Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  Taleh smiled at her spate of instructions, and hoped she could remember them all. She was with child. It was a wonder.

  Javan’s child.

  “When you need me,” Sarah was saying, “you know where I am. Your husband can send someone for me. You are thin, but you have good hips.” To Taleh’s startled delight, Sarah came over and, leaning down, gave her a brief hug. As though ashamed of her emotions, she shuffled out quickly.

  Leah put a gentle arm around her shoulder. Taleh turned to her, smiling as if she would never stop. “Now Javan will have to keep me, will he not?”

  “Silly woman.” Leah smiled back. “I thought you were over that. You know he will keep you.”

  Taleh knew her words would hurt, but she had to set matters straight. “I want him to keep only me.” Pain flashed into Leah’s eyes. Taleh regretted it, but this very thing had almost cost their friendship. If it was to continue to survive, they must clear this between them. “I do not know how to say this. That is why I stayed away. I do not know how it is for you, and I do not wish to hurt you, but I cannot share Javan.”

  How did she tell Leah what it was like for her? “Leah, you cannot know what it is to still be seen as the enemy. People watch me, and wait for me to make a mistake, to break a law. After Merab . . . well, it has only gotten worse. Any one of the women in the village would be accepted before me, instead of me. If Javan were to take another wife, I would have no place here at all. I am tolerated here only because I am his wife. For what other reason would they let me remain? Not even for your sake could I accept another wife.” She tried to smile to take the sting out of her words, but she knew it was a poor attempt.

  Leah’s face held aching sadness. “I knew you felt like this. So many times I wanted to come here, to explain, but the time was not right. Only today, when I heard Javan had sent for a midwife, could I decide to come. Sarah is training me to take her place.” She held Taleh’s hand firmly. “Taleh, it is not what you think. Merab has no status at all in our . . . in his house. Surely you can see that she has forfeited her position. She lives as a . . . guest.”

  “I can hear someone saying that about me, some day,” Taleh said bitterly.

  “No! It is not at all the same. When Merab is gone, I will be his only wife, like you. Oh, please, Taleh, know that I did not do this to cause anyone pain. I only wanted to make Obed happy. I was overjoyed when he made his offer. I had watched him all that time, hoping no one would guess my secret. I saw more than you did, because I lived in the town. I saw him grow ever more miserable, and how hard he tried to hide it. Soon she will be gone, and the child will stay. I will be its mother, and I will love it. Can you not accept how important that is?”

  “Yes,” Taleh heard herself say. “Yes, I think I can understand. But know that I will never accept another woman in my house.”

  Leah actually laughed, a choked watery sound, but a laugh nonetheless. “I would never expect you to. Can we be friends again, at least?”

  Taleh hugged her tightly. “Yes. And I have missed you. I can only hope that Obed has not given Javan any ideas with his marriage to you.”

  C H A P T E R 24

  The wind blew across the fields, leaving a fleeting imprint behind. Tall stalks of wheat bent before it, and rose, strong, as it passed, only to bow before the next effort.

  Taleh watched the slaves as they climbed into the trees and plucked off the ripe oranges, apricots, and the first of the early figs. The branches, too, swayed before the power of the wind, and the boys laughed in delight at the ride. At the base of each tree, large baskets too heavy for one man filled quickly with the succulent fruit. More baskets of the first harvest of nuts were stored in the underground pits Javan had worked hard to build. The harvest was abundant, and promised much fruit to dry and to sell.

  But for now, there was fresh fruit to eat, and nuts to chew to give her strength. The barley harvest was finally done, and the wheat harvest was well under way. Javan spent much of his time in the fields with his slaves, swinging the heavy sickles, binding the stalks into bundles. He came home each night tired, thirsty, and hungry for the food Taleh worked on during the day. She made huge pots of stews, baked endless bread, and cooked birds on spits over the flame, but no matter how much food she made, it was never enough. She could hardly remember the time before the harvest.

