My eyes flew open to see a wrinkled woman hovering over me, a frown of disapproval adding to the deep creases around her ancient mouth. “Get up, girl,” she ordered, with another hard stab of her broom handle. “I need to feed my pigs. So unless you want to share their meal, move away from the trough.”
Disoriented and fighting the blur of my vision, I pushed myself up on my elbows, coming face to face with a mud-encrusted snout. Horror and paralyzing confusion slammed into me with the force of a lightning bolt.
Not just one, but five pigs shuffled around me in a small courtyard in front of a mud-brick house, nosing my skin, and mouthing the tunic that was pushed up past my knees. One clamped down on my sleeve and I shrieked, jerking my arm away and flailing helplessly.
The pigs skittered away, grumbling and squealing as they scattered.
The old woman glared, shaking her broom at me. “Leave my pigs alone, girl. Should I call for someone to haul you away?”
“No . . . No . . .” I blinked hard and then slowly stood, the entirety of my body stiff and sore. “I can’t remember—” I gripped my forehead in my palm. “I must find—I must go home.” My mouth seemed at odds with my mind, the words disjointed and tasting of sour wool.
The old woman frowned harder, her gray brows lowering as she shook the broom at me menacingly. “Well, go on now. And take your trysts somewhere else next time.” Hot embarrassment crawled up my neck at the insinuation. What would cause her to say such a thing . . . ?
Realization poured over me like a pitcher of icy water, along with a river of fragmented memories from the night before. The Hebrew man. His potent gaze. Laughter and shadows and my third cup of wine, or perhaps my fourth. Grasping hands. A hot mouth pressed to mine.
Horrified, I looked down at myself. The laces at my neckline were untied, the fabric gaping wide. My palm slapped against my chest, a futile attempt at covering what was left of my modesty. It took only two stuttering, gasping breaths to realize that the purse beneath my tunic that held the silver and jewels Gidal and his family had gifted me—along with the beautiful lapis necklace—was gone.
Eyelids fluttering against searing tears, I stumbled away from the woman’s house, my thoughts becoming more lucid with every step. I was in Laish. Nessa was nowhere in sight. And although the memories of last night were very hazy, as if I were peering at them through murky water, one thing became very clear: I’d betrayed my family, Gidal’s family, and most of all, Malakhi.
I could never, ever go home again.
CHAPTER
eleven
Malakhi
Four days she’d been gone, each one more excruciating than the last. Every door in Kedesh had been knocked upon. Every grove and field around the city searched. My father and his men had visited nearly every neighboring village, but the only thing we knew was that Rivkah had left just before dawn the morning after I’d kissed her, claiming to have a message for a shepherd as a means to slip out of the gates and vanish.
Beneath the shade of the foundry roof, my body moved by rote, lulled to mindlessness by the rhythm of my sanding stone traveling back and forth across the wood. Before she left, the sharp smell of cedar had been a pleasant one, one I’d breathed in deeply while imagining the look on my betrothed’s face as she beheld the bed I’d made for her with my own hands. Our marriage bed. Now the smell made my stomach turn, fragrant wood shavings and bitter disappointment clinging to me in equal measures.
Designed by Eitan and constructed beneath his expert supervision, the bedstead was nearly ready—only a bit of sanding and a final oiling left to complete. It was one of the last items I’d been preparing for the chamber we would share before claiming my bride. The bride that I should never have tried to claim in the first place.
Until today I’d held to the notion that her flight was temporary, that she was merely punishing me for my ill-conceived kiss and was hiding somewhere nearby. But this morning Amitai had sent a messenger, calling me to his home to annihilate my last hope.
The priest himself had greeted me at the door, the last four days having somehow aged the man I’d always considered larger than life. Dark crescents underscored his eyes. He seemed smaller. Stooped. Broken.
