Star of Persia: Esther's Story

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Her tone made his heart ache. How he wished he could comfort her. “That is one possibility. Another is for us to disguise ourselves and join a caravan leaving Susa. Once we are out of Persian territory, we could make our way to Jerusalem. Perhaps there are families there, but at least you would be out of the king’s reach.”

  Hadassah slowly nodded. “The king would not send to Jerusalem for virgins, would he?”

  Suddenly Mordecai was not as certain as he had been at the start. “No. He would not.” He hoped his words were true. Thus far the king had let the Israelites in Jerusalem be.

  “But what of my idea to find a husband in other parts of the king’s realm?” Hadassah twisted the sash at her waist. “I think we will find more Jews in Persia than in Israel.”

  She was right, of course. But he hesitated, his thoughts churning. “It is too risky,” he said, taking her hand. “If even one Jew saw you unveiled, they would be able to tell you are not my wife because of your youth.” Though old men did wed young women, it was a risk to look at Hadassah and think her married to a man clearly old enough to be her father. “Besides, if they are loyal to Persia, they might start asking questions.”

  “But you would be the king’s emissary. Who would question you?” She sounded so urgent.

  “The king does not send out men alone. They go in pairs or groups. And while women might accompany them to protect the virgins, we risk too much. You could be discovered.” And yet, she would surely be discovered here. Were his objections wise?

  “I cannot stay within the walls of this house until the danger is past, Abba. People know me. Who will go to the market for our food?”

  “I will,” he said, his words coming out harsher than he intended.

  “You cannot work at the king’s gate and take care of the home and the food and the clothing by yourself.” She crossed her arms, her jaw set.

  “Your cousins’ wives will help me.”

  Hadassah gave a disgruntled sigh. “They are busy, Abba. They will not have time to do all that I do. And what of me? Am I to sit in a dark house for weeks, perhaps months? It is not possible.”

  Mordecai stood and took to wearing a path in the floor with his pacing. Other than the sound of his footsteps, silence fell between them. At last he sank back onto the couch. “I cannot leave Susa without drawing suspicion. Not with the king at home in his palace. And I cannot hide you forever. In this you are right.”

  “What then shall we do?” Genuine worry filled Hadassah’s tone.

  “Do not leave the house without a head covering. Only virgins walk about uncovered, so let them assume you are wed. Do not go to the market alone. Take one of your cousins’ wives with you. Stay close to the house as often as possible. The more you can avoid the streets, the better.” Mordecai closed his eyes, defeated. “I will do my best to keep you safe, Hadassah, but I fear that unless Adonai watches over you, even these measures will not help.”

  “So there is no hope of your plans to travel to Jerusalem?” A hint of despair filled her voice.

  “It is not impossible. But it will take time. I will watch for a caravan, and if you stay close to the house, there is a chance we can flee. If the right things fall into place, we can leave soon. I will ask your cousins’ wives to purchase items we will need. But remember—if you must go out, pretend you are wed. If a palace official speaks to you, talk of your husband. Perhaps they will believe you have one.”

  “So you would have me lie to protect myself.”

  “It is no more than Abraham did to protect himself in Egypt.”

  She nodded, though skepticism filled her gaze. “I’ve never liked lying,” she said softly.

  “I know,” he said. “I would not ask it of you if the situation was not dire.”

  She acknowledged his words with a slight nod and then stood. “We should get some sleep.” She tucked the wool and spindle into a basket and walked to her room, leaving him feeling like a failure as a father, and never more desperate in his life.

  CHAPTER

  Fifteen

  A week passed and Hadassah dressed as Levia once did, though she wore the veil to partially cover her face as well as her hair. Somehow pretending she was wed didn’t seem right. Could she not trust the God of her fathers to keep her from the king’s men? But she did not know Him as she knew Mordecai. And obeying Mordecai seemed wiser than trusting in one she could not see. Mordecai knew the king far better than she did. Her adopted father would not advise her falsely. Their discussion of the subject had been a daily concern, even after they had exhausted their options the week before.

  If only Gad had wanted her sooner. Had wanted her at all. The sting of rejection still hit her when she saw Jola or considered the man she had thought would be hers. The last time she had looked upon his face was at Levia’s burial, and hadn’t she known even then, before Jola had broken the news? Levia had assured her there would be a swarm of young men begging for her hand. Why then had none wanted her when she needed one of them most?

  She examined her apparel and picked up her basket. She had waited as long as she could to visit the market. With Jola along, they would appear as two married women, for now that Jola was betrothed, she could wear the veil. No guards would look their way twice.

  But as she walked the short distance to Jola’s home, she knew Jola’s mother would inquire about the veil. Though Hadassah could explain about the king’s edict, her lie could put Jola’s entire family in danger. She simply could not lie to the woman. She ducked into the courtyard, looked this way and that, and pulled the veil from her head, then knocked on the door. Jola’s mother answered and welcomed Hadassah into the house.

  “Is Jola ready?”

  Jola appeared, head covered, basket in hand. The two girls left the house, and when they had walked just out of sight of Jola’s mother, Hadassah quickly pulled the veil over her head and face.

