She glanced around as if to ensure no one could see her lips move, even in the empty tent. “That you are barren. Not even your brother knows.”
The word struck with a poison-tipped spear. “How could I keep that from him? He deserves to know what he is being bound to.”
“He is being bound to a perfect mother for his children.” Her chin lifted, and she fluttered a hand over her shoulder. “The rest he can find out on his own. Eben assures me that he is a loyal man. I doubt he would put you aside. Besides, he already has children.”
Smothering the reaction that welled up when my mother spoke of Ayal’s loyalty, I clasped my hands behind my back and tugged at the end of the braid that hung to my waist. The last time I had defied her, a woman had died. “I will do as you ask, Mother.”
She lifted a brow, the reminder of my disastrous choices plain in her dark eyes. “You’d be wise to do so.” Her face softened, and she lifted my chin, caressing my bruised cheek with her callused thumb. “It will be all right, daughter. You will have a good husband. A strong and capable man to protect you.”
And who will protect me from him?
28
2 ADAR
12TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT
Dvorah handed Talia to me and then readjusted her tunic over her shoulder. The baby was already asleep, milky lips pursed in satisfied dreams. The sight of her face stirred the delicious thought—I would be her mother soon. But on its heels, another rushed at me. This will be Ayal’s last child. I am an empty grave for his family line.
“Marah, Aiyasha, and Yael are waiting for me,” said Dvorah, her condescending smile highlighting her friendships with Ayal’s sisters-in-law.
I turned away with the pretense of straightening the boys’ sleeping mat, trying very hard not to look at Ayal’s bed across the tent. This would soon be my home—this place that still harbored whispers of the woman who had died here. Every basket, pot, and blanket at one time had been hers. It was as if I would simply be stepping into her life.
Dvorah interrupted my morose thoughts. “It won’t be long now.”
“Excuse me?” I said without turning.
“Before Ayal approaches my brother-in-law.” Her voice curved upward, as if she was smiling. “You might as well stop looking at that baby like she is yours.”
My arms seemed to go slack, and I struggled against losing my grip on Talia. I was hoping that it would not be from my lips that Dvorah heard the news. I could not even make sense of Ayal’s decision to myself—how would I explain to her that I had stolen her chance at provision for her child? Turning back around to face her was agonizing. It took everything in me to not flee and hide until someone else dealt the blow.
“Dvorah.” I cringed at the sound of my warbling voice. “Ayal has asked my brother . . . he is marrying me.”
Dvorah paled. “You lie.”
I swallowed the burning coal in my throat. “No. I am sorry. I know you hoped . . .”
“You seduced him.”
The barbed accusation stabbed deep, lodging in my core.
“No! I did no such thing, I promise you. It was a complete surprise—”
“I was right, you did kill his wife on purpose.”
I stifled the cry that sprang to my lips. “How could you think that—?”
She leaned forward, her face dark with fury. “She should have been safe. Hathor was watching over her that day.” She pressed a finger into my shoulder. “You did something. I know you did.”
“I tried everything I could to save Leisha. Even Reva said so.” Was I trying to convince Dvorah, or myself?
She waved a hand of dismissal. “Whether you did or not, you still wanted to steal her husband. Looks like you accomplished your goal.” She pushed past me. “I guess I’m not needed anymore.”
I snatched her wrist. “Please don’t go. Talia needs you. I am sure Ayal will ask you to stay, at least until the baby is old enough. Please don’t punish her for this.”
She twisted from my grasp, lips flat and nostrils flaring. She looked at Talia with a thoughtful expression and stayed quiet for a long moment. “Fine,” she said, her eyes still latched on the baby. “But only because Ayal pays me well.”
I sighed. “Thank you.”
She smirked, giving a pointed look toward my small bustline. “When you have your own baby, don’t come crying to me looking for a wet nurse. You’ll have to find someone else.”
Her venomous words nicked my heart, but I kept my face composed. That certainly will be no issue.
