A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Yafa gone? The thought pained her, for Yafa seemed to be Peninnah’s only friend and confidante. What would Peninnah do without her mother, when she had caused so much strife with every other woman she knew?

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Hannah said at last, once it became obvious that Peninnah seemed unable to move or do anything but stand in her courtyard and cling to her youngest son. “Come. Let me take you home while I go to Dana’s house and send one of her children to get the others.”

  Peninnah rallied at that. “Can I go with you?” It was as if she suddenly could not handle the thought of returning to her own house, where her mother’s body lay.

  “Of course. Do you want some water first?”

  “No. I am not thirsty.”

  Hannah nodded and led the way to Dana’s house, not far from hers. She entered the courtyard and called Dana’s name as she opened the door without knocking, something they had grown used to doing.

  Dana hurried to the court, her arms filled with a basket of clean linens. “What is it? I thought you were going to see Nava today.” She stopped short at the sight of Peninnah and gave Hannah a curious look.

  “Peninnah found Yafa dead in her room a short time ago.” Hannah looked at Peninnah, who seemed dazed, and exchanged glances with Dana.

  “Oh my!” Dana put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry to hear it, Peninnah.”

  Peninnah simply nodded, and Hannah led her to a bench, fearing the woman would collapse from the shock. She turned to Dana. “I thought if you could send one of your children to get Galia and the others, we could get started on preparing Yafa for burial. Peninnah said she sent one of her children to get Elkanah, and her maid is staying with the youngest ones.”

  Dana nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll send word to Tahath to get his brothers. They can build the bier and get the entrance to the cave opened. She will have to be buried by nightfall.”

  “And I will somehow try to get word to Nava so she does not think I forgot about her. She will want to help.” Hannah’s mind whirled as she spoke, but her gaze was on Peninnah, who didn’t seem to be seeing clearly even now.

  “Do you have some wine?” She looked at Dana. “I think she needs something to help revive her.”

  “Mint water might do a better job. Let me run to get the girls and send our young messengers on their way.” Dana turned to enter the house, and Hannah stood in indecision whether to follow and help make the water or to stay with Peninnah for fear she would faint. “I’ll hurry,” Dana said over her shoulder. “You stay here and watch her.”

  Hannah sighed. It wasn’t what she wanted to do, but she sat on the bench near Peninnah just the same.

  Peninnah’s house was buzzing with the chatter of women as Elkanah approached with Eitan and Hevel racing ahead of him. Tahath had found him on the way, and they had left Tahath’s oldest son in charge of the flock.

  “This is so unexpected,” Elkanah said. “She seemed perfectly fine when I saw her a few days ago.”

  “Death is no respecter of people or age, brother. Yafa did seem wearier the last time I saw her, but that was at the last feast. It’s not like I saw her as often as you did.” Tahath offered him an empathetic smile. “Do you have what you need to build the bier?”

  Elkanah shook his head. “We’re going to have to cut some tree limbs. Hopefully the women have some linens already made.”

  “Dana tells me that such linens are a staple in every home. No one could possibly weave enough cloth for a bier in a day, so it is something the women do to make sure at least one is ready—in case.” Tahath rubbed a hand along his jaw. “We are actually fortunate that none have been needed, even with so many children born, until now.”

  Elkanah glanced at his brother, then quickened his step. They were blessed not to have lost any women in childbirth or a child to some disease or accident. God had shown them great kindness. Kindness he was certain they did not deserve. But to lose Yafa . . .

  “There is the tree near the house that should have a straight limb,” he said, pointing to a tall oak. “We will cut it to fit the length of her body and wrap the linen around the ends.” He was talking just to feel alive, for the silence was not something he could abide at this moment.

  “Let’s get your tools and start then. Where are they?” Tahath moved ahead of him toward the house. He knew what his brother was trying to do—keep him from having to see Peninnah in whatever state she was in at this moment. But he knew he could not ignore this wife indefinitely. Especially now.

