Wings of Refuge

by Lynn Austin

  A few minutes later the villa’s red-tiled roof appeared in the distance above the trees. Leah’s stomach lurched. It was a huge, rambling structure, nearly the size of the village synagogue, but very plain on the outside. They knew better than to go to the pillared main entrance, or the customs house door, which opened from the side of the villa onto one of De-gania’s commercial streets. Instead, they walked all the way around to the servants’ entrance in back. A gate led into a walled-in courtyard with a huge outdoor oven and the villa’s stables and sheds. The pungent aroma of livestock greeted them. An older woman who was shaking out a crumb-filled cloth for the chickens saw them enter the gate and beckoned to them.

  “Ehud, they’re here,” she called into one of the sheds.

  Leah dried all her tears and took a deep breath for courage. The woman smiled, though it must have been obvious to her that Leah had been crying. She appeared to be Mama’s age or maybe a few years older, with gray-threaded brown hair that was neatly coiled into a knot on top of her head. Her full, round face was red-cheeked and pleasant, her body short and square.

  “You must be Leah and Gideon,” she said. “Welcome. Master Reuben told us you would be coming today. My name is Miriam, and this is my husband, Ehud.” A brawny, barrel-chested man emerged from the shed and nodded to them in greeting. His sun-weathered face was rugged and forbidding.

  “The first thing I should do,” Miriam said, “is show you to your quarters—even though you won’t be staying in them just yet, Gideon. You’re needed right away to help tend the master’s flocks. Ehud will take you there this morning. Have you eaten?”

  Leah was about to answer that they had, meager though it had been, but Gideon spoke up first. “No, ma’am. There isn’t much to eat at our house these days.”

  “Mmm,” she purred. “Come inside, then, and eat something before you leave. It’s a very long walk. Ehud says the shepherds must range farther and farther into the hills to find pasture because of the drought.”

  Leah worried that Gideon would go to Sheol for lying, but as Miriam led them into a small side room and began laying out bread, dried fruit, and even a precious lump of cheese for them to eat, Leah was very grateful that he had. She and Gideon dove into the food as if they hadn’t eaten in a year. When they finished, Leah’s stomach felt full for the first time since Passover.

  “You were hungry, poor things,” Miriam murmured. Leah felt her face flush. “I’ve cleared a place for you to sleep in here with the other serving girls, Leah. Gideon, you may put your things—”

  “I don’t have any things.”

  “I see. Well, you’ll need to take a spare bedroll up into the hills, then. It gets cold at night.”

  As Miriam bustled around, putting together a warm cloak and other supplies for Gideon, Leah stole a peek at her new surroundings. The work areas were spacious and clean, and the two other servant girls, who were kneading dough and filling a tray with food, smiled pleasantly at her. When the girl with the tray slipped through the door with it, Leah caught a glimpse of a tiled courtyard in the center of the villa surrounded by rows of pillars before the door swung closed again.

  “Is the boy ready?” Ehud stood in the outside doorway with a staff in his hand.

  “Yes,” Miriam answered. “Here, I packed you both some provisions for the journey.”

  Tears brimmed in Leah’s eyes. Her brother couldn’t be leaving her so soon. She wanted to beg Ehud and Miriam to let Gideon stay here with her, but she didn’t dare. Their lives were no longer their own. “Shalom, Gideon,” she whispered.

  “Shalom.” His voice was gruff with emotion. Leah wanted to run to him, cling to him one last time, but she couldn’t move. A moment later, he was gone. For the first time in her life, Leah felt horribly alone.

  Miriam and the other servants continued with their work while Leah stood in the middle of the room, struggling to come to grips with her sorrow. Her family and her home had been lost to her overnight . . . but she had never imagined that Gideon would be ripped away from her so suddenly, too.

  “Leah, dear, would you please hand me that platter?” Miriam asked. She pointed to a low shelf where a pile of beautifully decorated bowls and plates were stacked.

