A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “Love is a strange thing, my sister.” Dana held her gaze. “Most marriages are made for convenience or political or monetary gain. Yours is a blessed marriage, Hannah, to have the man’s total affection.”

  “And yet I can give him nothing of worth in return.” The words were out before she could stop them. “Forgive me. You are right. I am blessed to have Elkanah.”

  “You two are much like Jacob and Rachel, I think, and eventually Rachel had two sons.” Dana smiled. “Someday you will have more than she did.”

  Hannah simply nodded, not wishing to mention the fact that Rachel had died in childbirth. Perhaps God was sparing her an early death by not giving her children.

  She pondered the thought as they continued to walk. Women from their town joined them here and there, and brave children raced up and down the line of men and women, with mothers shouting at their sons to stay clear of the animals lest they get kicked or trampled.

  Behind her, a baby cried, but Hannah refused to turn around to see if the babe was Peninnah’s. She had managed to ignore taking part in Eitan’s birth and most of his first few months of life. If only that separation could go on forever.

  By late afternoon, when the sun was nearly set, they finally arrived at the familiar tabernacle. She followed the group to the normal spot for Kohathites and began to unload the carts. Elkanah had gone so far as to give Hannah and Peninnah separate carts and donkeys to carry the loads they would need, despite the fact that one would have sufficed. She knew it was guilt that nudged his decisions as he tried to keep her happy, lest Peninnah grow even prouder of her status as mother of his heir.

  She moved to the cart and with Nava’s help gathered armloads of branches. They began the work of putting the long palm fronds close together into the ground to create a wall, fastening them with flaxen cords until they had three walls. At last they placed more branches on top for a partial roof, one that would allow them shelter and a way to look up at the night sky as they rested.

  Some of Hannah’s sisters-in-law began fires to heat the lentil stew they had prepared ahead for the trip, while Hannah and Nava set to mixing the grain they had ground the night before to make into flatbread. Sounds of talking and laughter and a few arguments stirred the air of the camp, with the men in the center, away from the women, engaged in a heated discussion.

  “I wonder what that is about,” Dana said, coming to sit at Hannah’s side.

  “I have no idea. I wonder if it’s about the priests again. Maybe they are worried that their sacrifices are not going to be accepted and end up displeasing to the Lord.” After all, the priests had gained the reputation of ruining many a sacrifice, as Hannah knew too well. Was that why God had never answered her prayers? Would God hold Phinehas’s sin against her?

  She looked up at that moment to better see if Elkanah was among the men arguing, but it was Peninnah she caught sight of—walking purposefully toward her. Her stomach tightened. Whatever the woman wanted, Hannah was certain it could not be good.

  Peninnah held Eitan close, the babe wrapped tightly in a wide swath of wool tied at the shoulder. The noise of the crowd had frightened him, and she wished not for the first time that she had not come. But to stay behind with only her mother for company . . . she couldn’t bear it. Besides, she had hoped for time alone with Elkanah during these seven days of feasting and celebration.

  “There, there, sweet boy,” she cooed as she walked toward Hannah’s booth. Was she doing the right thing? She had thought of little else during the days since her talk with her mother, but how did one try to get in the good graces of her rival with the sole purpose of later betraying her? What evidence did she have that Hannah would even welcome her?

  You are the one who bore Elkanah a son. You hold the heir. Hannah has nothing on you. You are superior to her in every way.

  The thoughts came unexpectedly and sounded like her mother’s voice, though Ima had never said such things. But her mother had made similar comments. And Galia had hinted.

  She patted the baby’s back, speaking softly to him, hoping he would calm to her voice above the noise. She drew closer to Hannah’s booth, but Nava met her at the entrance, blocking her from entering.

  “Is Hannah about?” She tried desperately not to clench her fists or speak through tight lips. Instead, she forced a smile.

  Nava studied her as though they were equals. Tightness filled Peninnah’s chest. The nerve! A child, let alone a slave, would not scrutinize her!

