But how to take advantage of that? They were as close as any couple he had ever known. He trusted her, adored her. He’d never come between them.
He hugged himself against the cold as he walked, watched the families on either side of him. As dusk fell, the aroma of lentil stew and freshly baked bread wafted from nearly every common area. His mouth watered. Surely Dania had some waiting for him as well.
He shook the water from his cloak as he entered his house, and then hung it on a peg in the wall. Dania had both a hot fire and warm food waiting.
The heat seeped into his bones and relaxed him. He hadn’t realized how much he had tensed up against the cold. And perhaps against Othniel.
He sat, holding his hands to the fire, and Dania placed bowls between them. Ripping off a piece of bread, he watched her. She was always calm, always peaceful, and he wasn’t sure why. It annoyed him.
“I met the shophet’s wife today .”
He stiffened. “You did?”
“I ended up spending most of the day at her house.” She smiled as she ladled stew into a bowl.
Interesting. And possibly useful. “This pleases you?”
She cast a sideways glance at him, tensing a moment. “Very much. Why? Is this not all right with you?”
“No, I think it’s a fine idea. I’m happy for you.”
She relaxed, and handed him his stew.
A far easier plan than anything he could have come up with. She would have new friends, and he would have a new source of information, information that could be used to come up with a way to cause friction between the shophet and his wife. What could be wrong with that?
Chapter 14
"According to what I have seen, those who plow iniquity
And those who sow trouble harvest it.”
Job 4.8
Acsah rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then rose and dressed slowly. The night had not been an easy one, and her stomach rumbled. Hand to her belly, she shuffled out to the roof and scanned the unending, bleak landscape. This might now be her home, but she would never get used to the lack of green. No grass, no trees. Unless you counted the scrub acacia or tamarisk. And she didn’t.
Shivering, she ducked back inside the room, grabbed a blanket and threw it around her shoulders. She sighed and made her way down the ladder.
The other women already sat in the courtyard grinding grain. How long had she slept?
Dania hadn’t arrived yet, but Simona raised her head, grinning. “We’ve been waiting for you. Othni was still here when we arrived, and he said we should come in.” She studied Acsah’s face a moment, then rose to meet her. She frowned for just a moment, then placed her hand on Acsah’s belly. Her face brightened. “You are with child.”
Acsah started. “I am not!”
Simona laughed. “You are.”
Acsah counted back to the last time she had experienced her womanly flow. It had been a while. But that had happened before, when times were stressful. And though the strain had lessened recently, just living here was so much harder than in Hebron she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that she was late.
If she were with child, it was already well over two months.
Shock gave way to delight, then confusion.
The older woman laughed again. “Sit, sit. Are you tired all the time? Hungry?”
Acsah complied. “Exhausted. But not hungry.” But hadn’t the fatigue been because of the anxiety?
“Very common. And very good signs you are carrying a baby.” She grinned and raised one finger. “I am never wrong.”
A baby. Were they ready for a baby? Didn’t matter. A baby was coming, ready or not.
“When was your last flow? When will the baby come?”
Acsah quickly counted and added, her fingers and lips moving. “He should be here at the time of the grape harvest.” Her heart ached.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just wish my aunt could come be with me then.”
Simona gathered her close. Through the blanket, she rubbed circles on Acsah’s back, but the tears came anyway. “Another good sign you are with child. Be prepared to cry a lot. And laugh, and sing, and yell. Oh, motek, I am so happy for you.” She sighed happily, then turned to her stone once again. “Now here, mix the dough.” She plopped a bowl filled with freshly ground wheat into Acsah’s lap, then pointed to a jug of water and a smaller jug of grape juice.
Acsah adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and dug her hands into the dough. As she kneaded, she turned her attention back to the older woman. She had never noticed, until now, how much the woman reminded her of Aunt Leah. Another blessing from Yahweh.
Now, she would have to tell Othni. With Enosh challenging his every word, was he ready for this?
Heavy clouds hovered overhead, dumping rain and causing midday to look and feel like night. Rain had pelted the earth for the last six days, and the ground had soaked it up like a man dying of thirst. The barley had grown faster in the last week than in the previous three, and in another week it would be exactly where it should be this time of year.
Thank you, Yahweh.
Othni crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders against the cold. Head down, he clambered up the hill and darted through the street toward his house, bustling into the common room.
After peeling off his wet cloak, he squatted before the roaring fire. Thank Yahweh for his thoughtful wife. He scrubbed a hand down his face, wiping rainwater away.
“Acsah?”
A jug of watered wine in hand, she emerged from the broadroom, her face pale and a pretty young girl beside her. “What are you doing home?”
He jerked his thumb outside. “It’s pouring down rain. Did you want me to stay outside in the fields?”
“No, of course not. It’s just … just—”
“Do you mind telling me who this is?”
“This is Dania. She’s one of the women who comes to our house each day.”
“Oh. And why is she still here?”
“My brother isn’t home.” She lowered her head. “He’s rarely home,” she whispered.
