Gaunt, ragged, and with an infant at her breast, she’d been hawking a paltry assortment of wilted vegetables on a blanket in a neglected corner of the town plaza. Her twin boys were with her, but even as they crouched together drawing in the dirt with sticks, they were eerily silent.
Over the years I’d tried everything to persuade Nessa to leave the man who was not only chronically unfaithful but who also wielded his fists as weapons. I’d begged her to petition the town elders, hoping at least a few of them might be compassionate and concerned for her safety and that of her children. However, fear that her husband might cast her out with nothing outweighed her trust in the men who were supposed to govern Edrei with fairness.
I knew, without question, that were we in Kedesh and my father presiding as judge over a man such as her husband, the consequences would be severe. My father always deferred to Mosheh’s law, insisting that a wife was to be treated as a husband’s own flesh—to be cherished, protected, and loved—and that a man who would even dare to defame his wife in public was a coward of the lowest character.
“What is bothering you?” Malakhi’s voice had once again become familiar to me, but unlike when I was a girl, it now made frissons of sensation spike to my fingertips. Somehow over the last couple of weeks, I’d lost all ability to guard against the new way his presence affected me.
“Nessa’s husband,” I said, avoiding eye contact as I collected my shattered pen and covered my inks. When I finally gathered enough courage to look up, the silent fury on his face sent a wave of confusion through me.
“Did he proposition you again?” The silver of his eyes deepened to the exact shade of a thunderstorm, his voice rising. “Did he touch you?” Two servant girls stopped their conversation to watch us, their tilted chins making it clear they were anxious to overhear our conversation.
I feigned a smile, hoping to dispel their interest. “No. But we cannot discuss this here.”
Malakhi flicked a glance around the courtyard. “Meet me in the garden then.”
“We can’t—”
“Unless you want someone to see me going into your room,” he said, “there is no other place we can speak privately. And I have questions.”
Of course he did. The tenacious boy who had prodded me until frustrations spewed out of my mouth would in no way give in until he knew everything. And truly, he did deserve answers. Resigned, I blew out a slow, trembling breath. “All right. I’ll put my tools away first so it does not seem that I am following.”
He nodded and made a show of walking to the cistern for a drink, then speaking to one of his workers before slipping into the garden. I finished the lines I’d been attempting to compose, then took my ink palette into my room and tucked the ruined papyrus beneath my pallet to be used later. After checking twice to make sure no one in the courtyard was watching me, I headed through the open garden gate.
This early in the afternoon the pool was shaded by the palms, lily pads and lotuses undulating gently on the surface of the water. Samil had patterned his garden after one he’d seen at the governor’s palace in Avaris, right down to the ornately carved cedar doors of the pagan sanctuary where his wives worshiped their gods. Thankfully, the stench of incense emanating from within was mitigated by the heady mix of floral fragrances contained within this oasis.
Following the narrow stone path that meandered through oleander, flax, and lemongrass bushes, I continued peering over my shoulder every few steps. I’d never set foot in this quiet place without my master, and if Malakhi and I were seen here alone, I’d have no viable explanation. A large hand darted out from behind an oleander bush and pulled me into the shadows. Even knowing that it was Malakhi, I slapped a palm over my lips to keep from crying out.
“Now tell me what that worm did to you.” His gaze bore into mine. Five years ago I’d have been annoyed by this flare of protectiveness, thinking it was some sort of proprietary claim, but now his obvious concern made something warm settle into the center of my bones—something I should not entertain but did nonetheless. It had been a long time since I’d felt safe and cared for.
“Nothing. I promise.” I reined in the urge to reach out and smooth the outrage from his brow. “I am only concerned for Nessa. I have not seen that worm, as you so aptly called him, for years. He sends her into town to sell their farm goods and then drinks and whores away the majority of the proceeds.”
The unmitigated relief on his face made the delicious warmth burrow even deeper. “Tell me what happened.”