She huffed a tainted laugh. “Although with that tiny set of hips, I doubt you can give birth anyhow.”
“My hips have nothing to do with my barrenness.” I clapped a hand to my mouth, the breath knocked from my lungs by my careless retort. What have I done?
Dvorah’s eyes flared and then homed in on me with precision. “You are barren? How could you know such a thing when you are not married?”
Of all the people in the world to know my shame, it had to be Dvorah? I refused to humiliate myself more by divulging deeper secrets. I pressed my lips tight, shaking my head.
Her almond-shaped eyes pinned me, and she tilted her head. “Interesting,” she drawled, one hand splayed on her hip. “And does Ayal know the reason you are unable to give him any more children?”
My thoughts staggered about. How could I have been so foolish as to hand Dvorah such a weapon? “Please. Please don’t tell Ayal. My mother said—”
“So not only did you seduce him, now you are hiding your barrenness from him?”
My blood rushed to my feet. “No. I— You don’t understand . . .” I put a hand on my forehead, trying to steady myself. Somehow, Talia lay undisturbed in my arms.
Dvorah’s smile crept up slowly, like a serpent through the weeds. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret.” She leaned close. “For now.”
Kiya’s long fingers threaded through my hair, fashioning an intricate braid around my crown, soothing away a bit of the sting of Dvorah’s words from this morning. But nothing could reel back my own too-revealing ones.
“Tighter please,” I said, then winced when her finger caught in a snag.
She tapped me on the shoulder. “Hush now. You said I can braid it how I like.”
With my mother off meeting with the other master weavers, Kiya’s boredom had compelled her to badger me into being her hairdressing subject.
Somehow, having my long, dark curls unfettered and hanging over my shoulders made me uneasy. How much longer would she take? I tapped my fingers on my knees to distract myself from the discomfort.
“Why do you always keep it cinched so tight? Your curls are so beautiful,” she said.
The memory of a dark silhouette against a bright doorway, glimpsed through the bloody, tangled curtain of my hair, stained my vision for a moment. A clot formed in my throat. I cleared it before answering, hoping she would not notice the hitch in my voice as I lied. “If I don’t keep it tight, it gets in my face when I work.”
She was quiet as she braided. Had I given myself away? Kiya was my closest friend, my sister, but although I had been tempted many times to tell her about the Egyptian, my mouth refused to say the words. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, the move reminding me of Reva’s admonition that I should stretch my scars.
“There!” She patted the top of my head. “Turn around so I can see the front.”
I arranged a smile before I complied, then looked up at her. “How do I look?”
She tilted her head, inspecting the work from her chair. “Much better than our mistress ever did.”
“Tekurah was bald!”
Kiya laughed. “I meant her braided wigs.”
“Remember that one she wore with the tiny bells?” I wiggled my fingers near my ears. “She dinged and dinged all night long. You know that had to have driven her mad.”
“It did. I saw her face when no one was looking. But she was so stubborn, she told all her friends how much she ad
ored it,” Kiya said. “You probably didn’t know this, since you were stuck in the kitchens then, but the next dinner party, all her friends had wigs with bells.”
I smothered a giggle. “How did you endure it?”
“I spent the entire night biting my cheek every time I had the urge to laugh. I was still tasting blood the next morning.” She arched a black brow as she stood and smoothed her dress over the small mound of her stomach. “She never asked for that wig again.”
Little arms slipped around my neck from behind. “Are you finally done, Shira?” Ari said. “Come play.”
“I am.” I dragged him, giggling, into my lap to tickle him. “And what would you like to play?”
He twisted his lips to the side with a glance up at his twin, no doubt wondering what game could include Dov without aggravating his hands. I was glad that his guilt over Dov’s injury had seemed to wane, or least transform into a compulsion to entertain and protect his brother at all times. “We will hide and you will come find us! Cover your eyes!”
I complied, but with a reminder not to stray from our campsite or wake their sister, who was napping in our family tent. Putting aside the basket of wool they were cleaning, Shoshana and Zayna joined the game. My ears followed the giggles of the four children as they searched out hiding places across the campsite.
