Journey to the Well: A Novel

by Diana Wallis Taylor

  “No, thank you. I will be all right. Athaliah is no trouble and the house is sturdy. Greet Simon for me.”

  “Peace be with you, Marah.”

  “And with you.”

  The leaves began to swirl in small patterns in the courtyard as the afternoon shadows grew long. Marah penned up the chickens and brought in the goat. Then she rounded up their few sheep and spoke gently to them, calling each by name as they meekly followed her.

  After checking the courtyard for anything that should be put away, Marah barred the gate and hurried into the house. The animals moved restlessly in their pens. For once Marah was glad the animals were nearby. They gave her a sense of company on the lonely nights. She checked Athaliah who had been sitting listlessly in a corner rolling a ball of yarn that Marah had spun the day before. In the way of the aged and infirm, her chin dropped to her chest and she dozed. This had happened many times in the middle of a conversation. Then, Marah thought of the times when a spirit of madness lashed out . . .

  “Aiee, they come again,” Athaliah screeched one day, throwing a pottery bowl at something only she could see. She swung wildly with the broom at the shadows of the courtyard. Marah wrestled the broom away from her as one of Athaliah’s wildly flailing arms struck her on the side of the head.

  Athaliah would talk for hours of her girlhood, her marriage, her sons, or casually ask about the newest gossip. The strain of anticipating Athaliah’s actions was taking its toll, yet always Marah was gentle with her, soothing her when she was upset and listening patiently as the old woman talked on and on. This night Marah prayed for strength and that Athaliah would be calm.

  Marah built a fire in the small, portable clay stove used indoors during cold or inclement weather. She added a few twigs and blew gently on the small flame. Then she added a few herbs and an onion to the stew they’d had for two nights and broke the bread from the morning baking into small chunks.

  Smelling the savory stew, Athaliah put down her yarn and moved with slow, hesitating steps as Marah took her arm and gently led her to the low table. Athaliah sat down heavily on the cushions and Marah brought a small bowl of water to wash her hands. Dipping her chunk of bread into the stew, Marah watched her mother-in-law out of the corner of her eye. Athaliah licked her fingers and ate greedily.

  Marah had used the herbs Hannah brought sparingly. She was thankful to have them, especially the previous night when Athaliah had been restless and had cried out several times. At least there had been no sign of the madness for three days, and Marah relaxed. Finishing her meager supper, she looked forward to a better night’s sleep.

  “The wind blows, Daughter,” Athaliah observed, pausing suddenly with a sop in midair. She cocked her head to one side and suddenly began to rock slowly from side to side. Apprehension made a tightness in Marah’s chest, but outwardly she tried to remain calm.

  “It is only the first rains of Tivet, Mother-in-law. We need the rain. The air has been so heavy. It will be good to smell the fresh earth again.” Marah tried to speak casually, hoping to soothe Athaliah.

  As the first drops of water began to be heard on the roof, Marah got up and checked the large wooden bar across the door. She glanced down at the animal pens and was assured that they would be all right for the night. As she moved about the house, she was aware that Athaliah watched her closely, the dark eyes gleaming in the light of the oil lamp. There was a smug look about Athaliah. Marah cleared up the bowl and wooden plates. Her heart began to pound as Athaliah watched her slyly. She began to wish she had taken Hannah’s offer to stay with her tonight. She shuddered as if in the presence of evil. Was she in danger from Athaliah? She remembered the times she had awakened in the middle of the night to find Athaliah standing above her pallet, staring at her, the wrinkled face gaunt and macabre in the moonlight. Athaliah had been docile enough as Marah spoke gently and led the old woman back to her own pallet. While Athaliah’s soft snores soon filled the room, Marah lay awake, her eyes open, listening.

  This night, Marah took the herbs Hannah had brought and once again ground them to a powder to mix with warm water.

  “Here, Mother-in-law, this will help you rest. You wish to be strong for the morning. We will need to begin making cheese tomorrow.” She handed the small cup to Athaliah to drink.

