A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Her face grew hot and she turned to go, Nava at her side. “You cannot assume what they meant,” the girl said in an obvious attempt to calm her.

  “If it has to do with Peninnah and Elkanah, you can bet it is a complaint that Elkanah is not spending enough time with Peninnah because he spends his time with me.” She spoke softly, darting glances before and behind. The last thing she needed was for more people, especially family members, to hear her complaints.

  Oh Adonai, have I not endured enough?

  “But you do not know that for sure, mistress. Perhaps Elkanah has offended Yafa in some way or not liked Peninnah’s cooking.” Nava smiled, the action making Hannah giggle.

  “Or maybe Yafa thinks the baby is too fat and it’s somehow Elkanah’s fault that Peninnah feeds him too much.” They both laughed at Hannah’s comment, knowing the words were ridiculous but needing something humorous to relieve the tension.

  “I wish I could question Yafa about it,” Hannah said, suddenly growing sober. She glanced Nava’s way. “I don’t like the situation, nor do I like Peninnah very much.” She leaned close, her voice a whisper. “But if I have done something to cause them pain—”

  “What could you have possibly done? You are Elkanah’s first wife. You have nothing to apologize to them for, and it is your right to expect more time with your husband.” Nava pushed her hair away from her face. “Forgive me for being so bold, mistress, but whatever Yafa said to Galia is not your concern. If Galia chooses to talk to her son, then ask Elkanah what she wanted. If he refuses to tell you, then I guess it was not yours to know.”

  They reached Hannah’s booth and entered it. Hannah sank onto one of the cushions. “For such a young woman, you are wiser than you know, Nava.” She rubbed her temples, feeling the start of a headache. “But one thing I know. Whatever Yafa is up to, I don’t think she is a good influence on her daughter. I think her daughter has been spoiled all of her life and given what she wants, and now she is trying to control Elkanah the way Yafa controls her.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, suddenly weary of the conversation, of her situation, of every troubling thing in her life. She took a long drink of the cool water Nava handed to her and tried to blot out the frustration of sharing a husband, dealing with a controlling mother-in-law, and wishing Elkanah could find a way to make Israel holy and righteous again.

  If only there was something she could do to fix her life. She nearly laughed at the foolish thought. What could one woman possibly do to save her family, let alone her nation?

  22

  Three Years Later

  The sound of a newborn’s cry split the air, and even from the distance of Hannah’s house, she could not help but hear. So Peninnah had given birth to a third child. And married less than five years.

  “It’s a boy!” Yafa’s shout drowned out the baby’s wail.

  Another boy. A boy who would soon be carried out to the courtyard for Elkanah to bless on his knee, while Peninnah stayed in her room, attended to by her mother, mother-in-law, and sisters-in-law.

  Except for Dana. Faithful Dana. And Nava, of course. One a sister-in-law, one a servant, but both the only true friends Hannah had outside of her brothers and their wives. She would lose Nava soon, though. At thirteen, the girl was nearly ready to marry, though in truth she still had four years left to serve Hannah. She glanced at the girl. If the right young man came along . . .

  “A healthy, beautiful son, Elkanah.” Yafa’s shrill voice, loud enough to carry straight to Hannah’s heart, interrupted her melancholy.

  She moved to the window to see what she could of Peninnah’s house, now larger than hers, just beyond the trees. But what need did Hannah have of more rooms when she had no children to fill them? The ache intensified, and despite her best efforts to fight the feeling, she turned away and went to her chamber, curling into a ball on her bed. Tears came, but she cared not. No one was here to see but Nava.

  Oh Adonai, why? And now Peninnah has one more reason to lift her haughty chin and look down on me. My life is worthless.

  A great sob escaped, and she covered her mouth to stifle it. Even here in her own home she could not know who might listen beneath the windows. Soon Peninnah would likely send Eitan to spy on her, something Hannah would not have thought her capable of doing but for the menacing way she looked at Hannah and the constant hint of glee in her gaze.

