Talya gave Deborah an uncharacteristic hug. “Thank you, Ima.”
Deborah touched her daughter’s cheek. “Don’t hope too quickly, my daughter. If Barak does not share your feelings, or if your father does not agree, you must accept it.”
Talya released her hold, her brow furrowed. “Abba will agree. Surely he will. Has he said something?”
Deborah patted her daughter’s arm. How unusual for both of them, this feeling that Lappidoth might give an opinion they would not like. “He has said nothing against Barak. But I would not proceed without his blessing.” And suddenly she wanted far more than Lappidoth’s blessing. She wanted him.
Talya hugged her again. “Abba will say yes, and Barak will accept me.” Her grin did not waver.
Such overconfidence and naivety in the hearts of the young. But Deborah accepted this rare camaraderie as a good sign and walked along while Talya fairly skipped beside her.
Barak sat at the campfire in the midst of a sea of tents that his men had pitched for the night. Mount Tabor stood at his back, and the Jezreel Valley, where the bones of the slain were now buried in thick, drying mud, lay to their west. Keshet had left his side to sit with Heber and his family, no doubt anxious to set a time for Daniyah to become his wife. The sound of the bridegroom in the streets had not been heard during Sisera’s terror. People were ready to find joy again.
He stirred the fire with a green twig, watching the flames fly upward. He never had found the courage to approach Lappidoth or speak to him of Talya. Every thought of her held confusion, though he also could not seem to put her from his mind.
He released a long-held breath as movement caught his eye from the shadows, and he glimpsed Deborah approaching.
“Come to join a lonely captain, Prophetess?” He smiled and stood, offering her his seat.
She waved off his gesture of kindness. “Don’t trouble yourself. I have not come to stay.”
He remained where he stood, his stomach doing an uneasy flip at the look in her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
She studied him, her expression revealing little. “My daughter’s heart is bound to you, my lord. Months ago, she expressed her desires in an immature and inappropriate way.” Deborah lowered her gaze, and she seemed overly concerned with the way her belt was tied at the waist. “She does not always listen, nor did she obey your command when the time came for war.” A sigh escaped, but with it her head lifted and she faced him once more. “She is still a woman to contend with at times, but I see much maturity in her in recent days.” Her gaze searched his. “I have come to see if your thoughts on remarriage have changed.”
His mind stirred with the memory of the awkward position Talya had placed him in should anyone but Deborah have discovered them. But in the same moment, he saw that vulnerable glimpse of Talya’s trust, vivid in her bright dark eyes. He had thought of little else since.
But was he ready to admit such a thing? He swallowed as his gaze swept the area around them. No sign of the Kenites or Keshet or Deborah’s family. Satisfied that they were truly alone, he took a step closer to Deborah.
“I was under the impression the offer was no longer mine to accept.” He could see now that he should have followed through with the desire to speak to Lappidoth on the trek down the mount, but he could not bring himself to discover he had lost out to a boy.
“The offer, though never officially made, was also never rescinded, my friend,” Deborah said quietly. “It was refused.” She crossed her arms, and he could not tell by her expression whether she was angry or holding herself in a state of self-protection.
He looked at his feet and dug his toe into the ash near the edge of the fire. “If the offer still stands,” he said carefully, “it would not be refused a second time.”
He heard the air release from her lungs and looked up to meet her gaze.
“You have made peace with Nessa’s parting then?” Her brows drew together, and he suddenly saw why the people of his nation called her a mother in Israel. Truly, she seemed to care about him as a mother would her child. Certainly she cared about her daughter’s feelings, despite their differences and frequent disagreements. Why else come to him without her husband? She would not risk her husband’s pride nor her daughter’s heart to hear him push them away a second time.
He nodded. “As best as a man can do, I suppose. Nessa will always live here.” He placed a hand on his chest where his heart beat strong beneath it, and at his middle, the seat of his emotions.