  “Yes . . . child, of course,” Athaliah crooned. “Oh! Do I hear something?” She put her hand to her ear. “Is the door bolted? You must check it again.”

  “I have checked it. All is well.”

  “You must check it again.” Athaliah began to weep. “Do you not care if a robber comes upon us in such a storm?”

  “Do not upset yourself,” Marah told her hastily. If it would make Athaliah feel better, she would go again and check the door.

  When she returned, Athaliah smiled sweetly up at her and handed her the empty cup. “I will rest now,” she said, went to her pallet and promptly lay down, closing her eyes.

  Relieved, Marah blew out the candle. It would take all day tomorrow after the bread was done to make the cheese. She hoped that Athaliah would be a help to her. She glanced over at the old woman who appeared to be sleeping quietly. With a sigh of relief, Marah lay down and gave herself to sleep.

  Later Marah could not tell what awakened her. The brush of the wind across her face, a sound in the night, but something was wrong. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, looking over at Athaliah’s pallet. It was empty. Suddenly wide awake, Marah sat up and again felt the coolness of the wind, damp with the rain. The door was wide open! Somehow Athaliah had lifted the heavy wooden bar without awaking Marah and she was gone.

  Quickly wrapping her cloak around her, she rushed to the doorway. There was no sign of Athaliah in the courtyard and the gate was open. She hurried back into the house, terrified. What was she to do? She quickly lit the lamp and sought her sandals in the shadows. In the soft light she stepped in something wet by Athaliah’s pallet. She held up the lamp and looked down. There was a small circle of dampness on the clay floor. Traces of herbs could be seen. The cup. Athaliah must have poured it out when Marah went to check the door. She had planned it all along, but why?

  Marah hurried out into the courtyard, calling Athaliah’s name over and over. It took all her courage to go into the dark street. As she peered up one direction and down another, seeking which way to go, a thought came to her mind. Go to the sandal shop.

  The clouds opened for a brief moment and in the starlight Marah sped to the shop of Zibeon that had been closed up since Shimei had gone, waiting for the new owner. The rain began to fall softly again as she approached the shop, and there against the door, in a small heap, lay Athaliah. She was barely breathing when Marah knelt, taking the old woman’s head in her lap. Marah rocked her slowly, her tears mingling with the rain.

  Athaliah slowly opened her eyes, but there was no brightness or madness in them now. The dark shadows gathered about the tired body. She looked up at Marah.

  “I thought I’d find Zibeon. He was not here. I called and called. Then I knew. He is dead.” Athaliah looked up at Marah. “You have been a good daughter. You have done all things . . . well.” She closed her eyes and with a sigh was gone.

  Overcome with emotion at the unexpected praise, and the fact that Athaliah was gone, Marah continued to rock the old woman in her arms. She looked at Athaliah’s face, at last peaceful in death. Then a dog barked, and suddenly the shadows seemed alive around them.

  “Help, someone!” Marah cried, looking around her. Eyes seemed to be glowing in the darkness, and Marah feared the village dogs. She knew she could not lift Athaliah nor could she leave her alone in the rain. “Someone . . . please help us!” she cried again.

  “Who is there?” called a gruff voice out of the night. A man approached her with a lamp held high. It was Joel, the silversmith, who lived nearby behind his shop. He saw Marah’s anguished face and Athaliah lying still. Setting his lantern down, he gently lifted Athaliah in his strong arms.

  “Dorcas, you are needed
,” he called out.

  His wife came to the doorway and, pulling her mantle over her head, hurried to his side. She led Marah home as Joel followed, carrying Athaliah. He laid the frail body on her pallet.

  “Will you tell Hannah and Simon?”

  Joel nodded. He looked at Athaliah’s still form. This was the work of women. “I will go.”

  Dorcas and Marah removed Athaliah’s wet clothes and dressed her for burial. When the women had done what they could for her, Dorcas put her hand gently on Marah’s shoulder.

  “There is nothing more we can do until it is light. I will remain with you.”

  “Thank you both for your kindness . . .”

  They sat down, each with their own thoughts, and waited for dawn.