  Jola turned to face her. “What is this?” She pointed to the veil. “Do you . . . are you betrothed now as well?” A smile lit her face. “Who is he? And so quickly? Is it because of the king’s edict?”

  Hadassah hushed her friend with a gentle hand to her mouth. “Shh.” She turned toward the market, her gaze darting in every direction. When the area appeared free of the king’s men, she leaned closer to Jola. “Abba asked me to wear it lest I stand out and the king’s men take me to the palace.”

  Jola stared at her. “He asked you to lie to protect yourself?”

  “Please, keep your voice down.”

  Jola clamped her mouth shut. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “It is a wise plan, and you can trust me to keep your secret.”

  “Thank you.” As Hadassah turned again to walk to the market, two of the king’s men stood a short distance away, looking intently in her direction.

  Hadassah stopped.

  “Keep walking,” Jola said. “Don’t act guilty.”

  Hadassah nodded and moved her basket to the other hand. “So how is your family?” She spoke to cover her feeling of panic.

  “Ima and I spend much time spinning and weaving.”

  They passed the king’s men, and Hadassah fought the feeling that everything in her life was spiraling out of control, though nothing had happened. The men had not spoken a word. Yet Hadassah dare not breathe a sigh of relief.

  She and Jola continued talking of trivial matters until the market came into sight. Hadassah at last drew in a breath and released it, but she did not look behind her. She pulled Jola closer. “Can you see? Have they gone?”

  Hadassah released her grip, and Jola moved in a position opposite her, pretending to look at a round of cheese. She met Hadassah’s gaze and slowly shook her head. “I don’t think Gad would like this flavor.” She took Hadassah’s arm, and Hadassah had to force her feet not to run fast and far. They moved together to another booth.

  “Are they following us?” Hadassah could barely breathe.

  Jola’s expression did not change. “It appears that the fabric booth has m
oved to another area. Come.” But her words told Hadassah that her worst fears were about to come true. Please, Adonai, spare me for Abba’s sake.

  They walked past the baker and jeweler and perfumer, and still Jola’s eyes revealed they were being followed. They stopped at the fabric booth, though neither of them had come for cloth.

  The merchant attempted to sell them a few items, and Jola purchased some colored thread, but Hadassah’s heart raced so fast she struggled to remember the items she needed. She must focus.

  As they left the merchant to seek a seller of fig cakes and pressed raisins, the king’s men approached them. “Please, if you will,” one said, catching Jola’s attention, “come over here and speak with us.”

  Jola exchanged a look with Hadassah. “Can you not speak with us here? Our husbands would not wish us to speak with strange men.”

  “So both of you are wed?”

  Jola nodded, and Hadassah felt her cheeks heat.

  “And yet one of you came out of your house unveiled.” The man looked at Hadassah. “Why would a married woman leave her home unveiled, only to veil herself once she was out of sight of the house?”

  Hadassah swallowed hard. How could they have possibly seen her? But these were the king’s men. They could hide anywhere with the king’s permission. Mordecai was right. There was no way to keep her safe in Susa.

  “She was in a hurry. I should have waited for her to be ready,” Jola said, but Hadassah could tell the men did not believe her.

  “So if we ask the woman who answered the door if this was true, since it is clear you do not both live with her, she will tell us this same story?” The man sneered. “I know virgins are not all rushing to enter the king’s harem, but you do not realize the privilege you miss by trying to stay away.”

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Hadassah said. “My friend is right. I was not ready and we were in a hurry.”

  “So both of you are married? You can take us to your husbands then.” The one speaking lifted a brow, his expression skeptical.

  “Our husbands work in the fields. It would be hard to find exactly where they are working.” Hadassah tasted the lie but reasoned that she was obeying Mordecai. God forgive her.

  “We can easily wait for them to return,” the man said.

  The girls exchanged another look.

  “Unless you are not speaking the truth.” The man had a gleam in his eyes, though he made no attempt to move closer to them.

  “We speak the truth,” Jola said, her words rushed.

  Fear spiked in Hadassah’s heart as she slowly nodded in agreement. The only man she could claim as husband was her father, for there was no one else who would lie for her.

  The men studied them for a lengthy moment. “All right. You may go. But next time, keep your veil in place.”

  Hadassah watched as they turned and left, looking about the market, probably hoping to catch some other unsuspecting virgin.

  She breathed another relieved sigh. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Don’t you want to get what you came for? They won’t bother us again.” Jola led her toward the vegetable stand, and Hadassah purchased the items she’d been in need of for a week.

  They walked slowly toward Jola’s house, leaving the market behind them. “I will be more careful next time,” Hadassah said softly as they approached Jola’s courtyard.

  “Yes. As will I.” Jola bid her farewell, and Hadassah hurried home.

  As she turned the corner of her street, she nearly bumped into Gad, who was obviously headed to Jola’s house. “Gad.” She found it hard to swallow.

  “Hadassah. Is that you beneath the veils?” His smile was congenial but casual.

  “Yes.” She looked this way and that. “It is good to see you, but I must go.” She turned to flee toward her house as she caught movement up the street beyond Gad. More of the king’s men?

