“It is too dangerous right now.” It was conceivable that my master had already heard of Malakhi’s particular attention to us, since Amit was not in any way subtle about his infatuation with the head carpenter, but I shuddered to think what Samil might do if he discovered we’d been connected all along. “Perhaps when he is older and can understand the need for secrecy.”
Besides, I was unsure how to explain to a four-year-old that his foolhardy mother had placed him in danger for her own selfish reasons, and that my twin failings of pride and shame had kept me from running back to my father’s house before it was too late. Ana made a small noise of frustration, but when I refused to explain myself more thoroughly, she walked away, answering the loud summons of the head cook from the kitchen courtyard.
Absently, I hummed the song that had been forming in my mind for the past few days and tucked the lotus between the quince branches the men had tied to the sukkah frame, the fragrance causing a fleeting reminder of my last moments in the grove with Malakhi. A few paces away, he gave low-toned directions to his men as they stripped the trees, dug holes to anchor the shelters in place, raised the corner poles, and then filled in the tops and three sides with all varieties of branches and limbs. Samil had demanded that his sukkahs be the most beautiful in Edrei, and Malakhi had risen to the challenge. I’d be loath to see them disassembled in a week’s time.
The master himself had visited the courtyard a number of times and praised the efforts, clapping Malakhi on the shoulder as he outlined the progress they’d made. A ridiculous swell of pride had filled me as I watched the man I’d been betrothed to receive such accolades. The charms of the boy who’d been so skilled at convincing others to participate in his games and acts of daring had translated into the confidence and persistence of a natural-born leader. Even the older laborers deferred to him with surprising ease.
Once the flowers were tucked into place across the leafy wall of the sukkah, I retrieved one of the long, narrow lengths of blue linen to decorate the entrance to the shelter. I found a sturdy basket to stand on and began interlacing the fabric in and around the branches, palm fronds, and flowers.
I heard a crack as the basket wobbled beneath my sandals. With a gasp, I instinctively grabbed the crossbeam above my head to steady myself, but since it was not made to support the weight of a woman, the branch snapped in two. Just as my makeshift stool gave way and I began to fall, strong arms wrapped around me from behind and gently placed me on the ground.
“Are you all right?” came Malakhi’s voice from directly next to my ear, his arms still around my body. Everything went still inside me as I restrained the urge to lean back into him, to indulge in the undeniable comfort of this embrace.
“Rivkah, have you hurt yourself?”
I cleared the uncertainty out of my throat and shook my head. “I am whole.”
He dropped his arms, but a deep chuckle vibrated against my back. “Well, your basket is not. And neither, for that matter, is my sukkah. You didn’t have to swing from it.”
“I did no such thing.” I whirled around. He was so close that I nearly stepped back, but found myself bereft of any desire to do so. He loomed over me, blocking out the rest of the courtyard behind him. But instead of being menacing, his presence was all-encompassing, as if I were wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and protection. Malakhi was no longer a boy—he was a broad-shouldered man whose once youthfully beautiful face had become only more artfully defined with age. And yet, no matter how handsome he was, it was the kindness he showed my child and his faithfulness to stay in Edrei for us that made me more aware every day of just how stupid I’d been to walk away from him.
“It . . .” I blinked to reassemble my wits. “It happened so fast. I grabbed on without thinking.”
He looked down at me with a glint of amusement in his eyes, as if he knew the pathway of my thoughts and reveled in them. “Perhaps next time you should pick a sturdier stool.”
“And perhaps you should use sturdier limbs,” I snapped back.
His lips twitched. “You never could let me get the last word could you?”
Taking the bait, I quirked a brow as I suppressed my own smile. “Why, when mine were so much more clever?”
He brushed the long hair from his eyes as he gazed down his nose at me with the smirk I remembered so well, and then, to my delight, he laughed. A full-throated, deep, rich laugh that I felt from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers.
Amit appeared at my hip. “Ima, you broke the sukkah!”
