Faith of My Fathers (22 page)

“Say no more. Take as long as you need. You’re welcome to a job with me whenever you return.”

“I’m very grateful, my lord.”

Joshua knew he would need a steady job in order to provide for Yael. His lifestyle here in Moab still wasn’t what she was used to, but he vowed to make something of himself in time. In the past several months he had already worked his way up from a common laborer to assistant foreman and discovered that he was much better suited to construction work than to farming. Joshua had a talent for engineering like his father, and his innovative ideas had already impressed his boss.

His family had moved into a nicer house on the outskirts of Heshbon, and there was room for Yael now. His brother’s business was gradually prospering—Jerimoth could probably turn camel dung into gold—and they could afford the larger home in a better area of the city. Jerimoth had urged Joshua to quit manual labor and do the accounting for his growing business, but Joshua was saving all his earnings for Yael’s dowry. He could do Jerimoth’s bookkeeping at night now that they had money for lamp oil again.

Joshua was only half listening as the foreman talked on and on about their next job. He had noticed a young man sitting at a table in the corner, and Joshua had been studying him while his boss talked. The light in the inn was too dim to see the man clearly, but he looked familiar to Joshua. He wasn’t a Moabite, nor was he a Jew. Joshua would have guessed that he was an Egyptian, except he didn’t know any Egyptians. The man’s broad face was beardless and dark-skinned, his black hair thick and straight. He was a handsome young man, maybe nineteen or twenty years old, with a muscular build and strong, sturdy limbs. Joshua wondered where he had seen him before.

“Hey, Jew,” the foreman said suddenly. “What’s so interesting over in that corner? Why do you keep staring over there?” The foreman swiveled around to look where Joshua had been gazing.

“My lord, do you know that man sitting over there in the corner?” Joshua asked. “I don’t know why, but he looks very familiar to me.”

“He’s a regular in this place. Maybe you saw him the last time we were here.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know, but he seems to have plenty of money and plenty of time on his hands. He spends a lot of both right there at that table.”

The foreman talked about their work for a while longer, discussing which of their workers they would retain or fire. Joshua was still nursing the same glass of strong wine when his boss finally had enough to drink. Joshua rose to leave with the foreman.

“No, stay and finish your drink,” his boss insisted.

When he was gone, Joshua carried his wine over to the table in the corner. “May I sit here?” he asked the familiar-looking stranger.

The young man looked up with glazed eyes. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.” His words were slurred, and Joshua saw that he was thoroughly drunk.

“Excuse me for staring, but you look familiar to me,” Joshua said. “Have we met before?”

“Beats me.”

“What’s your name?”

“That’s the problem,” he said, leaning forward. “I don’t have a name.”

“Well, where do you live?”

“Most of the time, right here. Although the girls in Asherah’s temple know me pretty well, too.” He grinned drunkenly, and Joshua was certain that he had seen that smile before, those straight, even teeth. Who was he? It was driving him crazy.

“You’re not a Moabite. Are you from Egypt?” Joshua asked.

“Never been there in my life.”

Joshua was about to give up and go home when he had a thought. “Have you ever been to Jerusalem?”

The young man’s eyes filled with drunken tears. If the fellow was going to get weepy and sentimental, Joshua thought he’d better leave. “Never mind,” he said, standing up. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“Jerusalem was my home,” the stranger said quietly, “but I had to leave.”

Joshua sat down again. “Then we do have something in common. It was my home, too.” Suddenly Joshua knew why the young man’s broad smile and dark face looked so familiar. He did know him.

“You’re Lord Shebna’s grandson, aren’t you?”

“I used to be, but not anymore. The old man deserted me.”

“Deserted you? Where did he go?”

Shebna’s grandson laughed and reached for his drink, nearly knocking it over. “I couldn’t tell you—either Sheol or paradise, depending on how forgiving Yahweh felt that day.”

“Lord Shebna is dead?” Joshua asked in surprise.

“Very dead.” He slurped his drink noisily.

