Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  The two men exchanged a whole conversation with one glance. Javan turned to Taleh. “Please wait in our room,” he said in a tone that allowed no reprieve.

  Taleh was only too glad to go. How could she stay out there, knowing what she knew, carrying the burden of suspicion ignored, while Obed paid the price of her misjudgment? She pulled the curtain shut, but no amount of conscience could stop her from listening. The curtain was meager protection against voices.

  “My wife is not here.” Obed’s voice held no expression, no surprise.

  “No.”

  “She has not been here today?” Taleh ached with the plea, carefully hidden beneath the casual question.

  “No.” Javan added no comment. Taleh bit her finger to keep herself quiet. A curl tickled her ear, and she pushed it away impatiently, wondering what Obed’s expression held. Did he weep?

  A sigh trembled on the air. “I thought it might be so,” she heard him say. He sounded utterly defeated, this man of irrepressible good spirits and unfailing optimism. Taleh did not know who she hated most in that moment, Merab with her lying poison, or herself, for her gullibility. “I should have known. I am the worst of fools. Would that I had cut her down the day I saw her.”

  Javan finally asked the question that had plagued him. “What is the problem?”

  “My wife,” Obed spat the word out as though it sickened him, “told me that she and Leah were coming this morning to visit Taleh. She said they might stay through the midday meal. Except I saw Leah walking back from the market, and asked – out of politeness – how your wife was doing this day. She knew nothing about a visit to your home. Indeed, she was surprised when I asked. She wondered what difference one day might make, since our families had seen each other only yesterday at the caravan. But, fool that I am, I thought only that there might be things women like to discuss without their men around.”

  Javan needed no further explanation. “You did not really expect to find her here, did you?”

  “I hoped. I prayed that I was wrong, that she would be sitting here, laughing with your wife and exchanging bits of gossip. But I did not expect it, no.”

  While Javan watched with open-mouthed surprise, Obed pounded his chest, clutching at his tunic with large, white-knuckled fists. “Merciful heavens, why can I not get her out of my heart?”

  Witnessing Obed’s pain was more than Javan’s conscience could bear. To see his friend endure this, when he might have been able to prevent it! Which was better, to let him hold the memory and wonder, or to destroy what Obed knew of his wife? “Why did you choose her? What did you see of her?”

  “She was lively, and made me smile. It sounds like such a silly reason, does it not?” He gave a strangled laugh, that caught near his throat and made him clear it viciously.

  “Obed, I cannot stand to see you torment yourself so,” Javan said, still not convinced he did the right thing either way. “Your wife was not what you thought.”

  Obed looked at him, bitterness in every line of his face. “You think I do not know that?”

  “I say that, not for whatever made her leave you. She never was what you thought. She was a fickle woman, and never could have been content with one man. Had I told you what I saw before, I might have prevented this from happening?”

  Obed became very still, watching Javan with a hawk’s stare. “What do you mean?”

  “On the journey from Ammon, she attempted to get close to any man who would look at her. It is to our credit that she did not succeed in seducing the entire army.” Having committed himself, Javan could not hold back. “She even attempted it with me, but I refused to pay attention to her. It did not stop until the army disbanded. Perhaps she knew she could not keep her amorous intentions secret with all of us in such close proximity.”

  He could hardly stand to look at Obed’s face, the pain was so clear. “I am so sorry, my friend. I said nothing before this because I thought she simply wanted some attention, and that she was trying to get back at you for the time your duties took you away from her. I did not know she would carry it this far.”

  “Do you think she has seduced any from the village?” Obed spoke quietly, his voice dead and flat. No surprise, no anger.

  Javan was not certain. Still, he gave the best answer he could. “No, I do not think so. To be sure, I have been away from the city much of the time since we arrived, but you are held in too high a regard for anyone to dare. No, I think her favors belonged only to you.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “You can, for it is true.” He could only hope, for Obed’s sake. His friend had enough to grapple with. What had their life together been like, that his friend made no objections, showed no anger, did not even raise a voice of protest. “Obed, it may be too soon to ask this, but what will you do?”