“She did,” said Malakhi, not taking his gaze from mine and laughter still tugging at his mouth. “You and I will have to mend it, won’t we?”
“But the beam is broken in half!” said Amit.
“You’d be surprised what can be restored, with the right motivation,” said Malakhi, his silver stare holding mine captive in a way that made me wonder whether he was speaking of the sukkah at all.
Although I’d spent the last five years regretting my flight from Kedesh, I’d counted Malakhi as having benefited from my leaving. But since he’d appeared in Edrei, regret for having wounded him had taken up residence in my soul, growing larger every day. I didn’t see how the destruction I’d caused could ever be made right, but I desperately wanted to try.
Spindly arms wrapped around my hips. I looked down at my son, whose face shone with joy and contentment in Malakhi’s presence. I would do anything to keep that expression there. I brushed back the tangle of hair that threatened to hide his beautiful brown eyes. “You, my sweet boy, need a haircut. I’ll have to borrow a razor from one of the men.”
Amit pouted. “I don’t want one. Can’t I tie it like Malakhi?”
I glanced up at the man in question. Indeed, his hair had grown quite long over the weeks, and he’d taken to tying it up behind his head to keep it out of his eyes as he worked. One black hank of hair that had come loose nearly touched his shoulder. It reminded me of the time I’d shorn him out of spite. Maybe restoration could begin with something as simple as this.
“Perhaps Malakhi would like to go first,” I said. “I do owe him a proper haircut.”
Malakhi playfully narrowed his eyes at me. “You think I’d let you near me with a razor? I had to have my mother take the sheep-shearing scissors to my head. Took months to grow in properly.”
“You still had every girl in Kedesh following after you like a puppy.”
“Not the right one,” he said quickly, and before I could respond, he looked down at Amit. “I’ll get my hair cut if you do, but first we must finish our work. Why don’t you and Bensam go find me some rope and we’ll fix this mess your ima made?”
Amit bounced off, calling to his friend, who’d joined his mother in the shade on the far side of the courtyard for refreshments. It was then that I noticed Dilara watching Malakhi and me with a keenness that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I took two steps backward, affixing a bland smile on my face. “It would be best if you came to our room after the meal for your haircut,” I said. “Dilara retires early.”
He didn’t follow my gaze, but instead turned to inspect the damage I’d caused the sukkah. “Is she watching us now?”
“Yes.”
“She seems to have a particular disdain for you,” he said, tugging at the flower garland that had once been wrapped around the crossbeam.
“She resents Samil’s reliance on me and how much time he spends in my presence because of my duties. She has nothing to fear, of course, for I am far too old for Samil’s tastes, but all the same, she’s been extraordinarily disagreeable these past few weeks.”
“Then I’ll come after sunset.”
“All right. Anataliah and Amit will be there, so there should be no hint of impropriety.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and the intense expression on his face made my skin flush. “Yes, it would be best if we were not alone together.”
Flustered by the sudden huskiness of his voice, along with the distinct shif
t in his attitude toward me, I excused myself to offer help to a group of servants who were twining flower garlands around corner posts. But I could not help but look back numerous times as Malakhi instructed Amit and Bensam in gentle tones while the three of them bound the broken branch securely and then rewrapped the linen and flowers to hide the fracture I’d caused.
Once the sukkahs were sufficiently decorated, Ana called for all of us to gather for a meal. Amit slipped through the crowd of servants and laborers to find me. Sweat had plastered his wild dark tangles to his forehead and neck, but the smile on his face could light the night sky. A pang of fear hit me dead center. No matter what he’d said, Malakhi could not possibly stay here for an entire year and a half to wait for us. What would Amit do when his hero returned to Kedesh—and what would I do when he returned home to Ayala?
Brushing away the unbidden thought, I accepted a small basket of food from Ana in the kitchen courtyard and then led Amit to a spot in the shade near our room. As we ate, I let him chatter away in his excitement about the festival and how high in the air he’d been when on Malakhi’s shoulders. I surveyed the various groups of workers and slaves clustered together as he talked.
