by Misty Moncur
As I was wondering this, my eye caught Gideon’s. He stood a short distance away with his kinsmen. It had been over a year since I had come home, and not one day had passed that I hadn’t thought of this man. Seasons had passed. I knew I had changed, and I wondered in what ways he had changed. It was strange to see him so real and so close after all that time.
And yet, somehow, it was like all that time had not passed and we had never been apart.
His gaze was unreadable. That had not changed. I could not tell what he was thinking as we stared at each other in the early part of day, when the air was soft and the light was diffused by the mists.
Someone stepped between us, and I looked up to focus on the face of Mahonri. He was looking me over as he had done that first day I had met him in the hills outside of Antiparah, the way that had made me dislike him.
“Good work last night,” he said. “You really have a way with men.”
I brandished my knife. “Would you like to experience it first hand?”
He laughed and put out his arm between us.
I stared at it for a moment, and then I clasped arms with him. His respect was the respect of a man I did not like, but maybe I would try to see past my first impression of him. Just because I did not like a person did not mean he was unlikeable. Mahonri was surly, but he was loyal, honorable, faithful, and willing to do what had to be done—all good reasons to modify my opinion of him.
When he and Jonas moved out for home, I turned my eyes back to Gideon.
But he was gone.
I searched the crowded village road for him, for any of his kinsmen. They were all gone, and once again, I stood alone.
But I was not alone. The Holy Spirit stood beside me. I knew he had guided me through the night, just as I knew he had guided me in the past years.
I walked down the village road until I got to Hemni and Dinah’s.
I found Chloe in the yard milking Abigail.
“Chloe,” I called over the fence.
She looked over her shoulder. “Hi, Keturah.”
“Will you milk Mui for me and tell my mother I have gone for a walk?”
Her eyes lit up. “Alright,” she said. But then she looked toward the woods. “Are you sure you should go out there alone?”
“It is safe,” I said.
Because I had made it safe.
She nodded, and I walked on into the trees, weapons and all.
Whatever Gideon and his brothers and cousin were doing in Melek, they were obviously not here to see me. He had come here before and left me the flowers, but he had not come to stay.
As I walked, my heart was breaking all over again, but this time I wasn’t consoling myself with the thought of Zeke. This time there was nothing to console me, nothing that could. This time I would allow myself to grieve as Gideon walked away from me.
I could have gone to the meadow, sat above the falls and let my tears fall into the water below me, let them be swept away by the love of God. But instead my feet carried me to a place I had only been twice before.
I had knelt there thinking of molten rock flowing like a slow river, a miraculous impossibility, and I had met Gideon. I had knelt there among the broken shards and confessed to my Father that Gideon was the man I loved.
I knelt there now, a place that held only memories of Gideon and was not tainted with feelings for others. This was the place I could feel close to him. This was the place I would grieve for him, and I would take from it the stone for the weapons I would use to continue fighting as he had taught me to do.
I stared at the deep brown earth in front of me for a long time, trying not to remember it was the color of Gideon’s eyes. But I gradually began looking around at the beauty that abounded in this place. The foliage and underbrush grew up around the rock formations. It was clear that rock had been mined from the obsidian beds, but the plants had grown up around them again, crawling over them and cascading down the edges of small ledges. I noticed plants Mother used for healing, too.
And I noticed a vine of moonflowers near me. I reached out to take one. I wanted to bring it to my nose, to weave it into my hair, to remember.
To remember a discarded white flower among the black stones, Gideon on one knee reaching for it. Lying back in the beds of moonflowers, opening my eyes to see unchecked love in Gideon’s face. A parting token tenderly given before Gideon led hundreds of men to Zarahemla.
Three white flowers floating in the river in our meadow.
I heard the grasses behind me part and I stilled, my hand poised to touch the flower.
He stood for long, silent, charged moments—the only man who could possibly be standing in this place with me. I could hear him breathe. I could feel his heart beat.
I withdrew my hand slowly from the flower, leaving it where it was.
“Are you married?” he asked gruffly.
I did not turn, but shook my head.
“Are you betrothed?”
I shook it again.
Silence.
“Good,” he said at last.
And there was silence again.
The breeze fluttered through the vine of moonflowers. It lifted my hair off my neck, and I gathered it and swept it over my shoulder.
“Do you not speak?” he asked. Was that a smile in his voice?
I smiled, too, at the ground in front of me. “I choose to whom I will speak,” I said softly.
“And you do not choose to speak to this warrior?”
I shrugged.
The long grasses shifted again as he moved closer to me. He went to a knee behind me and I could feel the warmth of his body, though he did not touch me.
“Are you so indifferent to me?” he asked so quietly it was like the wind that swept across my bare neck, and I shivered. But it wasn’t the wind, I realized, as he stroked my neck again with the back of his knuckles.
“Don’t be angry,” he said.
“I’m not angry.”