“As she should,” Deborah said, her arms resting now at her sides. “I do not expect you to forget her. I only need to know whether my daughter will regret spending her life with a man who has already loved well.”
He flushed hot at the sudden intimate turn of the conversation. He should be having this discussion, which would be a much less probing one, with Lappidoth. But he knew he could never get past the prophetess without her searching out the very depths of his thinking.
“Your daughter may regret wanting to be with a man like me, but it would not be for lack of love.” He looked beyond her, embarrassed at his words, and yet somehow glad he had said them.
Deborah’s soft chuckle made him glance at her once more. “The two of you will likely be at war over one thing or another, and I daresay I am not sure who will win.” She smiled, and he returned it. “But if you will treat her kindly, our offer to you stands.”
His stomach flipped over again, this time with a sense of hope, even anticipation. “What of Ghalib? They are closer in age.”
“Are you looking for excuses?” Deborah searched his face, but her eyes held a hint of mischief.
He relaxed. “Not at all. But I assume Jael and Heber did not visit you yesterday, with Ghalib following like a lost sheep, for no reason.”
She tilted her head and gave him a curious look. “You do not like Ghalib.” A certain knowingness crept into her gaze. “That is why you keep your distance when he is near. Or try to.”
“I do not dislike Ghalib,” Barak said, straightening.
“I will not argue the point with you, Commander.” She gave him a pointed look. “If you are agreeable, I will ask Lappidoth to speak with you to settle the terms of the marriage.”
He nodded once. Whatever Deborah and Lappidoth had decided regarding Ghalib, it did not concern him now.
She turned and left him alone, and he stood still, facing the fire. His heart quickened as he allowed his mind to recall Talya’s trusting gaze.
So she would be his after all. The thought made him smile.
33
Deborah’s mind soared and her feet hurried as she returned to her tent where Lappidoth waited. Her heart sang with the new remarkable thought—Barak wanted to marry Talya. And Talya wanted him—so foreign to what Deborah had known in her quickly forced marriage. How often had she wished she had been allowed a choice. But now . . .
She paused at the tent’s door to catch her breath. So much had happened in only a week’s time. And yet she could not deny the way her thoughts had changed toward the man she called husband. Her heart beat in an unexpected rhythm, one of need, of deep longing, for him alone. He stepped out of the tent at that moment, a twig he used to draw letters in his hand.
“Can we take a walk?” she asked when she drew close to him. “I know we have walked all day, but I must speak with you and I cannot sit still.”
His warm yet quizzical smile filled her with a sense of rightness. He left the stick beside the tent and took her hand, intertwining their fingers. Dusk had long since turned to blackness, but when she reached to take a torch, he said, “Leave it. There are plenty of fires about the camp. We will be guided by them and by the glow of the moon.”
She squeezed his hand and fell into step with him, allowing him to guide her among the rows of tents. When they had passed those closest to them and stepped into a clearing away from the crowd of men, he stopped and gently turned her to face him.
“You are troubled, my love. Or you have news. Te
ll me.” He stroked her cheek, sending soft tingles through her. How long had it been since he had attempted to love her like this, slowly wooing her? Their relationship had become stale, one of duty more than desire. What was this new feeling stirring inside of her?
“I . . .” She stopped, suddenly too aware of him. “I am not troubled. I simply wanted to tell you . . .” She paused as his finger traced a line up her arm, then along her jaw.
“Tell me what, my love?” He cupped both hands along the sides of her face and bent his lips to lightly brush the edges of hers.
“Why do you love me?” Her voice was husky, and she feared she would weep if she did not force her emotions in check.
He pulled her close, his mouth bent over hers. “Ah, Deborah . . .” He kissed her again, possessive, determined, yet in his familiar, gentle way. “I have never been bold, never had the courage to even speak to you when I first came to live with my uncle after I lost my family.” He stroked her cheek again, trailed his fingers through her hair. “The first time I glimpsed you at the well, the first time I saw you dance at a wine treading, I knew I had lost my heart to you.”
