s kindness.”
As Naomi inclined her head politely, Qeb-al waved his family forward, saying, “This is my firstborn, Pa-sak; my younger son, Saiyr; and my wife, Etsah. That is the daughter of my brother—he is gone from us now. Her name is Ghinnah.”
Qeb-al’s sons were like their father, rough haired and flushed, but their expressions were surly. Etsah, the trader’s wife, was slim and glum, her hair held back with—Annah guessed—cheap bronze talismans lightly coated with gold. Qeb-al’s niece lingered behind the others, leaning against the wagon, apparently tired and bored. Annah could not see her face.
“Welcome,” Naomi said. “Please, bring your cart this way. You can guard it while you rest. Daughter …” Her tone gently urged Annah to help tend their guests.
Quickly, Annah led the trader and his family to sit on the mats. She was aware of the trader, his wife, and sons staring at her as she passed the grain cakes to them. Only the young woman, Ghinnah, did not look up.
As Annah passed the cakes, Naomi said, “Yepheth, please find your father. He went out to the herds to speak to his cousins.”
Yepheth nodded silently and strode away. Now Annah saw Ghinnah look up, furtively glancing at Yepheth’s retreating back. Swiftly, she lowered her eyes again, her mouth curled faintly at one corner, her expression unfathomable.
What are you thinking? Annah wondered to Ghinnah. Kindness or mischief? Intrigued, she kne
lt near the girl, studying her overtly from the corners of her eyes. Ghinnah was small, with clear brown eyes and a rounded, pretty face. Her hair was soft, with flowing dark waves, and her brown skin was pink-tinged—a tender variation of the trader’s heated flush.
When Ghinnah merely nibbled at a grain cake, Annah scooted the dish of pressed fruitcakes toward her, then poured some juice into one of the rounded clay cups. As she placed the cup to Ghinnah’s right, Ghinnah blinked at her, startled. Summoning her courage, Annah smiled.
Ghinnah bit her lip, then smiled, the bloom in her face deepening. Qeb-al frowned, subduing her with a glance. Then he stared at Annah, his expression politely discouraging her from talking to his niece.
Clearing her throat, Naomi said, “Qeb-al, Etsah, this is Ma’adannah, the wife of my second son.”
Qeb-al’s dark eyebrows lifted in obvious disapproving surprise. “But if Yepheth is the first son, then …” Recovering, he straightened. “Forgive me.”
Completely dignified, Naomi said, “By the will of the Most High, my second son has married before my first—to our own surprise.”
“The Most High? Ah …” Qeb-al’s brow smoothed immediately, as if dismissing Naomi’s foolishness in the interest of conducting business. He inclined his head politely toward Annah. “We wish you many sons.”
But no daughters? Annah wondered to Qeb-al, disquieted. I think you despise women; your wife and the daughter of your brother are very unhappy with you.
Etsah was pressing her lips together in tight displeasure, while Ghinnah looked down at her hands. But Qebal and his sons were eating heartily, obviously hungry and glad to rest. Ghinnah sipped at her cup of juice and took a pressed fruitcake. But before she could eat it, her boy-child cousin, Saiyr, snatched it from her hand.
Annah was disgusted by his rudeness. As she watched the boy, Naomi asked Qeb-al, “How long have you been traveling?”
“Months of days, Mother of Yepheth,” Qeb-al answered, his mouth full of grain cakes. “And I will say that no others have received us as kindly; we thank you again.”
“It is only right to receive strangers with courtesy,” Naomi answered. A piercing whistle startled them. Naomi and Annah stood as Yepheth came around the corner of the lodge, followed by Noakh and Shem. Smiling, Naomi said, “Here is my husband, Noakh, and my second son, Shem.”
Annah watched as Shem placed his leather carrying pouch and tall, carved herder’s crook against the lattice wall of the lodge. How I’ve missed you, Annah thought to him. And you are so tired. She was incapable of looking at anyone else now; all her attention was focused on her husband.
Wearily, Shem kissed Naomi, greeted their guests, then smiled at Annah, asking her with a look: Are you well?
She answered him with a small nod, then knelt to pour two cups of juice: one for Noakh and one for Shem, as Naomi served Yepheth. They accepted the juice gratefully.
Noakh’s eyes sparkled. “This time, I am served first? Thank you, daughter.”
They sat down, and Annah knelt beside Shem, content just to be near him.
Noakh questioned Qeb-al. “Tell me what you’ve seen during your travels.”
“Many wonderful things and many kind people. But none so kind as the family of Noakh,” Qeb-al said. “The most peculiar and fearful thing we’ve seen—”
“The carrion-eaters!” his elder son, Pa-sak, interrupted, his color rising. “Tell about the carrion-eaters!”
“As I was saying,” Qeb-al continued brusquely, ignoring his son, “the most peculiar and fearful thing is that in many places now the carrion-eaters are no longer waiting for creatures to become carrion before they eat flesh from their bodies.”
Shem frowned. “The carrion-eaters are consuming living creatures?”
“Exactly.” Planting his hands on his knees, Qeb-al leaned forward. “And it’s not just one sort of carrion-eater. Multitudes—the great lizards, the saw-toothed fish, the clawed beasts and birds—all are doing this, as if they enjoy the act of the kill. Between that and the shaking of the earth …” he sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is a time of many wonders. And I have acquired many marvelous things to show you! But later, later. For now, it’s good to visit as friends, eh?”
