He held this new knowledge close, and paced the walls of Sarah’s house, looking through the open door at the villagers outside while his heart was a wild tumult inside him, tangled with fear and hope.
Women sat on the ground along the house walls, waiting for word. Children played nearby so they, too, would hear when the baby was born. Javan did not remember ever seeing this happen. Did the women do this for every birth? He did not think so. So many coming to check on her, to see if she was well. So many who worried about her.
The months she had endured uncertainty, wondering if she would ever belong! He did not know now how she had done it. Where had she found the strength?
A scream tore through the house, and another. Javan froze in the doorway, the sun warm on his back.
He had to see her, be with her. Anything was better than this torture, this not knowing. He strode to the doorway, and thrust aside the curtain.
“Javan!” Sarah sounded surprised.
“How is she? Why did she scream?” His words came out in a whisper, strangled by the sight of his wife wet with sweat, pale with pain, thrashing on the bed. “God help us! Will she live?”
“Yes, I believe so. It is just taking a long time. You could help by bringing Leah. I know she is heavy with child herself now, but she is learning much about birthing, and the extra hands would be welcome.”
“I will bring her right away.” He would bring her even if he had to drag her over Obed’s body.
The midday meal came, but Javan could not bring himself to eat. He spent more time in the room where Taleh lay, but Leah and Sarah found his size a hindrance so they kept sending him back out. He could not stay away. Taleh still lived, a miracle which astounded him each time he went back into the room. To think women did this more than once, that they had child after child and survived it as often as they did!
A sudden flurry of activity from inside the room caught his attention. Leah bustled out, her womb leading the way. She grabbed the well-used birthing stool and tugged at it, unable to lift it around her own sizeable belly.
“Let me.” Javan came over and picked it up. It gave him the perfect reason to be allowed back in, to see Taleh again. Leah held the heavy curtain aside.
Sarah had her arms around Taleh, holding her upright in the bed. His wife was soaked with sweat, her hair hung in wet ringlets all around her face. Her skin was blotched with red. Her glazed eyes stared in his direction. She did not seem to see him. He could see her hands tremble where they clutched at Sarah’s robe.
“You can move your legs,” the old woman was saying. “You can! I will help you.” Then she saw Javan. “Put that close to the bed. It is time for the baby to be born.”
Javan forgot to breathe for a moment. As he stood gaping at Sarah, he wondered that he had forgotten the purpose of this event, that this was not just an exercise in endurance. Their child was about to be born!
“Put it down here, Javan.” Sarah grinned at him.
Grinned! If Sarah could find humor at a time like this, perhaps things were not as frightening as they seemed.
He set the birthing stool down close to his wife. “Please let me move her.” He wanted to hold her, to feel her in his arms. He wanted to be the one she clung to in this, despite the capable assistants waiting for him to get out of the way.
Sarah moved aside. He slid his hands under Taleh’s arms, feeling her belly press against him as he lifted her. He could feel it tighten as another pain struck her. Her legs folded, and only his strength held her up. Her nails dug into his arms, seeking a handhold, support for her tired body.
How much more of this was there?
He set her on the stool and let go reluctantly. Sarah helped pry Taleh’s fingers off his arms. They left red marks. I will bruise, he thought with surprise.
Sarah placed Taleh’s hands on the arms of the chair and they closed instantly. The tightening of her belly was visible. Javan watched, forgetting fear in fascination.
“It is time to get the baby out, Taleh.” Sarah spoke sharply, talking through the haze of pain that clouded Taleh’s mind.
“It hurts.”
Javan winced at the first words he had heard Taleh speak since bringing her into Sarah’s house.
“Yes, I know. You must push past the pain.”
“I cannot.” A tear slipped down Taleh’s cheek, and Javan reached past the women’s heads to catch it.
“Yes, Taleh, you can.” Leah’s voice was more gentle than Sarah’s had been. “You must. The baby wants to come out now. You have to help him. Push!”
Taleh seemed to understand. She squeezed her eyes shut under the force of her effort. The guttural groan could hardly belong to her. Pain slithered up Javan’s arms. When he looked down, he saw his hands clenched, as though he was straining with her.
Shadows stretched long. The women waiting had gone home to prepare the evening meal, and the first coolness of evening settled down. Javan stared out the window into the street, watching people with disinterest. His attentions were on the room behind him. He had been ushered out, and ordered to eat something. Sarah claimed she could not hear over the rumblings of his stomach. He had chewed some dry bread, and drank a little wine to calm himself. It did not live up to its reputation.
To think he had believed when they placed Taleh on the birthing stool that it would soon be over!
At least Taleh responded when spoken to, at least she recognized him now. His heart leapt into his throat each time she met his eyes and he saw the awareness in her own.
A happy laugh rang through Sarah’s house, and he gave a start.
Laughter!
And then the cry of a baby came.
His legs did not work. He could not remember how to walk.
He sagged against the wall, rubbing shaking hands across his face, and reminded himself to breathe.
Leah poked her head around the curtain. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Javan, you can come in now.” She giggled, and Javan wondered what was so funny. “Come, Javan, do you want to see your child?”