  Leah reached for the serving platter, her vision blurred by tears, and misjudged its weight. It was so light it flew right out of her hand and smashed into pieces on the cobblestone floor.

  “Oh no! I’m sorry!” Leah sank to her knees, scooping up the broken pieces, desperately trying to fit the largest ones together with shaking hands. She cowered in fear of what her punishment would be. Miriam knelt beside her and gently caught Leah’s wrists, stopping her.

  “It’s all right, honey. It’s just an old plate. Master has plenty more.” Leah began to sob.

  “My goodness, you’re shaking all over,” Miriam said. “What are you so afraid of, Leah? You don’t need to fear our master or anyone else in this house. If you do what you’re told and don’t steal from him or try to run away, no one is ever going to mistreat you. This was an accident. You have nothing to be afraid of, hmm?”

  Leah knew she should hold her tongue. How many times had Mama scolded her for being too outspoken? But the words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. “The rabbi said the master could make me his concubine.”

  “No. Oh, honey, no. Not Master Reuben. He loves Mistress Ruth very, very much. He would never hurt her by taking a concubine.”

  Sorrow and relief and loss all flooded together in a surge of emotion. Leah covered her face and wept. Miriam gathered her into her ample arms and rocked her like Mama used to rock Matthew when he was a baby.

  “Mm . . . mm . . . mm,” she soothed. “You go ahead and cry if you need to, honey. I know just how you feel. I had to leave my home and go to work for Mistress Ruth’s father when I was even younger than you are. I surely know how scared you are. But I promise you, no one here is ever going to lay a hand on you.”

  “Everyone in town says . . . what a terrible sinner Reb Reuben is . . . so I thought—”

  “It’s not true, honey. He’s no more of a sinner than you and I. Just a kind, lonely young man who has been handed a dirty job to do. I’ve worked for Master Reuben for more than seven years—ever since he and my mistress were married. I could have gone free—Ehud and I both could have. But see here?” She fingered a loop of gold that pierced her earlobe, the emblem of a bond servant. “We’ve chosen to stay.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry about the plate.”

  “Never mind. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to leave your family or your brother like that. We’ve surely seen some hard times with this drought, yes? But we have to keep trusting in the Almighty One no matter what.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “Why, once you know Him, it’s easy—He’s so very trustworthy. As the prophets said, ‘Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food . . . yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.’ Even in hard times we can find joy in the Lord.”

  * * *

  For the next few days Leah was given only light chores to do—cleaning fish, sweeping the kitchen floor, keeping the kitchen fires going. “Until you get settled in,” Miriam said, “and have time to adjust to your new home.” She was very kind to Leah and much more patient with her than Mama had been. Leah saw nothing of the rest of the villa except for a few brief glimpses of the central courtyard through the swinging door.

  As she sat outside in the servants’ yard one morning, grinding grain with a hand mill, Leah realized that for the moment, she was alone—Miriam and all of the other servants were away on errands. She laid aside the grinding stone and smoothed a place in the dust to write. Matthew had taught her all the letters of the alphabet and the sounds they made, but she knew that if she didn’t keep practicing them, she would soon lose her new skill. Humming the alphabet song she had learned from Matthew, she carefully scribed each let
ter in the dust with her finger until she reached ayin. She couldn’t remember how to write the letter ayin.

  Tears of frustration and homesickness filled her eyes. It was hopeless. Without Matthew or Gideon to help her, she would eventually forget all that she had learned. Leah lowered her head into her lap and wept as she struggled to remember. Suddenly she heard the outer gate open, then close. She didn’t know which to wipe away first, the writing or her tears. She tried to do both, quickly swiping at her tears with dusty hands, smudging her face with dirt. When she looked up, she was horrified to see Reb Reuben in his beautiful blue robe standing over her. Why was he coming through the servants’ gate? She was too stunned and confused to remember to bow to him.

  “Your name is Leah, isn’t it?” he asked. “The new girl?”

  “Y . . . yes, my lord.”

