“I agree—although we should still be strangers; we’ve known each other for only five months. I’m afraid we didn’t provide the best example for my brothers.”
“That was beyond our control.”
“True. The Most High allowed us no choice. But Yepheth has decided for himself that he wants Ghinnah, and he won’t change his mind. That’s why my parents are so worried.”
Naomi interrupted their furtive conversation. “Daughter, if you will bring in some water, I would welcome it. Perhaps you should also find Ghinnah.”
Hearing Khawm’s laughter in front of the lodge, and knowing that Yepheth was probably with him, Annah nodded. Lifting the clay water vessel in her arms, she slipped out the back door. There was no sign of Ghinnah. Quickly, Annah filled the vessel at the well. By the time she returned to the lodge, Noakh, Naomi, Yepheth, Shem, and Khawm were all engrossed in a serious conversation. Annah set the water vessel just inside the door, then crept outside again. Ghinnah, she thought, where are you?
She found the young woman on the eastern side of the lodge, sitting near Qeb-al’s wooden, solid-wheeled trader’s cart, watching Qeb-al’s ponderous grazing ox. As Ghinnah looked up, Annah said, “I’ll stay with you for a while.”
“The one they call Khawm … I heard him laughing. Was Yepheth with him?”
“Yes.” Smoothing her tunic over her knees, Annah knelt beside Ghinnah. “They’re all inside; I thought I should leave them alone.”
Ghinnah looked alarmed. “They won’t fight, will they?”
“No,” Annah soothed her. “They don’t fight. They talk.”
“You’ve never seen them arguing?” Ghinnah asked, incredulous.
“No. As I said, they talk. They truly love each other.”
“And they love you.”
“Yes, they do love me,” Annah agreed quietly. “I am blessed.”
Ghinnah sighed, stretching her legs straight out before herself. “Two days ago, I said that I envied you for having your husband and his family. Now I’m afraid. Does this Yepheth believe in the Most High?”
“Yes. Everyone in this lodge acknowledges Him.”
“And what if I can’t?” Ghinnah demanded. “Years from now, will this Yepheth cast me off and take another wife who does believe in the Most High?”
Annah shook her head. “Yepheth would never do such a thing.”
“And do you believe in the coming destruction—this dreadful story of the Most High allowing the earth to turn upon itself?” Fierce now, Ghinnah stared into Annah’s eyes, demanding perfect honesty.
Annah spoke carefully. “Yes. I’d prefer not to think of it, but when—or if—this great destruction happens, then I will accept it.”
“So you’re not entirely convinced of it either!” Ghinnah sounded satisfied.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Annah warned her gently. “I only said that I prefer not to think of it … but I will accept it if it should happen.”
“Then, I won’t have to accept it unless it happens.” Bitter now, Ghinnah said, “So, I can choose to marry a nonspeaking man who believes in an ancient, unbelievable story, or I can continue to lie, cheat, and steal with my uncle’s family, hoping I’m never caught.”
“You hate both choices,” Annah whispered, distressed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t! I won’t be an object of pity.”
“It’s better than being an object of contempt, as I was for twenty-five years.”
Subdued, Ghinnah hung her head. “I admit I’ve been fortunate by comparison. My uncle was robbed and beaten twice last year before I came to live with his family. And Etsah never feels safe when we’re traveling. But nothing terrible has happened to me, beyond the death of my mother. Look …” Ghinnah sat up straight. “There are Qeb-al and the others. I didn’t expect them to return so soon.”
“I’ll go tell my husband and his family,” Annah said, getting to her feet. “I’ma will want to feed them again, I’m sure.”
Ghinnah stood, staring at her approaching relatives. The color ebbed from her cheeks. “Qeb-al is angry. And Pa-sak is injured.”
There’s been trouble in the settlement, Annah realized. Someone beat that rude Pa-sak. Fearful, she hurried into the lodge, her gold talismans fluttering against her neck.
Still fuming, Yerakh entered the lodge of Naham. The giant ironworker was eating his midday meal, his massive, dark-haired hands clutching the huge, flat grain cakes he favored. His wives, Shuwa, Qetsiyah, and Haburah, were hovering nearby; Naham expected them to wait on him until he had eaten his fill.