  What good was she to Elkanah or his household? She should find a way to return to her father, ketubah protection or not. Let Peninnah have him. Wasn’t that her goal in all of this? Didn’t she make Elkanah’s life miserable because of Hannah’s presence? Now that he had a fruitful wife and sons to carry his name, he had no need of her.

  The thought caused her whole body to still as one idea turned to another. She sat up and got her bearings, then moved across the room once her limbs had steadied. Nava was in the cooking rooms, and Hannah slipped past her and left the house. She walked on and on, away from the commotion coming from Peninnah’s house, past Dana’s home, to the river where she bathed and washed.

  She passed the familiar trees and the place where they usually stopped to work. Her feet carried her ever farther until she came to that place where they had found Lital those many years ago. In the past, she’d had no desire to revisit it.

  But now . . .

  She sank to the dirt where the girl’s body once laid. Underbrush had filled in to the point that she almost did not recognize the spot, but the bluff near the river was a landmark she clearly remembered.

  She sifted the ground with her fingers as though looking for treasure stones, as she had done for her father’s pottery business in those innocent days before she realized the corrupt world in which she lived. But all that remained were slugs and worms and dirt and leaves fallen from some of the oak trees.

  Tears fell in drops as though she were standing in a storm, her heart burning within her. Oh Adonai. Do You even listen to my prayers? I ask and I ask and I beg and I plead, and nothing changes. I see my sister-wife reaping blessing upon blessing while I must simply watch. She’s stealing Elkanah from me, Lord.

  She tasted the salt of her tears and knelt, face to the damp ground, allowing them to fall unhindered. Did God really hear the prayers of His people? If He did, why was He always so slow to respond? She had waited years and more years and endured the displeasure of her husband’s family and the taunts of the younger wife for so long.

  Exhausted emotionally and physically, she slowly rose to her knees, then stood. She turned and walked to the river. If she fell in—the current was swift, the water deep and rocky here—she would not survive without help.

  Right now there was no one to help Hannah. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. And the river beckoned.

  Elkanah took the boy from Yafa and looked down at the swaddled bundle into the face of his new son, seeing glimpses of Peninnah’s face in the infant nose and mouth. May you grow to be godly—and not like your mother. That he could think such a thing at this blessed time troubled him. Was he even man enough to teach the boy Adonai’s ways? The weight of fatherhood should have hit him much sooner, he knew, but somehow with three boys now looking to him for guidance, the challenge seemed greater. More daunting.

  How do I help them to know You, Adonai? Sometimes I don’t understand You myself.

  The thought suddenly troubled him, but not for Peninnah’s sake or even the child’s. It was Hannah whose father was known for his devotion to Adonai. He should be blessed with grandsons from Hannah, and yet he endured Elkanah’s decision to beget sons by another wife. What must the man think of him?

  He studied the boy. Not much was visible except his head, but Elkanah accepted Yafa’s word that he was perfect and healthy. The boy’s mouth moved in a soft mewling, and he turned as though searching for his mother.

  “You must bless him, my son.” His mother’s insistent voice grated. He knew what was expected of him. Hadn’t he always done the expected thing? And yet what good had it do
ne him, truly? For the one thing he had wanted most—to please Hannah—was the one area where he had failed.

  He glanced around. Hannah never attended Peninnah’s births. But the noise in the courtyard and the shouts Yafa had made coming from inside the house had surely carried to Hannah. He could not keep them so far apart that they were in separate towns.

  Oh Hannah, what is this doing to you?

  His mother cleared her throat, bringing his thoughts to attention. He held the boy on his knee and looked from him to the crowd of relatives and neighbors. “May you be blessed of Adonai, my son. May you prosper and always obey the Lord every day of your life.”

  He would say more at the circumcision, but for now, all he could think of was going to Hannah to comfort her. He handed the boy, whose name would be given in eight days, over to Yafa, who beamed with pride at this newest grandson. He was happy for her in a certain sense. At least she had purpose in helping Peninnah.

  But suddenly he needed to be anywhere but here.

