Prize of War

by Carole Towriss

  “Leah sent some bread.”

  “Oh, Abba, you thought of everything.” Acsah gave him a quick hug.

  “Come, I’ll show you the house.” Othniel led them through the house to the ladder and onto the roof. He spread out a leather mat and laid out the fruit.

  “It’s a beautiful home, Othniel. It’s quite large.” Caleb ran his hands down the walls of their chamber, nodding. “This is very nice work.”

  “Time and stone I have plenty of. This must have been one of the biggest houses in the city, so I claimed it for my own.”

  “Still, you have turned it into an Israelite house. You did a magnificent job.” Caleb passed a bag of bread to him.

  “Thank you.” His chest swelled. “I’m glad you approve.”

  Caleb chuckled. “It’s not my approval that matters.” He shot a sideways glance at his daughter.

  Othni raised a brow at Acsah. “Well?”

  She rubbed his shoulder. “I love it, of course. I love that you built it for us.”

  He’d build an entire city if it pleased her.

  After the meal, Caleb turned to Siah. “Would you take Acsah and show her the city for a little bit? I’d like to talk to Othniel.”

  “All right. Come on, sister. I’ll show you the things Othni will never show you.” He smirked.

  “Funny.” Othni made a face.

  Acsah giggled and followed Siah.

  “Is something wrong?” Why else would Caleb want to talk to him alone? Had he disappointed him?

  “I need to tell you about something that happened on the journey that you should be aware of.”

  As Caleb relayed the story, Othni’s heart ached. How could he convince her Yahweh could be found anywhere, not just at Hebron’s bubbling spring?

  He’d figure out a way. He’d have to.

  Acsah awoke to bright—and—hot sunlight hitting her face. Desert mornings were far harsher than those in Hebron.

  She reached for Othni, but the space beside her was empty. He must have gone downstairs already. She dressed quickly and stepped outside the bedchamber onto the roof. Shading her eyes, she scanned the horizon. The sun’s glare, reflected on the sand, made it difficult to see anything.

  She sighed. How could anything survive out here in this blistering, waterless land?

  The kwee-kwee-kwee of a sand partridge broke the silence. Somewhere in her mind she recalled Othni telling her about the tawny pink bird with the bright yellow beak that could go for six days without water. Apparently Yahweh had created some things especially to live here.

  She hurried down the stairs.

  “I was afraid I would miss you. We’re leaving shortly.” Abba kissed her cheek and carried a bag to his cart.

  “Why did you let me sleep? Why would you let me miss him?”

  Othni spread his hands. “I tried to wake you. I thought perhaps you needed your rest after such a long day yesterday.”

  “Before he comes back, I need you to ask him something.”

  “All right.”

  “You must ask him for the land around the wells.”

  He huffed. “No, I won’t.”

  “Why not? We must have water!”

  “And we do.” He gestured toward the southern gate. “There is a tunnel to the water. I walked it myself. And do you really think your abba would settle you in a city where you have no water? Where you would die of thirst?”

  Her heartbeat sped up. “But if the wells are not inside the city, someone else may come take them from us. We’ll end up arguing over them like Abraham. We must own the wells as we own the city.”

  “I will not do it. I trust Caleb and I trust Yahweh. If you want to do it, you must do it yourself.” He turned and walked outside to help Abba finish packing.

  She squirmed. Perhaps she, too, could trust Abba. Trust Yahweh that she could learn to hear Him. Learn to listen a different way.

  She followed her husband out of the house. He stood beside her abba, coiling rope around one hand and his elbow. The tight, burned skin of his right bicep flexed with every move. If he could trust Caleb after that, why couldn’t she?

  Abba gathered her in a fierce hug. “We must go now if we are get home before the worst of the heat. But we’ll see you both at the Feast before too long.” He embraced Othni quickly. “Goodbye, my son.”

  With one hand, Othni tossed the coiled rope in the cart as it pulled away, and with the other he drew her to his chest. “It’s just us now.” His soft words should have comforted her.

  But they didn’t.

  He kissed her cheek, then he gently steered them toward the house. He bent to open the gate.

  Acsah stepped into the courtyard as a brown Sinai agama ran across her path. She stopped short, causing Othni to bump into her.

  He laughed. “It’s just a desert lizard. You should see it during mating season. It’s actually quite beautiful. The male turns a shockingly bright blue from the top of his head to his shoulders.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. To attract the female, I guess.” He headed inside and began sorting through the items Caleb brought.

  Another animal designed for the negev.

  Unlike her.

  She stepped to Donkey and rubbed his neck.

  “We don’t belong here, do we?” She grabbed a bunch of barley straw and held it out for him. “Maybe most donkeys do. But I’ve spoiled you. Like Abba spoiled me.”

  Her chest contracted, and it all became clear.

  She could not do this.

  She would not survive here.

  She had to know the water was theirs. Hers. Not just to survive physically. She needed to know she could hear Yahweh.

  She climbed on Donkey and pressed her knees into his side. Without a word from her, he raced toward Abba. When she caught him, she slid to the ground, her head on her hands, trying desperately to reign in her tears.

