A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “No need.” Galia waved a hand at Nava in a dismissive gesture. “I only came on my way to Peninnah’s to invite you”—she looked at Hannah—“to dine with us tonight. Everyone will be there, even Dana. You simply must come, my dear.”

  Hannah stared and swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. Galia had never once come to include her in family gatherings, not without Elkanah there. And Hannah had determined that she would never accept should such an occasion arise. If she went now, she would be subject to Peninnah and her children with no one to protect her except Dana. Would Elkanah’s brothers keep the women from throwing barbs at her?

  A sick feeling formed in her middle. “I don’t know, Galia.” She hesitated to say she was ill, for Galia would simply insist that she or someone else come and care for her. In addition, it would be lying, for she was not sick physically, only sick at heart. Sick of dealing with Peninnah and Galia and the pitying looks at market or on the road to festivals.

  “Come, come, my dear. You cannot ignore your family forever. Elkanah would want you to come.” Galia sank onto a thick cushion and looked at Nava. “I’ll take some of that water now.”

  Nava disappeared outside to draw water from the standing cistern while Galia leaned closer. “You know I speak the truth, Hannah. Unless you would rather return to your father’s house, you belong to our family and I insist you join us.” She accepted the water from Nava’s hand and took a swift gulp, then quickly rose. “I will expect you to be there.” And with that, she turned and left in a whirlwind toward Peninnah’s house.

  Hannah’s hands stilled and fell to her lap. She looked at Nava.

  “Shall I set out your best clothes, mistress?” Nava’s eyes mirrored the bewildered look Hannah knew must be evident in her own expression.

  Hannah nodded, but her mind would not accept what had just happened. Why did Galia want her present at a meal with Elkanah not home yet? She did not trust the woman, and she most certainly did not want to be one step closer to her rival than need be. And she did not need to be there. Elkanah would understand.

  But as dusk fell, Hannah carried a torch and walked with Nava and Dana and her children to the house of Elkanah’s father just the same.

  25

  You know,” Galia said once the meal had ended and the children ran off into the back rooms to play, “I heard some of the other Levite women at the well yesterday. They said that their husbands had heard that the priests were accepting young men and women, some not much older than children, to work at the tabernacle permanently. They would have all of their needs provided for. But the boys would learn to serve at a young age rather than the accepted age of thirty. The girls would learn to help as well, I suppose, but I daresay it sounds a little too convenient for our incorrigible priests.”

  “I could not imagine leaving even one of my children there,” Kelila said, and murmurs of agreement went around the room.

  Hannah glanced at Nava, who stood near the wall waiting to serve them, eyes downcast. How grateful she was that Elkanah had rescued the girl from that place, though perhaps Raziela or Eli might have looked out for her. She shivered. If God ever saw fit to give her a child, the last place she would want to leave him would be with those priests. She would never trust Hophni or Phinehas.

  “Well, Hannah will never have to worry about such a thing since she has no child to give,” Peninnah said, her gaze on the food in front of her. “And Elkanah would never send one of our children to that place. He disdains those priests.”

  “As we all do,” Galia said, glancing Hannah’s way. “None of my sons would allow such a thing. I only brought it up because there was talk of others considering the priests’ offer. Apparently the priests want to train their servants at a young age. Perhaps they are looking for an army of servants to counter the complaints from the men of Israel who do not like the way they handle the sacrifices.”

  Hannah’s face remained heated despite Galia’s attempts to deflect Peninnah’s snide comment.

  “From what Tahath has said, some of those servants are like giants and strong as oxen. When they come with that fork that is meant to be dipped in the cauldron, it looks more like a weapon in their hands. And their very presence is equally menacing.” Dana quickly touched Hannah’s knee, but when she looked up, Dana’s gaze was focused on the other women. “It makes sense that they would take young boys and try to turn them into soldiers more than servants, but how do you tell with a young boy whether he will be strong or weak?” She glanced at her own children, her look affectionate.

  “I suppose training the young men makes sense, but why accept the younger girls?” Kelila asked. “They are far too young to serve until they grow to be women. What parent would even consider giving their daughters to live near those men?”

  “I don’t think they harm the girls,” Hannah said, surprising herself that she dared join the conversation, but one glance at Nava and she wanted to put the girl’s mind at ease. “I think Raziela and Irit would care for them and put them in service in their homes. I know they don’t have much sway over what their husbands do, but they have ways of exerting some influence.”

  “You mean the way you do with Elkanah?” Peninnah’s barb was quiet, but the whole room fell silent at her words.

  The familiar knot coiled in Hannah’s middle, and she wished for the hundredth time that she had not come. None of the men were here, as most had stayed in the fields. She was easy prey in a houseful of women who disdained her.

  “Peninnah,” Galia said, causing Hannah to glance her way.

  She caught the scowl on Yafa’s face and wondered if Peninnah’s mother was for or against the way her daughter acted. Perhaps she simply did not like Peninnah being so obviously vocal with her words.

  “Elkanah spends plenty of time with you,” Galia continued, to Hannah’s utter shock. Was the woman defending her? “You would not have so many children if he did not. You cannot blame him for wanting to give Hannah his time when yours is so taken up with caring for the children.”