I reached back and took his hand. It was rough and hard and dry as I remembered. I brought it around to my lips and smoothed them over the rough places and the scars.
He allowed it and after a few moments touched my cheek and turned my face to his. Without another word, he kissed me, warm lips moving over mine in slow caresses, and tears were seeping from my closed eyes before he was done.
I felt him move, reach forward, and when I opened my eyes he held the moonflower in front of me.
“Do you know what I like about this flower?” he asked.
I gave my head a small shake.
“It is different from all the other flowers because it only blooms at night. You have to be looking for it to see it. You have to be lucky to catch it while it blooms.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “But when you do, it is the most beautiful thing in the heavens or the earth.”
I took the flower.
Gideon stood and came around to stand before me. I looked up, and he held out his hand for me.
And I took that too.
Chapter 23
I put my arms around his neck when he pulled me into a tight embrace. I felt his hard hands at my waist, sliding to my back, tucking me close to him—where we both knew now that I belonged.
“I love you, Keturah. Since the first day I met you here, you’ve had my heart.”
I closed my eyes. My heart was blazing with heat, but I was calm, and I felt powerfully in that moment that my will and Gideon’s will and God’s will were one.
“My family has traveled here with me. We’ve come to negotiate the betrothal contracts. Will you agree to this? To a betrothal?” He pulled back enough to look into my face to determine my reaction.
Could he be so unsure?
I let him search my gaze. “I am sorry you are not sure already of my answer. I fear I have let my actions lie, if you do not know the feelings of my heart.”
“Become my wife,” he said, a small smile touching his lips, and it was not a question. It was a conviction.
“Yes
,” I said, and it was not an answer.
He eased his hold on me and turned me toward the village. Hand in hand we walked toward it.
“I was hoping you would consider living at the farm near my parents. You don’t know the measure of comfort it would give me if you were there to protect them.”
I loved the idea of being needed for the talents I possessed. It might make the housework bearable. “But where will you be?”
“I’m committed to working as a guard for Helaman, but I’ve arranged with him to work one fortnight of each month in Zarahemla, or perhaps traveling with him wherever he may desire to preach. There is much work to be done. He must reestablish the church in all the lands of the people of Nephi. A great many of the priesthood leaders have been slain in the wars and scattered to other areas.”
I nodded.
“Zeke has agreed to work the other fortnight of each month so I may be with you.”
Hot tears stung at my eyes. I quickly whisked them away before they could fall. “That was kind of him. Where will your brothers be? Not at the farm?”
“They will come and go as they please. I don’t know where life will take them, but I know none of them want to farm.” He paused. “Lib, Ethanim, Zach, Noah, Reb—they all live in the nearby town. You would be near them. Would you like that?”
“I would love that.”
“I also thought, if you prefer, we could acquire a home in Zarahemla. But it is crowded there in the city, and I thought you would miss your forest.”
“You were right,” I agreed. “I would miss it very much.”
“I also thought, well, I would rather raise our children on the farm.”
I bit my lip and nodded.
As we walked back toward the village together, I asked him, “When did you decide to come back?”
“A few weeks ago I woke in the night to a feeling, an overwhelming feeling, to come for you. I was still upset. Jealous, hurt, and angry. I didn’t understand why this could not be. But I came. I made it here in two days.”
A few weeks ago. I remembered the night Muloki had talked to me about letting down my shield. I had come to a decision that night, deep in the second watch, long after my family had fallen asleep. The following morning I had strapped on my weapons and gone to the meadow. Two mornings later, I had felt Gideon’s presence there and found the flowers.
Could it be that Gideon had felt the impression from the Holy Ghost in virtually the same moment I had decided not to marry Zeke?
“And you watched me in the meadow.”
He flushed a little and nodded.
“And you left me the flowers.”
“Yes.”
“But why did you not show yourself? Come to visit?”
“I thought you were probably married. I felt so foolish even coming at all.”
Could it really have been so simple as making the right choice? Had the Spirit been keeping Gideon from me until I made the choice not to marry Zeke? Could the use of my agency really affect others in this way?
“And when did you determine I wasn’t married?”
“When Micah came to find me.”
“Micah!”
“I had been back in Judea for a week. He talked with me, and then I think he summoned Zeke also.”
I thought Micah was avoiding me after I had told him my decision, but he had gone to Judea.
“What did he say?”
A slight smile touched his lips. “That is between us men.”
I smacked him in the chest, but he did not say anything further on the matter.
“But just now, when you asked me if I was married…”
“I wanted to hear it from you.”
I nodded. There were things I wanted to hear from him, too.
“We determined not to tell you until I could make arrangements with my family, with Helaman, and with the army.”
“But that was weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry it took so long.”
It had taken me over a year to come to the right decision. I guessed a few weeks wasn’t really so long to wait.
“And when Muloki came—”
“Muloki!” I covered my mouth with my hand, but mostly to hide my smile. “He didn’t! What did he do?”
Gideon cast me a sideways glance. “He requested my presence in Melek.”