Not bothering to invite me inside, he held out a leather parcel. “She left a note behind,” he said, the words so replete with loss that the many fissures inside my chest became one gaping wound. “She took Gidal’s wedding gifts from the treasury box, but she wanted these returned to you. For your next bride.”
“No.” Reeling from the blow, I pushed back against the mohar he pressed toward me. “No. I will not accept it, except from her own hands. She can give it back to me herself when she returns.”
Tears shimmered in the priest’s eyes. “Don’t you see, Malakhi? She does not mean to return, or she would not have taken the gifts.”
A wave of shock and desolation made my knees wobble, and a rumble of thunder in the far distance echoed the hit, but I drew in a fortifying breath as I backed away, palms raised, attempting to infuse my tone with a confidence I did not feel. “She will come home. Or my father’s men will find her. She cannot have simply disappeared. Even if she does not want me. Despises me even.” The words gathered into a boulder of humiliation in my gut. “She’d never walk away from her family.”
Amitai’s fists had gripped the leather bag with white-knuckled desperation as I retreated, and as I turned to walk away, his voice followed me, ragged and hollow. “I pray it is so, my son. I pray it is so.”
Every grating pass of the sanding stone against wood since I’d left the priest drove the truth deeper into my soul: she was gone, and it was all my fault. I was grateful Gidal was not here to see what I’d done. If only I’d kept my hands to myself, been satisfied with whatever small piece of her she allowed instead of pressing a grieving widow for more. Perhaps if I’d been patient, given her broken heart time to heal, waited for her mourning to fade before revealing even a portion of my desire for her . . .
No. I should have let her go as soon as she voiced her doubts, instead of clinging to my own selfish desires and trying to change her mind about me. Her final words rushed back, each one more pointed than the last. “You are the same spoiled boy you’ve always been, wanting nothing more than to torment me and get your way. . . . I will never want this. . . .”
I leaned too hard into the next swipe and felt the wood crack beneath the pressure. Numb to the bone, I stared at the destruction. A rift had formed along the wood grain, a snaking crack the length of my palm. Now the entire bedframe was little more than refuse. It would never hold the weight of one person, let alone two.
A large palm came down on my shoulder. The weight and warmth of it was meant to be reassuring, but my brother Eitan’s witness to this moment was only one more reminder that I’d failed, yet again.
“Leave it, Malakhi,” he said. “We’ll fix it tomorrow.”
“There is nothing to be done,” I said, dropping the sanding stone into the dirt and swatting the sawdust from my tunic until my skin stung. “It cannot be saved.”
“Of course it can. I’ll show you how to repair it,” he said, with far too much understanding. “All is not lost.”
My throat clenched tightly, any response I could have formed swallowed up by anger at myself and my ineptitude. Falling back on the habits formed by years of working with my brother, I began cleaning the various tools I’d used throughout the day. Deftly, I avoided his eyes but felt his heavy gaze on my back.
“The gates will be closing soon, and that storm is nearly upon us,” he said.
“I should check the hives, make sure they are secure before the wind gets stronger.”
“No.” My oldest brother’s voice hardened, the note of stern command causing me to halt abruptly and look back at him in astonishment. Every day of his eleven-year seniority was behind the glare he leveled at me. “No. You’ve barely eaten in the last four days, Malakhi. You’ve spent every spare moment searching. The hives will be fine
for now.”
It didn’t matter that men had combed every cubit of the city’s allotted lands or that we’d already looked behind every boulder and tree in the surrounding area. I had not been able to sit still since I’d heard she was gone, telling myself if just one more search revealed a clue to her whereabouts then it was worth the effort.
His tone softened. “Your worry won’t bring her back any sooner, brother. You must place her care in the hands of the One Who Sees.”
I let my eyes close for a brief moment, stealing a painful breath. “She isn’t coming back. She took Gidal’s wedding gifts. I don’t know where she has gone, but those items can sustain her for years, if she is careful.”
“Is there another man?” he asked, vocalizing the question I’d barely had the courage to ask myself.
