Jael shook her head. Since when had this son grown so bold? Even daughters offered opinions they were not entitled to these days. She raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. “Ach! You will send me to my grave with worry, you hear me?”
He laughed, a sound she had not heard in many weeks. Good. Let him laugh, even if it must be at her expense.
“You laugh at my worry? And what makes you think this is humorous?” She crossed her arms, pretending to be offended. “You will not go alone, my son.”
“I will take a servant or two.”
“Your brother or father will go as well. I do not trust your uncle to be fair.” What did the boy know about marriage contracts or the struggles of Heber’s family? He was too young to understand, even now at marriageable age.
Ghalib smiled. “As you wish, Ima. I cannot have you fussing over me or blaming me for sending you to your grave, now can I? You will come back and give me no peace whatsoever.”
She chucked him on the shoulder and linked her arm through his. “You are a good son, you know that?”
He sighed, and she knew that despite his agreement to marry a girl from their tribe, he would take many months to forget Talya. Sometimes a man did not always get to marry the woman he longed for. Memories of another time, a cousin Heber had favored, popped into her mind. He would have married another if he could have had his way, and yet he had never made her feel as though she were his second choice. Ghalib would do well to treat his future wife the same.
“Trust me, son. I know of what I speak.” He gave her a quizzical look, for she knew he could not read her thoughts, but he did not push for an explanation. She walked on with him, relieved when the familiar oaks of Zaanannim came into sight.
Barak settled the lone pack on his back and looked around at his men. Most of the tents had come down at the break of dawn, and over half of the men had dispersed, back to their towns and villages in the tribal lands. Barak stood at the banked fire, weighing what to do next. Go home to Kedesh-naphtali or follow Lappidoth’s family to their village and wed Talya now?
His heart quickened at the thought. He had not spoken to Talya since Deborah’s visit last night or Lappidoth’s visit early this morning, something he must soon bring himself to do. But should he take her back with him to the house he had shared with Nessa? Or stay with Deborah and Lappidoth, becoming part of their larger clan?
Voices drew his attention, and he recognized Talya’s among them. He turned to see her deep in conversation with her cousin Shet.
“You have no need to be nervous, cousin,” Talya said, her head tipped back, her pose confident. “Yiskah will welcome you. But you must be patient with her. You do not know how she feels over what she has endured.”
Barak tilted his head to better hear. He knew Talya was close to her cousin, but their interchange intrigued him.
“I will be kind to her. Do not fear.” Shet ran a hand over his beard—a beard that by the looks of it was in need of a long wash in the river. Had the man poured ashes in his hair?
Talya placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have mourned her,” she said simply, observing what Barak had noticed.
“I have mourned her unfaithfulness, her purity, and all that we once shared,” he admitted, his expression still showing his grief. “I thought it fitting to grieve before I see her again.”
“Our God is not far from the brokenhearted.” Talya removed her arm, then bent to kiss his cheek.
Shet took her hand in both of his. “I am grateful to you, cousin. My family will appreciate your visiting when you can. And Yiskah and I would welcome you as well.”
Talya said something more, but her voice had dropped low enough that Barak could no longer hear her. Shet left her then and headed toward the river, while Talya turned in the direction of her parents’ tent.
“Talya,” Barak called to her as he walked quickly closer. “Wait.”
She stopped to face him. “Barak.”
He smiled. “That is my name, yes.”
A slow smile tipped the corners of her mouth. “A name I find easy to speak.”
“A pleasing name, I hope.” He bent close to better see her eyes.
She seemed concerned with her feet, for she would not meet his gaze. “Yes,” she said. “A well-pleasing name.”
“Then you will not mind saying it often in years to come?” He lifted her chin with a finger.
She cleared her throat and then slowly nodded. “As long as I can say it to summon you to a meal or to ask you a question or to . . .” She let the words hang in the air between them, but he read desire in her eyes.
“Whisper it in my ear?” he finished for her.
She nodded, even as her cheeks flushed. He cupped her face, longing to pull the veil from her head and loose the strands of her dark hair in his rough hands. The urge to kiss her suddenly overpowered him, but he forced himself to take a step back.
“Your father has offered me your hand in marriage. I accepted.” He waited, watching her.
A sigh escaped her, along with a look of contentment. She smiled, a smile of innocence and longing. “I am glad,” she said, searching his face. “Will you come for me soon then? Will we live in Kedesh-naphtali?”
He suddenly was not certain he could answer, nor wanted to answer without seeking her opinion. “Would you like that?” He reached for her hand, then kissed and held it.
Her breath hitched, and the sound delighted him. She loved him. He sensed it in every look, in every vulnerable glimpse.
“I would like to wed soon,” she said. “If we must wait a year, I think I will go mad with longing.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I should probably not admit such things, should I?”
He chuckled. “It only endears you to me more.” He bent closer until his breath fanned her face. He touched her lips, the briefest of kisses. Best to savor, to wait until the moment was right. “I must return to Kedesh-naphtali to set my house in order. Then I will come for you.” He straightened. “That is, if Kedesh is where you wish us to live. I have a house there, but it is the place I shared with Nessa.” He searched her eyes for some reaction to his first love’s name, but she showed no hint of anger or jealousy.