Just yesterday Muloki had suggested this, and I thought he had been joking. But he had already done it, the weasel.
“What did he say?”
“It was not anything he said, but he was very persuasive.”
“Oh, Gideon.” I couldn’t help a small giggle that escaped as he rubbed his jaw.
“Zeke traveled with us from Judea—Enos, Lamech, and me— but we stopped in my village to get my parents, and Zeke continued on alone. I was surprised to find Jashon at home.”
I had talked to both Muloki and Zeke at the falls yesterday, and they had both known Gideon was here in the village and what he was here for.
I was too filled with joy to be upset with them.
“You look very much like Jashon. I can see why Lamech’s differences are so obvious.”
Gideon made a sound of agreement.
I looked up at him, still hardly believing he was there, hardly believing he had come seeking a betrothal. I slipped my hand into his to assure myself he was real.
“You actually traveled with Zeke?” I asked.
He nodded. “He loves you, Ket.”
“He was my best friend for a long time,” I said on a sigh.
“Not any longer?”
“No. Not for a long time now.”
“Zeke had just one request of me—after he reminded me how many men would kill me if I ever made you cry.”
I thought back to a few minutes ago when the tenderness and wonder of his kiss had made me cry. But to be fair, he had brushed the tears away with his big, rough thumbs.
“I don’t suppose he realized you could only die once, and that I could take care of it myself.”
Gideon laughed and hooked an arm around my neck. His voice was husky in my ear when he said, “Try it.”
When we neared the village, I turned to him. “Gideon, what was it Zeke asked of you?”
“He wanted me to take you to see Helaman about your sword.”
“Ah, yes. Helaman once said he could interpret the writings on it if I brought it to him in Zarahemla.”
Gideon looked at me strangely, frowning a little. He drew me to a stop, and then he reached over my shoulder and withdrew my sword from its scabbard.
I suddenly realized. “You’ve always known, haven’t you?”
I hadn’t come across a language yet that Gideon didn’t know and understand.
He looked at it, my sword, once so purely beautiful. Now it was scarred from many battles, discolored, stained, chipped in places. But the flint tip always scrubbed up white, and purple still gleamed from the obsidian blades. Its paint in red and orange, green and yellow had weathered well. And the words in royal blue, a mystery to me, were still prominent and even darkened by the blood I had shed with the power the Lord had given my arm in times of need. Beneath it all, beneath the adornments and sharp edges, the natural, golden colored wood still shone.
Gideon fingered the lettering. “I didn’t realize others couldn’t read this,” he said quietly.
“You’re the only one,” I replied with the reverence that was overtaking my heart. I looked from the sword to the face of the man I loved. “What does it say?” I asked him.
He looked at me for a moment, then replaced the sword in its sheath on my back. I felt its weight, familiar and comfortable, as he dropped it in.
“It says Daughter of the King.”
He lifted my chin and placed a kiss on my lips. Then he turned, took my hand, and began to walk toward my home where our families waited for us to return.
Please enjoy the first chapter of
The Spy of Cumeni
Chapter 1
I stole through th
e darkness next to Keturah, hardly believing what I had just done.
It wasn’t anything Keturah and the others hadn’t done, I assured myself as I pulled in a slow breath. And it wasn’t anything that hadn’t needed to be done.
I looked from Keturah to where my brothers glided quietly through the night ahead of us. It struck me that Zeke and Jarom had been doing this kind of thing for nearly six years—since they had joined with Helaman’s army and gone to war.
I had only been eight years old. They had been gone so long, I hardly knew them now. We were almost like strangers. Jarom had been home for a few months, but Zeke had just returned yesterday.
I cast a secret glance to my other side, where Kenai walked protectively near me. Kenai was our closest neighbor and Zeke’s best friend. He had been Jarom’s captain in the army, and I had heard Jarom talking to Father about him.
“Kenai is still at war inside himself,” he had said, and Father had frowned deeply and put a hand on Jarom’s shoulder without looking at him.
I wondered what had happened to Kenai that made him the way he was—sad all the time, not eating, not interested in anything, violent at random times, melancholy. I wondered if time would heal his heart.
And mostly, I wondered why he had held me so tenderly after I had stabbed that terrible Lamanite man.
I wasn’t discreet enough when I glanced at Kenai—I must have been staring—because he caught my eye in the moonlight. He didn’t smile at me, not even a little, just kept walking on. But he glanced at me now and then. I could feel it.
Or maybe I imagined it. It had been a long night.
The twilight had already begun to wane into darkness when I decided I had better hurry home. Alone at my father’s tannery, I had been stretching some skins so they could dry overnight, though to be honest, that had only been an excuse to be gone from home. I started for the village and was moving swiftly through the trees when three men appeared on the trail before me. I knew immediately by their strange clothing and their shaved heads they were not the kind of men I knew in the village. I had never seen a Lamanite, but they fit the descriptions I had heard.