Star of Persia: Esther's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  They turned the corner to their street and hurried along the path to the house. Mordecai burst through the door and rushed to the back room where Levia had lain for weeks. Hadassah remained in the sitting area, allowing him to spend time with his wife alone. The sound of muffled voices drifted to her as she sat, picked up her spindle, and worked the wool into thread.

  At last Mordecai joined her. “She sleeps,” he said, looking slightly dazed.

  “She is still weak.” Hadassah stopped the spindle and stood. “I drew you away from work too soon. Let me begin the evening meal while you rest.” She hurried to the cooking room and searched the jars for the few remaining vegetables she had picked earlier that week, poured lentils and barley into a pot of bubbling water, and added cumin and salt and rosemary. The bread would not be warm since she had baked it in the morning, but she had spent all of her time caring for Levia. Most nights Mordecai’s daughters-in-law brought them something to eat.

  Hadassah finished and took the meal to Mordecai, who had fallen asleep among the cushions. He rarely slept long at night, so she hesitated to wake him.

  He saved her the decision by opening his eyes. “You are ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He took the bread and stew from her hands, blessed it, and offered some to her. They ate in silence. At last Hadassah set some of the softest pieces of bread aside, dipped them in the stew, and stood. “I will take this to Levia. Perhaps she has awakened.”

  Mordecai set his food aside and shook his head. He stood and took the food from her hands. “I will do it.”

  Hadassah complied but still followed him into the room.

  “Levia? We have brought your favorite lentil stew.” Mordecai spoke as if to a small child. Did he think his wife could not understand his normal tone?

  Hadassah came around the other side of the bed and noted the shadow over Levia’s face. Dusk had fallen, so she lit the lamp.

  “Levia?” Mordecai called again, louder this time.

  Hadassah joined him and held the lamp near Levia’s face.

  Mordecai sucked in a breath, the food slipping from his hands. Hadassah felt her face pale at the gray pallor of Levia’s skin.

  Mordecai leaned over his wife to listen for breath. He took her hand, but it remained limp in his. “She’s cold,” he said, his words lifeless. He touched his wife’s face but drew back.

  “Is she . . . gone?” Hadassah knew the answer, but she could not believe that Levia had been here only moments ago, eating and speaking with them, and then suddenly had gone to Sheol.

  Mordecai released Levia’s hand and sank to his knees at her side, his voice a loud cry. He rocked back and forth and laid his head beside Levia’s body, weeping.

  Hadassah’s tears came freely, but she could not keen as others did who mourned their dead. She set the lamp in the niche in the wall and backed out of the room. She must tell Mordecai’s sons, and the women must prepare the body for burial. This much she knew. And she could manage to do what she knew.

  The trip to the burial cave was long, as Mordecai did not wish to bury his dead within the walls of a foreign city. Never mind that they could not travel to Israel. The caves outside of Susa would do. Levia would rest with Hadassah’s parents and grandparents, who had come into captivity more than seventy years before.

  Hadassah stood beside her friend Jola, silent tears streaming down her face. Mordecai, his head covered in ashes and his robe torn, stumbled as he walked behind his sons, who carried the bier with Levia’s body wrapped in linens.

  “I must go to him,” Hadassah said, glancing at Jola, then inclined her head toward Mordecai.

  Jola nodded and followed. They came alongside Mordecai, and Hadassah grasped his arm. Mordecai gripped her hand and gave her a grateful look. He had wept in the privacy of their home, but here he staggered like a drunken man, his cheeks stained, his voice silent.

  “It will be all right, Abba.” Hadassah bent close to whisper the words. By his look she knew he did not believe her.

  The cave drew near, and Hadassah’s cousins set the body on the ground before they heaved the stone from the entrance. Fresh tears filled Hadassah’s eyes as they carried Levia’s lifeless body to rest inside. Mordecai broke free of Hadassah’s grip and followed his sons into the cave. Bitter wails echoed from inside the walls.