“I’m sorry. How long ago did he die?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t even know what day this is.”

“How long after you left Jerusalem was it?”

The young man laughed again, not a real laugh but one that was filled with irony and self-pity. “You should have seen the old man.We took his fancy Egyptian chariot, you know. He drove it like the demons were after him that night. Had to get out of town. Couldn’t let King Manasseh arrest him. But when we got here he turned to stone.”

Joshua waited for an explanation, but Shebna’s grandson seemed to have lost his train of thought. “What do you mean?” Joshua finally asked.

“Huh?”

“You said Shebna turned to stone. What did you mean?”

“Just like a stone. A statue. Couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, just lay there looking at me until he finally died. My grandfather had a tomb in Jerusalem, you know. Big, fancy thing with a pyramid on top. Never got to use it. I had to bury him here.”

“I’m very sorry about your grandfather. I knew him. He worked with my father for many years.”

“Good for him.” The man swallowed the last of his drink and looked around for the innkeeper. “I need a refill. Want one?”

“No thank you. I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Hadad.”

“Let me walk you home, Hadad. Where do you live?”

“I live in Moab now.”

“Great. That helps. Listen, Hadad, there’s something I really need to know. Who warned you and Lord Shebna to flee that night?”

Hadad stared at him, bleary-eyed. “Who warned us?”

“Yes. I’m on my way back to Jerusalem soon, and I don’t know who I can trust. It would help if I had even one name.”

“I used to live in Jerusalem.” Hadad’s eyes grew moist again. Without asking, Joshua stood and hauled him out of his seat. He started leading him toward the door.

“Wait,” Hadad said. “I need a refill. . . .”

“Come with me. I’ll get you one.” Joshua propelled him forward, half-carrying him through the city streets. Since Hadad couldn’t tell Joshua where he lived, Joshua decided to take him to his own house.

“Do I know you?” Hadad asked as he stumbled along.

“I’m Joshua ben Eliakim. I remember you from our military training at the guard tower. You were a few years younger than me. I think you studied with Prince Amariah, didn’t you?”

“Amariah was my best friend . . . but a lousy soldier,” Hadad said. “The prince couldn’t fight a pussycat.”

They had no sooner entered the courtyard of Joshua’s house when Hadad became sick. Joshua quickly stepped clear of him. Afterward, Hadad sank to the ground and passed out. Joshua was trying to decide what to do with him when Jerimoth came outside.

“What’s going on out here, Joshua? Who is this? Why did you bring a drunkard home with you?”

“He’s Lord Shebna’s grandson.”

“I don’t care if he’s my own grandson, we don’t need him vomiting all over our house.”

“I need to talk to him when he’s sober, Jerimoth. I need to find out who warned him and Lord Shebna to escape from Jerusalem.”

“Why? What difference does it make?”

“Because I’m going back there.”

“Oh no, you’re not. Have you been drinking, too?”

“I’m going back for Yael.”

Jerimoth grabbed him by the shoulders and stared hard into his face. “Now you listen to me. This family is finally getting back on our feet again—finally putting the pieces back together and starting a new life here. You’ll kill Mama if you go back there. If something happens to you, she’ll never get over it.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m going to sneak into the city, talk to Yael’s father, give him the dowry I’ve saved, and bring Yael back here with me.”

“No, Joshua. You’re not.”

“I love her, Jerimoth. She’s all I’ve thought about these past months, the only thing that has kept me sane. You can come home to Sara every night. You can put your life back together because you have all the pieces. But part of me is still in Jerusalem.”

“I won’t let you do this to Mama.”

“I won’t tell her where I’m going. I’ll say that I’m traveling to Egypt with one of your caravans.”

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through. We have a modest lifestyle here but certainly not what Yael is used to. You’re going to ask her to marry a bricklayer? You expect her to give up all her servants and scrub clothes for you down by the river?”

“She’ll have Miriam for a servant.”