  “I will pick the limb,” he called. “The tools are just inside the door to the left in a goatskin sack on a tall shelf.”

  Tahath ducked into the doorway, and Elkanah noticed his other brothers coming up the road toward the house. In no time they would have the bier built and the cave opened, and Yafa would rest beside Assir in her final place on earth.

  Tahath returned moments later and greeted his brothers. “Hannah is asking for you,” he said, leaning close to Elkanah’s ear. “I think you should leave this to us.”

  Elkanah’s stomach knotted with the very thought of entering the house, but the fact that it was Hannah asking for him caused him to nod and walk through the courtyard.

  Hannah placed a sleeping Samuel in a basket and greeted Elkanah at the door of Peninnah’s home. He kissed her cheek, his look one of curiosity and dread. “Peninnah needs you,” she whispered.

  He leaned down. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  Hannah met his gaze. “This is one of those times when we do what we must, yes?” A soft sigh escaped. “She came to my door this morning and told me. She looks so lost. She nurses Nadav and weeps, but will not look at anyone or talk to anyone—not since she spoke to me this morning. I think you should go to her.”

  He glanced about the room, noting that at least this part of the house was quiet. Samuel lay so peacefully in his basket that Elkanah’s heart hurt for the joy of seeing the boy, his boy, here, alive.

  Hannah touched his arm, gently pushing him toward the inner rooms of the house. “Go, beloved.”

  “What do I say to her?” He gave Hannah an imploring look.

  “You take her in your arms and hold her. You don’t even need to speak.” She smiled at him as though what she had just said did not bother her at all, but he knew how much being here was costing her. Being kind to her enemy was not a normal thing to do.

  “You amaze me,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “Most women in your place would not do this.”

  “Well, you need not be amazed. I am only doing what I would want others to do for me.” She pushed him on again, and he did not resist her nudge.

  The hall to the sleeping chambers grew noisier at his approach. He passed his mother weeping, rushing from Yafa’s room to . . . somewhere. She didn’t even see him. Mourners arrived, their loud wailing coming from the courtyard, and the children grew quiet, clinging to their mothers.

  Elkanah glanced back, saw Hannah nod for him to continue. Why was this so hard? He forced one foot in front of the other and approached the room he sometimes shared with Peninnah. The shutters were closed, the room dark, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw her lying on the bed, curled around Nadav’s small body.

  “Peninnah?” He stepped closer and knelt beside her. “I’m so sorry, my love.” Had he ever called her that? By the look on her face and the wide, weepy eyes, he didn’t think so. He couldn’t recall bringing himself to a place where love came between them. Only procreation. Never love.

  Had he said the wrong thing? But it was too late to retract the words.

  Peninnah stared at him in silence for the longest moment, then looked beyond him. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her,” she said at last. “I had finished with the morning meal, and she said she wasn’t hungry and wanted to go lie down. But then she never came out of her room, and when I looked—” A sob escaped, and she held Nadav as though she would never release him.

  “Hush now,” he said,
feeling completely awkward. He sat beside her and stroked her hair, her face, her arm. “Why don’t you let me take Nadav and put him to bed so you can get ready.” He coaxed her to look at him. “I’m very sorry for Yafa’s loss, Peninnah. She was a great asset to us both and a good mother to you. I can’t imagine what you are feeling right now, but my brothers will have the bier ready soon, and we have to walk to the cave and put her there before nightfall.” He gently loosed her grip on Nadav and placed the boy in a basket near the bed, then took hold of Peninnah’s hands.

  She lifted her gaze to his, and he brushed a stray tear with his thumb. “Oh Peninnah, I do wish this had not happened.” He pulled her close to his chest until she relaxed and wet his robe with her tears.

  “Do you love me?” she asked when her tears were spent.

  The question caught him off guard, but after his unfortunate comment, he knew he could not simply ignore her now.