  Hannah glanced Peninnah’s way, but the words did not seem to penetrate her anger.

  “It is no excuse for him to spend so much time with her to the neglect of the children he supposedly wanted.” Peninnah glared at Galia, then at each one of the women staring at her. She stood and tossed her linen cloth onto the cushion where she had been sitting. “Think what you want of your son, Mother Galia, but Hannah controls him, and he owes it to me and his children to listen more to me than to her.”

  She gathered up her sons and daughters while the rest of the children murmured and the women sat in silence. At last Yafa slowly stood, her look apologetic, and helped her daughter leave.

  Elkanah quickened his pace as Ephraim’s hills came into view. Even a week at Shiloh seemed much too long. More than once Elkanah had intervened when Phinehas’s servant demanded uncooked meat from men offering a sacrifice. But it was not enough. It was never enough.

  “Anxious to see Hannah?” Tahath pulled the reins of the donkey, which trudged along behind them. Their load was much lighter than the day they had set out. “I don’t blame you. I’ve been imagining Dana’s cooking for days.” He laughed at the look Elkanah gave him. “What? Don’t tell me you have never wished the meals were coming from Hannah’s hands rather than the Levitical cooks.”

  Elkanah smiled. They both knew it was more than cooking that they missed in these beloved women. And he could not wait to share his experiences with Hannah—she would understand his heart.

  But how much time would he have with her before Peninnah heard of his return? What if she was waiting on the road and blocked his way to Hannah’s house?

  He glanced at Tahath. “I think we should take the back road and come in that way. It will allow you to be home first, and I’m sure your children are anxious to see you.”

  Guilt pricked him with the statement. Wouldn’t his own children have missed him as well?

  “You want to be sure to see Hannah first.” Tahath wig
gled his brows in that teasing way he had.

  “You’re the one who said it, not me.” But Elkanah couldn’t stop a genuine smile. “So are we taking the back road?”

  “It’s fine by me, brother. You’re the one who has to figure out how to divide your time tonight.”

  They trudged on, Elkanah suddenly not so certain he wanted to rush this time away. Yet he missed Hannah. His pace quickened again, and he breathed a sigh at the sight of Hannah’s house. There she stood in the courtyard, watching the road, waiting for him.

  He bid Tahath a quick farewell and ran the rest of the way, dropped his pack, and whisked her into his arms. “Oh how I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her ear.

  She laughed as he twirled her around. “I have missed you too. Terribly so!”

  Her words held a hint of sadness despite the cheeriness in her tone. Had she been sorrowful while he was away? “Tell me, how have you been?” He wasn’t ready to ask about or hear a litany of complaints that he knew would come from Peninnah, but with Hannah he felt the question a safe one.

  “All has been so quiet without you and Tahath. Even your brothers stayed long hours in the field with the sheep so that a meal with your family meant only the women gathered.”

  He set her slightly away from him, still holding her arms. “You went to a meal with my family? Alone?”

  “I had Nava with me. And Dana and her children.”

  He searched her face. “And Peninnah was there? Yet all is well?” Incredulous. He dared not believe the strife had ended in his short week away.

  Hannah glanced beyond him, seeming unwilling to meet his gaze. “Peninnah used her time well to be her normal unkind self whenever the opportunity arose. But we do not need to talk about that. It is over now.”

  Elkanah cupped her cheek. “I want to hear about it.”

  Hannah smiled, this time holding his gaze. “Your mother even defended me when Peninnah had her outburst. I actually thought for a moment that there might be some kindness underneath your mother’s controlling layers.”

  Elkanah laughed. “My mother defended by you, my dear wife? I think I am witness to some kind of miracle.”

  Hannah laughed with him, and he felt a measure of relief that his words were not hurtful. The moment he’d said them, he thought of the one miracle God had not given them—a child. To trivialize Hannah’s relationship with his mother and put it on par with a true miracle of birth . . . He shook the thought aside as she took his hand and led him into the house. They settled among the cushions on the floor while Nava brought some stew and flatbread.

  “So tell me about your trip.” Hannah dipped the bread in the stew and handed it to him. “How are Raziela and Irit?”

  “They are well. Their husbands are still corrupt louses, but the women were friendly and accepted your greeting. You know,” he said around a mouthful of food, “Raziela seemed quite concerned about a servant boy—one who grew up in her house.”

  “Raziela raises many children who are not her own. But there was something about this one that troubled you?” Hannah lifted a brow.

  Elkanah finished eating, framing his words. “I can’t prove anything, but she was looking for a sixteen-year-old boy. If Lital did bear a child, he would be about that age now.” He let the words hang between them.

  “Many servants in Raziela’s and Irit’s homes are about that age,” she said. “Did you see him? Is there a reason you make this assumption?”

  Elkanah set his food aside. “I didn’t see him. No. But I found Raziela looking for him, and when I asked his age, it sparked the memory of Lital.”

  Hannah looked at him for a lengthy breath. “But there is no way to prove such a thing. The boy is likely Hophni’s illegitimate child. Perhaps with Lital. Perhaps with some other poor woman. If Hophni remembers the mother, I am fairly certain he would not tell us.”