  He abruptly stood. “I have to go,” he said to his father and brothers.

  “But your son is just born. We are here to celebrate,” Jeroham said. He exchanged a look with Elkanah’s mother.

  “Your father is right, son. You must stay with your wife and newborn son. At least go in and see Peninnah and stay for the food the women have prepared.” Galia gave him an accusing look.

  Something inside him recoiled. He was tired of doing everything they wanted. Hannah needed him too, especially on such a difficult day.

  “I have things I must do,” he said, moving away from the group. “If I can, I will be back.” He hurried off before his family could object, though not before his mother’s shouts insistently trailed after him.

  Hannah stared at the water, listening to the soothing rush of the spray as it cascaded over the rocks several steps from where she stood. Elkanah would be celebrating the birth by now, the whole family participating in a joyous feast, while Peninnah stayed in the birthing room nursing her son.

  The thought brought instant pain, like that of a thorn piercing her skin, only deeper. There must be ways she could be more useful to Elkanah to keep him near. Her weaving did bring in a fair price, so at least she was adding to the family’s wealth rather than simply exhausting its resources. But the sense of worthlessness lingered. Did Elkanah love her still? Did anyone truly care?

  She glanced heavenward. Bright blue sky with wisps of white met her gaze.

  Oh Adonai, why was I born? What purpose do You have for me? If I’m not to be a mother, then what is left?

  She sank to her knees in the rough terrain, scooped up handfuls of dirt, and let it sift through her fingers into her hair. Grief, as though she had lost a loved one, filled the already blooming ache in her soul.

  Why does she beget child after child and yet I am forgotten? Why won’t You remember me as You did Sarah and Rebekah and Rachel?

  “Hannah?” Elkanah’s voice made her heart leap, and she jumped up in surprise. “Oh Hannah, what are you doing here?”

  She looked down at her dirty tunic and tried to brush the earth from her hair, to no avail. She would have to go to the quieter part of the river and bathe before the day was out.

  “You’ve been crying.” He stepped closer and pulled her to him.

  They stood in silence for several moments, her head pressed against his chest, feeling the pulse of his beating heart.

  “It’s all right, beloved,” he said against her ear. “I know days like this are painful. But we must overcome them together.”

  “Overcome them?” She leaned back and searched his face. “Unless you stay away from her, Peninnah will continue to bear children. We cannot overcome that.”

  “We can overcome the hurt. You are of much value to me. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

  “I know.” She looked at her feet. “But I am of little worth to you, Elkanah. My weaving is not reason enough to keep a wife.” There, she had said it. Despite what her father had commanded be put in the ketubah, Elkanah could find a way out. She could give him one. She could offer to leave.

  “I don’t need a reason to keep you as my wife, Hannah.” His tone had taken on a sterner edge. “I do not love you less because you have not given me children. What can a son give you that I do not? A son grows up and marries and loves a wife more than his mother. As I love you more than mine. Never forget that.”

  She nodded, but tears stopped her from speaking again. The sound of the river behind them reminded her again of the temptation to disappear into it. But Elkanah’s arms around her now sent the reasons fleeing.

  “Let’s go home, beloved.” Elkanah placed a hand on her back.

  “I really must bathe before I return to any family gathering.” She pointed to her hair, and he seemed to notice her clothes for the first time.

  He clearly knew she’d been grieving, but he said nothing more of it. “Then we will gather what you need and I will go with you.” He looked at her with a spark of mischief in his eyes.

  Suddenly she was glad she had resisted her temptation, despite her grief. At least she had Elkanah’s love. Even if she couldn’t give him a child, having a husband’s love was worth something.

  23

  Peninnah carried a basket of necessary baby things along with three-month-old Aniah as she walked toward Galia’s large home. Her mother had stayed behind with Eitan and Hevel, a blessing for which Peninnah was grateful. Her mother’s help was one of the few things she could count on these days—certainly not on Elkanah, and she knew Hannah was the reason.