Estebaal stood off to one side of the courtyard, leaning against the mud-brick wall, his posture seemingly casual but his attention fixed on Ana. Unaware that a wolf had her in his sights, my friend bantered with the other kitchen workers, her deep dimples making an appearance whenever she laughed, and her rebellious coils of brown hair slipping from their mooring time and time again. Estebaal never looked away. A deep sense of foreboding curled in my gut. He was a handsome man, blue-eyed and finely chiseled head to toe, but Ana was in no way safe at the center of his attention. Her body may have grown into that of a woman in the last few years, becoming nearly as shapely as Dilara, but she was an innocent, trusting and guileless.
The Hebrew in Laish must have seen me the same way—nothing more than a wide-eyed lamb eager for slaughter. He’d preyed on my naïvety, stroked my vanity, and fed my appetite for affection that night. Although the wine had dulled my senses and warped my judgment, it had not muddled the memory of the way I’d practically begged for his touch. That one of my own people had used my drunkenness as an opportunity to take his own pleasure with my body and then abscond with everything I carried made him the worst kind of villain.
Apart from his violent behavior in service to Samil, I had little knowledge of Estebaal’s character, nor of his tendencies with women. But in case he might be anything like the unscrupulous Hebrew who’d used my own weaknesses against me, I had to do something. I refused to let Ana suffer any of my own regrets.
“Amit,” I said, “it’s time for a rest. Please go lie down. I’ll be in shortly.”
“But Ima,” he whined, “Malakhi has to tell me a story of Abba first.”
“Not today, son.”
His lower lip pushed forward, but he complied, a wide yawn on his lips before he’d even made it to the door of our room. I strode over to Estebaal, driven by a rush of fierce protectiveness. “Leave her be,” I said, my usual caution around the enormous man pushed aside by the thought of Anataliah being harmed in any way. She’d become more than a friend; she was a sister, and I would guard her as such.
He looked down at me, expression cool and tone detached. “Pardon?”
Ana was kneeling in the dirt, speaking to one of Samil’s children. The sight of her sunny, untainted smile gave me the courage to continue. “I’ve seen you watching her, Estebaal.”
A flicker of shock registered in his eyes, but he did not contradict me, nor question of whom I spoke.
“She is young and fairly ignorant to the darker element within this household. Your attentions would not be safe for her.”
“I know.” The words were so soft I barely heard them as his gaze moved back to her. “And I will do anything to ensure that she is safe.”
My breath lodged painfully in my lungs as I absorbed both his statement and the deep sorrow painted across his face as he watched her. Not because he meant to harm her. But because he had come to love her from afar.
“I saw her first,” he said, his tone low and mournful, “in that market. Samil did not have any interest in purchasing a slave that day, but she looked so lost, so small standing there with her little bundle, dressed in rags. . . .” He sighed. “I reminded the master that one of the cooks had died and we were in need of more kitchen help. I was so relieved when he bought her, took her away from the Moabite who had her up for auction like a sow.”
Anataliah had told me of that day as well, of her terror over who might purchase her to satisfy her parents’ debts and her profound relief when Samil ordered her to the kitchen instead of his bed.
“I felt responsible for her. So I kept an eye on her from that day onward. And over time”—he shrugged—“it became less of an obligation and more of a . . . necessity.”
“And you’ve never approached her?” Slaves within a household were allowed to marry, given the master’s permission. Samil held Estebaal in high regard; I doubted he would object to the match.
“I have no right. She is not for me.”
Even though I’d said nearly the same thing a few moments ago, curiosity drove me to ask, “Why not?”
“Look at her,” he said, and I followed his line of sight to the object of his reluctant affections. Bensam and a few of Samil’s other younger children now surrounded her as she placed a plump date into each of their eager hands.
“Even though everything has been stripped from her, she is still a bright flame,” he said. “When Samil ordered me to burn her belongings, she stood there without a tear in her eye, bowed her head to our master, and apologized for questioning his wisdom. And then she turned to me and smiled.”