Seeing Yerakh, Naham folded some grain cakes into one substantial bite, shoved it into his mouth, and spoke. “Come in, my brother.” Pointing to his wives, he said, “You, you, and you, go away.”
Quietly they filed out of the lodge. Only Haburah dared to look at Yerakh. She was thinner and doleful.
Yerakh thought, I should have given her to Naham years ago. When they were gone, Yerakh sat beside Naham.
Slapping one of the large soft grain cakes at him, Naham said, “Eat! You look sick. Isn’t your wife tending you?”
Ignoring his question, Yerakh asked quietly, “Did you tell anyone where you buried Gammad?”
His mouth flecked with food, Naham reached for a pitcher of juice. “No. I haven’t even thought of it since that night. Why do you ask?”
“Someone else knows.”
Naham gulped from the pitcher and wiped his mouth on the back of one enormous hand. “Impossible! Who? Someone else you want me to kill?”
Do I want him to kill that Annah-who-is-not-Annah? Yerakh wondered. He recalled the force of the presence about her. Trying to decide, he scowled at his knuckles, which were raw from beating that impudent young trader, Pa-sak. At last, sighing heavily, he said, “No. Not yet.”
That Annah-who-was-not-Annah was more fearsome than the Nachash. If he tried to kill her, or have her killed, she might curse him to die immediately. I’m already cursed, he reminded himself. I must persuade her to withdraw her words. But how?
Seventeen
ANNAH HURRIED outside the lodge to stand with Ghinnah near the trader’s cart. Qeb-al dropped his pack and screamed at Ghinnah as he approached.
“You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day I took you into my care! You’re a curse to me!” Pushing her against the broad wheel of the cart, he cried, “Because you’ve befriended this stupid woman and her insane family, look what her brother did to my son!”
Pa-sak’s eyes were swollen shut. His lips were split and his teeth were bloodied. The tearful Etsah was holding his hand, guiding him. The boy-child, Saiyr, was glaring at Ghinnah.
Provoked, Annah thrust an arm between Qeb-al and Ghinnah. “If you must be angry, then be angry with me. Ghinnah has nothing to do with my brother’s bad temper.”
“You,” Qeb-al muttered, flushing. “I ate bread with the family of your husband. You should have warned me about your brother and the people in that settlement!”
“Would you have listened to me?” Annah wanted to know, struggling to keep her voice soft. “I’m sure you would have sneered at my warnings.”
By now Noakh, Shem, Yepheth, and Khawm were standing alongside the angry Qeb-al, curbing him with their presence. Speaking mildly, Noakh said, “We will give you compensation for your son’s injuries. Tell us what you consider to be fair.”
Shaking with rage, Qeb-al pointed at the silent Ghinnah. “Take this useless burden off my hands. Give her to one of your sons or chase her off your lands, whatever you please. That’s what I want!”
“We will do whatever Ghinnah decides,” Naomi said quietly, standing beside Noakh. “If she wishes, Ghinnah can marry my firstborn son.”
“She’ll have no marriage portion from me,” Qeb-al warned. “Not after what’s happened to my son!”
“We won’t demand a marriage portion,” Naomi agreed.
“And if she decides not to marry my son,” Noakh added, “I will pay restitution for your son’s i
njuries.”
While they were speaking, Annah was aware of Ghinnah looking first at her, then at Noakh, then at Yepheth. She feels she has no choice, Annah realized.
Downcast, Ghinnah walked behind Noakh and Naomi, passing Shem to stand beside Yepheth.
Clearly uncomfortable, Yepheth cleared his throat. “If you are unwilling to marry me, Ghinnah, then my parents and I will do whatever we can to help you.”
Lifting her chin at him, Ghinnah asked, “If I become your wife, will you ever reject me and put me aside?”
“No.” Yepheth seemed genuinely shocked. “If you marry me, then how could I put you aside? Whatever happens, I’d never reject you.”
Ghinnah stared at him for a long instant, then put out her hand. Yepheth smiled. He was, Annah thought, almost as handsome as Shem. Clasping Ghinnah’s hand, Yepheth addressed the smoldering Qeb-al. “I’ll offer you the same terms my brother offered for his wife: five hundred sheep and half my grain from this past season. Everything’s counted and waiting, if you agree.”
