“But what if Hannah remains kind and loving? How do I make her miserable?” That thought had been foreign to her when she first wed Elkanah, but in the past year she had stopped longing for Hannah’s acceptance. She simply wanted to replace her and thought with Eitan’s birth she would.
“If Elkanah does not succumb to your praise, then turn your criticism on Hannah. But not when Elkanah can hear or see you. You must be subtle, my daughter.” Yafa walked to the basket where Eitan still slept peacefully, unaware of the turmoil swirling in Peninnah’s heart and the plans her mother had used to tempt her out of bed. Was her mother right? Could she win Elkanah’s love by stealing it from Hannah?
Peninnah slid off the bed and walked to the door to find the porridge her mother had made. She paused at the threshold and looked back at her mother and son, wondering if she could do as Yafa suggested. She had always voiced her opinions, but she had never been mean. Had she?
“They say,” her mother said softly, “that hardship either makes a person stronger or more bitter. It rarely makes them sweeter.”
Peninnah read the truth in her mother’s dark eyes. Yafa had grown stronger during years of Assir’s abuse, though she had never revealed the truth to anyone but Peninnah. The knowledge had been impossible to ignore when her father came home drunk and raged at her mother. Peninnah was glad he could not hurt her anymore.
But Elkanah would not be that way. Would he? If she mistreated his favorite wife, would he lash out at her as her father had done?
“Peninnah, I do not know why you are thinking about this so much. Everyone knows that Hannah wants children but cannot have them.”
Peninnah said nothing.
“But you can.”
“So? What am I supposed to do with this information that everyone knows?” Her stomach growled louder, and this time she stepped into the hallway.
“Just do as Hagar did to Sarah every chance you get. I will let you figure out a way.”
Hannah walked with Nava, her maidservant, to the large garden behind the house, each of them carrying a basket, one for produce, one for weeds. It had taken Hannah some time to adjust to having a ten-year-old girl in the house.
“But it is just the two of us,” she had objected to Elkanah when he proposed the idea.
“Consider her my gift to you.” His insistence had silenced any further protest on Hannah’s part, but secretly she wondered if he was giving her the maid as a possible substitute, to bear a child for her when the girl came of age. Nava was pretty, her dark, curly hair pinned back beneath a scarf, her olive complexion pink from exposure to the sun. Had no one ever taught her to cover her face when she was out tending the garden? But her unruly hair took up most of the scarf’s material.
Hannah shook herself, condemning her wayward thoughts. She could not imagine having yet another wife to contend with for Elkanah’s affection. She would rather remain childless. Her heart stirred at that thought, and she knew she was lying to herself.
Elkanah had also offered to give her a cook once Yafa had moved in to help Peninnah with all of the daily tasks.
“What would I do with a cook?” She had looked from him to Nava, who was still adjustment enough, and smiled. “I’m sure between the two of us, Nava and I can make some fine meals for you, don’t you agree, Nava?”
Hannah glanced at the girl now, grateful that she had answered affirmatively and had turned out to be someone Hannah could trust. She stopped at the first row of leeks and sank to her knees, used a sharpened stick to loosen the soil, and then pulled the ripe stalks from the ground.
Nava took the other end of the row and began pulling weeds from between the plants. Hannah worked in silence, though she could not resist a glance toward Peninnah’s house, which was thankfully out of her line of vision. Another kindness Elkanah had given her. Not only a maid, but a separate home far enough from his other wife to keep peace between them. Though peace was far from what Hannah felt in Peninnah’s presence.
“Peninnah will go up to the feast and bring the baby, won’t she?” Nava asked as she drew closer to the middle of the row. Had the girl noticed her looking in the direction of Peninnah’s house?
Hannah nodded in answer to Nava’s question. “Most likely Peninnah will go with us. She wouldn’t want to risk missing the chance for time with Elkanah, and when we go to a feast, we all go together.” Her jaw clenched with the admission. The last time they’d gone up to a feast, Peninnah had been heavy with child, and though Hannah had tried to make polite conversation with her, she had said little and looked away with disdain.