  “I will check for you, mistress.” Nava’s humble reply did not match the skepticism in her gaze, but the girl turned and entered the booth. Low voices could be heard, though Peninnah could not make out the words. At last Hannah emerged, arms crossed as though she was protecting herself from an onslaught.

  “Shalom, Peninnah. Welcome.” She motioned to the area in front of the booth where Nava was setting cushions for both women. “Would you like some water? I’m afraid we have not yet finished unpacking all of the food and drink yet.”

  Peninnah shook her head. She would not be beholden to this woman despite her parched throat. “Thank you, but no.” She knelt on the ground and held Eitan close. His cries had lessened and he had settled into a fitful sleep. “He is fearful of the crowd,” she said for lack of something better to say. “I probably should have waited to bring him, but it is already long past the eight days for his circumcision and Elkanah wanted to make sure it was done by the high priest.” She lifted her chin, looking down her nose at Hannah. She did not add that Elkanah had intended to follow the law and circumcise the child at home on the eighth day or that she had begged him to wait until the feast.

  “I’m happy for you,” Hannah said. “It is good that Eli is willing to do the ceremony for you. He is old, but you can trust him more than you can trust his sons.”

  Peninnah stared at Hannah, her thoughts a mixture of jealousy and frustration. “And how do you know Eli? It is not like he has circumcised your son.” The unintended barb flew from Peninnah’s mouth and, by Hannah’s look, hit its mark. “I’m sorry,” she quickly added. “I meant no harm. Obviously God has chosen not to bless your union with Elkanah. We cannot blame you for feeling left out or forgotten. Elkanah understands.”

  She looked at Eitan then, but not before risking a lengthy gaze at Hannah to see her reaction. Hannah hid her feelings well—at least, she did now. Perhaps she was not as jealous of Peninnah as Peninnah was of her. She inwardly cursed her failure, for she had come here in peace, hoping to get on Hannah’s good side—for a time—and she had already ruined everything.

  “I know Eli because Elkanah and I served at the tabernacle several times in years past. I helped Hophni’s wife with her children and met all of the priests many times. That’s how I know you can trust Eli.” Hannah folded her hands in her lap and smiled. No trace of bitterness or even unkindness.

  “That’s nice.” Peninnah played with the blanket holding Eitan secure. “I must admit, I hate to put him through it. It’s hard for a mother to watch her child suffer.”

  “I am certain he will not remember it when he is older. But I would feel the same in your place.”

  Nava appeared with two clay cups of water and gave one to Hannah, then offered the other to Peninnah, despite her earlier refusal.

  Peninnah looked at the cup and almost declined the offer, but considering how she had already blundered her words, she thanked Nava and took a sip. She looked from Hannah to her son, weighing the option of offering to let her hold him. But her inner battle with jealousy won out. She couldn’t bargain with this woman, as Leah and Rachel had done, or ask to trade the child or even time with him for time with Elkanah. No. She would win Elkanah by subtly making Hannah bitter. Be careful with your barbs, Peninnah. How hard it was to hold her tongue!

  “If you would like to come to the circumcision, the whole family will be there.” It was an olive branch. The least she could do.

  Hannah did not answer for the space of many breaths. “I will speak to Elk
anah of it and see what he wishes. But thank you for the kind offer. Of course, you have already chosen his name.” Hannah tilted her head and leaned closer to see the boy. “Eitan is a fine name.”

  Peninnah hesitated, but at last she lifted the blanket and allowed Hannah to see her son’s face. “It seemed foolish to wait to call him something other than ‘son.’ Especially with the circumcision not coming on the eighth day.”

  Hannah nodded, and Peninnah searched her face for some judgment, some censure, but did not find it.

  “He’s beautiful, Peninnah. I’m sure Elkanah is very proud.”

  At Hannah’s soft smile, Peninnah wondered whether working to keep this woman as her rival was worth the hassle. Was her mother right? Was this really the greatest way to show Elkanah that she was the best wife for him? What if she just asked Hannah to share him more?