“I would live with you anywhere,” she said, smiling. “But I would make your house my own, if you do not mind.” She grew bolder then, placed a hand on his chest, and leaned close. “If it is I you are to marry, then it will become your home and mine. We will lay Nessa’s memories to rest, yes?”
He nodded, for he was not sure he could even speak in that moment. And for another, heady moment, she looked as though she would meld into him, forcing him to kiss her. But she stepped back, giving him space to breathe again.
“If you would rather we live in your parents’ village . . .” he began, but stopped at her upraised hand.
“I would rather follow where you lead, Barak. A woman goes to the home of her husband. Your home is in Kedesh-naphtali, unless you want to live elsewhere. I will go where you go.” She squeezed their fingers in a comfortable bond and looked into his eyes.
The longing to take her with him grew, though he knew things must be done in order and he must prepare the house to receive her. “The sound of the bridegroom will soon ring in the streets for you, my love,” he said, his voice wavering with emotion. He swallowed. “Go home with your mother and prepare for my coming.”
Talya’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and a wide smile lit her beautiful face. “I will be waiting, my lord.”
He released her then, despite his desire to pull her close and kiss her soundly. They must wait until the proper time. And suddenly that time could not come soon enough.
Epilogue
Lappidoth rang the bell from the tower in the city gate, then took the steps two at a time and ran all the way home. “He is coming!” he called to merchants and neighbors he passed along the way. “The bridegroom is coming for my daughter!”
He reached the courtyard of his home, his breath coming fast. “Deborah! Talya
!” His daughters-in-law emerged from the house to the courtyard, scrambling after his grandchildren.
“She is sitting on the dais in the house,” Libi said, smiling into his eyes. Such beautiful girls were his daughters-in-law, but none could match the beauty of his little girl. A catch in his spirit brought a sudden lump to his throat. Talya. She no longer belonged to him but to Barak, whose entourage of men and singing women could be heard even now coming from the direction of the city gate.
“Deborah!” He hurried into the house, searching, but it took only a moment for his eyes to grow wide at the splendor his sitting room had become. Talya sat decked in a striped, multicolored robe, her hair covered in a filmy veil bordered about her head with a garland of fragrant rose of Sharon. Ten maids and cousins, including Yiskah, stood around her all chattering and laughing.
Deborah appeared at his side. “He is coming?”
Lappidoth looked into his wife’s dark, anxious eyes. “Yes. Can you not hear him?”
The chatter ceased, and all of the girls seemed to lean toward the door as one.
Talya gasped and raised a hand to her throat. “He is truly coming for me?”
Lappidoth looked at his daughter, his own voice catching in that moment. How could he let her go, this child who had eased so much of the burden he felt when he seemed incapable of pleasing Deborah? And yet, he saw the moisture, the wild excitement, bubbling just beneath the surface. She loved Barak, and she could not wait for the moment of his knock upon their door.
He felt Deborah’s touch on his arm. “It is a good match,” she said, smiling at him.
He nodded. Of course it was. “Yes.”
The sound of the bridegroom drew closer, the songs louder. The maids surrounding Talya started to flutter like the wings of a butterfly, releasing anxious giggles here and there. And then, all at once, sound ceased. Barak knocked on the outer door.
Lappidoth’s palms grew damp as he turned to open the door to this man, his new son-in-law. The man who would take his daughter away to be with him where he lived. Away from the home he and Deborah had built for her all of her life. The home where he had watched her grow from infant to mature woman. What would he do without her?
He sensed Deborah’s presence beside him as he opened the door to Barak. “I have come to claim my bride,” Barak said, his voice booming in the small sitting room.
Lappidoth stepped aside to let him pass, watching as he walked to the dais where Talya waited and knelt at her feet. Barak took Talya’s hand and kissed it. At that same moment, Deborah slipped her hand in his.
“I love you, Lappidoth,” she said softly, leaning close to his ear, while Barak spoke words of promise to Talya and laid gifts at her feet.
Lappidoth turned, facing her, the words heady and unfamiliar in the same moment. He touched her cheek. “What did you say?” Surely his mind was playing tricks on him on this day of such monumental change for them all.
She stood on tiptoe, for he had always towered over her, and kissed him lightly on the lips, her touch lingering longer than he expected. “I love you,” she whispered. She placed her free hand on his chest and leaned closer. “On this day of all days, and from this day forward, I wanted you to know.”
He looked at her, unable to pull his gaze away from the vulnerable warmth in her eyes. Voices erupted around them, the men and women surrounding Barak filled the room, and singing ensued. Talya and Barak sat side by side on the dais while neighbors and family members, well-wishers, came to present them with gifts to start their new life.
But Lappidoth suddenly had eyes for only one woman. The woman who had captured his imagination from that first day he had seen her at the well and watched her at the village wine treadings. The woman who had given birth to his three children and held his heart captive for as long as he could remember. The woman he had always known was chosen of God to do great things—things he was meant to help her do well by teaching her the law and all he knew. The woman whom he would love with all of his heart and would live with the rest of his life.