“Peninnah is not a nice person,” Nava said, keeping her voice low.
Hannah looked at her maid. “No, she is not.” Admitting it did little good, but it helped to voice her feelings.
Nava pushed a strand of that unruly hair behind her ear and yanked at another weed. “I heard at market a few days ago that my mother has returned to her father’s house.”
Hannah turned at the change of subject, saw Nava bite her lip and her expression grow troubled. “Tell me,” Hannah said.
Nava leaned back on her heels and drew in a breath. “I don’t understand why she couldn’t have come for me or sent me to live with my grandparents. Why let my father sell me to that man?” She shivered, and Hannah paused in her work to touch the girl’s arm.
“You are safe now, Nava.”
“Thank you, mistress.” She looked away. “They say my father was killed when he went to look for work from the Canaanites.”
Hannah gasped. “I did not know this. Was it recent?” The leek dangled from her fingers as she waited, seeing the sudden anguish in the girl’s eyes.
“I heard it from the wife of my former master. It happened before Elkanah purchased me a few months ago.” She broke eye contact and continued attacking the weeds.
Hannah turned her attention back to the garden. The girl had seen far more than she should have at such a young age. But she had been in service for five years, a mere child when she was sold.
She is still a child. Hardly fit for a maid, but perhaps Elkanah wanted to give Hannah someone to care for as much as he wanted to give Nava a place of safety. The thought brought a surge of love for him, and she wished in that moment she could tell him so.
She moved to the row of cucumbers. “I am sorry about your father,” she said at last. “I wish he had come to someone in Israel for help a long time ago. I wish you didn’t have to live through what you did. Elkanah might have hired him to work the fields. He could have stayed safe in Israel under a kind master.”
“My father was a proud man—at least that was what my mother said of him the last time I saw her.” Nava’s voice was tinged with hurt. “If he had followed the law, Ima said, he wouldn’t have sold his children into slavery. He would have sold himself first—or at least sought work as a hireling.”
“You were five then and now you are ten. And you have not known your mother’s love in those five years,” she said as a statement of fact.
Nava nodded. “The woman I worked for tried to be kind—when her husband was not around.”
Hannah brushed the dirt from a fat cucumber. She faced Nava. “When you come of age and your seven years of service to me are finished, I will find a husband for you.”
Nava looked up. Her eyes grew wide, almost fearful. Was she afraid of freedom?
“In the meantime, I shall teach you how to manage a house. Perhaps we will find someone when you are sixteen, and by seventeen or eighteen you will be ready.” Though it pained her to think of losing the girl she had begun to love, she could not withhold from her the joy of family. “I am glad Elkanah found you before your former master tried to sell you to work in the tabernacle.”
Elkanah had come upon Hophni and the girl’s master the last time he worked in Shiloh. He had told Hannah that Nava’s plight was one he could not ignore. Hannah shivered, though the day was warm. Would Raziela have been able to protect a child from Hophni’s roving ways?
&n
bsp; Nava touched Hannah’s arm, then quickly stopped herself. Her face flushed and she swallowed. “I can never thank your husband enough, mistress. I know what would have become of me there.” Tears skimmed her dark lashes. “I would bear a child for you if you asked it of me, but I am very grateful that I will not be subject to the priests’ ways.”
Hannah blinked at the comment. “You are too young to understand such things and much too young to be bearing children.” She heard the shock in her own voice, and her gaze softened as she looked at Nava’s crestfallen face. “I’m sorry, Nava. In time we can discuss these things again, but right now I want you to simply feel safe and learn the ways of caring for a home. I will teach you to weave and spin and dye thread and even take you to watch my father make pottery.” She warmed to the thought, for the girl was so young Hannah felt as though she were caring for a daughter.
“That is very kind of you,” Nava said. “But I would still be willing to bear a child for you if you would like me to when the time comes. When I am older.”