  15

  The eaves of the house dripped from the rain, and the day dawned bleak and gray. Dorcas needed to return to her house to gather some spices.

  “You will be all right until I return?”

  “I will be all right. I must see to the animals and I know Hannah will be here soon.”

  Dorcas nodded and left quickly. Marah let the animals out into the courtyard. Dibri would be here for the sheep if the rain was light. The chickens scratched for worms in the damp earth and the goat let Marah know she needed to be milked.

  There was a commotion at the gate. It was opened suddenly and a strange man and woman entered the courtyard. They looked like travelers who had been journeying for a long time. With a start, Marah suddenly knew who they were. Athaliah had mentioned her sister Adah, married to a man by the name of Zerah. She hurried to close the gate before the sheep wandered out and then turned to them respectfully.

  “I am Marah, wife of Zibeon, Athaliah’s daughter-in-law.”

  The woman did not smile, but looked around the courtyard with an appraising eye.

  “I wish to see my sister Athaliah. Does she still sleep? Surely she knew we were coming soon.” She looked around as if Marah were hiding Athaliah behind her.

  Marah took a deep breath and drew back a step.

  “It is well you have come,” she said hesitantly. “My mother-in-law . . . your sister, died last night. Friends are coming with spices for her burial. Follow me, I will take you to her.”

  With her hand to her breast and crying, the woman rushed past Marah into the house. The man eyed Marah suspiciously.

  “It was our . . . impression that you would not be here,” he said unkindly. “My nephew told us he had . . . given you a bill of divorcement.”

  Taken aback, Marah stared at him for a moment until she found her voice. “I had permission from the shammash to remain. My mother-in-law had times of madness and I . . . promised Shimei I would care for her until you came.”

  “You did not hasten her death with neglect?” he inquired cruelly.

  Marah stared at him aghast. What sort of people were these? “I loved my mother-in-law and cared for her to the very best of my ability. The events of these past few months were too much for her. She never recovered from Zibeon’s death.” She looked into his face, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

  The man stepped back, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Then, hearing his wife wailing, he turned and hurried into the house.

  Dibri came then to take the sheep.

  “Dibri,” she called softly, “when you return to the village tonight, take the four sheep with the black markings to the pens of Hannah and Simon. Do you understand?”

  The boy looked puzzled for a moment and then shrugged and nodded his head. Closing the gate behind him, she stood for a moment trying to sort out the situation. What was she to do now? Reluctantly she went into the house.

  Athaliah’s sister was no longer moaning. She stood in the middle of the room talking with her husband. In her hand she had the scroll from the ledge.

  “I believe that is mine,” Marah said quietly but firmly. “I need to take that with me now.” She held out her hand.

  Adah’s eyes narrowed as she reluctantly handed Marah the scroll. She waved her hand imperiously. “There is nothing more you can do here. You may go now.”

  Marah looked from one to the other. “I would like to bury my mother-in-law. Then I will take my things and go.”

  “You are no longer a daughter of the house. There is no need. I will see to my sister. As for taking your things, we do not know what things belong to you and what things belong to the house of my sister.”

  “Can we be of help?”

  The words were said quietly, but there was a note that Marah had not heard in Simon’s voice before. Marah turned gratefully to her friends, thankful for their timely presence.

  “Who are you?” Adah demanded.

  “I am Simon and this is my wife, Hannah. We are friends of the family.” Marah smiled inwardly at the emphasis on the word “family.” Simon had appraised the situation quickly and no doubt he and Hannah had heard Adah’s harsh words.

  Adah hesitated. “Well . . . we, my husband, Zerah, and I ... we thank you for your help. We are unfamiliar with your burial place. I . . . did not expect my sister’s untimely death.” She looked at Marah as though she were solely responsible for Athaliah’s sudden demise.

  “You have been most fortunate that Marah has been here to care for her,” Simon continued politely. “Your sister was in a demented state. It was a difficult situation. Marah showed her mother-in-law every kindness.”

  Adah looked at Hannah and Simon and then her husband.