I shrugged, already having sifted through every conversation, every glimpse of her with other people in the marketplace, and still having no clue as to whether she’d taken up with someone else. “All I know is that I should have released her. She made it very clear that she considered this match a mistake. She does not want me. I am nothing more than a boy in her mind.”
Eitan’s reflexive response was swift. “Then she is a fool.”
A huff of sardonic laughter burst from my lips. “It is I who am the fool.”
I loathed the compassion on my brother’s face and the furrow of pity between his dark brows, even though he above all people understood the helplessness of not knowing where the woman he loved had gone. But Sofea had been taken against her will to Shiloh before they’d married, and Rivkah had obviously left of her own volition—a last-ditch effort to escape the prison of marriage to me.
He released a sigh and slung his arm around my shoulders. “Come, let’s go home before the rain begins. Ima will fill your belly and our sisters will serve you hand and foot out of sheer worry.” He gripped the back of my neck playfully. “That may never happen again, you know. You must take full advantage.”
I attempted a smile, feeling the smallest bit strengthened by my brother’s unwavering support and his pointless attempt at lightening my dark mood. But even though I was confident that he and my family would never turn their backs on me, I’d failed Gidal, destroyed the only means to continue his bloodline, and in doing so, I’d failed all of them too.
CHAPTER
twelve
Droplets pattered from the eaves in uneven rhythms, the gentle sound of rainfall soothing after the clash of thunder. My mother had opened the windows of the main room as soon as the storm died down, and now the breeze swept through with cool freshness.
Although most of our family meals were taken in the courtyard, the rain had driven us inside. The guests had already been served and returned to their rooms for the evening, and now only my mother and father, Eitan, Sofea, their children, and my three sisters were seated around the woolen blanket upon which the meal was laid. I usually enjoyed these private meals with my loved ones, but now there were two empty places that weighed heavily on my heart.
Chana and Abra sat on either side of me, and as Eitan had predicted, were in some sort of competition to see which of them could serve me most often. My cup was never less than half full, my hands never empty of bread, and dish after dish was passed to me with much encouragement to scoop up generous helpings. If they became any more attentive, my sisters might push food directly into my mouth. From across the blanket, my brother’s hazel eyes glimmered with amusement as he held his new daughter against his shoulder, softly patting her little back with his large work-scarred hand.
Abra held out the chickpea mash again, shaking the bowl slightly with a silent command for me to take more. I complied, even though I had little appetite. Only the deep concern in her eyes could entice me to eat. “I never cared all that much for her in any case,” she said, not needing to signify of whom she spoke.
Chana made a soft noise of agreement. “Remember how she used to fly at you when you teased her, Malakhi? I was always afraid she might hit you.”
Knowing that their cutting words were born of protection, and that Chana had always been timid where Rivkah was concerned, I kept my voice soft. “I usually deserved it, sister. I took every opportunity to torment her when I was a boy.”
Abra ignored my defense of Rivkah. “It’s plain she still holds it against you, or she would not have disrespected you in such a way. She must have a heart of stone to toss you aside like that, without a word. You are better off without her.” The ache in my belly swelled, and this time when Chana moved to fill my cup with beer, I placed my hand over the rim.
“Girls,” said my mother, the single word causing them both to snap to attention. “Let your brother be. We will not speak ill of Rivkah, no matter what she has done. She was Gidal’s wife, and we will honor her as such.” Emotion glimmered in her eyes as she looked at me, and I had the feeling she was trying to convey something important. “We do not know the whole of the story. But Yahweh does, and we will trust him with the outcome. Instead we must pray that she is found soon. Unharmed.”
I curled my fingers into fists, again fighting the instinct to flee this warm cocoon of familial comfort in order to search for her. She could not have gone all that far. She was one of the most intelligent women I knew; she would not willfully place herself in harm’s way. But where had she taken shelter during the violent thunderstorm that had torn through earlier?