  Hadassah stood, unable to move. Jola slipped her arm around Hadassah’s waist. Behind them the small Hebrew community wept. Was Gad among the mourners? But now was not the time to think about weddings or betrothals. Not until the time of mourning had passed.

  Many moments later, Mordecai and his sons emerged from the cave. Mordecai looked out over the crowd, squinting against the sun’s setting glare. “Levia was a good woman.” His voice broke, and his Adam’s apple moved hard in his attempt to swallow. “She did much to help our community, and no better wife or mother exists in all Israel or Persia.” He paused, and though Hadassah thought the praise too much considering the other women in the crowd, she knew no one would fault him for saying such things on this day.

  “We must never forget her,” he said. “May God receive her spirit.”

  Hadassah’s cousins moved the huge boulder in place, the squeal of stone on stone drowning out Mordecai’s quiet weeping.

  Hadassah again went to his side and helped him turn to walk back to the city. She glanced at the group of men and women, spotting Gad with his parents. A troubled look on his face made Hadassah blink. Was he sharing her grief? Or was there some other cause for his concern?

  She briefly searched for some sign of acknowledgment of her in his obviously distracted look, but finding none, she turned back to Mordecai and focused on each step in front of her. If Levia were here she would ask her why a man might avoid meeting a woman’s gaze or seem preoccupied with something other than the loss to their community, to her family. His future betrothed’s family.

  Had Levia’s death created a change in plans for Gad and his family? Could not Mordecai seek a future for her without Levia’s help? He would not keep Hadassah with him indefinitely. Her thoughts whirled, and guilt filled her for thinking about herself when she was still mourning the loss of her adopted ima. Yet a part of her worried. Nothing had gone right since talk of the betrothal began. Levia had taken ill soon after they’d begun their discussion of marriage.

  Were Gad’s parents superstitious enough to think Levia’s death was a curse on Mordecai’s family? Nothing had yet been sealed between them. Hadassah wasn’t officially promised to him. So there was no reason they would think such thoughts.

  How foolish you are, Hadassah, she chided herself. She trudged slowly beside Mordecai through the gates of Susa, which shut behind them just as the sun set. There was a time for everything, and this was the time to mourn. Not to worry about a future she could not control.

  CHAPTER

  Twelve

  Three Weeks Later

  Mordecai paused at the threshold of his house, still troubled every time he entered the place he had lived with Levia for their entire married life. The scent of onions and cumin and freshly baked bread greeted him. He crossed into the room, met by Hadassah’s warm smile.

  “Welcome home,” she said, kissing his cheek. “The meal is almost ready.”

  He removed his sandals and sank onto one of the low couches. For the first few weeks his sons and daughters-in-law had joined them for each evening meal, but for the past week, it had been only himself and Hadassah, and the house seemed empty. He watched her move into the cooking area and soon return with a clay pot steaming with his favorite stew. She had already set bread and bowls on a rug on the floor.

  “You should be working for a husband, not for me,” he said, looking intently into her beautiful dark eyes. He needed to see her safely married. Hadn’t Levia told him he should have done so over a year ago? Why had he waited? Now he would be forced to handle all of the awkward arrangements on his own without his faithful wife to guide him. But arrange them he must. He wasn’t sur
e why, but he felt a sense of urgency he had not known before. Perhaps he should go even this night.

  “How was your day?” Hadassah’s cheery tone interrupted his musings. “I heard the women talking at the well. There is news that the king might soon return. Are they right?”

  Mordecai held up a hand to stay her questions, blessed the food, and then broke off a piece of bread. “Yes, the rumors are true. Runners have spotted his retinue less than a day’s journey from Susa. And on the heels of their news, Xerxes’ own messengers came ahead of him to announce his coming. The palace is in an uproar as servants clean and prepare everything to his liking.”

  “He’s been gone a long time.” Hadassah took a bite, then looked to him as if expecting an answer.

  “Four years and a lost war. I can guarantee that he will not be returning in a good mood.” Mordecai sipped from his cup, then focused on eating.