Announcing loudly that I was now on the hunt, I made a show of searching for them in Eben and Kiya’s tent, lifting baskets in the common area, and then throwing my hands in the air and declaring they were all much too clever for me.
Muffled little-boy laughs greeted me as I crept around the back side of their hiding place in my aunt and uncle’s tent. Smirking to myself, I carefully moved two of the rocks that anchored the wall to the ground and lifted the fabric to peek beneath. “Got you!” I called.
Ari and Dov both startled and then melted into puddles of laughter. The sounds of their delight lifted my spirits higher than they had been in weeks. What a pleasure it will be to be their mother.
After backing out of the tent on hands and knees, I squatted to tack the tent wall back down and then stood and brushed the dust off my clothes and palms. Kiya’s braid was in disarray—she would not be pleased with me. Blowing tendrils upward, I spun around, straight into Ayal’s chest.
He grabbed my arms to steady me, a teasing smile on his face. “And what are you doing? Robbing your aunt and uncle?”
Flustered by his sudden appearance after two weeks away, I stammered, “No . . . The boys were hiding . . . we were playing a game . . .”
His laughing gaze traveled from my face to my hair. His lips twitched.
Remembering the wildness of my appearance, I flushed and tried to rearrange the chaos.
“I like it,” he said with a subtle wink, reminding me of the lamb’s birth and the innocence of my attraction to him then. Everything was so muddled now. Leisha. Dvorah. The children. Betrothed. The word clanged through the confusion with the clarity of a shofar. I am to be betrothed to this man!
I took two steps backward, my attention flitting to Eben, who was standing behind Ayal and looking entertained by our exchange. I raised my brows, knowing Eben would understand my unspoken question. Have you told him my answer already? He nodded, confirming he had accepted the proposal on my behalf.
Ari and Dov rescued me from the dilemma of what to say next. With cries of “Abba! Abba! You are home,” they collided with their father, voices clambering over each other to announce how much they’d missed him.
Kneeling, he swept them both into his long arms and pulled them close. “And I missed you, my little shepherds. Were you very helpful while I was gone?”
They bobbed their little heads up and down.
“I am glad to hear it. Are you ready for our surprise?”
“Yes! Can we go now?” said Dov.
“Have you kept it a secret?”
“Yes, Abba.” His tone was somber. “I did not even tell Ari.”
“Then I shared my secret with the right young man,” Ayal said.
“What is it, Abba? What is the secret?” pleaded Ari.
Ayal’s amber gaze snared me. “Why don’t you bring Shira along and I’ll show you?”
29
2 ADAR
12TH MONTH OUT FROM EGYPT
Look at me, Shira!” With his small foot, Ari shook the twisted branch below his perch, causing a few almond blossoms to drift onto the blanket below.
Dov laughed with delight as a snowfall of white and pink petals trickled down around him, skimming his bronze curls. “Do it again, Ari!” He giggled, urging his brother to climb higher into the gnarled branches.
Tucked between the hills like an ancient secret, this white-crowned almond grove was Ayal’s reward to the boys for their patience until his return. The trees were heavy with blossoms, promising a plentiful harvest in a few months and lending honeyed sweetness to the air. I had sloughed off my mantle to invite the sun’s kiss on my eager skin. The afternoon breeze and the gentle hum of wandering bees whispered promises of warmer days ahead.
“Not much farther, son, or you will fall to the rocks and snap your arm like a twig. Then who would help me wrestle the lambs?” Ayal’s rich voice startled me with its closeness. I twisted around to find him only two steps behind me, smiling up at Ari.
Anxiety fisted in my stomach as Ari ignored his father’s warning and hoisted his body higher into the tree, grimy bare toes dangling near my head.
Ayal looked down at me, a sparkle of delight in his eyes, bringing to mind the day we had worked side by side to bring a lamb into the world. For the briefest of moments, I allowed myself to absorb the golden-hued light in his eyes, imagining that a bit of that brightness was for me.