  “I care for you,” he said slowly. “Of course I love you.” He did in a sort of second-wife way, didn’t he? But a nagging feeling that he was lying to appease her pricked his conscience.

  “But not like you do Hannah.” It was a statement said without feeling.

  He looked at her, uncertain. “I’ve known Hannah much longer and have loved her for many years. It’s different than it is with you, but it doesn’t mean I do not care. What kind of a man would I be if I treated you unfairly or unkindly?”

  “Then I should expect more time with you.” Her look, despite her tears, held challenge.

  A sigh escaped, and he could not speak for many breaths. “I give you what I can, Peninnah. If you were kinder to Hannah, it would make things better between us.”

  Her brows drew down. Why was she growing angry when her mother was about to be buried in a cave? “So it’s my fault? Everything is up to me to fix the relationship with Hannah, and then you will love me equally?”

  He relaxed his hold on her arms and took a step back. “Please, can we talk about this another time? I have to get out to help my brothers, and you need to get ready to lead the procession with me. You and our children.”

  It was the best he could do, and before she could say more, he hurried from the room. He wasn’t sure what good his presence there had done or why Hannah thought it so important. All he had done was blunder his words and make her angry. Peninnah was always angry.

  He stomped out of the house, gave Hannah a frustrated shrug, and went to help his brothers.

  35

  One Year Later

  The Feast of First Fruits approached, but Hannah could not bear to go to Shiloh. Not yet. Not when she knew the day would come when she would have to leave Samuel in Eli’s care. She held the boy to her breast, comfortably nursing in the shade of the overhanging awning of the courtyard, catching the early summer breeze. How fast he had grown in the past eighteen months!

  Oh Adonai, I don’t know if I can bear to let him go. She sensed that God knew her feelings. Hadn’t He given them to all mothers? Wasn’t it better to be honest with Him?

  It’s just so hard. She stroked Samuel’s ruddy cheek, and the boy opened his eyes and smiled at her. Something stirred within her that made her ache for the mingled joy and pain of motherhood. She had given birth and her shame had left her, but what would people say when she went to the feast and Samuel didn’t come home? Peninnah would love that. And the taunts would surely begin again.

  Footsteps caused her to look up and swipe an errant tear away. Elkanah trudged into the courtyard and sank onto a bench beside hers.

  “He’s growing fast.” Elkanah touched the boy’s soft hair.

  “Too fast.” She swallowed to avoid the emotion churning within her.

  Elkanah nodded and clutched one of her hands. “The plans for the feast are almost done. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” He searched her face. “I hate leaving you alone.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, keeping her tone confident. “I don’t want to take him there until he is weaned and I can fulfill my vow.”

  He nodded. “Do what seems best to you. Stay here until you have weaned him.”

  “Thank you. And besides, Nava is nearby and not going because her child is due soon, so I won’t be the only person left in the city.”

  “I’m not afraid of that,” he said, touching her cheek. “A few of my sisters-in-law are staying behind as well, so if you need anything . . .”

  “I will know exactly where to find them.”

  He stood. “If you’re sure.”

  He seemed so hesitant to leave her, yet he had to go to the feast not only as a Kohathite but to keep the law. She studied him a moment. “Are you afraid of sharing the feast with just Peninnah and your children?”

  His brow quirked, and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m sure Peninnah will be quite happy.” She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone. “She has not been easier to deal with since Yafa’s passing. I had hoped it would change her.”

  “Only God can change a person’s heart, beloved. You and I both know that.”

  He nodded. “I know. Perhaps I need to pray for her.”

  “And I will do the same. Perhaps it will cause her to understand kindness if we ask God to help us show it to her.”

  Elkanah bent down to kiss her cheek. “I love you, you know.”

  Hannah smiled. “I know.” She met his gaze just as Samuel stopped nursing.

  The boy sat up and lifted his arms to his father. “Abba . . . up.”

  Elkanah laughed and took Samuel from her arms. How good it felt to be a whole family. She would not think about the day when they would go back to being two instead of three.