Moisture filled her eyes, and he brushed an errant tear away with his thumb. “What is this about, beloved? Why the questions here, now?”
“Barak is willing to marry Talya.” She swallowed hard. “In all of the talk of which man was right for her . . . and when you said you loved me . . . and then you stood up to our daughter.” She stopped, touched her burning cheeks. “I have asked myself why I could not love you all these years. I fear I have failed you.” She looked at her feet, unable to meet his tender gaze.
“I have always known of your feelings, Deborah.” Lappidoth spoke so softly she nearly did not hear him past the thoughts whirring in her head. He cupped her face once more and leaned so close she could feel his warm breath. “You were young and fearful, and I daresay you longed for another when my uncle came calling on your father’s door.” He tipped her chin upward. “I believe Amichai held your heart then.” A shadow crossed his fine features, but he did not ask what she sensed was on the tip of his tongue.
“Amichai lost my respect long ago,” she assured him. She gave him an awkward smile. “But you, my husband, have earned it.”
He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I’m glad of it.” He intertwined their hands again, his strong, solid fingers holding hers in a bold, possessive grip.
She squeezed his hand. “But I would not disrespect you now, my husband, and fail to seek your blessing. Shall we offer Barak Talya’s hand in marriage?”
“Barak will make a fine husband for her,” he said, his smile warm in the moon’s soft glow. “You were right to seek him out and ask him a second time. If I had spoken to him, his refusal would have been a dishonor to us both.” He drew her alongside him. “Thank you, my love, for sparing this blow to my pride.”
She nodded, wondering at this new heightened feeling she felt in his presence. Was this what young lovers were meant to feel? She blushed at the thought.
“So you will speak to him and to Heber? I do not think I have the strength to face Jael and tell her no.” Though she could not recall ever claiming such weakness in times past, she truly did not have the strength just now.
“I will speak to both men before we break camp at dawn.”
“Perhaps you should speak to Barak tonight, if he is still at the campfire.” She fell into step with him as they wove their way back through the sea of tents.
“I have better plans for tonight.” He slanted his gaze at her and winked.
She quickened her pace to keep up with him.
Jael looked up from removing a peg from the ground to dismantle her tent. Heber’s voice drew her attention, and she glimpsed Lappidoth striding toward them. Alone. She glanced about for signs of her family. The girls moved back and forth, busily packing the few belongings on the backs of donkeys, while Mahir and Fareed spoke with Keshet. No sign of Ghalib.
She straightened, unable to keep the foreboding from her heart at Lappidoth’s expression. He would not be here unless they had already come to a decision about Talya’s future. She moved away from the work she was doing to join Heber at Lappidoth’s approach.
“Greetings,” Heber said, his arms open in a welcoming embrace. Each man kissed the other’s cheeks, then stepped back, keeping an arm’s length between them. Lappidoth acknowledged Jael with a nod. “I assume you have come to a decision?”
Lappidoth held her husband’s gaze. “Yes.” He looked from one to the other, his expression holding a hint of sadness.
Jael held her breath, waiting, though she knew the words he would say.
“I must explain to you that before your son met our daughter, we had already offered her to another man. That man was still grieving his first wife and needed time.” Lappidoth clasped his hands, but no sign of nervousness entered his dark eyes. “I am sorry we could not tell you this at the time of your request. Please forgive us for not giving you an immediate answer.”
“It was not an answer you could give straightaway,” Heber said, his tone reasonable. “My wife made the request of your wife. It was meant to see the possibility. Obviously your wife needed to seek your word in the matter.”
Lappidoth gave a nod of agreement. “I only hope your son does not see this as a slight against him. Ghalib is a good man—one any woman would be proud to wed.” He straightened and glanced over the area as if searching for the object of their discussion.