“I saw her in the marketplace today with bruises on her body and her soul in pieces.” My throat pinched tight. “Here I am the one who sold myself, and yet she is treated lower than a slave.”
His body stiffened. “What can we do?”
“We?”
“She is my cousin, Rivkah. No matter what her father has done, I do not want her to suffer.”
My jaw gaped. “Your cousin?”
“You did not know? She is Raviv’s daughter.”
“No, she said nothing.” I was well aware of the blood feud within Malakhi’s family, but Nessa had revealed little of her past, and I’d been so wrapped up in my own worries that I had not thought to ask about her heritage.
“So you ran off from Kedesh with a woman you barely knew?”
I was sorely tempted to defend myself, but with the wisdom gleaned from hindsight I was well aware how reckless my behavior had been. Leaving my home with a stranger and her two male cousins had been the height of foolishness, and it was only by the grace of Yahweh that Amit and I had arrived safely in Edrei. “I have no excuses for my actions. I’d struck up a friendship with her but knew little more than that her father had sold her into marriage with some old farmer. And that he cared more for silver than his own daughter.”
“You didn’t see him when he burst into the inn looking for her, ready to tear our home apart with his bare hands. We all went together to Laish to search for you.”
Thinking of Malakhi and his family searching for me in that wicked place dredged up a slew of guilt-laden memories. I turned my face away to hide the tears that suddenly sprang to my eyes. “I was such a fool,” I whispered.
“Why?” he asked, the strangled sound of that one word peeling back so many layers of shame that I could barely breathe from the raw pain it uncovered. I’d dreaded this conversation from the moment I’d opened the door to him. I’d never even told Nessa the full truth, although I suspected she guessed that the night of the festival had gone awry when I returned at dawn, reeking of pig filth.
“What did I do to make you go?” he asked, his words taut and tortured. My head jerked up as my stomach dropped to my feet. He was looking toward the pool, his arms crossed and his lips pressed tightly together. One thing was evident—this question was not from the soldier and leader of men before me. It was from the sixteen-year-old he had been.
“It wasn’t about you,” I said, attempting to soften the truth.
“You made it very clear you did not want me.”
“You were so young—”
“True. I was young and had much to learn, but I was old enough to be a husband, Rivkah. I would have taken care of you. Provided for you and Amit. I would have . . .” He shook his head, his words sliding into silence.
“What?”
He paused, his jaw working back and forth. Then he seemed to make a decision as he stared into my eyes. “I would have loved you.”
My heart pounded furiously, my thoughts a swirling confusion as he continued. “I’ll never forget the day you married my brother. I stood there, watching you pledge your troth to him and felt like someone had taken a dagger to my chest. I couldn’t breathe.”
My knees wobbled. Everything I thought I knew about Malakhi was being turned on its axis. Then he continued, his tone so bitter I could practically taste it in my own mouth. “And then he died, and I was the lowest of the low to be thrilled when your father asked that I marry you. I hated myself nearly as much as I hoped that you
would see me, even in your grief. I deserved your desertion.”
“No! I was selfish. Arrogant and prideful. Determined to have my own way. It would not have mattered who my father betrothed me to, Malakhi. I still would have run.”
He scoffed. “You told me I was a spoiled child and did your very best to push me to break the betrothal for weeks before you left. You cannot say it wasn’t about me.”
“I thought you were just bowing to my father’s command. That I was an obligation. And you seemed to take such pleasure in tormenting me when we were children—”
“Because I wanted you to be alive!” he said, his voice spiking too high. Without thinking, I closed the short distance between us and pressed my palm over his mouth, terrified someone might hear, but as soon as I touched his lips I dropped my hand, flushing from head to toe, my skin tingling.
Malakhi drew in a deep breath, then continued in a softer tone. “When your mother died, it seemed like you did too. The only time I ever saw fire in you was when you were yelling at me. So I did all I could to get you to snap. I was a boy, Rivkah. It was all I knew how to do. I couldn’t tell you that your silent sadness made my stomach ache. It was easier to pull your braids or put crickets in your bed to make you flare your tail feathers at me so I didn’t have to worry that you were going to lie down next to your mother and wither away.”