Jerimoth stared at him. “Miriam isn’t our servant!”

“Of course she is. Just like her father was.”

Jerimoth was about to speak when Hadad moaned and tried to sit up. “Joshua, please get him out of here before he gets sick again,” Jerimoth begged.

“In a minute. . . . Look, I don’t want to argue with you, Jerimoth. I want to go back for Yael with your blessing. Can’t you try to understand how I feel? When we lived in Jerusalem you worked in the marketplace, you sold your cloth, and you came home every night to your family. You still have all of those things. I was raised in the palace, I was educated with the king, I was training for a life in government . . . now I have nothing. I’m the most literate bricklayer in Moab. Am I supposed to marry a Moabite girl? Raise a bunch of halfbreed children? I love Yael!”

“Did you forget that you’re still a wanted man? Manasseh has probably offered a nice reward for your head. The first person who recognizes you will have quite an incentive for turning you in. Besides, do you really think Yael’s father is going to let her go with you? I know you love her, but you’ll be putting both of your lives at risk. If you go back to Jerusalem, you’ll be committing suicide.”

Before Joshua could reply, Hadad finally managed to sit up. He looked around in a daze, then was sick again.

Jerimoth groaned. “See? I told you to get him out of here. Who’s going to clean up this mess?”

“I will,” Joshua said quietly. He gathered some rags and drew water from the cistern, then bent to clean up the mess Hadad had made. Jerimoth watched him in silence. The work helped diffuse some of Joshua’s anger and frustration. When he finished, he wiped the vomit off Hadad’s face and put his own cloak under his head for a pillow. Then he faced his brother again.

“I’m leaving for Jerusalem at the end of the week. Please help me, Jerimoth.”

“I should help my own brother commit suicide?”

“No, you should help your brother rescue the woman he loves. I helped you rescue Sara, remember?”

Jerimoth exhaled loudly. “Yes, yes, of course I remember. It’s just that I saw what Manasseh did to Abba. I witnessed his savagery. . . . And I’d never forgive myself if I let him do the same thing to you.”

Hadad was still unconscious when it was time for Joshua to leave for work the next morning. He asked the women to watch him and to do their best to keep him there until he came home. But as Joshua labored all morning, he worried that Hadad would disappear before he had a chance to question him. Unless Hadad returned to the same inn, how would Joshua ever find him again?

When it was time for the noon break, Joshua decided to run home and check on him instead of eating his lunch. He found Hadad sitting in a daze in the courtyard where he had spent the night, looking very ill. Miriam was kneading bread in the trough nearby before baking it in the outdoor oven. The tray of food she had given Hadad lay untouched. Joshua crouched beside him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Terrible. But what do you care? Who in blazes are you, anyway?”

“You don’t remember talking to me last night?”

“No.” Hadad cradled his head and closed his eyes. “I could use a drink.”

“Can you answer a question for me first?” Joshua asked.

“Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you my whole life story.”

“Hadad, who warned you and your grandfather to escape from Jerusalem?”

“Why do you want to know that? You the police or something?”

“Do you remember Lord Eliakim, the palace administrator who worked with your grandfather?”

“Sure.”

“I’m his son Joshua.”

Hadad laughed. “No, you’re not. Joshua was a pale, skinny kid who hung around with King Manasseh. Kind of sickly-looking.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Hadad stared at him, squinting as if it hurt his head to concentrate. “Never. You’re as brown as a Moabite and built like a slave-laborer.”

“That’s because I’ve been working like one ever since I escaped. But I assure you, I am Joshua ben Eliakim. Ask me something and I’ll prove it.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re King Manasseh himself. I’m leaving now.” Hadad tried to stand, but Joshua forced him down again.

“Wait. First tell me who helped you escape.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Miriam, find me a piece of rope,” Joshua ordered. She dropped the dough and disappeared into the house, emerging a moment later with an extra piece of clothesline. Hadad was moving and thinking too slowly to react before Joshua pinned him to the ground and tied his hands and feet.