  The thought of Hannah brought the sting of envy to her heart, as it did often of late. Especially since Aniah’s circumcision. Elkanah seemed to have disappeared from her life since that day, and Peninnah wanted to know why. Certainly Galia would be able to help, but as she passed Hannah’s house and spotted Dana’s home not far from it, she stopped. Hannah would know more than Galia would. Dana might also know, but dare she approach her? She was tired of feeling like second wife to a barren woman. That woman was taking too much of her husband’s time, and she was not going to put up with it any longer.

  Decision made, she changed direction and headed up the hill to Dana’s house. She would try her sister-in-law first. But as she neared the courtyard, she found Hannah and Dana both spinning and weaving, while Dana’s youngest slept peacefully in a basket nearby.

  She hesitated. They had noticed her. She didn’t miss the way Hannah straightened, her shoulders tensing, nor the skeptical look on Dana’s face. She should whirl about and go home. This was completely foolish.

  “Peninnah,” Hannah said, breaking the awkward silence, “have you brought Aniah?” Her voice held a cheerful quality, but one look into her eyes told Peninnah the tone was not genuine. Hannah didn’t want her here, but now that she was, she would want to know the purpose for her visit.

  Why could she never seem to choose the right time in her attempts to wound this woman? How was it possible that Hannah always managed to smile and treat her with kindness?

  “Come, let us see him,” Dana said, interrupting her irritation and convincing her to push forward.

  She stepped through the gate into the stone courtyard and approached Dana first. She lowered Aniah and lifted the blanket from his face.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful. Hannah, come and see.” Dana’s exclamation softened the awkwardness in the air. A moment passed as Hannah stopped a line of weaving and came to peer at Peninnah’s son.

  “Yes, he is a fine boy,” Hannah said. “He has Elkanah’s chin.” How she could say that when Elkanah always wore a beard in the manner of the Hebrew custom, Peninnah wondered. She gave Hannah a curious look.

  “Of course you would know more about how our husband looks than I, as he spends his every free moment at your side.” She flung the gibe, not caring that both Dana’s and Hannah’s eyes widened as though the words came as a shock.

  “Elkanah works long hours in the fields with Tahath,” Dana sai
d before Hannah could reply. “Sometimes they don’t even come home at night because of the needs of the sheep.”

  “But when he is home, he stays with her.” She pointed one long, accusing finger at Hannah. “What I can’t understand is why he finds her company so pleasing. It’s not like she’s given him children to sit on his knee or chase through the yard.”

  Peninnah watched Hannah’s expression, but the woman merely returned to the loom and picked up her weaving, not saying a word.

  “I think you should leave,” Dana said, standing and facing Peninnah. “Whatever reason you came for, you are finished now. You don’t understand at all what you are talking about.” It was Dana’s turn to point a finger, but she pointed it toward the gate and indicated that Peninnah had better turn around and march through it.

  “Fine. Think what you want,” she said, hiding the anger brewing deep within her. “I will simply get Galia or Jeroham to remind Elkanah of his marital duties.”

  She held Aniah close and turned. How foolish could she be? What had possibly possessed her to be so cruel? She was never going to get Hannah to encourage Elkanah to share his time equally if she kept badgering the woman.

  She stepped through the gate and headed back down the hill. Perhaps a visit with Galia would soothe her feelings. It was better than returning home so soon to her mother and two whiny sons. She released a sigh. Life was simply not fair.

  The walk to Galia’s house took longer than she expected, and she’d had to stop to feed Aniah and change his linens along the way. The sun shone high in the sky by the time she arrived, and for a moment that same awkwardness crept over her. Why had she come? She should have stayed home and worked with her mother. What if Elkanah decided to stop by tonight and she had nothing prepared for him?

  The thought caused an ache in her middle that went beyond the feeling of hunger. Her life was not supposed to be this way. By now, after she’d given him three sons, Elkanah should be fully devoted to her. But he seemed to be pulling further away instead of enjoying his sons, enjoying her. Was having her mother around causing a problem?