“Since we are all going to the same place, we may as well travel together,” Joel said. “Shall I carry your provisions?”
“I am able,” she replied.
“I have no doubt you are,” Joel agreed. “But if I walk into camp empty-handed, my mother will assume I am disabled for life.”
“And she will berate me for not taking care of you,” Abijah added. “Then, when she finds you are all right, she will scream at both of us for giving her a fright.”
Rahab gratefully handed her food pouch and wineskin over to Joel, keeping only the sword strapped around her waist. At first she worried these men might be deserters, but reasoned traitors would have gone away from the Hebrew camp rather than toward it.
“The little rise in the distance. I think it is the remains of Jericho,” Rahab said.
Abijah squinted. “I see nothing, but the dying sun tells me we are going the right way.”
“How did you get lost?” Joel asked. “Did the little soldier wander away from our camp?”
“Not exactly.” Rahab thought how to explain what happened. After all, it was conceivable Kemil had returned home, spreading a different story about his absence.
“Uncle Kemil took us,” Karmotil volunteered. “With his snaky sword.” The child traced a serpentine pattern in the air.
Joel looked puzzled. “But why would your uncle—”
“I think you may be right,” Abijah interrupted, lightly laying a hand on his cousin’s forearm. “Those are indeed the ruins of Jericho directly ahead.”
“Shall we pass between Jericho and the river?” Rahab suggested. Although the sun set as they reached the charred ruins, there was still enough light to see. Nevertheless, Rahab could not fix any landmarks as they walked around where the walls once stood. Nothing remained but stones and ashes. How curiously quiet the rubble was, as if completely devoid of life. Even the mice and insects that once infested Jericho were nowhere to be seen. As the travelers approached the western curve leading to the king’s highway, Rahab saw a fragment of the old city wall still standing. From a high rock, a frayed length of scarlet cord fluttered in the evening breeze. “Why was my family spared?” she asked.
“Because you helped our spies,” Joel answered.
“What I mean is, why us? The spies could have lodged at some other inn. My family and I cannot claim any special distinction meriting this kindness.”
Abijah looked away from the ruins and nodded. “If the Almighty One did not show mercy on the unworthy, there would be no mercy shown. We would all receive justice, which no one can stand.”
Rahab walked on, having no more desire to examine her previous dwelling place. “You can see the road now, just to the right,” she said. Where the mighty gates once stood, there was nothing but ashes and twisted metal. Except for the loss of Rohat, Rahab felt no overwhelming sense of regret for Jericho’s destruction. Her thoughts went forward, anticipating her return to the Hebrew camp to reunite with what remained of her family.
The twilight faded into darkness as they reached the edge of the camp. “I will carry Karmotil now,” she said. “Thank you for bringing him all this way. I thought I could make it, but now I am not so certain.”
“My pleasure,” Abijah answered, transferring the sleeping boy to Rahab. She did not take the wineskin or food Joel held out. “No, keep the provisions,” she said. “They came from the soldiers’ portion. And again, I thank you for helping me.” Outside the perimeter of the camp, the glow of a cooking fire illuminated the outline of her family tent. She walked toward it as swiftly as she could with Karmotil in her arms.
“Mother!” Sanda’s voice rang out as she squatted by the fire. “Karmotil is home!”
Rahab had never seen her mother run so fast. “My baby!” Bilda said over and over through her tears. She took her grandson into her arms, endlessly kissing and cuddling him. Yassib enveloped both his son and Bilda in his embrace.
“Not baby,” Karmotil protested. “Me soldier.”
“Rahab!” Masula shouted.
“I do not see Kemil,” Sanda said.
Before she responded, Karmot joined the group. He took Rahab by surprise when he gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly. Still holding her, Karmot turned his tear-stained eyes toward heaven. “I thank You for my daughter’s safety, Lord,” he said.