I blinked my eyes, swept back into memories of those days when I had indeed felt like there was nothing to live for without my ima, when my father had been so caught up in his own grief and my sister too busy filling my mother’s sandals that I’d been forced to press the hurt down deep or be consumed by it. To think that even at nine years old he’d seen my pain and tried to help in his own, misguided way . . .
If only I’d not closed my ears to my father’s wisdom, had listened when he’d encouraged me to give Malakhi the chance to grow into the man who now stood before me. We would have been married all these years. Amit would have known Malakhi as a father. I would be free. Instead, I’d destroyed everything with my selfishness, so wrapped up in pointing out his faults that I’d not even attempted to know his heart. I’d run away from the boy I’d imagined him to be, not the young man whose strengths my father had seen from the beginning.
“I’d planned to set you free from the betrothal when we found you,” he said. “When you did not return, I pushed all thought of marriage aside. Threw myself headlong into training with my father. Into war. It was less painful—” He cut himself off with a shake of his head.
“Than what?” I dared to ask.
He pinned me with his silver-eyed gaze, his tone layered with a shade of abashment that I’d never heard from his mouth before. “Than hoping someday you would come back . . . to me.”
I gripped the seams of my tunic to hide the trembling of my hands as a caravan of memories surfaced, filtered through these new revelations: the abrupt change in the way he’d treated me in his fourteenth year; how he’d watched me from afar after my first betrothal with frustration in his eyes; how he’d then suddenly encouraged the attention of the other girls; how easily he’d agreed to my father’s demand for levirate marriage—as if he welcomed it.
The kiss in the quince grove.
True, at the time that kiss had been unwelcome, but perhaps it had been the plea of a young man unsure how to express his heart to the woman who’d once been married to his brother. I cringed, remembering how afterward I’d accused him of manipulation, trampled on him, and then tossed him aside. How had I been so blind? So spiteful and cutting?
His bitter laugh broke into my turbulent thoughts, all remnants of his earlier self-consciousness having been wiped away during the silent moments between us. “Believe me, if my mother and sisters had their way, I would already be married by now. When I came home after being wounded, there was a constant flow of young women at nearly every family meal.”
I had little doubt of that. Malakhi the boy had been attractive and charming. Malakhi the man was nothing less than devastating. I swallowed the acid on my tongue. “And none you considered?”
“Ayala,” he said. “I decided to marry her right before your note arrived.”
Now I understood the pain he’d spoken of earlier. The woman’s name felt like a dagger between my ribs, one with serrated edges and slathered in poison. And I had no right to feel this way. None. He deserved a faithful, constant wife. One who had not willingly stepped into chains and dragged her child with her. Besides, it was plain to see that whatever affection Malakhi once held for me had been dissolved by my betrayal.
My throat was on fire, but I managed a feeble smile. “You will make her a fine husband, Malakhi. Your willingness to stay here, to take on this work to protect Amit, not to mention the way you treat him with such patience and kindness, tells me just what kind of man you’ve become.”
Although I did not expect him to forgive me—especially if I ever told him the entire truth—perhaps I could try to make amends, build new bridges for the sake of my son. Because even when Malakhi married Ayala, Amit would still be his nephew.
Approaching voices drifted into our private space. Without a word, Malakhi plunged between two palm bushes, their fronds barely moving as he slipped into them with the skill of a man trained by expert spies. I stood rooted to the spot, unsure whether I should attempt to flee out the gate or try to follow Malakhi. Peering around the oleander, I realized that my indecision had left me in the path of Ofira and Dilara as they moved toward the pool, an assortment of their children swarming behind them like a flock of unruly sheep. I held my breath as they passed me, praying for invisibility, but to my chagrin, Bensam spotted me and called out a greeting.