  Elkanah sighed and took her hand. “As I worked there, especially after I saw the concern in Raziela’s eyes, I kept thinking how much we need a deliverer—and could I be that person? But I knew I could not. I don’t know who can, but I know in my heart it can’t be me.”

  Hannah nodded. “God will bring someone who can do what you cannot.”

  He pulled her close. “Yes. Surely. Hophni and Phinehas will not get away with this forever.” He rubbed her back and breathed in the scent of her, wishing he could just lie down beside her and sleep. But Peninnah waited. “I must go,” he whispered against her ear. “But I will return soon. This night.”

  She pulled away, and her look took on that resignation she could not seem to shake, no matter their topic of conversation. He sensed defeat hidden beneath her smile, where her joy used to be.

  “I will wait for you,” she said as they both stood. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

  “It will be all right, beloved. Our family will be all right.”

  She nodded but said nothing, and he knew his words did not comfort.

  After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the LORD. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly. And she vowed a vow and said, “O LORD of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the LORD all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head.”

  1 Samuel 1:9–11

  26

  Three Years Later

  Hannah carried a basket of food and a skin of water and walked the path that would pass Peninnah’s house but led to the fields where Elkanah was keeping the sheep. She thought to take a longer way around to avoid the risk of seeing her rival, but her longing to spend the day in the fields with her husband made her throw caution aside. Peninnah would be too busy with her children to be out of the house, and even if she were working in the courtyard, Hannah would simply keep her distance.

  She ducked behind a large terebinth tree that stood like a sentry between her house and Peninnah’s, and glanced at the courtyard. Sounds of children could be heard inside, but there was no sign of Peninnah working outside. Good.

  She pulled in a breath and took a cautious step from behind the tree.

  “Where are you going, Aunt Hannah?” Eitan, now ten, stood in her path, his brother Hevel not far behind him. “Can we go with you?”

  Hannah stared openmouthed for a brief moment. Peninnah’s two oldest sons should already be training with Elkanah to learn the tasks of a man. Was Peninnah or Elkanah the one holding them back?

  “I’m sure your mother has need of you, Eitan. Perhaps another time.” She attempted to hurry off, but Eitan stopped her.

  “I will ask her. She will not care if I go.” Eitan bounded toward the house, Hevel on his heels.

  “Take me too,” Hevel said, barely able to keep up with his older brother. “I wanna come too.”

  Hannah’s heart sank. She should have gone the long way around, but never did she expect Peninnah’s children to accost her. Did they suspect she had plans to spend the day with Elkanah? It wasn’t that she didn’t like Peninnah’s children, but Peninnah had used them against her so many times that she had grown weary of their presence. It wasn’t fair of her to think so, but the sight of even one of the children was like seeing their mother.

  If only Peninnah were easier to deal with.

  “Go with Hannah? Where is she going?” Peninnah’s strident voice carried through the open windows. “How do you even know this? Hannah is shut up in her house weaving by this time of day. She doesn’t want nor does she know how to take care of little boys.”

  Hannah should have expected the barb, be used to it by now, but she could never quite get over the sting. She had helped Dana with her children for years. She certainly did know how to care for boys.

  “Please, Ima. Aunt Hannah is nice to us when we are with Savta Galia. She could watch us. She said she would take us.”

  Ha
nnah bristled. Elkanah would not teach his children to lie, so had this come from Peninnah? Or were children simply born to push to get their way, even if that meant bending the truth? A sigh escaped. If she had her own children, she would not allow such a thing.

  “And how do you know this?” Peninnah’s voice had not lowered in tone, and Hannah could still clearly hear.

  The heartache and the need to escape spurred her to keep walking. Let Eitan argue with his mother. She would not be party to a child’s lies, and she didn’t want her time with Elkanah interrupted by his children.

  His children.

  She stopped just beyond the boundaries of Peninnah’s house, the realization hitting her afresh. Why did this still trouble her? A woman learned to deal with what life handed her. What God handed her. And for some reason God had found Peninnah more pleasing to bless than her.

  She staggered forward, not wanting any of the children to come racing after her and find her like this. A rock formation rose before her, beckoning. A place to hide her grief. Surely the children would not wander this far. But the fear of bandits who were known to inhabit similar places made her pause.

  What was she doing out here alone? Though the days of oppression from Canaanite enemies had grown minimal, a woman in a field could never be too careful. And Elkanah did not know she was coming, so if something happened to her . . . She shivered and wrapped the scarf more securely about her, glancing before and behind. If only she had thought to bring the sling Elkanah had made for her. Why did she not think to carry it?

  Perhaps taking the boys would be wiser than she’d first thought. She had planned a simple meal for the two of them with some extra in case one of Elkanah’s brothers was nearby. Enough for two small boys? If something did happen to her, they could run home to their mother or tell their father, and somehow someone might come to her aid.

  She shook herself, wondering where the fear and ridiculous thoughts were coming from. No one was going to trouble her, with or without the children. Ephraim’s hills were safe. Elkanah had said so many times. If anything was not safe, it was the very house where God was to be worshiped.