“Why is Karmotil’s foot bandaged?” Bilda asked. “Where is my son? Is he following behind?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
As always, Rahab awoke at dawn, grateful to have no chores because of the Shabbat. Two days after she and Karmotil returned to the camp there was still no sign of Kemil. Much as she never cared to see her brother again, she knew her mother clung to the hope he would come home. Bilda’s eyes searched the horizon in vain each evening and again at daybreak when lighting the cooking fire. Karmot, on the other hand, seemed to go out of his way to show consideration to Rahab. It was almost as if her father was content knowing she and Karmotil were safe inside his tent.
As the family roused and partook of food prepared the day before, Karmot spoke of the law forbidding worship of graven images, along with the commandment to love the one true Almighty One. Rahab listened intently, impressed with her father’s growing knowledge. After this Shabbat, Karmot, Yassib, and Karmotil were to be circumcised. Once the priest offered the perfect lamb now staked outside their tent, the family dwelling could then be relocated inside the camp. At that point, they were considered full-fledged members of the Hebrew nation.
Karmot sat cross-legged on the carpeted ground. “I have something to tell all of you,” he said. “I have spoken many times with Matthias, and your mother has met with his wife Leah.” He cleared his throat. “We are making arrangements for Yassib’s marriage to their daughter Hannah.” He went on eating bread as calmly as if he had spoken of whether the sky was sunny or filled with clouds.
Rahab sat dazed. Yassib was to take a wife? Although she knew the possibility existed, she expected more time to pass before having to cope with another change in her family’s situation.
“We will finalize a marriage contract as soon as we move into the camp. Then Hannah will be pledged to Yassib. When both families consider the time right, she will come to live with Yassib here, in this home, according to the Hebrew custom.” Karmot picked at his bread, seeming to concentrate as much on his food as on the life-changing announcement he made. “Girls, you will treat Hannah as a sister. She will become a mother to Karmotil. Of course, she will be under Bilda’s authority in the matter of household chores. You may now convey your good wishes to Yassib.”
“I am glad for you, my son,” Bilda said without looking at Yassib. Instead, she kept her eyes on Karmotil, who was perched in her lap.
In Kemil’s absence, Rahab felt compelled to take the lead. “This is wonderful news, Yassib. I wish you and Hannah many years together.”
“Congratulations,” Sanda said. “Now, when will I get a marriage contract?”
“When I decide the time is right. No sooner.” Karmot frowned and shooed away an insect. “I shall add to the wait every time I hear this same question from your lips again. Today we celebrate Yassib’s betrothal.”
“It is good you are taking a wife,” Masula said.
Since Karmot discouraged the use of their oil lamp, the family went to bed when the daylight was spent. On this evening, the sleeping mats remained on the ground from the previous night. They were not rolled up and put away today, because even such light labor fell into the category of work—which was forbidden on Shabbat.
“We should leave the mats unrolled all the time,” Sanda said. “It would save a lot of effort.”
“Then every day would be like Shabbat,” Masula said with a yawn.
“What a fine idea!” Sanda raised herself on an elbow. “No work, ever again.”
“Um,” Bilda said. “Come, Karmotil.” She took her grandson in her arms and began the nightly ritual of side-to-side rocking to put him to sleep.
> Sanda asked, “Will Hannah bring her own mat when she comes to live here? Where will we put it?”
“We have plenty of time to think about that,” Bilda replied. “Now sleep.”
Rahab lay awake wondering what she was like, this Hannah, who was to become part of her family. Try as she might, she did not remember meeting her at the river—the most likely place for a social encounter. Perhaps it was wise to change the place where she kept her valuables stowed until Hannah proved herself honest. The once-numerous silver bracelets were easier to hide, since only a precious few remained. She wondered how Kemil missed finding her jewelry when he took her dagger and Rohat’s topaz.
While thinking on these things, Rahab heard a soft noise, as if someone were weeping. Listening intently, she determined the sound came from Bilda’s mat. In the darkened tent, she saw her mother sit up and—after a moment—quietly slip outside. Rahab took her blanket and followed. The outline of Bilda’s body was barely visible in the deepening darkness. “Mother?” Rahab whispered, to avoid causing a fright.
“Go inside,” Bilda replied in a hushed voice.