Hannah looked at the child, on the cusp of womanhood, and smiled. “Thank you for such a kind offer, Nava. I know it is within my right to ask it of you, but . . .” She waited until the girl met her gaze. “If God sees fit to give me children, they will come from His hand, not mine. I will not give a maid to my husband for the sole purpose of bearing a child. We would be at odds with each other, and your success would not erase my hurt, nor would Peninnah stop disdaining my barrenness.” She sighed. “But thank you.”
“I would do anything for you, mistress.” How naïve the child seemed at times, and yet so mature for her age at others. How much had she seen in her short ten years of life? The thought troubled Hannah.
They continued to garden, but Hannah’s thoughts were not on the food or on Nava or even on having children. They had swirled back to Peninnah and how they would be looked upon as a complete family once they arrived in Shiloh. She and Peninnah might even be forced to share a tent with Elkanah, sleeping under the stars.
Please, Adonai, do not put me through that. Don’t let my heart be torn in two in the very place where I go to find healing. How can I worship You if that woman is every moment in my presence?
She listened, hoping for some sense in her spirit that God had heard, but the only sound blotting out her ragged, heartfelt prayers was Nava’s soft singing.
20
Hannah inspected the figs and raisins drying in the sun, then covered them with a cloth to keep the flies away. The harvest of fruits and plowing of fields intermingled in this seventh month of Tishri, with the Festival of Trumpets, the Sabbath assembly on the first day, and the Day of Atonement on the tenth.
The harvest of grapes and figs and pomegranates and bananas would complete their winter stores. Elkanah and his brothers hurried to finish the plowing before the early rains started and Sukkot, the Festival of Booths, began on the fifteenth day, only three days hence.
She smiled, joy washing over her. She always felt thus at this time of year, despite her trials. How blessed of Adonai they were—blessed in their crops, in their livestock, and especially in knowing that soon seven days of rejoicing were about to be upon them. Yet she had so much left to do!
She tilted her head and straightened at the sound of whistling. She would recognize Elkanah’s melodic tone anywhere. She turned, saw him hurrying toward her, and ran to meet him in the courtyard.
When he reached her side, he grabbed her about the waist and swung her around. “We finished the plowing,” he said, smiling. It was the job he liked the least, and his sigh of relief as he glanced at the sky made her laugh.
“It is good,” she said, following his gaze, “because rain or not, we must plan to leave for Shiloh tomorrow.”
He laughed with her, kissed her soundly, and set her feet on the stone court. “Yes, and there is much yet to gather.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “I am hungry, though.” He looked so hopeful, she chuckled and took his hand, leading him into the house.
“Then it is time to feed you.”
“Oh, good. I feared you might not be ready yet, as I am earlier than usual.”
She looked at him. “Even if I wasn’t prepared, I would find a way to fill your belly.” His smile caused her heart to sing, and she quickly kissed his cheek. “Now sit and we will eat together.”
He did as she said, and she hurried into the cooking room and gave Nava instructions to bring the stew. She returned to join him, for once glad to have someone else serve them.
He prayed over the food, thanking Adonai for their provisions, then broke the bread and handed a piece to her. He dipped his into the pot and ate before he spoke again. “Tahath and I will gather the animals for the offerings and the sacrifices, and for the sin and freewill offerings. I am hoping you and Dana can handle the food we will eat in celebration?”
“Of course—though will Peninnah gather her own food?” She realized that he was trying to figure out how to handle both women at this festival now that he had a son as well as two wives.
“Yes, Peninnah will handle her own food and fronds for booth making.” He met her gaze. “Make yours big enough for both of us.”
She nodded, relief flooding her.
“I am making a special offering, though I will not explain it to the priests.” He seemed preoccupied with the stew in front of them. “One for us—for God to bless your womb.”
She could not meet his gaze, touched by his kindness, and yet . . . was such a sacrifice worth making? They had prayed for so long, offered so much, even sacrificed their marriage to achieve what she could not give him.