  Her oven was always hot. Each day, she stood over it, piling grass around it and carrying hot coals from the fire in the long-handled fire-holder to start the burning. Inside the clay oven, the dough she had mixed the previous night baked. Her days fell into a pattern of countless cycles: arranging the small rolls of shaped bread on the clean stones, setting the heavy clay jar over them, piling it with grass, and letting the grass burn away, waiting until the jar was cool enough to remove, then beginning again. While the bread baked, she had meat to cook, vegetables to cut, water to carry from the cistern that fairly bulged from the abundant rains.

  The work was hard, and her burden heavy. Whenever she felt tempted to complain, she would look up and see her husband swinging the heavy sickle, or carrying the prickly bundles to the threshing floor he had built on the hillside. She could hear the voices of the men urging the donkeys to pull the heavy wooden sled across the piles of wheat. Occasionally the wind would blow chaff past her face, making her cough.

  How could she complain when she watched how hard her husband worked?

  The baby within her grew large, and her skin itched and pulled as it stretched to make room. Their child was a active, kicking and rolling inside her, making her straighten quickly as it shoved against its confinement. She tried to guess what the small lumps were as it poked and pushed. Was that a foot, or a knee, or an elbow? The sickness of the early days had faded, leaving her free to enjoy this precious new experience. She knew it had still more growing to do, and marveled. And worried. How much bigger could it get?

  As she stirred the hot stew and wiped her wet brow, she felt someone come behind her. How strange it was, she smiled to herself, that she could feel him before he touched her, sense him before he said a word.

  “I worry about you.” Javan’s warm, deep voice slid over her as his arms came around her swollen belly. He pressed gentle hands against the tight mound, holding them still to catch any movement inside.

  Taleh sagged against him, soaking up his presence, knowing that the work called him and soon he would have to leave. She arched her neck to give his lips more room as they slid down, teasing. She had worried, as her body lost its shape, that he would no longer want to lie with her, no longer find her appealing.

  Her worries were for nothing.

  “I have thought of buying another slave, a woman to help you. I see you lift the oven, and I fear for you. You do too much, and you are so small.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “What did Sarah say when she was last here?”

  “She said I am well. The baby is well.” Taleh gathered her courage, and asked the question that nagged at her. “Have you heard anything about Merab? When is she to have her child?”

  She felt Javan’s heavy sigh at her back. “Why do you want to know? What purpose will it serve?”

  She wished she could see Merab, but not to talk. She could think of nothing to say. She simply wanted a look. She wanted to compare her size with another woman’s, to prepare herself for what was to come. Sarah had been to see her several times, and pronounced her in fine health. The reassurance was welcome. For the first time in many months, she found herself wishing her mother were there. In her place, she had Sarah, and occasionally Leah.

  “I want to see how big her belly is.” Javan’s hands tightened on her womb.

  He turned her around to face him. “I, too, wish this was over. I know I have kept you away from the village, but I did not want you to hear the stories women tell. It is best to hear from Sarah.” He kissed her fiercely, deeply, leaving her limp and clinging to him around her over-sized belly, her fingers digging into his thick arms. When he eased his lips
away, she stared up at him through hazy eyes. “I will take care of you, I promise. We will have a healthy child, and all will be well. Do you believe me?”

  Of course she did, but he was not a woman, and did not know what dreams teased her, even tormented her, at night when she slept. Sometimes she would hold her baby in her arms, and other times . . . those dreams she would not remember, would not let herself remember.

  With a quick final kiss, Javan took himself off again to his fields. Taleh’s mind resisted her best efforts at control, sliding back to Merab. She wondered if she would find about Merab’s baby before the other woman was sent away, or if people would decide it best she know about it only after it was done. They all had no doubt decided it best she not know, lest she be contaminated with Merab’s thinking.

  What a long time it took to be trusted.

  The stew bubbled thickly, and Taleh turned toward it, her mind as heavily burdened as her body.