“It is chilly out here.” Rahab put her blanket around her mother’s shoulders. “What is bothering you?” Rahab asked. “Is it the wedding?”
“No. Hannah will be good for Karmotil. Yassib will learn to love her.” Bilda’s body began to shake with sobs. “I fear for Kemil.”
“Maybe he found his way to a farm. He may have worked in a field for wages this very day. Perhaps he is staying in an inn tonight, similar to the one I ran in Jericho.”
“Or he may be dead,” Bilda said flatly. “Tonight I saw his body in a dream. What if my son is gone forever, and I am to blame?”
Rahab pulled the blanket higher on her mother’s shoulder. “You did nothing to force him to take flight. The guilt is Kemil’s. His alone.”
“No.” Bilda buried her face in her hands. “I knew he wanted to run away from the Hebrew camp. I helped him.”
“He did not need to escape,” Rahab replied. “How many times have they told us we are free to go if we wish?” At last her mother’s words penetrated her reasoning. “Helped him how?”
Bilda lifted her head and dropped her hands. “I took the dagger and the precious stone from the tent and gave them to him.”
Unable to restrain the anger in her voice, Rahab said, “You took my things? And gave them to Kemil? Why would you do such a thing?”
Bilda’s face was not visible in the darkness. “I had to help him. He is my son.”
“I am your daughter. Karmotil is your grandson. What of us?” Rahab asked.
“I left your jewelry untouched. I did not know you and the baby were going with Kemil,” Bilda replied. “Surely you can understand.”
“You make it sound as if I wanted to go. Kemil forced me, with my own weapon,” Rahab said. “Your beloved son planned to sell Karmotil and me into slavery. How can you excuse such behavior?”
Bilda removed the blanket from her shoulders and folded it. “I know Kemil. He would never do such a thing.”
“Then why did he take us with him? Why did he tell me that was his plan?”
Bilda handed Rahab her blanket. “Go now. Sleep.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Karmot and Yassib rested inside the tent after their circumcision. Karmotil, however, grew restless after a brief period of quiet, and resumed his normal activities. “Look at him,” Rahab said. “He ran two days after the scorpion stung his foot, and now he takes his circumcision as if nothing happened.”
“Karmotil is strong,” Sanda said. “Unlike the grown men who lie on their mats all day.”
“I suspect circumcision is more of an ordeal for a man than a boy,” Rahab said.
“What is circum—how do you say it?” Masula asked.
“I will cook now,” Bilda nudged Sanda. “You and Masula go and get twigs for the fire.”
Sanda said, “I thought we were moving today. Will our next meal not be inside the camp?”
“Our helpers must have bread,” Bilda replied. “Go. And take Karmotil.”
Masula took Karmotil’s hand and walked beside Sanda toward the river. “Think of it, Sister,” Sanda said. “We will have neighbors again. People close by, girls we can visit with and talk to.”
Since supplies were stored in the main area of the tent, Rahab went inside and brought out oil and grain. Putting the ingredients near the cooking fire, she asked, “Who is coming to help us move?”
Bilda squatted near the smooth stone where she pounded dough. “Leah, the wife of Matthias. And her daughters.”
“Including Hannah?”
“Yes.” Bilda began to the mix ground wheat with oil. It was as if her hands were independent of the rest of her, knowing what to do whether Bilda paid attention or not. “I will see if the girl is a worker.”
“And if she is not?” Rahab asked.
Bilda lifted her eyebrows, tilted her head, and shrugged.
While her mother prepared fresh flatbread over the outdoor cooking fire, Rahab returned to her packing. Floor coverings, sleeping mats, and kitchen supplies made up the bulk of the family’s possessions, along with miscellaneous items including Yassib and Karmot’s swords. Her mind was consumed with curiosity about her future sister-in-law. As soon as she heard voices, she went outside to help greet the visitors.
“Welcome Leah!” Bilda said. “We are honored to have you visit our home. My daughters, Rahab, Sanda, and Masula join me in greeting you.” Bilda pointed out each girl as she spoke. “And this is my grandson, Karmotil, son of Yassib.” At the mention of his name, Karmotil grinned and ducked behind Masula.