“Why not? There’s nothing to be done in the fields. Where does he go?”
“Why don’t we sit down and eat something before we discuss this?” She set the jug next to a chunk of cheese, a loaf of bread and a large bowl of lentil stew and sat.
Siah strolled in, shrugging off his cloak. “What’s going on?”
“Where have you been? I thought you were going to meet me at the fields.”
“I got distracted.” He came nearer the fire. “Who’s this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Acsah sighed. “I told you, she’s Dania. Now everybody, please sit.”
Othni sat beside her and accepted a bowl of stew. “You still haven’t told me where your brother goes every day.”
“I’m not sure. Hunting?” Dania shrugged.
“In the rain?” Siah laughed.
“I don’t know, then. He just disappears.” She scoffed. “I think Enosh would rather still be at war.”
Othni nearly choked on the cheese. “Enosh?”
Acsah slapped him on the back.
He swallowed and slurped down some wine. “Her brother is Enosh?”
Acsah grimaced.
“And you knew this? And didn’t tell me?”
“I’m sorry. I thought you had enough to worry about.”
He jumped to his feet. “So you thought lying to me was the best way to handle it?”
She rose to face him. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you. Besides, it’s not her fault who her brother is. You can’t blame her for his actions.” She gestured toward Dania, but she was no longer in her spot.
Neither was Siah.
Acsah and Othni spun around, searching the room.
“Where’d they go?” asked Othni.
“I have no idea. But I can’t blame her for not wanting to stay.”
They crept to
the edge of the room and peered out, just in time to see the pair duck into Dania’s house.
“I hope Siah doesn’t stay too long. If Enosh catches him there, he’ll kill him.” He led Acsah back inside. “I’m sorry I argued with you. You obviously were right about my reaction.”
“I wasn’t trying to lie to you.” She sat and refilled his cup of wine.
“I know. I’m sure she’s a very sweet girl, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean to do anything. But Enosh could be using her without her even knowing it.”
“We’ll just have to be careful about what we say, and trust Yahweh then, won’t we?”
She made it sound so simple. But she had no idea what had happened with Gilad. And even if she thought she did, she couldn’t begin to imagine what Enosh was capable of.
Enosh trudged up the street from his field. He’d finished hoeing up all the dead straggly remnants of the flax planted three months ago in one of the vacant fields. Everyone had told him it wouldn’t grow down here, but he had to try. If he could succeed, be the only one to realize a harvest, he’d have an abundance of silver.
So he’d failed. All it had cost him was a little seed, some labor carrying water, and now a lot of work to dig it all up. But it had been worth a try.
His stomach rumbled. Would Dania have some hot food for him at home? He hoped. She’d been spending so much time at Acsah’s.
Or more accurately, with Seraiah. She said she was spending her time with Acsah but this time of year, with nothing much to be done in the fields, that brother always seemed to be around. There was no way that match was going to happen.
Enosh tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck, then lifted one shoulder at a time. Only a few more weeks before the rainy season should end.
It couldn’t come fast enough for him.
But that only meant the barley harvest would begin, the hardest work of the year. He growled. He needed to earn some silver so he could hire men to do all his work for him.
Was that a cooking fire coming from his house? The house, he recalled, that was not as large as he had wanted. And why not? Because Othniel, ruler of everything, said so.
He entered his courtyard, his mouth watering. Dania sat before the fire pit, a bone needle in one hand and a ripped tunic in the other. He leaned his hoe against the wall. “Why are you here and not at Acsah’s?”
She glanced up and returned to her mending without stopping. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“What do you think might be wrong?” He knelt before her. “You’re there every day. Surely you heard or saw something.”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but I think he’s worried about her.”
“Worried? Why?”
“She’s not eating properly. He thinks she might be missing her abba.”
“Hmmm.” He sat beside her. “If she is distracting him, if she is not the wife he needs to be the shophet this city requires, then perhaps he needs a different wife.”
She laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am completely serious. Don’t you want what’s best for Kiriath-Sepher?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then perhaps he is not the best shophet. Perhaps I am.”
Her eyes widened. “This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?” She rose, glaring down at him. “This is why you have encouraged me to spend so much time at their house. Not because it pleases me, or because I need friends, but because you want information you think you can use to become shophet.” She grabbed the mending and stormed upstairs.
“Dania—” He called after her.
“No. I won’t listen to anything else you have to say. I will not help you do this.” Her voice drifted down from the roof.
“Dania, please.” He dropped his head in his hands. This was inexcusable. He had never meant to hurt his sister in this way. He did enjoy the fact that her friendship with Acsah gave him information he could get no other way, but he had only taken advantage of something that had happened naturally. He had not planned it, but his excitement over her news had led her to believe that was just what he’d done, and he would never be able to convince her otherwise.
Now she would never trust him again. About anything.