  “We are, ah, most grateful for her help. It is to our sorrow that we were not able to arrive in time for my wife to see her sister before her death.” Zerah eyed his wife who put her hand to her breast again and began to weep loudly.

  “Oh my sister . . .”

  Hannah stepped forward and motioned to Marah to help as she began to pull the spices out of her bag. As they began to tend Athaliah, Adah moaned pitifully and they ignored her. Finally, with a small huff, she came to help them.

  Joel brought other men from the village and they carried Athaliah to the burial cave. The women moaned and tore their hair, weeping as they walked behind the bier. Marah walked quietly beside Hannah, her head covered respectfully and her eyes downcast. Large tears rolled down her face and she did not attempt to wipe them away.

  “See how she loved her,” the women murmured as they passed. Adah also heard their comments and moaned louder as she followed the bier.

  When Athaliah had been laid to rest in the burial cave, Hannah and Marah returned to the house. Marah had no doubt but that Adah would be close behind them. Acquiring more property evidently was more important than mourning for a lost sister, she thought grimly.

  Adah and Zerah were indeed close behind them as they entered the house. Marah was glad for Hannah and Simon’s presence as she went to the small crevice in the wall and removed the headband with her wedding coins.

  “What is that you are taking?” Zerah asked.

  “They are my wedding coins, my dowry. The shammash told me that my dowry may return with me.” She waited patiently as he looked at the coins and nodded.

  Marah went to her pallet and retrieved the small bag with a few coins in it, handing it to Adah.

  “What is this? They are not part of your headband.” Adah looked puzzled.

  “They were given to me by Shimei from the sale of the sandal shop. They were to provide for Athaliah and me, to be used to care for her.”

  Adah glanced at her husband. “Yes, you no longer need them to care for my sister.”

  Adah tucked the small pouch into her girdle.

  Hannah went to the table. “You will want your mother’s candlesticks.” The look on her face dared Adah to comment.

  “I will get the animals, Marah.” Simon turned to go out the door.

  Zerah looked up. “What animals are hers? How do we know which ones belonged to my wife’s sister?”

  Simon couldn’t contain his irritation. “Anyone in the village can tell you exactly how many chickens, goats, and sheep Marah
brought to Zibeon’s pens with her marriage. Every woman in the village counted them. Do you wish me to call in the neighbors to verify Marah’s animals?”

  “That will not be necessary . . . will it, Zerah?” Adah nodded meaningfully at her husband. “We only wish to do the right thing by my sister and my nephew.”

  Simon glared at Zerah. “It is hoped that the rest of your business in our village can be completed in a friendlier manner.” He turned to Hannah. “Come, Wife, you and Marah can assist me. We are not needed here.”

  Marah picked up her small bag of belongings that contained the bill of divorcement and dropped in the necklace of coins. She took a last look at what had been her home for almost two years. Carrying the candlesticks, Hannah put an arm around her shoulders and led her from the house as Zerah and Adah watched.

  Simon led the remaining goat and Hannah and Marah each carried a basket of chickens. Neighbors had gathered in the courtyard, some in sympathy with Marah and some out of curiosity. It was a sad procession that left the courtyard and wound its way to the house of Simon and Hannah.

  PART IV

  Jesse

  16

  Simon patiently pushed on the roller to smooth out a portion of the clay roof that had been damaged by the recent rain. Marah and Hannah wove small branches to repair the shelter that protected Marah’s pallet. They worked quickly for the barley was rich and ripe for harvest and soon they would be busy in the golden fields.

  For several days Simon noted the weather and the crops. Each farmer wanted to choose the most favorable time to harvest.

  “It should begin after this Sabbath,” Simon said, studying the sky.

  “My lord, is it not too early? What if we have more rain?” Hannah asked.

  “Better two days early, than two days late,” Simon responded in his practical way, quoting a well-known proverb.

  Hannah shrugged. Marah shook her head slowly and smiled at her. The two years had passed quickly since Marah had come to live with her friends, yet with each month that passed, she became increasingly aware that she needed to consider the direction of her life. She could not live with Hannah and Simon forever, yet what should she do?