“And,” Naomi added, “as it was with Ma’adannah, you must agree that Ghinnah may bring with her only as much as she can carry in her arms. Nothing more.”
Qeb-al stared at Yepheth as if he were mad. “You’d give me five hundred sheep?”
“And half my grain,” Yepheth reminded him. “As my mother said, she is to bring only what she can carry in her arms.”
Etsah frowned. “What do you mean, ‘only what she can carry in her arms’?”
“Hush!” Qeb-al snapped. To Yepheth, he replied, “I agree. You’re holding hands now, so she’s yours. Have many sons and long lives. Now, I’ll take the sheep and the grain.”
“Annah.” Ghinnah released Yepheth’s hand and motioned furtively to Annah. Stepping apart from the others, she whispered, “What did you carry away from your family?”
“One of my mother’s best tunics, her hair bindings, and my father’s tools.”
Ghinnah laughed softly, snatching Annah’s hand. “I need your help.”
“I can’t carry anything for you.”
“No, but you can load my arms.”
Marching over to Qeb-al’s wooden cart, Ghinnah loosened its protective leather cover.
Qeb-al protested. “What are you doing?”
“Fulfilling my portion of the agreement,” Ghinnah answered defiantly. “I’m taking what I can carry in my arms. Annah, hold these until I’m ready for them.” Rummaging through the goods in the cart, Ghinnah dislodged a small red storage box.
Etsah screeched, “You can’t take that!”
“But you took it from my father’s house,” Ghinnah argued. “I’m only taking what should have been mine when he died.”
Ghinnah next removed a smaller, more elaborately painted storage box. Qeb-al started to object, but Yepheth, Shem, and Khawm moved closer, and he shut his mouth. Annah bit her lip, hiding a smile.
Ghinnah nudged Annah impatiently. “Ma’adannah, take this one too.” Turning yet again, she tugged out a third, larger box. The effort made her sweat.
“You can’t possibly carry all those,” Qeb-al told the girl smugly. “If you drop anything, it will be mine again.”
“You will see what I can carry,” Ghinnah answered with equal confidence, her clear eyes wide. “Even if I break both my arms, I will have what belonged to my parents.” She jumped from the cart, facing the corner of the lodge. Grabbing the largest box, she said, “Ma’adannah, give me that box first, then the small one on top.”
She’s going to drop them. They’re too heavy. But Annah complied.
Balancing the boxes, Ghinnah gasped, “I have them. But I can’t see.”
“Forward,” Annah urged her. “I will tell you when to turn.”
Ghinnah struggled forward, sweating, followed by Yepheth.
“You can’t help her!” Qeb-al cried. “And if she drops them, they’re mine!”
“If she drops them, she can try two boxes instead,” Khawm answered, taunting Qeb-al with his peculiar cackle.
“Turn!” Annah called to Ghinnah as they reached the corner of the lodge. Blindly Ghinnah obeyed, sweat streaming down her face.
“Don’t you dare,” Shem said sharply. Annah saw him step in front of the boy-child, Saiyr, who had apparently tried to trip Ghinnah to make her fall.
By now, Ghinnah was staggering.
“Three steps, then turn,” Yepheth told her. She grunted, managed three steps, turned, then dropped all three boxes inside the lodge, falling on top of them. Yepheth rushed to help her, with Annah just behind him. They hauled her to her feet.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Annah asked.
Very softly, Ghinnah said, “I hurt … everywhere.”
“You probably crippled yourself,” Qeb-al told her, as if he hoped it was true.
Yepheth gave the flushed trader a long, even stare. Calmly he said, “Bring your ox and your cart to the back of the lodge. My brothers and I will bring your grain and sheep so you can leave at once.”
As Yepheth led Qeb-al and his family away from the lodge, Annah heard a persistent tapping from behind Methuwshelakh’s screen. He’s awake, Annah realized, and he must be worried. She started toward the old man’s pallet to reassure him, but Noakh overtook her. “Don’t worry, daughter. I’ll speak to the father of my fathers. Stay with your sister.”
Ghinnah is now my sister, Annah thought, delighted.
“Annah.” Naomi gave her a tapering clay vial. “Here; this oil should ease Ghinnah’s pain. And I’ll brew some herbs.” Clucking her tongue regretfully, Naomi added, “She won’t be able to move tomorrow.”