  Leah took a good look at Reuben ben Johanan for the first time in her life and was surprised to see that he wasn’t nearly as old as she had always thought. Because of his stature as the district tax collector, Leah had imagined that he must be as old as Abba, maybe even older. But up close, she saw that he was barely thirty. His dark brown hair looked shiny and luxuriant, like a lion’s mane. His beard wasn’t long, the way the village elders traditionally wore theirs, but neatly trimmed around the curve of his strong chin. His eyes were wide and deep set, a dark, plummy brown like sweet raisins. As they held hers in his powerful gaze, she was astounded to see that they were filled with compassion.

  “You’ve been crying,” he said. “Are you unhappy here?”

  “No, my lord. It’s nothing . . .” She wiped her eyes with her fists.

  “Then why?” He was waiting for an answer.

  “It’s just . . . I couldn’t remember something, and my brother isn’t here to show me.”

  “You miss your brother?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She bowed her head and stared down at ner feet, then saw that she hadn’t completely erased all of the letters.

  Master Reuben must have seen them, too, for a moment later he said, “Did you write these letters, Leah?”

  She nodded, too terrified to speak, afraid he would curse such foolishness as Abba would have done.

  “Do you have an interest in learning?” he asked.

  His deep voice was gentle, not critical. Miriam had said he was kind. Leah took a chance.

  “Yes, my lord. My brother taught me the alphabet, but now I can’t remember how to write ayin.” She glanced up to see his reaction. One hand covered his chin as he thoughtfully stroked his beard. His hands were smooth, uncallused, his fingernails clean and oval shaped. He wore a beautiful ring on his fourth finger, with a deep blue stone the color of the sea.

  “Come with me, Leah,” he said suddenly.

  Her knees trembled as she followed him into the kitchen and through the swinging door. She would finally see the beautifully tiled courtyard. But Master Reuben’s stride was so smooth and swift she had little time to look around as she trotted behind him. He led her between two pillars, through another door, and into a side room. It was a workroom of some sort, with benches and tables that were littered with pots of ink, containers of reed pens, writing instruments, and piles and piles of scrolls—more scrolls than Leah had seen in her entire life. The musky smell of parchment filled the room. Two scribes worked side by side at the tables, beneath bronze lampstands. Leah was amazed to see that the oil lamps were lit in the daytime.

  Before she could take it all in, Master Reuben picked up a wooden tablet coated with wax. She had seen the tablets Matthew and the other boys used in the synagogue to practice their writing, but those were crude blocks compared to this beautifully crafted one. Reuben sorted through a clutter of objects on one of the tables, found the writing tool he wanted, and carved something into the wax.

  “Here,” he said, holding the tablet out to her. “That’s the letter ayin.”

  Leah was so stunned she could barely speak. “Yes. Thank you, my lord!” She bowed low again and began backing away.

  “Leah . . .” She froze. “You may keep this.”

  She looked up, astonished as he held out the tablet and writing stick to her. “Yes, it’s all right, you may have them,” he said, “unless you like writing in the dust and getting dirt all over your face.” His smile was so kind, so warm, she couldn’t help but smile in return as she accepted his gift.

  “Yes . . . I mean, no, my lord . . . I mean, thank you so much!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He nodded in dismissal, and Leah fled to the servants’ quarters on a cloud of happiness, clutching his gift. She carefully tucked it away beneath her sleeping mat before returning to her task of grinding grain. Then, as she rolled the stones together in rhythm, Leah’s heart soared with the words that Miriam had taught her: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines . . . yet I will rejoice in the Lord.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE VILLAGE OF DEGANIA—A.D. 48

  Gideon, come here. I want to show you something.” Leah led him down the dark passageway to the tiny chamber where she and the other serving girls slept. He had just returned that day from tending the master’s flocks after being gone all spring and summer. Leah barely recognized him at first. His skin was deeply tanned, his curly hair bleached golden by the sun. The oily smell of lanolin and sheep clung to his clothing. But it was Gideon’s nature that seemed the most changed; he looked restless, angry, and deeply unhappy. She pulled her writing tablet from under her sleeping mat and proudly showed it to him, hoping it would cheer him to see that she had been treated kindly while he was away.