The youngest of my nephews began to cry. Little Yoni had became demanding of his parents’ attention since his baby sister had been born and, along with being tired, he was jealous that his older brother Zekai had command of his mother’s lap. With a sigh, Sofea gathered the boy close, speaking into his ear in her native tongue. But just as his tears began to abate, someone pounded on the door, startling Yoni into a louder wail.
My mother sprang to her feet, defying the silver streaks in her black hair. It was her custom to greet every guest and wash their feet, even though she employed a number of women who’d taken refuge in Kedesh. It was quite late for newcomers; they must have slipped into the city just before the gates closed at nightfall. But my mother never turned anyone away, regardless of their ability to pay for a room or a meal. A lamp was always left burning in her window, a beacon to refugees and a light to travelers, even on the darkest of nights.
Before she reached the latch, the pounding resumed, and a loud voice demanded entry. From across the room, I saw my father flinch, and then he was on his feet, hauling his wife back away from the door and drawing a bronze dagger from his belt in one swift move.
Confusion swirled in my head. Looking pale and stricken, Eitan carefully transferred his infant daughter into his wife’s arms. “Go,” he said to Sofea, even as the door shook on its hinges. “Take the children into our chamber. And bar the door securely.”
Sofea’s blue eyes were wide and her hands trembled, but with admirable calm she shepherded her brood and nine-year-old Tirzah into the next room, muttering falsely cheerful assurances to them as she did so.
Knowing that neither my brother nor my father would be this disturbed by a mere stranger, I hauled up my sisters by their elbows and ordered them to follow Sofea. But they huddled behind me, gripping the back of my tunic and whispering prayers.
“How did he get past the guards?” Eitan hissed, his own bronze dagger gripped in his fist.
My father ignored Eitan’s question and lifted his voice to address the man at the door. “Why are you here, Raviv?”
The man’s name hit me like a stone to the temple. Raviv. My father’s brother. The man who had sworn blood vengeance on my mother and Eitan nearly twenty years before. My pulse thundered as I made a swift search for some sort of weapon to wield, finding only a loaded sling one of my nephews had left on the floor. It would have to do, so I snatched it up. I did not care that the man was my uncle; he would not touch my mother or my brother.
“Let me in, Darek!” came the returning bellow. “Where is she?”
Shock, confusion, an
d curiosity vied for supremacy on my father’s face. “Where is who?”
“Where is Nessa?” Raviv yelled. “I know you have her in there!”
My mother took a couple of steps forward, a strangely placid expression on her face and her hand stretched toward the door. “He’s not here for me, Darek. Let him in.”
He banded an arm around her waist to prevent her from reaching the latch. “I won’t take that chance, love. He is not above such deception. You don’t know him like I do.”
“He vowed to leave Eitan and me alone.” She pressed her palm to his chest, her gaze intent on his and her voice gently pleading. “Please, husband. With the three of you to protect us, we shall be fine. He sounds distraught.”
“Only you would be so compassionate after the things he’s said and done.” With a mix of exasperation and gentle humor, he pursed his mouth tight as they silently argued her point. Then he nodded and gently steered her toward me and the girls. “Stay behind Malakhi.”
She complied, her hand patting my forearm with reassurance as she slipped behind me. I felt the three of them shift position and knew the girls were wrapped in a tight embrace, with our mother’s strong presence between them.
Dagger still in hand, my father unlatched the door and flung it wide. Raviv pressed forward, crowding my father and looking down at him with fury. “What have you done with her?”
My father blinked in bewilderment and shifted backward two steps to allow for his older brother to enter the room, giving ground to another person for the first time in my memory. “There is no one here except my family and a small group of traders up from Shiloh, but no one named Nessa. Who are you looking for?”
“My daughter,” said Raviv, his eyes seeming to blacken against the flicker of lamplight. “And I know she’s here, so stop lying.”
“Your daughter is not here,” said my father. “I have not seen your children since that day at your house eight years ago.”
Until the Mountains Fall Page 8