  Abba’s sandals hit the ground. He rested his hands on her head, stroked her hair. “Acsah, what is it? What’s wrong? I thought you loved Othniel. I thought you had made peace with moving here.”

  Finally calm enough to speak, she sat up. “Abba, this land … this land …” She looked around at the emptiness. How could she tell him? “Abba, please, since you have given us, given me, this negev, this southland, you must also give me the land around the wells.”

  He shook his head. “Acsah. Do you think I would give you a city without water?”

  “Othni says we have access to the water through the tunnel, but I am afraid someone will take the wells from us, like Othni did from the Anakim, and we will lose that access.” She released a shuddering sigh. “Abba, we must have that land.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I’m trying, Abba. But you don’t understand—”

  “I know. You told me yesterday.”

  He must think her so foolish. “I’m trying, Abba,” she repeated.

  “Acsah, I included the land around the wells when I gave you and Othniel the city.” He spoke gently. “Do you really think I would give you a city with no water?”

  Her body collapsed, as if she were made of straw. How could she have let her fear overpower her so? “I’m so sorry, Abba. I should have known better.”

  He grasped her shoulders and lifted her to face him. “Yes, you should have.” He held her face in his hands, his soft eyes holding no accusation at all.

  “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course, my daughter. As long as you promise to try to learn to listen another way.” He wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

  “I promise.” She wrapped her arms around him, grabbing folds of his cloak with both hands and holding on tight.

  Pounding footsteps caused them to pull apart. They looked up to see Othni racing toward them.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing anymore.” Abba stood first, and then he held out his hand to help her rise.

  “Anymore?” Othni raised a brow.

 
; “Just another goodbye,” answered Abba. “Take care of her for me.” He placed Acsah’s hand in Othni’s, and mounted his donkey again.

  Othni took Donkey’s lead rope. “Why do I have the feeling there is something you’re not telling me?”

  She shrugged, heading back to their house. “Maybe later.”

  After she had it figured out. The last thing he needed to worry about was her.

  Chapter 10

  …when you have gathered in the crops of the land, you shall celebrate the feast of the LORD for seven days, with a rest on the first day and a rest on the eighth day.

  Leviticus 23.39

  Fire raced through Acsah’s arms every time she moved them. Even though she was used to hard work, had managed the most of the wheat harvest with Abba, four weeks of bending for grapes and stretching for pomegranates in this dry heat was more than her body was used to. The fact that Othni and Siah were aching as well gave her little comfort.

  Only half the fruit had been harvested, and they had at least a week’s worth of work to go. She scanned the terraced hillside of trees, thanking Yahweh for the crop they had neither planted nor tended. Turning, she counted the baskets of pomegranates lining the ground.

  Rubbing her arms did little to chase away the soreness. Might as well get back to work. Up on her toes, she reached for another of the deep red fruit. Repeated the process, over and over and over.

  It was a mindless procedure, which left her free to try to figure out how she was supposed to “learn to listen a new way.” She’d kept her worries from Othni. He had much too much on his mind to add her problems to the list. Rahab said she could be a help to her husband or a hindrance—and she refused to be a hindrance. They had a great deal of food to harvest and little less than half the people the city had previously housed to get the job done.

  She plucked the last pomegranate she could reach from this tree, then drew the back of her hand across her brow as she glanced at the sun.

  Her stomach rumbled. From hunger or worry? Maybe some food would settle it. Under the tree, she pulled out cheese, grapes, and bread, added a fresh pomegranate, and set them out on a large mat.

  At the top of the tree her husband and brother-in-law silently freed the last of this tree’s deep red bounty then climbed down.

  Othni sat and reached for the cheese.

  Siah joined them. He ripped the bread into three pieces. “I think we’ll finish in time. Don’t you?” He stuffed a too-large piece of bread in his mouth.

  As they discussed in detail how long the rest of the harvest would take, her mind drifted.

  “Acsah?”

  She looked up. Siah was gone, and Othni stared.

  “I called your name three times.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re sure?” He cupped her cheek.

  His touch was like a balm to her wounded soul. Nodding, she leaned into it.

  “All right.” He dropped his hand, and she immediately missed the contact.

  When he reached for her at night, she could forget that nothing was as it should be. She felt cared for, cherished as she had been in the bridal chamber in Hebron. But when the sun rose and he silently slipped from their chamber and rushed to be the first one in the fields, the harsh truth began to work its way into her world, causing it to fray around the edges like a tunic no longer worthy of repair.

  Would she ever feel like she truly belonged here?

  Othni rolled over. Every muscle begged for relief, but at least the harvest was finally finished except for the olives, and they would continue to ripen for weeks. But they had the first fruits.

  Stretching his legs, then his arms, he groaned. He opened his eyes. The air was comfortable, now that harvest season was nearly over. When they returned from the Feast, it would be time to plow and plant, then wait for the rains. Wait for Yahweh to grow the grain tall and gold.

  Why was the room so bright? He dragged himself, body protesting, from the bed to a window. The sun was halfway to its highest point. Why had Acsah let him sleep so long? Yes, he was exhausted, but she had worked as hard as he had.