  Four Years Later

  Elkanah held Samuel’s hand and walked beside Hannah on the way to his parents’ home for the Sabbath meal. It was the week before the Feast of First Fruits, the last moment when they would be together as a complete family before he had to present Samuel to God in Shiloh. Every memory of the vow Hannah had made pained him now.

  He glanced at her walking beside him, carrying a clay dish of food she had prepared to help feed the many family members. Even his sister, Meira, and her husband and Hannah’s entire family planned to join them, a rare occurrence.

  “All of my cousins are going to be there?” Samuel asked, skipping along beside Elkanah.

  “All of your cousins and your brothers and sisters and your aunts and uncles and grandparents,” Elkanah said, hoping his voice sounded lighter than his heart felt.

  “A big celebration!” Samuel’s enthusiasm did little to lift Elkanah’s spirits.

  Why, Adonai? Why did it take a vow to give us this child? I don’t want to give him to live at the tabernacle. Hophni and Phinehas are as corrupt as ever. He had seen it only a few months ago on his regular trip to work there. Nothing had changed, at least not for the better. How could he put his only son by his favorite wife in such a position?

  “Yes, my son,” Hannah said, keeping in step with the boy. “This is a big celebration. Do you remember why?”

  Samuel stopped suddenly just as his grandfather’s house came into view. Elkanah looked at him, saw his son’s gaze move between mother and father. “It’s the last time I will be eating with all of you, because I’m going to live where Abba goes to work sometimes.”

  A knot formed in Elkanah’s throat and he couldn’t speak.

  “That’s right. And why are you going to live there?” Hannah had surely already asked the child these questions, but Elkanah knew she was simply trying to reinforce his understanding. At five, Samuel was a bright boy, but still a young boy. Could he possibly understand separation?

  “Because you promised God that if He would give me to you, you would let God have me back to do His work.” He gave Hannah a toothy grin, minus the few teeth that hadn’t yet come in.

  “And God has some great work for you to do there, my son. He hasn’t told us yet what it is, but in a few years He will show you, and Eli the priest will teach you more than Abba and I can.”
Hannah knelt to meet Samuel at eye level. “But you know that Abba and I will visit as often as we can. I will still make you new robes and tunics, and Abba will see you every time he comes to work there. And the priests’ wives will look after you too.”

  Samuel nodded, his expression suddenly serious. “I won’t see you every day.” He frowned.

  “No,” Hannah said softly. “No, my love, you won’t.” She opened her arms and he came close and hugged her hard. “We’ve talked about this for a long time, but it’s different now that it is so close, isn’t it?”

  Samuel nodded against her chest, and Elkanah felt completely helpless. In the five years since Samuel’s birth, Hannah had not borne another child. She was giving God all she had.

  He swallowed hard against that thought. He still had sons to raise, and daughters too, but Hannah would be left with nothing but him. How was she able to speak to Samuel so peacefully? Oh God, this is so hard.

  “But you will come to see me,” Samuel said.

  “As much as I can. At every feast and maybe even when Abba works in Shiloh. We can count on those as our special visits, and in the in-between times we will do the things God has for us. Okay?” She kissed his forehead and held him at arm’s length.

  Samuel nodded slowly, but a moment later his face was wreathed in a grin. “I will be the only one to have two homes. One with you and Abba and one with God.” He turned and skipped ahead, then stopped to look back. “Can I go see my cousins?”

  Hannah nodded and Samuel ran off. Elkanah looked at her as she picked up the dish she’d set aside and began walking again toward his parents’ home.

  “You are truly all right with this?” He put his hand on her shoulder.

  She nodded, but he didn’t miss the tears in her eyes. “It will not be easy,” she said, slowing her step as they neared the entrance to the courtyard and heard the rumblings of men and women and squealing children racing about the yard or talking inside the house. For a brief moment the court was empty. “But it is the right thing to do. And God will take care of him.”