  “It’s too bad that he could not conquer the Greeks. They are so small a country. The king certainly had the advantage of men.” Hadassah smiled at his surprised look. “I listen when you speak.” She shrugged.

  He gave her a curious look. “You know also, then, that the Greeks were strategic in their planning and outmaneuvered the king. He had fully intended on subduing them, and with Vashti gone, I fear we will face the brunt of his frustration. Or he will hide away in his rooms and we will continue on as if we had no ruler.”

  “Surely his advisors have kept peace in Susa in his absence.” Hadassah set her bread aside.

  “Peace, yes. But all of the focus was on keeping contact with the warriors, supplying their needs. Now, without the war, the city will go back to normal—assuming they remember what normal looked like.” Mordecai finished his last bite and leaned back while Hadassah cleared away the leftovers.

  She joined him moments later. “What will the king do without Vashti?” She picked up her spindle and he watched her work.

  “I imagine Amestris will take her place. Or the king will look for a new wife.” He glanced toward the room where Levia had breathed her last. A new wife could never replace the one a man had loved and lost.

  “I suppose after four years he might be over the grief of losing the queen.” Hadassah tied off a piece of thread and attached a new bundle of wool to the spindle.

  “Does one ever get over such loss?” Mordecai spoke to himself, not expecting her to answer. She was a child. What did she know of love? And yet one look at her and he knew she was more than ready to marry. Why did he still hesitate to approach Gad’s father?

  “Have you given any thought to my betrothal, Abba?”

  Her pet name for him always made him feel warm inside. She was his daughter, blood or not. And he needed to do right by her. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, seeing five-year-old Hadassah clinging to his hand or sitting on his knee. Now she should be giving him grandchildren to do the same.

  “I have. Some. I will speak to Gad’s father after the Sabbath. Does that please you?” He searched her face, struck by her beauty. When had she grown into such an appealing woman?

  “What a wonderful plan!” She laid aside her work and came over to kiss his cheek. “I will prepare a special Sabbath meal to celebrate.”

  Mordecai chuckled at her exuberance. “Perhaps you should wait to hear the man’s answer, my daughter.”

  Hadassah smiled, showing even white teeth. “How can he refuse you? You are a trusted scribe at the king’s gate. Of course they will agree.”

  “If they agree, it will be because you are Hadassah, the most desirable maid in Susa.” He patted her hand.

  She blushed and went back to her work. “I hope they will agree,” she said, her look suddenly solemn.

  He puzzled over her change in expression but decided perhaps it was just a woman’s jittery ways. Still, he must settle the matter with Gad’s father before much more time passed. Hadassah needed to be safely wed. Why he even considered her unsafe was something he did not allow himself to explore.

  Hadassah sang as she worked the next morning, anticipating the Sabbath and all that would follow afterward. In three more days she would know whether or not Gad found her acceptable.

  She looked about the room and decided she needed to make a trip to the market, for there was little left on the shelf to complete a meal and the garden offered little that she had not already picked. Next year she would plant more. Even as Gad’s wife, she would make certain that Mordecai was cared for. Surely Gad’s family would understand.

  She lifted a basket from its place beside the door, which she latched behind her. Jola’s house crossed her path, so she stopped to invite her friend to join her.

  “It’s good to see you out of that house for a change,” Jola said, tucking her basket beneath her arm. “I was beginning to wonder if we would ever see you again.”

  Hadassah smiled at her friend, ignoring the way the words sounded, considering their recent loss. Hadassah and Levia would have made this trip daily if she were still here, but until now Hadassah could not bring herself to venture out alone. Of course, she would soon need to think of life in a different way, and she could not mourn Levia’s loss forever, no matter how much she missed her.

  “I know you were in mourning.” Jola’s slender fingers touched Hadassah’s arm. “I did not mean to speak insensitively.”