  Eyes dark with hurt and disillusionment met his. “I will file a certificate of divorce with the older men at the gate.” His face set in hard lines, brutal with determination. “She has made her choice. I will not force her to return.” His voice lost its conviction as he added softly, “I do not want her now.”

  “You cannot let her go!”

  Javan whirled in surprise. Taleh shoved aside the curtain and broke into the stillness that followed Obed’s words. “You must go bring her back!” Her eyes were wild with fear and desperation.

  He grabbed at his wife, stopping her as she tried to dart around him to reach Obed. “Taleh, we have asked that you leave us alone. This does not concern you.”

  She struggled in his arms, turning as though startled to see him. “It does! It does concern me!” She spoke with a firmness that surprised him, but he could feel tension vibrating in her, shaking her slender frame. “You see, she fooled me, too. Merab came to talk to me last night. She told me she was going to run away.”

  Silence thick enough to suffocate fell upon the room. Anger beat upon her, but it was too late to rephrase her words.

  “You knew? Why did you keep silent?”

  “Did you not think I should know?”

  “How much of this plot were you involved in?”

  The two men towered over her, thundering bitter words down upon her head. Javan’s grip on her arm hurt, and Obed tugged at her other side. For a brief instant she feared what they might do to her. Was there a law for this, too, the keeping of one’s counsel? She screeched at them, heedless of the consequences, trying to be heard and defend herself. “Please! Let me finish!”

  Javan flung her arm away from himself as though it were diseased. “Yes, tell us your reasons for keeping this secret.”

  His voice pierced her with its coldness. The foundations of her world cracked. “I told her to stay! I did! I thought I had convinced her, she said she would stay. But she fears the wrath of Molech too much.” She turned to face Obed. “Merab is pregnant, Obed. She carries your child.”

  Obed took a startled step back, but Taleh hurried on. “She means to offer it on the altars of Molech. Her uncle is a priest of the Baals. I did not know that until she told me yesterday. She could not leave the old life behind.”

  Obed’s face was colorless, his lips pale and still. “Merab carries my child?”

  “Yes. She told me last night.” Holding her tattered courage, Taleh glanced at Javan, but his face told her nothing. “I tried to talk her out of leaving. I thought I had succeeded. I cannot make you believe me. Why should you? I am only your Ammonite wife, and we all know what the Ammonites are like.”

  Her eyes burned. She looked at the condemning faces with as much dignity as she could manage. How could she convince them? “You would have to be born into Ammon to know what power the priests hold. She could never have adjusted to this life. Her roots are too deep. When you chose her in the camp of the women, I doubt she thought very far ahead.”

  She wanted to cling to Javan, throw herself into his arms and plead for understanding, weep out her regrets. His face was closed to her. Taleh turned and walked back to their bedroom, brushing the c
urtain aside as she went.

  The dim rumble of the men’s voices reached her as she lay curled into herself on the bed. She felt only pain. She was not worthy of him. Was that what he was saying to Obed as she lay alone and mourning? She was beneath him by accident of birth, by her country, a place of practices she abhorred, where happiness had been a fleeting thing squeezed between periods of fear and horror. She could no more change her origins than she could the color of her eyes. This new land had offered her a fresh start, some hope of peace and safety from the ever-vigilant priests of vengeful gods.

  Now the man to whom she had given her heart felt only scorn for her. She had not become pregnant yet. There was no child to tie them together.

  What would he do with her?

  C H A P T E R 21

  Obed grabbed Javan’s arm. “You are a fool, Javan. You made the better choice, and yet you stand, condemning her. There are worse things than being too trusting.”

  “We have only her word.” Guilt lapped at Javan’s conscience even as he spoke.