Samil’s wives turned with matching scowls on their faces.
“Why are you hiding in here?” said Dilara. “Don’t you have work to do?”
I willed my voice not to shake. “My hand was cramping and it was quiet in the garden, so I took a short break here by the pool.”
Dilara’s gaze swept around me, as if she somehow sensed that I’d not been alone, but I held a mild expression on my face. Ofira said nothing, turning away with her usual cool haughtiness. She’d always ignored me, as if speaking to a servant were far beneath her. But Dilara, the more calculating of the two, tipped her head to the side and regarded me with suspicion. “This garden is not for your personal use. Get back to work, or I’ll make sure my husband knows you’ve been squandering time instead of tending to your duties.”
Biting the inside of my cheek with a force that nearly drew blood, I gave a subservient nod and shuffled away. After a few paces, I braved a swift glance over my shoulder to find her still watching me, eyes narrowed. She would run to Samil with this morsel in all haste, desperate as she was to remain at the center of his affections. Most likely she feared he would lose interest in her as he had done with Ofira when he brought a younger, more nubile wife into the household. I upped my pace and fled the garden, praying that Amit and I would not end up as burnt sacrifices to her vanity.
CHAPTER
thirty
14 Tishri
Amit and Bensam worked together to drag a tree branch across the courtyard, intent on being of use to the men building sukkahs for the upcoming festival. The friendship between my son and Dilara’s oldest child had never settled easily with me, but I had no reason to prevent it. And since Samil encouraged their pairing, even going so far as to include Amit in family meals and special events, it would be difficult to counter his generosity.
Now that the addition to the villa was complete, even in advance of the date Samil had demanded, Malakhi had been asked to oversee the building of temporary shelters for the Feast of Sukkot. Everyone—masters and slaves, Hebrews and foreigners—would spend seven days feasting in the shelters, remembering the time our forefathers spent in the wilderness after fleeing Egypt.
Tomorrow evening would begin the first day of the annual celebration, which would start with a day of rest; but today there was much to be accomplished,
and Samil had directed me to put aside my written work to aid the other servants with preparations. Malakhi’s men were assembling ten sukkahs, and the women had been charged with decorating them with palm fronds, flowers, and vibrant fabrics that would put Samil’s wealth on display for all of Edrei to covet. As the law prescribed, he directed that everyone in the household be included in the banquet, dancing, and games—not only to foster devotion, but also to demonstrate his Torah observance to the elders of the town. This front would ensure that later they’d turn a blind eye when he bent those very same laws to his favor.
“Ima!” yelled Amit, waving a dirty palm at me from across the courtyard, dark hair sweeping over his eyes. “Malakhi used our branch for the top!”
With a purple lotus in hand, I returned the wave, smiling at my sweet boy’s enthusiasm. He took pride in every small task Malakhi gave him, whether it be fetching a mallet or gathering twigs, and begged daily for more chores just to be near the man who had known his father. Then later, with hero worship glittering in his dark eyes, he regaled me with story after story of Gidal, some that included me as a girl and some that made me understand my late husband better than I ever had while we were married.
Even unaware of the true nature of their relationship, Amit was naturally drawn to his uncle, and once I’d pushed past my uneasiness and accepted that Malakhi had no intention of stealing my son away, I’d become grateful for the affection he had for him. And in all honesty, I deeply regretted that Amit had never gotten the chance to call Malakhi “Abba” and that I’d wasted the opportunity to call him “Husband.” Instead, Ayala would enjoy that privilege, and I would strive not to resent the faceless woman who would benefit from my stupidity.
“When are you going to tell Amit the truth?” asked Ana as she tucked a spray of white lilies into the gap between two palm branches. She gestured toward Malakhi, who had lifted my son onto his shoulders and was teaching him to tie a knot that would hold the crossbeam secure. “The two of them are enamored with each other.”
Until the Mountains Fall Page 21