Acsah reached into the bag slung across her body and drew out more lentil seed. She threw it across the field in front of her and plodded along the furrows Othni had so carefully plowed. Handful after handful of brown seeds scattered over the freshly turned up earth.
A giggle floated by. She glanced over her shoulder. Dania stood at the edge of their field talking to Siah. The girl’s cheeks colored, and she ran off.
Acsah caught his eye and smirked. He frowned and resumed plowing, perhaps a bit more vigorously than necessary.
She bent to remove a stone the plow had missed, but the motion was too much for her. Grabbing her belly, she willed the nausea to stop but ended up rushing to the side of the field. What little she had managed to eat that morning came up.
Until now, she had hid her sickness from Othni by finding reasons to remain behind and come to the field after him, but she was running out of excuses.
How would they ever finish sowing? She hadn’t been very helpful, and Othni had said nothing. He knew she had been responsible for the entire wheat harvest while he was with Abba in Debir. She obviously could handle the work. No doubt he now wondered how she had managed it. If he judged her by what she had contributed here so far …
She doubled over as her stomach constricted again, but nothing came up. She dropped to the ground and sipped some water, nibbled on some of yesterday’s bread she had hidden in her belt.
Yahweh, just get me through the morning.
“What are you doing?”
She flinched when Othni’s soft voice came from behind her.
Closing her eyes, she breathed another prayer. She placed her hand on the ground and pushed herself to her feet, but wobbled as she rose and turned to him.
He cupped her face. “You’re so pale. Are you sick?” He studied her face, and one corner of his mouth turned up. “You’ve been sick many mornings.”
Her mouth formed an O.
“You thought I didn’t notice?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
He pulled her to his chest. “Are you carrying my child?” he whispered.
She nodded into his shoulder. “I think so. Simona said so.”
He hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Yahweh.”
“I’m sorry I’m not more help.”
He pulled back and held her at arm’s length. His eyes danced. “Don’t worry about that. Are you feeling all right other than in the mornings?”
“I’m just very tired.”
He chuckled as he pulled her close and rubbed circles on her back. “Your body is making a baby. I imagine that’s hard work.” He held her a little longer. “Why don’t you go back and just make the bread for today? Siah and I can do this, and if you make sure we can eat, we’ll be all right.”
She nodded. “I can do that. It takes me a little longer with the back and forth. I get a little queasy.”
He laughed. “Well, we have all day.” He whispered into her ear, his soft breath tickling her hair. “I love you, ahuvati.” He placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. “You’ll eat something, too?”
Nodding once more, she slipped from his embrace. She softly rubbed her middle on her way to the house, where she found Dania waiting at the gate. Her eyes grew wide. “Are you all right? You’re moving quite slowly.”
Might as well admit it. Othni knew. Soon the whole city would know. He’d host a feast if he could. “I am … with child. I’m just a little tired.”
Her face lit up. “How wonderful!” She pushed the gate open.
“Are you done in the field already? Your brother doesn’t need you?”
“He’s not planting lentils. Barley in the back, I assume?” On th
e way to the broadroom, she passed Acsah’s loom and stopped. She gazed at it for a moment from the center of the room, then neared the rug. “Oh, Acsah, this is so beautiful.” Hovering her fingers over the yarn, she outlined the shapes, traced the lines. She examined the loom, the bar holding the rolled-up portion of the rug and the unwoven yarn hanging below, weighted down by clay discs.
She turned to Acsah. “You did this? By yourself?”
Acsah resisted shrugging. “Yes.”
“Would you show me? Teach me how to do this? I mean, not this”—her fingers grazed the intricate design—“just the easy kind.”
Acsah tilted her head. “Didn’t your imma show you how?”
Dania’s eyes misted. “No.”
“An aunt? Sister?”
She winced. “My imma … left us, and I have no sisters. Only brothers.”
“Your imma left? Why?”
She hung her head. “I was young. I don’t remember much. That’s what I was told.” She picked at her nails for a moment, then looked up from under moist lashes. “So would you teach me?”
Acsah closed the distance between them and gathered Dania into a quick hug. “Of course I will.”
“All right, let’s get the bread made first.” She swiped at her cheeks and smiled.
When she had invited her to come to her house weeks ago, she thought maybe Dania could use a friend. At the time she had no idea how right she was.
Othni tied the sash of his cloak as he wandered downstairs and into the courtyard. He grabbed his waterskin and headed to check on the barley. It should be ready to harvest any day now.
He wandered through the stalks of golden grain, picking a kernel now and then to test the ripeness. Placing the heads between his thumb and fingers, he squeezed. A little too much give. They needed to be crisp and completely dry. The stalks still stood a little too straight, not drooping back towards earth.
He picked several handfuls and placed them in the folds of his belt. Acsah loved the grain in this stage, with still enough moisture to be nicely parched. Maybe the gift would bring a smile to her face.
He wandered around the southeast wall instead of heading through the southern gate. Acsah was still asleep. No sense in waking her yet. Might as well let her rest as much as possible before harvest season.
Prize of War Page 19