  Turning, he stared at the bed. Last night, for the first time, he had fallen into it without wondering if they would pick all the grapes, pomegranates, and ripe olives before they went to waste.

  Othni pulled his tunic over his head and climbed down the ladder. His beautiful bride sat in the courtyard grinding grain. He leaned against a pillar and watched, transfixed. Her long dark hair fell loose, waving across her back as she pushed the upper stone back and forth across the larger one, crushing the grain into submission.

  After several moments, she stopped grinding, set the stone aside, and scooped the flour into the bowl. She added some olive oil, salt, leftover dough for leaven, and mixed the ingredients together. Her hair bounced again as she patted out rounds of dough and slapped them against the sides of the oven.

  She turned and caught him staring. His face heated.

  Instead of teasing him as she did when she noticed him watching her under the pomegranate tree in Hebron, she looked away, as if she had been the one caught.

  He padded over to her and sat.

  She continued working without looking up. “When did you want to leave for Shiloh?”

  “I thought we could leave this afternoon, if you wanted, and spend a couple days in Hebron first.” He picked up a fresh, hot loaf, ripped it in two, and offered her half. “We could be there by the evening meal.”

  “Whatever you think best.”

  He expected a different reaction. Something was missing, but he wasn’t sure what. They hadn’t spent much time together since moving to Debir. The responsibilities of a shophet took much of his time and energy.

  Perhaps too much.

  Maybe a visit home would help.

  The trip back to Hebron was an easy one. The sun was nearing the western horizon as Othni opened Caleb’s gate.

  Caleb met them in the courtyard, and Acsah threw herself into his embrace. “I missed you.”

  “What a nice surprise. I’ve missed you, too, motek.” Caleb hugged Othni. “Come, eat. You must be hungry. Leah is with her grandchildren, so you’ll have eat what I usually do when she’s not here.”

  They climbed the stone steps to the roof. Caleb brought up olives, cheese, cold bread and goat’s milk. Acsah’s shoulders relaxed. Even her breathing seemed easier. Perhaps it had been only the pressure of the harvest that had made things difficult between them.

  Caleb lit an oil lamp and handed it to Othni, gesturing toward the steps. “Iru’s rooms are always ready for you.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning, then.” Othni nodded and climbed the steps to the chamber, remembering the first time they had slept there. Everything had been so simple those first days. Why was it so complicated now? He entered and slipped off his sandals. With the bed now in their house, sleeping mats lay on the floor, a blanket folded at the bottom.

  She shook it out and spread it over the mats. “No flowers on the floor this time.” She giggled. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him with more passion than she had in weeks.

  Although he enjoyed it, he couldn’t help but wonder what hold Hebron had over her.

  Even if this helped her, it was at best only a temporary fix.

  “Aunt Leah!” Acsah raced into the courtyard the following morning to wrap the woman in a warm embrace. “I’ve missed you so!”

  “My daughter, let me see you.” Leah held her away and studied her. “No baby yet.” She pronounced the fact with great disappointment.

  Acsah’s cheeks warmed as if Leah had held a hot cloth to them. “Leah, it’s been barely two months!”

  “It takes only one night.” The old woman shrugged and headed for the broadroom. Acsah turned just in time to catch her husband at the gate, red cree
ping up his neck. Siah stood behind him smirking.

  “I’m going to help Caleb, um … gather things.” Othni darted back out of the yard, his brother sauntering behind.

  Leah reappeared with a bowl full of grain nestled in another empty bowl.

  “Come, motek. Time to make bread.”

  She sat next to Leah on her knees. She dug her hand into the golden heads of wheat, scooped a handful, and poured it out, enjoying the clunk-clunk-clunk as they hit the grinding stone.

  Leah did the same. “Alona finally found a husband for that daughter of hers. I have no idea how. No one likes that girl. She’s far too lazy.”

  Acsah chuckled. She loved Leah dearly, but the woman did enjoy her gossip.

  Leah continued until she’d updated on the goings-on of everyone in the city, with little interruption from Acsah.

  “Has my abba made any move toward marrying again?”

  Leah pursed her lips. “Motek, he is not going to marry again.”

  Acsah sat back on her heels. “He said he would.”

  Leah squeezed off a piece of dough and patted it out. “As I recall, he only asked you if it would make you feel better if he did.”

  She was right. That was exactly what he had said. And he knew he would never marry when he’d said it, so he’d said only what he needed to at that moment.

  “Listen to me.” She grabbed Acsah’s hand.

  Acsah tried to focus.

  “Your abba is fine. He is perfectly happy. Truly.”

  “But he’s all alone.” Couldn’t Leah see that?

  “No. He sleeps alone. There is a huge difference.”

  Acsah tried to see the difference. She really did.

  “Before you married, were you alone here?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And neither is Caleb. We eat together every day, he and Jonah and I. His grandchildren and our grandchildren are here all the time. He has great-grandchildren here in Hebron, and more friends than you can count. The young men look to him for advice. His days are very, very full.”