  “Wait,” Gad said, making her turn back to him. “Who can I congratulate on your betrothal? I had not heard the news.”

  She swallowed hard. Saw the men coming closer. They were dressed as Persians, but she could not see the king’s insignia on their tunics. “No one,” she whispered. “Now I really must go.”

  She turned again and hurried her steps, but the sound of the men approaching grew louder. Would they follow her into her house? They stopped suddenly, and she heard male voices behind her. She wagered a glance and felt her heart sink as she saw Gad talking to the men. He pointed in her direction.

  He had told them. He must have. She half ran toward her house, heart pounding. She reached the courtyard and rushed to the door, but a voice called to her.

  “Stop, in the name of the king. Turn around.”

  Hadassah could not move. Sweat trickled down her back, and the feeling of betrayal from a man she thought she’d loved cut like a flint knife straight to her middle. Oh, let me die. How could she face Mordecai after this? He would kill Gad if he knew.

  She could not tell him. For Jola’s sake.

  “I said, turn around.”

  This time she slowly complied. Two different servants of the king stood before her.

  “Are you a virgin?” one asked.

  She could lie. She did not know for sure what Gad had told them.

  “That man told us you are not married,” the other one said.

  Should she believe him?

  “I think you should talk to my father,” she said at last.

  “Who is your father?”

  “He is Mordecai, and he works at the king’s gate.”

  “What is your name?”

  She and Mordecai had discussed what to do if she ever faced this situation. “Do not tell them you are Jewish,” he had said. “And tell them your name is Esther. It is the Persian version of Hadassah.”

  “What is your name?” the man asked again.

  “Esther,” she said, nearly choking on the name. “I am the daughter of Abihail. My cousin Mordecai is my adopted father.”

  “Let us find your father then,” one of the men said, “so we can confirm what we already know is true. And you can bid him farewell.”

  Head held high, Hadassah followed after the men toward the king’s gate. Mordecai was not going to be happy to see her.

  Hadassah listened as the king’s men called Mordecai to come out from the king’s gate. “Is this your daughter?” one asked.

  Mordecai looked at her, and she read the warning in his gaze. “Yes. This is my Esther.”

  “She is a virgin, is she not?”

  Mordecai faced the man. “She is not yet betrothed, no.”

  “So she is a virgin,” the man repeated, as though he wanted proof.

  “She is a virgin.” Mordecai’s voice sounded strange, as if the words were forced through his throat.

  “You will please come with us then.”

  Mordecai stepped through the gate and took Hadassah’s arm.

  “Lead us to your house so your daughter can gather her things. By order of the king, she is to be placed in the care of Hegai, the eunuch in charge of the king’s harem.”

  Mordecai walked ahead of the men, still holding Hadassah’s arm. The streets felt foreign instead of familiar, her heart pounding as though she were walking to her death. She sensed the sorrow coming from Mordecai, though he said nothing until they reached the house. He commanded the king’s men to wait outside, then followed Hadassah to her room.

  “Gather just your clothing. They will provide you with cosmetics. They will probably give you new clothes as well, but at least you will have something familiar.” He drew closer and whispered in her ear, “Remember what I told you. Never speak of your heritage. You are Esther now, a Persian star, and you will shine like the dawn in the king’s palace.” He took her chin in his hand. “I am sorry that I did not do more to protect you sooner.”

  She touched his cheek. “There is no need to fear, Abba. Perhaps this is God’s plan for me. In any case, it was my fault, not yours.”

  He lifted
a brow and gave her a curious look.

  “I removed my veil at Jola’s house lest her mother ask questions I could not truthfully answer. The men must have been hiding, because I did not see them but they saw me. I should have been more careful.” A tear slipped down her cheek. She could not tell him that those men had let her go and that Gad’s words had condemned her. Hadn’t they?

  “There, there. It was an honest mistake. You are an honest girl, my Esther. But you must not let your honesty reveal your heritage.” His voice lowered despite the shuttered windows. “Now hurry, for the king’s men will not wait long before they come through the door and take you by force. Better to go willingly. Tell them you were afraid if you must, but do not reveal that you would ever purposely disobey the king’s orders.”

  She nodded, then quickly tossed a few tunics and her best robe into a basket, along with her favorite scarf and a ring that had belonged to her mother. She looked over the room, her spirits dimming as she realized she would never live in this house again. Never sleep in her bed. Never cook for Mordecai or share his home.

  She was not leaving with the joy of a bridegroom’s shout or the songs of a wedding feast. She was leaving to join thousands of other young women to spend one night with a ruthless king who was old enough to be her father. One night. Would it come sooner or later? And what would she do with the rest of her life lived alone in a palace?

  She moved in a daze through the sitting room to the door where the king’s men waited, but Mordecai stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She felt his arms come around her in a warm embrace such as she had not known since childhood.

  Tears tightened her throat, and she saw a sheen in Mordecai’s eyes as he pulled back to study her face.

  “I don’t want to go,” she whispered. “I need you.”

  “And I you,” he said, nearly choking on the words.