  “Wake up, man!” Obed was stiff with anger. “I am the injured party, I am the one wronged, and yet you act as though the grievance was yours alone. I, more than anyone, know how convincing my wife can be. I am sure she saved her best performance for Taleh. Everyone in the village knows your wife would take an arrow meant for you, or throw herself before a spear if it would save you. Everyone knows, except you. Do you honestly believe she knew the full extent of Merab’s treachery? I do not.” Obed tossed Javan one final look of disgust and walked toward the door.

  Before he stepped out into the weak sun and first cold of the coming winter, he turned back. “Have you ever told her you love her? That you are proud of her attempts to fit in? That you appreciate her courage? No? I can take care of matters with my wife. Your work lies here with your own.”

  Javan watched the door close behind Obed, and turned to look at the curtain to his room. Why had she not come to him with her worries? Why did her first loyalty still belong to her countrywoman? He may well have hurt her by his anger, but it was she who first found him lacking.

  He would have to make what mends with his wife he could before he left, for he would go with Obed, he knew that. Part of the responsibility for Merab’s escape lay with his household; he held equal responsibility for her return.

  He found Taleh lying on the bed, staring at nothing. She looked very small.

  She made no response when he cleared his throat. Was she trying to make this difficult for him? The apology stuck in his throat, but he forced it out. He was a man and men did not shirk even unpleasant duties. “Obed told me I was too hard on you.”

  Her eyes closed. He went on. “He was right.” She still did not react. “I do not understand why you did not come to me with what you knew, but you did not. It is over. You did not leave with her, and I am grateful.”

  Taleh kept her eyes closed. She was not ready to look at him. If this was supposed to be an apology, she was not impressed. An admission caught between two scoldings, was that the best he could do?

  He did not move from his position near the curtain, made no effort to come over and touch her at all. “I will be going with Obed to find her and bring her back.”

  Taleh sat upright. “How can you? I do not even know how she planned to get back to Ammon.” Javan’s eyes were hard and piercing, as though he was trying to see through to her very thoughts. Her anger rose another notch. “I speak the truth! I do not know how she meant to get away!”

  “I might.” His voice was mild. His gaze lost some of its force. “I think we will start with the Midianite traders. I believe Obed will find they are gone, when he starts to think clearly. What better way to leave than before dawn on camels? They can travel all day, their stride is nearly twice that of my donkeys, and Midian lies south of Ammon. They will have to go through Ammonite lands to reach their own. We will need to hire some camels of our own to catch up. Yes, I think we will find her with the caravan.”

  Taleh did not want to ask, but she had to know. “What will I do?”

  “You will stay here.” Javan spoke like the army chief he had been. “We will need food for several days, and a change of clothing, along with blankets for the night air. I will leave that to you, and I will make arrangements for the slaves. Someone will have to watch over them. I must find my sword, and sharpen it.” His voice faded off when he looked at her. She must have done something, made some sound. “Taleh? What is it?”

  “Why do you carry your sword? You do not mean to kill her, do you? She carries Obed’s child!” Her questions rushed out, tinged with panic.

  “Taleh, did it not occur to you that she might ask them to kill us? Do you think she will come back peaceably? She is with a caravan of traders. Do you think they are unarmed? We would be fools to go without our weapons, all of them.”

  Javan and Obed against an entire caravan. Her heart clenched with fear. Taleh slid off the bed, and walked past him to the door.

  She stopped. “Please take care,” she said softly, and walked out.

  The sun was low in the sky when they first noticed the shimmer, like a cloud of dust on the horizon. Obed pointed, and Javan nodded. Obed had insisted they be up before the dawn. It was a wise decision. They had made good time.

  “Yes, I see it, too, Obed.”

  “Will we catch them before dark, do you think?” Obed shielded his eyes from the sun’s rays, and squinted again at the tell-tale sign.

