“I am sure we can trust you to pay what is required,” her father said, brushing away the precious metal as if it was of no consequence. Yet Lappidoth caught the quick accounting gleam in his eye, the one that showed both men that her father was more astute than he let on. “We must at least let the girl give her approval before we accept,” he said, smiling amiably.
“Of course she will accept.” Deborah’s mother stepped into the room, hands on her hips, her round mouth pulled taut in a grim line. She whirled about and muttered something about Deborah having few options, but Lappidoth decided he must have misunderstood the woman. Certainly Deborah had other choices. She was the most beautiful virgin in the entire village, probably in all of Israel. And those intelligent eyes! He could imagine getting lost in one look from her and, in quiet moments, holding deep conversations about the law he spent days copying letter by letter, carefully applying, leaving nothing out.
“She’s coming now,” her brother Shapur said, striding confidently from the courtyard into the house. “She filled the skins. We will be ready to leave tomorrow when you are, Father.” He left again before anyone could speak.
The house grew suddenly still, and Lappidoth’s palms moistened where he clenched them. He released both hands and rubbed them along the sides of his best robe. Deborah’s mother came to stand in the arch between the two rooms, her grandmother’s head poking behind, while her father strode to the house’s main door.
Deborah’s light footsteps seemed loud in his ear as she entered the court, and she stopped abruptly at the sight of her father. Her eyes, so expressive when he’d seen her laughing with her cousin, held an almost wild glow now.
“Is something wrong, Abba? I’m sorry I’m late. It is hard to avoid the gossips at the well.” Her words were rushed, as though she had run the whole way. Her dark brows drew down, and a slight frown dipped the corners of her mouth. Lappidoth’s breath caught and held, and he could not take his eyes from her. What would he do if she refused him? But a daughter would not refuse her father’s choice.
Why are they giving her a choice? But he knew. The precedent had been set long ago by their matriarch Rebekah when her mother and brother allowed her to choose whether to go with a stranger to marry a cousin she had not seen.
The thought tightened his middle into a hard knot. He stood rigid, barely glancing at Yuval, who seemed completely composed. But his uncle’s outward peace did not ease Lappidoth’s worry when he looked once more toward the door where Deborah stood staring at him.
“Nothing is wrong, my daughter,” her father said, his voice gentle and cheerier than it had been moments before. “Everything is perfectly right.” He touched Deborah’s shoulder. She flinched, a strange reaction. Surely Lappidoth’s presence had put her on edge. “We have an offer of marriage from this young man, Lappidoth, and his uncle Yuval. You remember Lappidoth, come to us from Zebulun when his family was killed in a Canaanite raid?”
Lappidoth studied Deborah’s gaze, saw a myriad of questions replace the original wild look. Her mouth tightened, much like her mother’s had done moments before, and he felt suddenly at a loss for breath.
“Yes, I remember, Abba.” She looked at her father then, and her expression changed to one of uncertainty, even pleading.
“They have more than enough for the bride-price,” her father said, as if to reassure her that he would be well compensated. “And they have promised you many gifts.” As if she would be appeased with material possessions. But wasn’t that the way things were done?
And yet, Lappidoth wanted more. He wanted her to look at him the way he longed to gaze at her. He wanted her to smile into his eyes. Surely, once they were wed and she got to know him, he could coax these things from her.
“But what of Amichai?” Her voice had dropped in pitch, but Lappidoth did not miss the question.
Her father released a slow breath. “Lappidoth is here and his uncle and I have made the agreement, my daughter. You need say no more.” He turned from her then and faced both Lappidoth and Yuval. “We agree,” he said, louder than he had spoken moments before.
Lappidoth caught Deborah’s sharp intake of breath. But she did not speak again, and after an awkward pause, her father and his uncle exchanged the kiss of greeting, Yuval paid the bride-price, and Deborah was quickly surrounded by her squealing womenfolk.
Lappidoth followed his uncle through the door. The wedding would take place in six months, as soon as Lappidoth could build a house and call for her.
But legally, she was his. Yuval slapped him on the shoulder and made some disparaging comment about it being time he acted like a man, then walked ahead of Lappidoth, hurrying to make his own preparations to join some of the village men for the trip to Shiloh.
Deborah awoke three days later with a start, heart racing, beads of sweat dripping down her face. She sat up. Where was she? She looked about, frantic to see her surroundings in the predawn darkness. She never slept well when Abba was away, especially when her brothers accompanied him. Her mind whirled, searching for a place to land, until at last she recalled her recent rushed betrothal. Why had Abba thought it necessary to settle the matter so quickly? Why ask her opinion and then not allow her to give it?
A sick feeling settled within her. How could she possibly marry Lappidoth? He was tall and awkward, too quiet, and he lacked confidence and the qualities she respected in a man—though she could admit he was not without a few handsome traits in that straight nose and those vivid dark eyes. Still, she had wanted Amichai. A moan escaped and she curled onto her side, longing to sink again into blessed sleep.