Deborah.
Note to the Reader
Thank you for taking the time to read Deborah’s story. I know I say this often, but in this case it is truer than most—this was a book I did not think I could write, one I actually turned in early and took back because it just wasn’t working. A book I dreaded.
Why? In Scripture, Deborah seemed too perfect. We know so little about her other than she judged Israel and wrote a victory song. Oh, and a brief mention that she was the wife of Lappidoth. (Though some interpret that to mean other than a literal wife, I chose to believe Lappidoth was a real man and her real husband.) Still, how does one come up with a story with so little information?
While much of the story did come from imagination, this is where research and attention to detail come in. For instance, Sisera and his mother are mentioned in Deborah’s victory song, which gave a springboard to imagine what kind of woman is mother to a terrorist. This is not to place blame on parents for the choices of their children, but in Sisera’s case, based on Deborah’s song, we get a glimpse of a woman who probably fed her son’s rage and savagery.
In stories like this, it also helps to bounce ideas off a friend or critique partner. The idea for Talya came from such a discussion, and now I can’t imagine the story without her in it.
Another clear picture that emerged had to do with what it might be like to live with terrorism. With the constant barrage of militant extremists attacking innocent people all across the Middle East and beyond—even on our own shores—it was not hard to imagine. Terror is very real and has been for millennia. Deborah and Barak lived in such a time as this. And suddenly her story didn’t seem so impossible, nor she so perfect. Undoubtedly, Deborah felt anxiety, even fear, over Sisera’s advances, and concern for her family, her clan, and her country.
The final help came from two friends who came to my rescue when I knew the story wasn’t working. They helped me see that I had to address how Deborah came to be the only female judge mentioned in Scripture, and to give more detail in her relationship to her husband. I could not have finished the book without their input.
As with every biblical novel I write, I do hope you will turn to Scripture and read Deborah’s story there for yourself in Judges 4 and 5. As God had mercy on Israel when they cried out to Him for help and relief from the terror, may we also cry out to the Almighty One in our own time of need.
Until He Comes,
Jill Eileen Smith
Acknowledgments
Thank you” always seems like an understatement when it comes to writing a book, but here is my humble attempt to give credit to those who were such help and inspiration to me along the way.
Thank you to all of the people at Revell, particularly to my editors, Lonnie Hull DuPont and Jessica English; my marketing manager, Michele Misiak; and my publicist, Claudia Marsh. Also to Twila Bennett and Cheryl Van Andel, who do more than I can imagine—and Cheryl, your covers are always phenomenal! Thanks always to my agent, Wendy Lawton, who loved Deborah before I did, and who prays for clients and makes them feel like friends.
Super thanks go to Jill Stengl, Kathy Fuller, and India Edghill for help with this story. I can’t even find words! This story needed you. I needed you! Thank you for reading early drafts and later editions and helping me find the problems I couldn’t see.
Thank you to my readers who patiently wait while I plug away at these stories, who pray for me, because I honestly don’t know where I would be without the Lord’s guidance every step of the way. My prayer team—you know who you are—I really appreciate you.
To my friends who are there when I need coffee or lunch or just long to “phone a friend”—you are some of the most precious gifts God has put into my life. Thank you for being there.
To my family, immediate and extended, who willingly share their lives with me. I don’t take you for granted for a single moment. Randy, Jeff, Chris and Molly, Ryan and Carissa—you are my heart an
d soul.
Adonai Elohim, my Lord, my God, my Creator, the giver of creativity, the one who inspires us to dream—I don’t know if my version of Deborah’s story comes close to Yours, but I’m grateful You shared her life with us in Scripture. For however little there is recorded, there is surely something she can teach us—things she has already taught me of Your holiness and grace. And her song of victory, of thanksgiving, of joy, is one that isn’t necessarily easy to understand in every detail, but it is one of the few You have chosen to record in history. Songs of thanksgiving after a great victory are a wise way to share in Your glory. And after completing this difficult story, I share in her song.
Thank You.
Jill Eileen Smith is the author of the bestselling Wives of King David series and The Crimson Cord, as well as the Wives of the Patriarchs and the Loves of King Solomon series. Her research has taken her from the Bible to Israel, and she particularly enjoys learning how women lived in Old Testament times.
When she isn’t writing, she loves to spend time with her family and friends, read stories that take her away, ride her bike to the park, snag date nights with her hubby, try out new restaurants, or play with her lovable, “helpful” cat Tiger. Jill lives with her family in southeast Michigan.
Contact Jill through email ([email protected]), her website (http://www.jilleileensmith.com), Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/jilleileensmith), or Twitter (https://twitter.com/JillEileenSmith). She loves to hear from her readers.
Books by Jill Eileen Smith
THE WIVES OF KING DAVID
Michal
Abigail
Bathsheba
WIVES OF THE PATRIARCHS
Sarai
Rebekah
Rachel
THE LOVES OF KING SOLOMON (ebook series)
The Desert Princess
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 28