He studied her above the rim of his cup, then set it down and clasped his hands in his lap. “I cannot stop trying, Hannah. I don’t want you to give up hope.”
I already have. “It is hard to keep hoping when it is such an unlikely thing.”
He took her hand. “I love you, Hannah. You know Peninnah is only a childbearer until you can bear.”
She nodded. “It is kind of you.”
He cleared his throat and seemed to grow uncomfortable. “I do not plan to stay with Peninnah at the festival.”
“She will not like that.”
“She will not be the one to decide.” He looked intently at her a moment, then released her hand to continue eating. “It will be a joyous feast.”
“Yes.”
“But you are not happy?” How easily he could read her expressions.
She smiled. “Only thinking about all that there is yet to do.”
“And you are not concerned about Peninnah? Things will be all right between you?” He sounded so vulnerable.
She touched his arm. “If God could protect our ancestors in the wilderness for forty years, He can protect our hearts from the hurts of our families.” She smiled as she twisted off another piece of the bread. “Do not fret about Peninnah or your family. Even if the whole week is one of frustration when Peninnah is near, when you come to my booth at night, I will give you plenty of reasons to laugh again.”
The next day, Hannah woke before dawn and hurried to finish loading the carts already filled with branches for booth making. She and Nava led the donkey down the low hill and joined Dana’s family, and as they walked, others from the town and tribes joined them. She looked for her parents in the crowd and quickly embraced her mother and sisters-in-law.
But the clans soon divided as the path narrowed, and Hannah found herself walking with Dana, helping with Dana’s children, as Nava led the donkey up ahead of them. Peninnah and her mother followed behind with Galia and the rest of Elkanah’s family. Galia held Peninnah’s son, and Hannah could not help but hear the joyous exclamations coming from her mouth.
“I just knew you would be able to give Elkanah an heir,” Galia said without any attempt at being quiet, as if she wanted Hannah to hear.
“It is my pleasure, Mother Galia. I would do anything to please your son.” Hannah could hardly believe the words gushing from Peninnah’s lips.
&nb
sp; “Obviously, they are speaking loud so that I will hear them,” Hannah whispered to Dana. “But Peninnah is anything but happy, if the truth were known.” She met Dana’s gaze.
“Shall we walk ahead a bit?” Dana asked, taking her arm.
Hannah nodded. Dana let her boys run ahead to join their father, obviously weary of continually fighting their desire.
When they were out of earshot of Peninnah and Galia and Yafa and the others, Hannah released a sigh. “Thank you.” She touched the scarf at her neck, self-conscious. “You are the only one who treats me with kindness.”
Dana smiled. “The others love you too, Hannah. They just fear Galia’s sharp tongue and are too timid to allow her misery to be turned against them. But believe me, it was never you. Galia always wanted Elkanah to marry Yafa’s daughter. It’s not your fault that the man fell in love with you instead.”
Hannah lifted a brow and glanced quickly behind her, making sure they were still in front of the group. “Peninnah was still a child when I married Elkanah. Surely Galia could not have wanted a match with her then?”
“Galia has been Yafa’s champion for many years. You know Assir was abusive to her.”
Hannah shook her head. “I was not aware.”
“Well, he was. And Galia knew it. So she always hoped to help Yafa by marrying one of her sons to Peninnah once she grew up. Oh, and don’t think it was just Yafa who Galia wanted to help. She tried to make many a match for all of her sons, especially Elkanah, even before Peninnah came of age. But none of her sons would listen to her.”
“Until now.”
Dana nodded, her expression sober.
“They are far apart in age.” Hannah’s mind churned with this new knowledge.
“Normally that has nothing to do with marriage. The truth is, neither does love, but Elkanah loved you anyway. You bewitched him.” Dana chuckled.
“I did no such thing and you know it.” But she smiled just the same. Elkanah did love her. Sometimes his love was so intense, she was not sure how to respond.
A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Page 12