  “It is nothing.” Hadassah looked ahead as they took a bend in the road. “I ran out of food to prepare meals for Abba, and truthfully, I was growing anxious to see you and the people in our community. I don’t enjoy being so alone.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are back.” They fell into a comfortable step. “Besides, I have been going out of my mind wanting to tell you the news!” Jola twirled in a little dance. “I’m betrothed!”

  Hadassah’s heart lifted and she laughed. “Betrothed? Who is the man blessed to have my closest friend? When is the wedding? And why didn’t you invite me to the betrothal?” She pouted and Jola laughed.

  “I didn’t expect it. Everything happened so fast, and with Levia’s illness and everything . . .” Her voice trailed off. “At first I thought there had been a mistake because Gad had always favored you, so when his father approached mine . . .” She paused. “His father said that they had chosen me.”

  Hadassah’s breath caught, and she felt as if her heart had stopped beating. Gad and Jola? But what of her? Heat crept up her neck. She glanced beyond Jola, knowing she could not betray her feelings even to her friend. “His father said that?” The words seemed incredulous given the talks she and Gad had shared on occasion during their childhood and at certain feasts.

  Jola nodded. “They came before Levia took ill. I . . . my father didn’t know you liked Gad, and he accepted before I could tell him.” She looked at the dust beneath their feet. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Hadassah.”

  Hadassah heard the sincerity in her friend’s words. It was the father’s place to secure a husband for his daughters, and normally when a girl grew to marriageable age, the father of an eligible young man sought out her father. Gad’s father could have come to Mordecai as easily as he had gone to Jola’s father. No wonder Gad did not meet my gaze at the funeral procession. Had his eyes wandered to Jola when Hadassah thought he was gazing into the distance?

  She glanced at her friend, then looked away. Jola was shorter than Hadassah, but her features were pleasing to the eye. Had Gad been drawn to Jola’s beauty or her personality? Or did he simply know her better? After all, Mordecai’s family did not join the community of Hebrews nearly as often as Jola’s did.

  She shook herself, not pleased with her train of thought. “I am happy for you. Obviously you are who Gad wants or his father would not have asked.”

  “But . . . I’m sorry you did not know. I wanted you to be happy for me—I did not want to tell you this way.”

  “How else might you have told me? I was in mourning. You did nothing wrong.” Hadassah picked up her pace, and they moved again toward the market. “And I am happy for you. Truly.”
She touched Jola’s arm and looked deeply into her eyes. “Abba will find another suitable man, or perhaps that man will find him. I cannot do anything but trust Adonai with my future. It is not like we can control these things.”

  Jola’s downcast expression did not abate. “No, we cannot.”

  Hadassah touched her friend’s shoulder. “There is no need to continue to fret. I will forgive you for not inviting me to the betrothal, but you simply must let me be part of your maids at your wedding.”

  Jola brightened, smiling at last. “You were the first person I intended to ask.”

  “Good. Now tell me all about the betrothal. And perhaps help me pick a good cheese for Abba.” Hadassah joined Jola in laughter, and the two continued their trip, perusing the shops and filling their baskets.

  Hadassah pushed thoughts of Gad aside as she left Jola at her house and continued down the lane to her own home. A sick feeling filled her at the thought of breaking the news to Mordecai.

  As she chopped vegetables for their evening stew, she could not make her heart comprehend what had happened. She’d thought she and Gad had an understanding. She could not shake the feeling of betrayal, but she knew she could not let Mordecai know of her hurt. She must be strong for him. He was all she had.

  CHAPTER

  Thirteen

  Xerxes rode through the streets of Susa to the shouts and fanfare he might have expected had he been a conquering king. No doubt his servants had ordered the display of affection and support, but despite the shouts of “Long live the king!” and “To the king of kings, may he live forever!” he could not muster a smile or even a wave of greeting.

  He stood tall in the saddle and maneuvered his mount through the palace gates, relieved when the crowds were at last behind him. He rode to the stables and dismounted, handed the reins to a servant, and hurried to the cooler interior of his rooms. Guards flanked him, servants saluted him, but he ignored them all.