When had Sarah’s house gotten so large? The doorway with the curtain loomed like the entrance to a cave, and he was afraid to step inside.
But he did, and saw only his wife. Taleh lay on the rumpled bed, tired, sweaty, and glowing. Somehow the two women had managed to get her back onto the bed themselves. Dark circles ringed her eyes, her skin was still mottled and shiny with her body’s moisture, her hair stuck in sweaty curls wherever it touched and her lips were trembling and pale.
There was a radiance about her, a contentment that went beneath the surface all the way to her heart. He knelt by the bed, and started to reach for her, only to stop. Did she still hurt? Where could he touch?
“I will not break,” she whispered.
He drew her in then, needing to feel her breath on his neck, her arms around him. Her heart beat against his hands, and he cherished the feel of it. “I was so afraid,” he whispered into her ear. There was so much more to tell her, but he did not want to say it with an audience. He pressed his lips to her damp forehead, tasting of Taleh and salt.
“I worried some, too.” She pulled back slightly, and smiled.
He drank it in, committing the smile to memory.
“Javan, do you not want to see our child? We have a son!”
A son? They had a son?
“We have a boy,” Taleh said in her soft voice. “Look at him. He is so beautiful, Javan. Our child is beautiful.”
At Taleh’s insistence, Javan stood and Sarah met him with the wiggling baby. She tugged Javan’s outstretched arms this way and that, nodded approval, and carefully tucked the baby in. Javan drew the tiny morsel close. He felt awkward, his big muscles too hard for the soft baby skin it touched, his hands too calloused. But his son seemed not to mind, looking at him with blue eyes of a cast so dark they held promise of becoming the same color as his mother’s. His black hair was hers, also, wrapped in wet bloody curls tight to the delicate bones of his little hea
d.
He looked at the new life, and for the first time understood how people picked out features that belonged to either parent. He had always thought they were deluded, for how could such small, squashed things look like their full-grown counterparts? It was amazing, but the nose was Taleh’s, a bit flatter but that was only to be expected. The mouth was his, a baby version of his firm lips. He had not seen his chin for years, but the little one he looked at reminded him of his before the whiskers grew. The eyebrows, too, were his own masculine line, fainter and thinner, but definitely his. No lashes were visible yet, but if the child had his mother’s eyes, he expected the lashes would be hers also.
There were ten toes, and ten fingers, gripped into tight fists. Two slender legs, and two strong arms, and a strong heart, pounding under his hand with a reassuring beat.
His gaze went back to the face of his son, and the eyes that stared at him so unwaveringly, attentively. He felt he should say something, but his throat was so clogged with emotion that he feared no sound would come.
A silver drop fell on the baby’s face, startling him into a fierce cry. Another fell, and Javan suddenly realized that he wept.
C H A P T E R 29
“Bring in the prisoner.” Eli stood to make the pronouncement, his voice deep and ominous.
Javan watched him closely, hoping for a sign, something that would give him ease. The other older men moving about close to the long benches by the city gate joined Eli in avoiding Javan’s eye. He felt sweat trickle down his back. The sun had many hours to go before it reached its peak. Heat had nothing to do with it.
They had waited overnight to begin the trial, giving Javan time to rest with his wife and child from the birth. Worry had tormented him during the dark hours. He had kept his fears from her.
I will win, Pelet had said. He had been so confident. He had something planned.
A small crowd formed amid quiet whispers, the shuffling of feet, and a heavy, ponderous mood. No one was qualified to give testimony except Pelet, Obed and himself, but they gathered nonetheless. With much clearing of throats, the elders took their seats. A hush settled down. Here and there a baby fussed. Somewhere a donkey made its protest. Javan jumped at the echo of metal being dropped nearby.
The air was still, hot and humid in the last of summer. The smell of dust and warming bodies and the fragrant oil used to anoint the skin tickled Javan’s nose. He rubbed away a sneeze.
The crowd waiting behind him shifted, and Javan registered the movement over the turmoil inside him. He turned.
Two large men from the village pushed Pelet forward harshly, over-zealous in their new roles. They carried their swords as though uneasy at their weight, the scabbards slapping awkwardly against their legs, and Javan felt their embarrassment at being the center of all eyes. Their duties gave them unexpected prestige, however, and they reveled in it.
Pelet caught Javan’s eye, and seemed to smirk. Javan turned his head away. As Pelet walked up close to the benches where the village elders sat, Javan watched them closely for reactions.
What decisions had they faced in the past fifteen, no – sixteen years now? Had they ever dealt with a crime like this one? Or had it been petty thievery, the loss of a bull, a goat or a tunic? Did they rule on inheritance, perhaps?
Such trivial matters! This one carried the sentence of death. The Law was very clear on kidnapping. She had not been sold or killed, but she had been found with him, and by two witnesses. Even without Taleh’s testimony, for she had the required week’s ban of recovery to endure before she dared come among the villagers, he and Obed were more than enough to prove the crime and demand the ultimate judgment.
Stoning was an ugly thing, but so was what he and his wife had just endured.
Could these men make the decision for death? Did they have the hardness inside?