  The shout startled her. She jerked toward the path through the woods, to see one of the men she recognized from the village running toward her. He lurched the last few steps, and she feared for a moment that he had been injured. But when he reached her side, he showed no sign of blood. His deep panting breaths and ruddy, sweating face told her it was exertion that taxed him, not a wound.

  She waited for him to catch a breath. He bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and coughed deeply several times. Then he raised his perspiring face and gasped out, “Merab . . . in the village . . . asking for you . . . Sarah . . . sent me . . .”

  Taleh stared stupidly at him for a moment. How strange, was all she could think at first, how strange that I was just thinking about her. Her mind started to function. “Has something happened with the pregnancy? What is wrong?”

  The man gave her a strange look, and spoke with unnecessary slowness. “Merab is having labor pains . . . Sarah is attending her . . . Merab has been asking for you.” His breath calmed. “Sarah decided it would be good for her if you would come. I was sent to bring you to her.”

  Taleh’s arms wrapped around her own belly. All the fears of childbirth she had ever had came to vivid life.

  The man seemed to understand, for he reached out and touched her arm lightly. “I am certain all is well. Sarah is a very capable midwife. She delivered my wife of our own three children. In fact, she has delivered most of the children in the village.”

  “I must tell Javan.” She had to go. Merab’s worst trial lay ahead, for when the birthing was done, she would be sent away with empty arms. Whatever wrongs she planned to commit, she did not deserve to bring to birth alone, attended only by angry strangers.

  She waved a slave boy over from the sheepfold where he was spreading straw. “Wash your hands and do not let the stew burn.”

  He looked at the heavy pot over the flame with trepidation.

  “Just stir it,” Taleh said.

  He nodded uncertainly, and Taleh gave up the stew as lost.

  She hurried inside the house. Moving as quickly as her weight allowed, she packed a small basket: food for the trip, a clean robe, and a blanket. When she stepped back outside, Javan stood next to the kneeling camel, the saddle already in place. Without saying a word, he lifted her carefully into place on the smelly creature’s back.

  Taleh wrinkled her nose.

  Javan saw as he prepared to mount behind her, and chuckled. “I agree, but it is faster than walking.”

  “I know. But my stomach has only been quiet for a short time. I should hate to get sick again.” She smiled. Javan settled more firmly behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled on the reins. The camel lurched to its feet.

  A deep groan, unlike anything Taleh had ever heard before, vibrated through the house. The eerie sound sent chills along her arms. She looked wide-eyed at Javan.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I think you should go see what you can do to help.” He looked uncomfortable, as though he, too, wondered just why he was there.

  Taleh turned back to the stairs that ran along the wall, leading up to the second floor. Another unearthly sound shivered through the quiet, spilling distress and pain. She forced herself to climb them, walking into the emptiness the sound’s cessation left.

  In the brightness of midday, sunlight streamed into the rooms Taleh passed. They were well-furnished: sturdy beds, robes hung on pegs imbedded into the walls, oil lamps resting on tables. One room looked to belong to a child, and Taleh guessed Isaac slept there. The rooms were four in all on this upper level, a large house for Obed to build so quickly.

  Had he known all along he would take another wife?

  The awful sound came again, stopping Taleh in her stride. She knew it came from the last room, the dark one with the shutters closed so no light crept under the curtain.

  Merab’s prison?

  What am I doing here, she wondered desperately. She had never even seen a birth before. What possible help could she be? She reached out for the wall, pressing her hand to the cool stone for support. Was the terrible moan the sound of birth? Would she, too, make that sound when her time came? What an awful thought it was. She shoved it aside.

  Taleh looked at the curtain of striped wool that blocked the doorway. Taking one final breath, she shoved it aside. In the dimness, Merab lay on her side on the bed, her face flushed and sweating, her eyes tightly shut. Soft, panting gasps came with a staccato pattern. Her head rested on one hand. The other gripped the blanket draped over her waist with enough strength to leach the color from her knuckles.

  Leah sat on the floor, her fair hair sticking to her forehead by her own perspiration, her eyes closed in exhaustion. Beneath her eyes, heavy shadows colored the thin skin, and tired lines marred her face. Dark wet circles showed under her arms.