Rahab was surprised at Bilda’s formal speech, apparently with words carefully chosen and practiced. “Welcome,” she said. Her sisters repeated her greeting in unison.
“Thank you,” Leah answered. She gestured to the young women following behind her. “My daughters Tamar and Hannah are pleased to be here.”
“May we offer you some bread and barley water?” Bilda asked.
“We are delighted to accept.” Leah smiled and sat cross-legged on the ground. Her two daughters silently imitated their mother and squatted near her.
Rahab offered hot flatbread to the guests, just as she had in the days when she was an innkeeper. She tried to observe each woman as she presented the plank of food, all the while taking care not to stare or make direct eye contact. Since she was introduced first, Tamar must be the oldest daughter. She wore the head covering of a married woman, and looked very much like her mother—same round face and rounded figure. Hannah’s garment, much to Rahab’s surprise, had the darkened hemline of a widow. She was taller than her sister, and thinner. Her angular profile reflected the sharp lines of Matthias’s face, and her skin bore evidence of many hours in the sun. Her eyes and mouth resembled straight slits, through which little passed in or out. A generous person might possibly describe Hannah as plain, Rahab thought.
Sanda solemnly handed out cups of barley water, for once remaining silent. After the guests, Rahab and Sanda served Bilda. Then they helped themselves, leaving Masula to fend for herself. Rahab took Karmotil into her lap and shared her food with him. “Good bread,” Leah said. “I have attempted to make it the way you showed me, but mine does not have this texture. I suppose I am doing something wrong.”
“Practice,” Bilda said. “It will come.”
Other than Bilda and Leah, no one spoke. Despite many openings, Bilda gave short responses to Leah’s questions and comments. Rahab thought her mother looked uncomfortable after the initial discussion of bread-making. Losing interest in the idle chatter, Rahab let her eyes rest on Hannah. Is she pleased to become Yassib’s wife? Does she know who he is? That he has good intentions but not much initiative? Is she apprehensive, knowing she and this man from Jericho will be bound to each other for the rest of their lives?
Although there was no clearly recognizable signal, Bilda and Leah simultaneously stood. The daughters followed their
mothers, and somehow Rahab understood the social obligations were complete. “We are packed,” Bilda said, gesturing toward Rahab.
“Yes,” Rahab said. “The carpet is taken up and wrapped. Our belongings are rolled inside the sleeping mats stacked just inside the main section of the tent.”
“Good,” Leah said. “Girls, let us help this family get moved. Bilda and I will go and lay out the location of the tent in the new space.
“Moving the tent requires strength,” Hannah said.
“I suppose I am the strongest,” Rahab volunteered, surprised by the pleasant richness of Hannah’s voice.
“Tamar, bring some bundles,” Leah said.
Soon, Rahab found herself alone with Hannah. “My method is to begin by loosening all of the pegs,” Hannah said. “Then I release the ropes on the side away from any breeze first, to keep the wind from getting inside and blowing the tent around. I suggest we start here, and work toward the other side.” Hannah pulled on a stake that kept a guy rope taut. “Just loosen the pegs, but leave the ties attached,” she said.
Rahab worked next to Hannah. “You spoke the truth when you said this takes strength.” She rocked the stake back and forth. “Do the men ever help?”
“They did, when they were home,” Hannah replied. “Now my father and brother are in the advance military guard when we are moving. Other times they are scouting or training, and now they have gone to Ai. It is really not hard to do, but it does help to have a donkey cart to carry the tent.” Hannah kept working while she talked. “We dragged ours once. Caused us a lot of patching.”
“You are getting ahead of me,” Rahab said. “How do you do this so quickly?”
“I care for my family’s sheep,” Hannah said, as if her work as a shepherdess somehow explained her strength.
Rahab’s curiosity overcame her. “You have only one brother?”
“Only one, the oldest. He is twenty-five, and engaged. I suppose this is one reason my parents want me to remarry. They need room for Ahaizel’s wife in our small tent.”
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