A loud wail pierced the air, jolting her from her trek toward self-pity. What was that? She tilted her head, this time aware of distant screaming.
“Deborah!” The voices drew closer, snapping her attention, and moments later her mother rushed into the room. “Come at once! Get dressed. Hurry!” Her mother’s normally high-pitched voice was louder than usual.
Deborah jumped up, snatched her tunic and robe, and ran barefoot as she tied the belt at her waist, completely forgetting her headscarf. “What is it?” The commotion was coming from the city gate. Women and children lined the streets, and the sounds of mourners filled the predawn air.
Her grandmother appeared at her side. “Come, child. I want to see, and I need your strength.” The old woman clutched Deborah’s arm, her grip tight, and the two hurried toward the gate. There they found her mother weeping and wailing, kneeling in the dirt over the prone body of . . .
“Abba?” Deborah tugged her grandmother forward and fell to her knees beside her father’s broken body. Her throat clogged, and she found it difficult to swallow.
“Shapur!” Her sister-in-law’s wail pierced Deborah’s ears, and she turned to see not only her father but her three brothers and several men from the village—all men who had taken the journey to Shiloh, including Lappidoth’s uncle—dead.
Deborah felt the release of her grandmother’s hand as the old woman sank to the dirt, her keening carrying with that of the other women. Deborah stilled at the sight, staring at her father’s bloodied face. She stood slowly, like an aged woman, and walked down the row of men, counting and trying to recognize each face.
“Deborah?” Lappidoth’s voice cut through her haze.
“There are twenty-three,” she said. It was a normal thing to say, wasn’t it? She moved among her brothers and stood over each one without answering Lappidoth or even looking his way.
He caught up with her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come with me. Let the women prepare them for burial.”
“We will never find enough biers or places to put them in the caves.” Her voice matched the flat, lifeless feeling in her gut.
“We will find a way.”
She looked at him then. “Why did you not go with them?” He was a scribe. Why had he stayed behind when so many men had gone up to worship?
“I could not leave my aunt, and my uncle did not allow it.”
/> “But you are a man with a mind of your own. Surely you could have made the decision for yourself.”
“Would you have preferred to find me here?” He pointed to the bodies even as he grasped her shoulder and turned her away.
“No.” Her voice lowered and her cheeks heated. He was her husband. How strange that sounded in her mind. She could not wish him thus. But she could not look at him again. Better to have her father than him. For she had hoped to talk her father out of the agreement and still give her to Amichai.
There was no hope of such a thing now.
“There is no need to wait six months,” she said without thinking. Surely he would think it himself. “That is why you are here with me, is it not?” How bold she was. Her mother was right. She was too outspoken for her own good.
“I came to help,” he said, his tone holding neither rebuke nor censure. “But yes, it would seem prudent if we wed as soon as the time of mourning is over in order for me to care for you and your mother and grandmother. Unless you wish to wait.”
How easily he changed his mind. Infuriating! But she nodded, for no words would come past the sudden lump in her throat.
This was not real. This carnage and wailing going on around her was just one of her many visions or dreams. She would awaken and find all was right with her world.
But a week later, after the bodies of her father and brothers lay buried in the cave, she quietly entered the bridal tent and married Lappidoth.
1
Ten Years Later
1116 BC
Deborah stood on the rise above the well, looking toward the forests that circled their village on three sides. A hill banked them on the fourth, neatly hemming them in. Except for the fields that stretched from their town walls to the edge of the trees, a man would have to walk a great length and to a great height to find them here. And yet, even here Deborah knew it was only by God’s mercy that Canaan’s forces and their commander, Sisera, had not discovered them.
How long, Adonai? The oppression of her people had been sporadic in the days when Lappidoth’s family and her father and brothers had been killed. But the strength of Canaan had grown.
She glanced at her sons, Lavi and Elior, chasing each other in the grasses, battling with sticks as though they were swords. The smile she showed at their innocent play vanished when she heard Lavi shout, “I’m going to kill you, Sisera!”
Elior, almost ten, stopped short. “I’m not Sisera. It’s your turn to be him.”
An argument ensued, one Deborah had heard far too often. She placed a hand over the growing babe within her. Be a girl. At least with a daughter she would not have to fear losing her to a battle against a force they could not defeat. Women did not go to war. A girl could stay safe in her home. With me, she thought, knowing how selfish that seemed. But the longing would not abate.
“Come, boys,” she called to her bickering sons. “It is time to do your chores.” She glanced behind her, lifted the water jug to her head, and strode down the hill toward the gate. Moans and complaints followed her, but both boys were quick to obey.
“Why can’t we go to the fields with Abba? He’s not far.” Lavi’s lower lip stuck out in a familiar pout. At seven he had a way of wrapping his desires into words she found hard to resist. But resist she did.
“No,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. To let them out of her sight . . . They were all she had. So she had taught them to obey her without question, something even their father seemed incapable of making them do. But she would not be manipulated, even for the sake of love.