“We will tell him you said so,” Jael said, crossing both arms, realizing she felt suddenly cold. Daniyah would wed before Ghalib? She was younger and a woman! Unheard of. But unless Heber sent quickly to his brother, Ghalib had no other prospects.
“Thank you for telling us so quickly, my lord,” Heber said, bowing to the man. “You do us a kindness not to make us wait. But please, do not let this come between our families. The household of Heber will remain allied with Israel from this day forward.” He smiled and tilted his head toward the area where Fareed and Mahir laughed freely with Keshet. “As you can see, my new son-in-law will make sure of that.”
Lappidoth followed Heber’s gaze and smiled in return. “Keshet is to marry your daughter then?”
“Yes,” Heber said, a hint of pride in his voice. “And by the sound of things, he wants her very soon.”
Lappidoth chuckled, a pleasant sound, and Jael found that despite the news he had brought, she couldn’t fault the man. He was a likable man and one whom Ghalib admired.
“I wish your daughter great happiness with the man you have chosen,” Jael said, surprised to realize that she truly was happy for the girl. “May I ask who?”
Lappidoth looked at Heber when he spoke. “Barak, son of Abinoam.”
“The commander of Israel’s armies. A good choice, my lord,” Heber said, grasping the man’s hand and shaking it. He laughed, though Jael did not find the matter all that humorous. “Ghalib will not mind losing out to such a man. It would be wrong for the commander to lose the woman he loves to a man not of your people.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Lappidoth said, bowing graciously toward Heber.
More words were said, but Jael tuned them out. So Barak would marry the daughter of the prophetess. She smiled, glad of it, for Barak had been kind to them. But when she turned to disassemble the rest of her tent, she saw Ghalib standing nearby. One look told her he had heard. She went to him, but he turned abruptly and walked away.
Jael caught up with Ghalib several hours after they had departed the Israelite campsite. Keshet had left them to return home to set things in order. He promised a quick return for Daniyah, who could not stop talking about her betrothed. Jael had listened to her, glad in her joy, but her mother’s heart ached for the son who walked dejectedly ahead of her now.
She quickened her pace until she fell into step beside him. “You will wear me out walking so fast, my son.” She spoke lightly, hoping to keep him from tromping off again.
To her surprise
, he slowed to match her stride. “I’m sorry, Ima. I needed time alone.”
“I know.” She touched his arm, glad when he did not pull away. “I know you cared for the girl.”
“They should have told us she was promised to another. Why did they let me think I had a chance?” Anger seeped into his tone, and Jael lifted a silent gaze heavenward, praying for understanding.
“I do not think they knew for sure themselves, Ghalib. Barak was still grieving his first wife. They were giving him time.” She sighed when he simply huffed and remained silent.
They walked without speaking for many moments, until Jael wondered if the boy would say any more. When he spoke, his words were softer, filled with less anger. “I hope she is happy with him. I think I always knew she loved someone else.” He looked away as though the admission embarrassed him. “Besides, I knew they didn’t want her to marry outside of Israel. It was a risk to ask.”
“But a risk worth taking,” Jael said. “For now you know the direction you must take.”
He nodded, but his expression was distracted, as though his thoughts were far off. “Perhaps I will never marry.”
“What?” Her heart thumped hard at the unexpected words. “Every man marries. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Not every man,” he said, his voice holding challenge. “Perhaps God has other plans for me.”
“Perhaps God has saved Parisa for you, you mean.”
He shrugged.
“Enough of this talk of nonsense. Your father has agreed to send to your uncle. If not Parisa, another woman will come from our family.” Heber could not act soon enough as far as Jael was concerned.
“If Abba would send someone to fetch me a wife, I will go with him and do so myself.” Ghalib stopped walking to face her. “I am no longer a child, Ima. And I do not trust my uncle to send me a wife who is fair to look upon or one who will find me pleasing. If Parisa is no longer free, I must know. I have many cousins and not all are acceptable. I will go.”
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 27