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Hannah was saying as she slowly stood, obviously dismissing Peninnah. “I’m sorry I cannot talk longer. I have a few things to finish before the evening meal.”

  “Of course.” Peninnah stood, feeling angry and rejected on many levels. She turned to leave, but Hannah’s words stopped her.

  “Thank you for sharing this time with me, Peninnah, and for allowing me to meet Eitan. I hope you will come again.”

  Peninnah turned and offered a half smile. “I’m sure we will see each other now and then.” She hurried away but felt a sense of triumph. Perhaps Hannah was going to be easier to goad than she imagined. The woman did want a child. And Peninnah had the power to remind her of all she was missing.

  21

  Elkanah ducked his head as he entered Hannah’s booth later that evening. Food and drink had been eaten in each separate booth, and Elkanah had moved from Hannah’s to Peninnah’s booths and then returned to Hannah as the stars began to pop and burst in bright display in the night sky. Mothers had settled the children to sleep, and Elkanah breathed easier now that his time with Peninnah was past for this night. A sigh escaped at the memory of the look she had given him, the questions she had plied him with about the circumcision. As if they hadn’t already discussed the matter at length since the babe was born.

  The booth was small, not allowing him to straighten to his full height, so he crept forward and joined Hannah among the cushions. Her inviting smile sent his earlier frustrations to the wind.

  “You came.” She took his hand as he knelt at her side. “Thank you.”

  He bent low and kissed her. “Nothing could have kept me away.”

  She smiled, and he lay beside her and rested on one elbow to better gaze into her eyes. The small room was lit with one clay lamp, which cast just enough light to see without stumbling.

  She sifted his hair with her fingers and cupped his face. “You are tired.” Her soft gaze made him long to hold her close and never release her.

  “It has been an interesting day.”

  “I saw you among the group of men arguing earlier this afternoon. What was all the strife about?” She continued to stroke his temple, watching him.

  A sigh lifted his chest, but his gaze held hers with intensity. “Many things. Issues always arise about clan troubles, but most of the men are fed up with Hophni and Phinehas and don’t know what to do to stop them from stealing from the Lord.” He paused. “Then I had a lecture from my father for not circumcising my son sooner, and why would I want old Eli to do so? He has a point.”

  “Peninnah stopped by to see me today.” Her change of subject caught him up short.

  “She did?” In the entire year and a half of his marriage to Peninnah, his two wives had barely spoken.

  Hannah nodded. “She invited me to the circumcision. I told her Eli was a man she could trust.” She tilted her head to better look into his eyes. “But why did you not just do the job yourself when the boy was eight days old, as the law prescribes?”

  He closed his eyes, remembering the arguments he had had with Peninnah. Clearly she had not been raised with boys. “She insisted we wait. I should have been firmer with her and obeyed the law. I appeased her by promising to have Eli do it. I have yet to ask him, though.”

  Hannah raised a brow. “Do you think he will refuse?”

  Elkanah shook his head. “No. That does not trouble me. I am more concerned with Hophni and Phinehas and whether they will cause trouble at this feast.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Things have gotten worse, Hannah.”

  She looked at him, eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear. “How so?”

  “You remember Lital, of course?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Well, there are rumors that more women have borne children—Hophni’s and Phinehas’s offspring—only these women have lived through childbirth. So we have a number of illegitimate children living near the tabernacle with their mothers, who were only meant to serve here a short time. Some of the women were even betrothed, but now . . . what man could overlook such a thing? Of course, Hophni and Phinehas deny any wrongdoing and won’t take the women as secondary wives or concubines. The whole priesthood is in chaos, and Eli just sits and wrings his hands as if there is nothing to be done about it.” He fisted both hands, imagining they were wrapped around Phinehas’s thick neck. He blinked the thought away, silently begging Adonai’s forgiveness for having such thoughts.