  “Where did you get that? Did you steal it?”

  “No, of course not! I would never do such a thing. Master Reuben gave it to me.”

  “You’re lying!”

  The accusation felt like a slap in the face. She stared at him. “What happened to you, Gideon?”

  “The same thing that happened to you—we were sold. We’re servants now, owned by the biggest sinner in Galilee.”

  “We have no reason to hate Master Reuben. He’s kind to his servants, he feeds us better than we ever ate at home, he hasn’t overworked us or abused us . . . and he did give me this writing tablet, whether you believe me or not!”

  “He has grown rich by working for our enemies. That’s more than enough reason to hate him.”

  “You’re right, our master is very rich. But all the money in Galilee can’t buy him happiness. This is a house of sadness, Gideon. Miriam told me so. She’s worked for Mistress Ruth’s family since she was my age, and she came here when Ruth married our master. He loves his wife very much, but her babies keep dying before they are born.”

  “That’s God’s judgment on him for his sin.”

  Leah was so angry she gave her brother a shove. “What’s wrong with you? You sound just like the Pharisees! You’re not the brother I knew!” She turned to storm out of the room, but he stopped her.

  “Wait, Leah . . . I’m sorry.” He ran his hand over his face as if to clear the anger from it, then sighed. “It’s just . . . it’s just so hard to take care of someone else’s sheep all day, knowing that it will do me no good if they fatten and prosper—they’ll never be mine. At least when I worked beside Abba and Saul, I knew that someday I would get a portion back from all my labor as an inheritance. But now everything is Reuben ben Johanan’s—the wool is his, the profit is his. I can’t even save for a wife or a future of my own. And nothing’s going to change for the next seven years. I’ll be an old man by then.”

  Leah rested her hand on his arm. “Miriam and Ehud are both servants and they got married. It was their own choice to stay and work here.”

  He smiled weakly. “Do you think any of the serving girls around here would want to marry me?”

  “Well . . . not until you’ve had a bath.”

  Gideon laughed, and he was the brother Leah loved once again. He took the writing tablet from her and ran his fingers over its
smooth frame. “This is nice. Did he really say you could keep it?”

  “Yes.” Leah told him the story of how the master had seen her writing the alphabet and had shown her how to write ayin. “I want to learn to read, Gideon,” she said excitedly. “Will you teach me how?”

  “Why? What use is it for a girl to read, especially a servant girl?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to learn. Please? It will give us something to do together and help pass the time.”

  In the end, Gideon agreed. He sat down with her for a few minutes each evening after their work was finished and wrote new words on her writing board for her to practice. Leah carefully saved each sliver of wax whenever she scraped the board clean so that she could melt it down and coat the board with it over and over. By the time spring rolled around again and Gideon had to return to the master’s fields, he had taught her to read all the words he could remember.

  “Do you suppose I know enough to read an entire scroll?” she asked him just before he left.

  “I don’t see why not. Words are words, whether they’re written on scrolls or tablets. But where do you think you’re going to get a scroll, Leah? The master may have given you a writing board, but he’s never going to let you near his scrolls.”

  Leah knew Gideon was right. She was a kitchen maid and wasn’t even allowed inside the other rooms of the villa where the scrolls were kept. Except for the day the master had given her the tablet, she had never been beyond the central courtyard. Once in a while Miriam would ask her to sweep it, and Leah would try to peek inside the other rooms if the doors were open. The main reception room was her favorite, its stucco walls beautifully decorated with ornate friezes and imitation marble panels.

  Leah was sweeping the tiled courtyard on a warm summer day when she noticed that the door to the room where Master Reuben had taken her stood open. She slowly worked her way around the square with her broom, then stole a peek inside as she swept. The room was dark, the lamps snuffed out, the scribes gone home for the day. Leah glanced all around the courtyard, and when she saw no other servants in sight, she peeked again. A scroll lay propped open on a table.