Eli seemed again to be spokesman. He raised a hand to still the restless crowd. “Pelet, we give you the opportunity to explain your actions.”
Pelet puffed out his chest, and Javan’s anger simmered at his poise.
I will win. The words from the forest whispered through Javan’s head. Pelet knew something, something he was positive would sway the village, some weapon that could tear Taleh from Javan’s arms.
“Peace to all,” he started. His voice was soothing, and self-assured. He showed no guilt or remorse, nor did he seem to need any. “I am glad for the chance to state the truth. You all welcome and accept Javan. He came here with a woman from Ammon, and presented her before all of you as his wife.”
A trickle of dread touched Javan’s spine.
“What he did not state, and what none of you know, is that he stole her from me!”
A gasp rose from the gathered crowd behind them. Javan did not dare turn around.
Pelet smiled at him. Hot words pounded against Javan’s closed lips. He bit back his fury, and helplessly felt his color rise to match his anger.
The village elders watched, meeting his eyes with no expression in their own. They exchanged glances among themselves.
Eli spoke quietly. “Continue.”
Pelet inclined his head graciously. “The woman you know as Javan’s wife should have been mine. It is he who should be on trial this day, and not myself.”
Javan tasted blood in his mouth.
Eli turned to him. “Have you anything to say?”
Javan nodded. “Ask Pelet why he believes Taleh belongs to him. By what right does he claim her?”
Pelet waited until Eli nodded, and spoke with his smooth voice, his careful words. “It happened in the last city. We, my men and I, were going through the houses, executing everyone we found. Those were Jephthah’s instructions, and we obeyed.”
The important name brought nods and murmurs of approval from the listeners. Yes, they seemed to be saying, he was only doing his duty.
Javan clenched his jaw. He, too, had obeyed Jephthah. He felt the stares of the crowd on his back.
Pelet raised his hand, just as Eli had, and the crowd quieted. “We had taken some captives from earlier cities, but none that I knew of that day. Javan and his men came from the hill. He had been destroying the altar there.” His words were generous, even magnanimous. “They had not begun to search the city. I signaled him to take his men around the back side of the street to cut off an escape route.”
Javan’s eyebrows went up.
“My men and I were to take the houses, while he and his men handled the rest. To make sure he understood, I called out to him, to tell him what I needed him to do.”
Javan blinked at the casual way Pelet made him a mere soldier, instead of an equal. ‘What I needed him to do!’ As though he answered to Pelet!
“He did not do as I directed.” Pelet’s voice was louder. “He took his men into the very houses I had chosen. He usurped my role. I asked Jephthah for permission that very day. I told him of her, that I had seen her, that I wished to claim her. Had Javan done as he was supposed to do, had he not usurped my duties, I would have come upon her first. I did ask Jephthah first. I challenge you to go to him. He lives not far away. Send a messenger and ask who spoke for her first!”
Javan could only stare at Pelet. He knew Pelet had spoken for a woman. Jephthah had told him that very thing. He tried to remember that first night, when Minnith lay burning and he stayed to talk to Jephthah after the meeting with the army’s chiefs. Jephthah had told him he had given permission to several men, he remembered that. But which men? And had Jephthah known that Pelet asked for Taleh?
What happened now?
One gray head turned to Javan. “Surely you have something to say about this.”
Javan hastily collected his thoughts. “I do. Pelet’s memory differs slightly from my own. He did not wave me around those houses. He waved me into them. He may have asked Jephthah before me, I cannot say.” He could use Jephthah, too. “However, I claimed her in front of my men when I first found her. My claim precedes his. I, too, have men who can be found to speak for m
e. He knows this. Why else would he steal her away? Did I sneak her into your city? Did I hide her? Or did I rather bring her openly?”
He let his words sink in.
A strong hand clasped his arm. He turned. Obed stood beside him, smiling encouragement.
“My lords, I have something to say as well.”
The elders nodded as one, heads bobbing in perfect unison.
“You have not heard the entire story. Pelet left part of it out, part he does not want you to know. This is not the first time he has tried to steal the woman. Before we even got onto Israelite soil, Pelet tried to smuggle her out of the encampment. I know this, for I was the first to stop him.”
“Indeed?” One of the other elders turned to Javan. “Is this so?”
“Yes, my lords.” Why did he not think to mention it? It might help now. Or knowing Pelet felt his own claim so strong that he had tried once before to guarantee it might tip the scales to him, pushing them to right an error.
“There is more,” Obed said. “I was there when Taleh was found yesterday. Pelet needs money to rebuild his home. He reasoned that Javan would pay either to get her back, or to send her away. He can no longer see right and wrong. This has nothing to do with any claim on Taleh. Do not let – ”
One of the other men raised a hand and stopped Obed. Javan was relieved. He knew what Obed was about to say. It would not help to tell the village elders they were being fooled.
The man turned his attention to Javan. “I want to know – what was done to Pelet the first time this happened?”
Javan could guess what he thought. Pelet should have been stoned then. He remembered arguing the very issue to Jephthah. Yet, Pelet stood before them all, alive. If his sin were so great, why had Jephthah not cut him down? He could see that very question in their eyes.
Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel) Page 27