  “That’s terrible.” Hannah sat up, twisting the belt at her waist, clearly agitated. “Those poor women. And what will become of the children?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If their fathers will allow them to return home, the children could have a place to live, but the rumors are that Raziela and Irit have had to take some of them in as servants while the women are sent home. It is shameful and heartbreaking, and I don’t know what we can possibly do about it.” He took her hands in his. “We must pray more, beloved. We must ask the Lord to give us a deliverer, one who can lead the people back to true worship of Adonai. One who can turn the priesthood into what it is meant to be.”

  Hannah nodded, and tears slowly slipped down her cheeks. How he loved her! She shared his heart for Adonai and his deep concerns for their people. Surely God would hear their prayers. Surely He could see the downward turn of morality in their land, away from all things He had commanded.

  Yet, as Elkanah looked into Hannah’s eyes and brushed away her tears with his thumbs, he was not so sure God was listening to them at all. Hadn’t they prayed for a son for years and years? If God could not grant such a small thing, what made him think He would do something grand like fix what was broken in their entire nation, where chaos often ruled and everyone did what they thought was right in their own eyes?

  Hannah patted his arm and offered him a wobbly smile. “I will continue to pray,” she said softly.

  He nodded his agreement. “And I too.”

  They sat in silence a moment.

  “So Peninnah came to see you today.” By her nod and the set of her jaw, he knew the visit had not been expected or necessarily wanted. “Are you going to come to the circumcision as she asked? You don’t have to come, you understand. But if you want to be there, I would be happy to have you.”

  She exhaled slowly. “I . . . if you will pardon me, my lord, I think I would rather stay away. If you don’t mind.”

  His whole family would be there, and he knew his mother would criticize Hannah’s absence, but he did not say so. “You do whatever seems best to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He pulled her close then, wishing they were not having this conversation and that he was not living in such a miserable time.

  Hannah walked through the camp of the Kohathites with Nava, careful even here, far from the area of the priests, to never go out alone. Elkanah had warned her more than once, and she knew enough to heed his urgings.

  “I can’t believe we go home tomorrow,” Nava said as they walked the edge of the curtained tent that separated the tabernacle from the tribal encampments. “It’s been a good festival.” />
  Hannah nodded. “It has,” she said, though she could not stop the ache she felt in spite of the joy these things should bring. Used to bring.

  “You don’t sound so sure.” Nava gave her a sideways glance. Though the girl had been with her only a year or so, Hannah found herself grateful for her presence and drawn to her easy way of reading Hannah’s expressions.

  “Perhaps not,” she said, smiling. “I will be glad to be home again.” She had come to almost dread this place, though she had to admit, Hophni and Phinehas were better behaved during this festival than in times past, and it was nice to see Raziela again. Even Elkanah’s sacrifice had been accepted as though there had never been a problem between them. And Elkanah had told her how pleased Eli had been to circumcise Eitan. “But you are right. It has been a good feast.” She might as well accept the good, despite Peninnah’s presence in her life now, because she couldn’t change anything. She couldn’t make God give her a child, and she couldn’t expect Elkanah to set Peninnah aside. Not now that she had borne his son.

  They continued walking in silence, then stopped at the sound of voices near a small copse of trees. Hannah stilled and motioned for Nava to listen. Was that not Yafa and Galia? She strained to hear. One of them was weeping. She gave Nava a curious look, but the girl just shook her head, appearing as bewildered as Hannah. Should they approach or back away? It wasn’t proper to listen to another’s private conversation, and yet something held Hannah’s feet to the earth.

  “There, there,” Galia said too loudly. “It surely can’t be as bad as all that.”

  The murmured response was impossible to hear.

  “Well then, I will speak to him. He will listen to his mother. Didn’t I convince him to wed Peninnah?”

  Hannah’s stomach tightened, and a wave of dread swept over her. Was Yafa accusing Elkanah of something that Galia thought she could correct? Which would mean Hannah was somehow to blame yet again. Could she never rid herself of the constant disapproval?