But the shadow of Ayal’s betrayal—of his wife, and of me—quickly doused the flicker of attraction, replacing it with jolting distress for the upcoming celebration and the reminder of Dvorah’s threat. I looked away, searching for my mother, Jumo, and the girls among the lush vegetation in the wadi. I was grateful they had come along to search out more plants for dyes. Their presence tempered my unease.
“He is fine, Shira.” His tone was low, soothing. He must have interpreted my expression as concern for his son. “The boys are beginning to test their own limits. I don’t want my sons to be afraid of a tumble. A scrape or two will teach them just how far they can go on their own.”
Acknowledging his wisdom with a nod, I attempted to clear the trepidation from my face.
Ari shimmied out of the tree in a flurry of leaves and blossoms, beckoning Dov to help him search out smooth stones to toss into the stream that meandered through the grove.
Trying to ignore the overwhelming presence of their father at my back, I watched them as they wandered, poking around in the water with sticks, exclaiming loudly when a fat salamander darted from their path, and crouching to examine a black beetle caught up in the current.
A slight sensation, as if Ayal had fingered the end of my braid, caused me to stiffen. Perhaps I had only imagined the touch, but nevertheless, his proximity was suddenly the only thing my mind could register.
“Why won’t you look at me?” Ayal’s low voice in my ear and his breath on my neck caused a shudder to travel the entire length of my body. I had not been so close to him since that day at the stream and, until Eben’s revelation, had never expected to be again. That brief, beautiful moment before he released me and fled surfaced. The memory—soft as one of the white petals that sprinkled down around us—still lingered on my lips.
I leaned a hand against the almond tree to steady myself, the gray bark scraping my palm, doubts whispering in my ear. You don’t deserve this. Leisha died at your hand. How could you do this to Dvorah? What will she say to him? What makes you think Ayal will stay true to you after what he did that day?
My anxiety spilled out like a waterfall. “You need not go through with this. I will not be offended. I am sure Eben will understand. I—I will make him understand.”
His i
ntake of breath shocked me into twisting around. A mistake—he was still too close. My heart lurched.
“Why would I do that?” His voice rasped like flint against my resolve. There was unexpected pain in the sound.
“This is not fair to Dvorah.” I rocked back on my heels, anxious to put distance, even if only a few more inches, between us. His nearness clouded my mind. I blinked slowly, willing my long breaths to quiet the thudding of my rebellious heart.
“Dvorah?” Confusion wrinkled Ayal’s brow.
“She needs protection just as much as I—perhaps more so.” I pulled my arms tighter across my middle. “She has a son.”
He searched my face with an intensity that nearly compelled me to take a couple more steps backward—away from the pull of such an enveloping gaze. I did not trust either of us.
“You think I should marry Dvorah?”
My eyelids fluttered and I nodded, but my stomach wobbled, revolting against the lie.
He looked over at the boys, both of them too caught up in their explorations to notice the tense conversation between their father and me. He scratched at his beard. An irrational fear that he was truly reconsidering squeezed in my gut. Why was I so torn? I should not be so drawn to this man. He was not safe.
He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, fists clenched. “And what do you want?”
The question reached in to grab my soul, twisting it until I could barely breathe. I want to be their mother, my selfish heart whispered. Yet there was no way to do so, other than to marry Ayal and hope that somehow, by Yahweh’s mercy, he would be more faithful to me than his first wife.
I dropped my chin. “I will do what my mother and brother ask of me. I know Eben begged you to protect me, and I understand his concern. Forgive me for saying anything.”
Silence curled in around us, hemmed us into its disquieting presence. Why had I even said anything? Leaning my body against the tree, I ran a finger along a gash in the trunk. Although deep, the wound had healed over, leaving a ragged scar. I tipped my chin to take in the warm sunlight that filtered through the glorious abundance of white above me, suddenly struck by a memory from yesterday.
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