The boys ran ahead of her and reached the gate before she could get there. Good. Time alone was a rare and blessed thing since her marriage. When had she grown so weary? Where had the spirit of the young girl gone, the one who had heard the voice of God and sang to Him as she walked along the way?
The babe moved beneath her hand, a familiar feeling from this active unborn child. “You are not going to give me a moment’s peace, are you, little one?” But the feeling of coming birth did hold an appeal nothing else could equal. How was it possible to love her offspring more than the man who had given her the chance to be the mother every woman longed to be?
If Lappidoth would just stand up for himself now and then. Speak his mind. Stop always giving in to their children’s every whim, even her every wish. Her cousins would laugh her out of the village if they could hear such thoughts. But what woman didn’t want a man of solid strength?
She paused as the gate drew near, glancing up at the tower where her uncle and some of the older men sat debating and settling legal matters for those who needed them. The men were nearly ancient, and sometimes she wondered if they even heard half of what the people asked of them, but there was no one else in the village to take up such a task. Certainly not Lappidoth, despite his knowledge of the law. He was too busy farming their land and doing scribal work for those who could not read or write.
The sound of whistling came from behind her, and she turned. She had taken too much time at the well, for there strode Lappidoth, his thin frame making her feel as though she had failed to feed him well all these years.
“There you are,” he said, smiling down at her as he approached.
“You are early.” She glanced at the sky. “The meal won’t be ready for some time. I did not expect you yet.”
He shrugged. “It is of no consequence. I have a letter to craft for one of the elders.”
She nodded, and he fell into step with her. Always the amiable one. Never complaining. Sometimes she wished he would complain just to give her a reason to argue with him!
“I was thinking,” he said as they passed by the guards and the houses of their neighbors toward their home near the end of the main street. “Would you like me to teach you to read the law and to write the letters?”
She stopped so abruptly the water jar nearly slid from her head. She steadied it with a shaky hand and stared at him. “Why would you do that? I will have no time for such a thing when the baby comes.” She barely had time now, but oh, how desire stirred within her breast at the very thought!
“I would teach you because I thought you would find pleasure in the knowledge.” He gazed down at her, his dark eyes holding hers in that tender look he gave her when she knew she least deserved it. “You are an intelligent woman, Deborah. And God speaks to you in the dreams at night. I think He would be pleased to have you learn the law for yourself.”
She swallowed, suddenly undone by such kindness. She had never told him of the vision she’d had the day her father sealed her betrothal. Yet he believed her dreams came from God. Why did he have such faith in her? Why was he so good to her when she sometimes barely tolerated him? “I will have no time,” she said again.
“When the children are asleep, you can set aside other chores and I will teach you.”
“Then who will spin the cloth for the clothes to put on our backs?”
“I will hire a maidservant for you.”
She searched his kind face. Saw the hint of a smile tip the edges of his beard. “We can afford such a thing?”
He nodded and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We will make a way, beloved. Now say yes to my offer and let us go home.”
Now suddenly he was bold? But the slightest hint of respect for him surfaced as she slowly nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, afraid if she spoke too loudly she might risk revealing the sudden emotion filling her. “Thank you.”
He slipped her hand in his and walked with her the rest of the way home.
A week later, Deborah heard the loud shouts of the men at the city gate, carrying to her on the way home from the well. If they didn’t learn to hold their tongues, they would give away their village’s hidden place. She glanced up, catching sight of her uncle Chayim standing toe to toe with one of his brothers. A sigh and swift surge of irritation filled her.
“Go and wait for me near the gate,” she said to Elior and Lavi, “but do not go beyond the walls without me.”
They ran off, fairly eager to play in the side room where unwanted visitors or those who would be questioned were held. Her sons loved to pretend they were prisoners when the room was empty, a choice of play that often left Deborah more worried than she should rightly feel.
The voices grew louder, interrupting her last glimpse of her sons entering the room. Her irritation mounted as she climbed the steps to the area where the men met above the gates. They abruptly quieted at the sight of her.
“Deborah, whatever are you doing here, and in your condition?” Her uncle’s thin brows narrowed, his concern for her welfare comforting, though it did not ease her worries. Did the man have no sense?
“Uncle Chayim, you must keep your voice down,” she said, her gaze stern. She glanced from this man who could have given his son Amichai to her to wed, to his younger brother who seemed ready to continue the argument. “God has graciously protected us from Sisera until now, but if you do not keep your speech to a normal tone, you will awaken the entire forest and anyone who might be spying within it.”
Her uncle nodded, his smile too assuring. “Of course, my dear child. You are right, as always.”
Deborah walked to the parapet and looked down on the fields and forest below. The babe kicked harder than usual, and sudden pain in her back caused her to grip the edge until her knuckles whitened. She drew a sharp breath.
“Are you all right, my child?” Uncle Chayim drew close and placed a hand on her arm. “Shall I send for Ilana to help you?” He spoke of Amichai’s wife and distant cousin to Deborah, who had recently birthed a son, Shet, but who was also a woman trained in the art of midwifery. She had replaced Deborah’s mother as the town’s midwife soon after her mother rested in Sheol.
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 2