Allowing her thoughts to drift away from Qeb-al’s patter, Annah looked at Shem. His eyes were tired, but shining, admiring her. Leaning toward Annah, he whispered, “I’m going to check on the father of my fathers, and then rest a while. But don’t let me sleep too long; I want to visit everyone and be near you.”
He looked as if he wanted to kiss her, but such an open display of affection might be considered offensive by their guests. Annah smiled, silently encouraging him to go rest. Nodding politely to their guests, Shem stood, gathering his tall herder’s crook and leather pouch as he excused himself. Annah watched her husband until he disappeared around the corner of the lodge. When she turned back, she saw Ghinnah studying her enviously. Embarrassed, Annah looked away.
Settling herself on a short grass mat behind the lodge, Annah poured a measure of fine wheat into a broad, low, stone mortar. She smoothed the pale, bran-coated grains around the central peg of the mortar, picking out stray bits of straw and sharp-ended husks. As she reached for the wooden-handled grinding stone, she sensed someone approaching.
“Please, let me help you with that,” said Ghinnah. “Even doing heavy work is better than the company of my aunt.”
They lined up the hole in the middle of the grinding stone with the wooden peg in the center of the mortar and lowered it gently onto the heap of wheat, laying it flat like a dish.
Ghinnah sighed, remorseful. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I’m sorry you must avoid her.” Annah pulled the wooden-pegged handle that turned the stone within the mortar. “Are you very unhappy living with them?”
“I haven’t been with them long,” Ghinnah replied. “My father has been dead for less than a year. I was a disappointment to him, but my mother loved me. She said I was as wonderful to her as all the flowers of her garden, which is why I am called Ghinnah.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Annah asked, careful to keep her eyes on the grinding stone.
Ghinnah shrugged. “My father sent my two sisters away as soon as he could find husbands for them. My only brother stole a large portion of goods from my father several years ago and left like a thief during the night. My father never spoke his name again. My mother died the following year—of a fall, my father said. I think he pushed her from the roof of our home while they were fighting. We lived in a city, so the roof was high, and the paving below was solid.”
Ghinnah nudged Annah’s fingers away from the handle, taking the work from her. She continued, “My father was killed last year while fighting with another man. The husbands of my sisters didn’t want me, not even as a concubine, because my uncle claimed all my father’s possessions—even my bride price. My uncle didn’t take me as his second wife because Etsah threatened to maim him in his sleep. Qeb-al is a coward. Etsah has hated me ever since. Now I am a burden to them—an unwanted woman.”
“How awful.” Annah swallowed, grieved by the other young woman’s pain.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ghinnah said, her voice hardening. “I’m fine.”
No, you’re not, Annah argued with her silently. You’ve only pushed the pain away for now. It will strike you again when you’re not ready for it—as sharp and hard as ever. You’ll go mad.
Glancing around cautiously, Ghinnah said, “You’ve been kind to me, so I’ll warn you: Qeb-al uses hollow weights and shortened rods to measure out his goods. The father of your husband should insist on an additional fourth. And my cousins and my aunt have stolen things from time to time; small things that won’t be missed immediately. And before you condemn them, please understand; I’ve done the same. One day, we’ll be caught and killed.”
Annah gaped at her, confounded. “Why should you trust me? I could go to the father of my husband and have h
im chase you all away.”
“I hope you won’t,” Ghinnah answered, averting her eyes. “But that’s your choice. As it was my choice to warn you.” Then, smiling a little, she said, “I’ll tell you, too, that I envy you for loving your husband and his family as you do. When you are with your husband, you caress each other with your looks, and I can feel the passion you have for each other.” Ghinnah sighed, finally looking up at Annah. “Do you think we should check this grain?”
As Annah sifted the wheat-flour through a woven-fiber sieve into a broad wooden bowl, Ghinnah poured more grain from a nearby basket into the large mortar. Looking up at the pen, she said, “Tell me about this big dark box that the father of your husband built. We heard rumors of this thing, but we didn’t believe them.”
Without excuses or mincing words, Annah told Ghinnah of the Most High’s warning to Noakh: about the earth turning upon itself because of the violence of men, and about the preparations Noakh and his family had made for all the animals they expected to shelter.
Smiling, Ghinnah said, “I’ve heard of more peculiar things in my life. And I would say that if your husband and his family treat you well enough, then you could accept living with such an oddity.”
“What if I were to tell you that I believe as they do?” Annah asked, challenging her mildly. “What if I said that the Most High is not a legend, but that He exists?”
Ghinnah bit down a smile. “I’d have to think about that.”
They carried the bran-flecked flour into the lodge, where Naomi was visiting with Etsah, measuring out olive oil as she talked. “Thank you, daughter,” Naomi said, eyeing the amount of flour in the large wooden bowl. “This will make enough dough for tonight and tomorrow. Now, please go ask our ancient one and Qeb-al if they will accept something to drink.”
Obediently Annah went to the sunlit area near the front door, where Methuwshelakh was propped up, visiting with Qeb-al. Seeing Annah, the ancient man’s eyes brightened. In his fragile, faded voice, Methuwshelakh said to Qeb-al, “Did the son of my son tell you … this child is of the Tsaraph? She has tools … to work the gold.”
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