  “I cannot guess their speed.” Javan’s own eyes felt swollen. They had walked into the glare all day, after a restless night during which neither slept much. They had saved their water skins for drinking, despite the temptation to pour some over their heads, to wash off the dirt the wind delighted in throwing at them. Gilead and its lush stands of trees, its heavy dews, and grassy fields lay far behind. The ground here was dry, the plants under the camels’ feet brittle enough to crackle and snap. Hills rolled in shallow abundance ahead and behind. Palm trees were more common than figs and olives.

  Limestone poked its white head up everywhere, and lay in sharp chunks along their path. They had pushed the animals to greater speed, taking less care to the path. Even this late in the season, the sun was still warm. Javan knew they would need to find a well or even a cistern, both for their own sake and that of their mounts. But none had appeared all day.

  Why would the traders take an entire caravan of camels, whose great appetite for water was legendary, on a forced trek through an area devoid of water? There must be a well soon.

  The sun sank lower as they kept up their punishing pace. The dark shimmer grew nearer, and nearer still. In the long shadows of twilight, they finally saw an oasis, palm trees, muddy bank and waving rushes, and the caravan of Midianite traders.

  And spears, bows, arrows, and shields.

  The two men pulled their camels up, struggling to hold them as the smell of water tormented the animals. From the dancing shadows of the campfire, a man stepped forward.

  “Why do you follow us?”

  “You have something that belongs to me.” Obed spoke quietly, making no move for his own weapons.

  “And what would that be?” The man moved closer, his words taunting, his courage the spear and shield.

  “My wife.”

  The man laughed, and tossed words over his shoulder to his companions. “Do we have a lost wife among our supplies?”

  The men returned his laugh, bold and careless, but Javan had been watching closely. The spears that had flashed so threateningly as they rode up were held in unsteady hands, the bows were not pulled taut, and the shields tended to dip as arms trembled under the unaccustomed weight. He followed the direction of Obed’s gaze, and knew that Obed saw as well. He longed to pull his own sword, for no one would miss his years of experience, but Obed gave the commands here.

  False bravado faded under the steady regard. Javan knew the advantage for the moment was theirs. The traders’ own camels had been hobbled for the night. The
y could not afford the time it would take to release them and mount.

  Obed, moving slowly, pulled his bribe out of the sack. Javan knew what Obed was willing to trade for the life of his child, but even he felt the beauty of the worked gold, the glow of polished stones, ruby, topaz, onyx, amethyst, and jade. He had seen the necklace among Obed’s booty from the spoils of Ammon. Beautiful in the sun, the necklace gave off an unearthly shimmer in the firelight.

  “I believe you know the woman of which I speak.” His voice was calm, without concern. He seemed to pay little attention to the necklace, letting it drip from one hand to the other and back. “Did she tell you she carries a child? Who will want a woman so burdened? It will be a long time before she is able to give full measure to her owner.” The gold slid through his fingers, the stones swaying on the delicate chain. “How much did she pay you for her passage?”

  Javan watched the greedy eyes follow Obed’s movements. The men glanced at each other, and back to the wealth Obed flaunted before them. Tense moments passed, as the outcome hung poised on a knifeblade.

  The spokesman gave a new laugh, hearty and welcoming. “We must be careful. Thieves lie in wait, and are not above telling pitiful tales to win sympathy and ease their way.” None of the men moved to go for Merab, wherever she was hiding. Javan sat and waited. The Midianite trader continued to smile. “But now I can see you are a man of stature and means. One might wonder why a wife would leave such a happy home.”

  Obed would not let himself be drawn by flattery or taunts. He let the necklace slip down, catching it on one finger and letting the evening breeze play with it. The traders continued to watch, fairly drooling at the prize almost within their grasp.

  Spears lowered, bows were flung down.

  “We did take a young woman with us.” The leader had given up. “She gave us silver, a pretty payment. What might this wife of yours look like?”

  “Bring this woman out to me.” Obed’s voice grew quieter.