Ghinnah groaned. “I don’t think I can move now.” But she smiled at Annah and whispered, “My husband does speak after all.”
“When it’s important,” Annah agreed.
“Well, I’m glad it was important to him that Qeb-al should leave. And Etsah should be happy; she’s always wanted to settle down and raise grain and sheep. But they’ll have to force Pa-sak and Saiyr to help them.” She winced. “Ow, my neck.”
“And your arms, and your legs, and your mind, I’m sure,” Annah scolded gently, rubbing the aromatic oil on Ghinnah’s neck and arms. “You shouldn’t have carried those boxes. They were too heavy.”
“But worth the pain,” Ghinnah said, taking some of the fragrant oil in her palms to rub on her shoulders. “My mother’s clothes, her ornaments, her weaving weights, and my father’s sunstones are in those boxes.”
“Weaving weights?”
“My mother used to weave garments for wealthy people in our city who were too far above the rest of us to wear plain leather. The weaving weights hold the threads taut at the bottom of the frame. They’ve been unused since her death. Etsah wanted to learn to weave, but she couldn’t bear learning from me.”
“And what are sunstones?”
Biting her lip, Ghinnah rubbed some of the oil into her legs. “Sunstones are like cold fire—a great mystery. My father never let me touch them.”
“Cold fire?” Naomi asked, dubious, offering Ghinnah a cup of pungent, steaming, brewed herbs.
“I’ll show them to you,” Ghinnah offered, painfully reaching for the smallest, most elaborately painted box.
“No, you can show us later,” Naomi told her firmly. “I want you to drink this brew. And I’ll finish preparing our midday meal.”
By now, Noakh was carrying Methuwshelakh out from behind the screen. The ancient man was alert, watching Ghinnah. “I knew she would stay,” he announced in whispery, cheery self-congratulation.
Swiftly Annah gathered fleeces and pillows for the ancient man’s comfort.
Noakh smiled at her. “Thank you, daughter.”
Unable to turn her head, Ghinnah crept over to a mat and knelt down. She reeked of the aromatic oil, and she could barely move, but her eyes sparkled. Ghinnah loved Methuwshelakh’s company. Whenever he spoke, she listened to his every word. It seemed to Annah that Ghinnah was accepting her marriage and her new family.
Resting in a place of honor, Methuwshelakh lifted a frail hand toward Ghinnah, rasping happily. “Child … now I will tell you. When I was … about your age … my father took me on a journey … to visit the Father of All. At that time … the Father of All was … in his seventh kentum. Seven generations before me!”
Ghinnah stared at Methuwshelakh, confused. “The Father of All, Ancient One?”
Sighing, Methuwshelakh said, “You don’t believe … the stories of old. The Father of all my Fathers … was created from clay, near a river. His first breath … was the breath of the Word—the Most High. And his color was … your color … red in the brown of his face … even in his old age. He was Adam … for the red in his face.”
As she helped Naomi set out dishes of lentils, flat bread, and olives, Annah listened, fascinated. Eager to hear more, she asked. “Did you meet Havah, the wife of Adam?”
“The same Havah.” Methuwshelakh sighed again, his eyes faraway. “She was … even in her old age … everything lovely and … pleasing in a woman. The Father of All called her … his Mischief … and Life-giver. Later, when she departed this life … he no longer cared … to live. One day … he said he was tired. He went to sleep … because he missed her.”
When Ghinnah continued to stare at him, clearly bewildered, the ancient man said, “You do not believe. But one day … you will remember what I have said. And … I tell you now … it is good to see … Adam’s color … in your face.”
Annah knelt beside Ghinnah and smiled, leaning over to whisper in her ear, “Now you are thinking, My husband’s family is more than a little strange.”
Unable to turn her head to look at Annah, Ghinnah widened her eyes, whispering, “How did you know?”
“Because,” Annah replied, “that’s what I thought on my first morning here, when I saw everything in the pen behind the lodge.”
Ghinnah bit her lip, surprised and uncertain. Pleased, Annah thought, Perhaps you are wondering whether or not you should believe the stories of old. But you wouldn’t dare to call our Methuwshelakh a liar, even in your own mind. I think you’ll eventually believe in the Most High. Smiling, she helped Naomi serve their food.
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