He paused, the most affected I’d ever seen him in the five years I’d known him. “I wanted to vomit on the ground, Rivkah. I’ve broken fingers and smashed toes. I’ve burned homes. I’ve stolen animals in the dead of night. I’ve killed. But the sight of her sweet, brave smile nearly brought me to my knees.”
He shook his head. “No. She is not for me. I would never drag her sunlight into my dark world. But I will bathe in it from afar, for as long as I can.”
Although I hadn’t done a fraction of the things Estebaal had, I understood the creeping blackness he spoke of. The constant roil of shame in my gut as I huddled in the back of the traders’ wagon on the road away from Laish. The ever-cycling words of condemnation in my mind that kept me in Edrei once Nessa had abandoned me for her snake of a man. The conviction that no one in Kedesh would ever forgive me, which had driven me to sign that indenture contract.
In that moment, I found my opinion of the imposing man wholly altered. He was nothing like the Hebrew who’d stolen so much from me. For all the evil he’d participated in at the behest of our master, there was honor in this man, and admirable restraint in his refusal to even approach the woman he loved, for her sake.
“I have lived with Ana for nearly five years now,” I said. “And one thing I know is that she would never shame you for anything you’ve done. She is one of the most openhearted and generous people I’ve ever known.”
“Which is exactly why she is over there, and I am over here. There is nothing on this earth that could ever make me deserving of her.” He took one last look at Ana and then walked away.
CHAPTER
thirty-one
Malakhi
After casting another glance over my shoulder to ensure that I’d not been spotted creeping through the courtyard, I knocked on Rivkah’s door for the second time since coming to Edrei, and received a far different welcome than I had upon my arrival.
Before Rivkah had even fully opened the door, a well-trimmed Amit had slipped through the opening and dragged me inside, telling me his mother had already cut his hair and now it was my turn. He pulled me over to the stool in the center of the room and insisted that I sit in the place he’d only recently vacated, as evidenced by the d
ark waves of hair on the dirt floor. Ana was cross-legged on the pallet nearby, quiet amusement dancing in her eyes.
I untied my pack from around my waist and handed Amit the leather satchel in which I usually carried a number of essential carpentry tools, then attempted to situate myself on the short stool with my legs stretched out awkwardly in front of me. Once he’d hung the pack on a hook by the door, Amit ran back and slung his arms around my neck. With his little face close to mine, he asked if the sukkahs were finished.
My chest contracted sharply. From the moment I’d said I knew his father and began to tell him stories from our childhood, Amit had trusted me implicitly. He asked a thousand questions a day—about his father, about my work, about being a soldier—but tonight was the first time he’d physically embraced me. I swallowed hard before responding and noticed that Rivkah had tears in the corners of her eyes as she sharpened the razor on a whetstone.
I ruffled his hair. “Yes, my friend. Thanks to your help and Bensam’s, we are well prepared for Sukkot.”
“Malakhi will tell you more tomorrow, lamb,” said Rivkah. “It’s late now. Go lay with Ana while I cut his hair.” The boy complied, curling his back into Ana like a kitten but keeping his eyes on his mother and me, even as he yawned and settled deeper into her embrace. The sleepy smile he gave me was one of pure childlike contentment, and the adoration in his brown eyes, as well as their distinct resemblance to Gidal’s, nearly brought me to tears myself.
This remarkable boy should have been my son. And his mother, who with all her faults still drew me like a bee to an apple blossom, should have been my wife. We should have grieved Gidal together and then spent the last five years growing into love and building our own family.
As my bitterness toward her waned, in no small part due to her fierce devotion to Amit, I’d begun to realize just how much of a mirage I’d conjured in my youth. Yes, we’d known each other as children and I’d watched her and desired her from afar, but she’d never allowed me close enough to truly know her. I’d built Rivkah up in my imagination, expecting that she would mold herself to my expectations—and then I kicked the pedestal out from beneath her when she did not conform.
Until the Mountains Fall Page 22