  Sarah sat on the bed next to Merab, wiping the laboring woman’s forehead with a wet cloth. The old midwife looked better than Leah.

  But then, Leah was pregnant.

  Taleh stopped, frozen in place. Now Merab was truly supplanted.

  Something made Sarah turn to look. She smiled, and Taleh saw the tell-tale signs of fatigue, the gray cast of her skin, the unkempt hair, the trembling lips. Sweat beaded on the old woman’s forehead, and her eyes were tired.

  Her voice, however, was not. “Good! You got here at last.” She spoke sharply to Merab. “Taleh is here. You made her come all this way, now say what you have to say.”

  Merab only groaned.

  Sarah looked back to Taleh. “Everything with the child is going as it should. The pains are coming on time. The mother, she is another story.” Sarah did not seem to care that Merab lay beside her, moaning her pains into the heavy air. “Merab refuses to get on the birthing stool, she will not walk to speed the birth, she will not take water to keep her mouth from drying out. She refuses our every attempt to help. I believe she hopes to cheat Obed of his firstborn yet.”

  The old midwife’s frustration became more obvious with every word. “But I will not let her play this foolish game. I will get this child out safely. Whose side are you on? Will you help us?”

  At the unspoken accusation, a sense of hurt, betrayal from an unexpected source., pierced Taleh. She could not believe those words had come from Sarah. Sarah. She could not associate her with Merab’s treachery, she could not! If she had not truly convinced her friends, how could she convince her enemies?

  She looked at Leah.

  “It is true,” Leah told her, misreading the plea Taleh knew was in her eyes. Leah pulled herself to her feet. Her pregnancy was barely visible. No wonder Taleh had not seen it on their last visit. Had Leah kept it quiet, knowing it would be a knife in Taleh’s heart?

  She led Taleh aside a few steps. “Before you talk to her, I want you to know something. I want her child as much as she does not. I have watched it grow these past months. I have seen it move and kick. Do not let her destroy this baby.” Her eyes held a fierce, possessive light. “That child is mine by virtue of love, and I will have it.�
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  “She could not truly kill her child in birth? She could not do that. It is not even possible.” The old sickness, the dread of seeing life and knowing it would soon be gone, pressed in on Taleh.

  “I do not know. I have never seen it happen before. But I think she could try. I have seen babies and mothers die in birth. Would she be willing to take it that far? You might know that answer better than I.”

  “But what can I do?” Taleh wanted to turn and flee, anywhere, away from this oppressive burden.

  Leah’s gaze held unyielding sternness. “You can tell her your stand. You can try to reason with her. You know how they think. There must be something you can use.”

  “Reason with her? Reason? Leah, she has no reason left. She is filled with hatred, and there is no reason in hatred.” Taleh did not understand Merab’s mind, she had never understood the mind of her own people.

  “Perhaps you are right. But she is also in labor, and her body has some say in this.” Leah gave her a quick hug. “You must tell her what you think is best.”

  She stood in place after Leah let go. It all seemed unreal, incomprehensible. Her child kicked, reminding her what was at stake.

  That kick also stiffened her resolve, and started a small flame of anger. So Merab thought even now to make her side against these people? She would try until the last moment to turn the villagers away? She would sacrifice Taleh’s marriage, as well?

  Taleh walked closer to the bed, her anger driving her steps. She knelt awkwardly beside the bed, her bulk robbing her of grace. Sarah patted her hand. “Good!” She rose stiffly, and left Taleh alone with Merab.

  The anger kept rising. To hold it in, Taleh clenched her hands into her robe. Words pounded against her skull, words of fury and hurt, of insults she had borne that belonged to Merab alone, slights that included her which Merab’s behavior spawned.

  She looked down at Merab, and the words died. Merab’s lips were tight with pain. Her young face had pulled taut from the strain her body endured. Sweat left its drops on every bit of visible skin, and dampened the hair that touched it. Her breath trembled as it sighed in and out.