Faith of My Fathers (23 page)

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Making sure you stay here until I get home from work. Maybe your memory will improve by then.” Joshua grabbed the food Miriam had set out for Hadad and gulped it down, then set off at a trot to make it back to work on time.

“Help!” Hadad cried. “Somebody help me!”

Oh no,
Miriam thought.
Not this again
. She tried to ignore him as she finished baking the bread, but he was making too much noise. It would be a long time until Joshua came home from work this evening. She couldn’t have this stranger yelling for help the entire time. She slid the last loaf into the oven and went over to sit beside him.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked.

“No, you stupid girl. I would like you to untie me.”

Miriam bristled. “Calling me a stupid girl is hardly going to win my sympathy. My name is Miriam. What’s yours?”

“Hadad.”

“ ‘Fierce’? You don’t look very fierce to me. You look like a drunkard, and you smell like one, too. I should know; I’ve seen enough of them.”

“But I’m a wealthy drunkard, and I’ll pay you very well if you untie me. Do you know that your boss is a madman?”

“Why don’t you just tell him who helped you escape?” Miriam asked. “Then he’ll let you go free.”

“Because I don’t remember. I was drunk the night we escaped.”

“Well, maybe if you think about it really hard, it will come back to you.”

“It hurts too much to think,” he said, closing his eyes. “I need a drink.”

“I’ll get you some water.” She started to stand.

“No,” Hadad moaned, “not water. I need a real drink.”

“We don’t have anything else,” she said with a shrug. She sat down beside him again. “Look, why don’t you tell me everything you do remember.”

“Then you’ll untie me?”

“Yes.”

Hadad sighed and closed his eyes. “I was mad at my grandfather that night. We had a big fight, so I went out and got drunk.”

“Do you remember what you fought about?”

“My name. The fact that I don’t have one.”

“I thought you said your name was Hadad.”

“Not that name, you stupid girl—an ancestry, forefathers. I don’t have a name because I’m illegitimate. My parents were never married.”

Miriam felt her cheeks grow hot, as if she had opened the oven door. “Is that such a bad thing?” she asked. “Not having a name?”

“It is if you want to make something of your life—hold a position of honor and authority or marry into a respectable family.”

Like Joshua’s family
. Miriam looked down at her rough, workworn hands. She was illegitimate, too. No wonder Joshua thought of her as a servant. “I see,” she mumbled.

“No, you don’t. It was all my grandfather’s fault. That’s why I was so furious with him. He never married his concubine. So my father never had a chance in life, either. He died in a drunken brawl when I was five years old. I barely remember him. But my grandfather was this big-deal palace official. Worked for King Hezekiah. He was getting old, and he wanted to make amends for all the mistakes he had made in his life, so he took me in. I was his penance, his pity-project. He raised me in the palace. Educated me . . .”

“It sounds like a nice life,” Miriam said, remembering her own life.

“It was. Until I started getting interested in women. That’s when I learned that all of the noblemen’s beautiful daughters were off limits to me because I didn’t have a name.”

“What about your grandfather’s name?”

“Yeah—what about it! That would have done the trick, all right. Every nobleman in Jerusalem would have lined up for a chance to marry his daughter to Lord Shebna’s grandson. He was the secretary of state! But the stubborn old man wouldn’t do it. He refused to legally adopt me.”

“Why?”

“Because then he wouldn’t have anything to hold over my head, stupid. He told me, ‘I am not pleased with the way you live your life, Hadad.’ He wanted me to study harder. Drink less. Said I needed to
prove
myself first. I told him he could go to Sheol for all I cared.”

“And you call
me
stupid?” Miriam asked. “You couldn’t have wanted a name very badly or you would have done what he asked.”

Hadad glared at her. He looked as if he would have slapped her if his hands had been free. “You’re sure an impudent little thing, aren’t you, girl?”

“I told you, my name is Miriam.”

“Well, you certainly live up to your name—bitter and rebellious.”

“My mother was bitter for having me. She thought that having a baby would make my father marry her, but it didn’t.”

“In that case, you should have a little more understanding for how I feel.”

“No, I don’t. Because I never had a wealthy grandfather to look after me and educate me. I wasn’t offered any advantages like that. If I had been, believe me, I wouldn’t have thrown them back in his face.”

Hadad looked away, momentarily subdued by her outburst. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. My grandfather is dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. And not just because he never had a chance to adopt me. He was a decent man underneath all his stubbornness. Brilliant, too. He educated King Hezekiah and served as his advisor in the palace. He could have taught me a lot if I hadn’t screwed up.”

“It seems to me you’re still screwing up.”

Hadad’s face filled with rage. He lunged at Miriam as if forgetting he was tied up, and nearly fell over. “You wouldn’t be this outspoken if my hands were free!” he shouted.

“Well, it’s true. You are still messing up. You’ve been lying here drunk all night and hung over all morning. Is that the only thing you can find to do with your life?”

“I don’t have a life, you stupid girl. We had to flee Jerusalem or die. I left my life behind.”

“So did Master Jerimoth and Master Joshua, but they’ve started all over again. Don’t you ever work?”

“Why should I work? My grandfather smuggled out a ton of gold. Heaven knows, he never spent anything he earned on himself or his family. I figure he owes me at least that much.”

“So you’re going to get drunk every day and live off his money for the rest of your life?”

“Why not?”

“You said your grandfather was a decent man? Then it’s a good thing he never gave you his name if this is how you’ve decided to live.”

Miriam stood and went to take the bread out of the oven, leaving Hadad to shout curses at her as he struggled to free himself.

Joshua raced home after work, anxious to see if Hadad had remembered anything. He found him where he had left him, looking subdued and very hung over.

“It’s no use,” Hadad said, groaning. “I just don’t remember anything. The last thing I recall of Jerusalem is fighting with my grandfather. I was drunk. He must have thrown me into the back of his chariot the night we left. I woke up here in Moab.”

“But you told me last night that you remembered the ride. You said Shebna drove like the demons were after him.”

“I did? Well, give me a drink and maybe I’ll remember some more.”

Joshua’s frustration mounted. “Try to think, Hadad.”

“I’m tired of thinking! Your servant girl has been badgering me about it all day!”

“Miriam has?” Joshua asked in surprise.

“Yes. She’s sure an insolent little thing. I’ll bet the only reason you put up with her is because she’s pretty.”

“I don’t find Miriam attractive,” Joshua said. “Her mother was a prostitute. Listen, I’m going back to Jerusalem for my fiance
e in a few days. That’s why I was hoping you could give me the name of someone who would help me.”

“I can’t even remember what happened yesterday, let alone nine months ago,” Hadad said. Joshua sighed and crouched beside him to untie his hands. “You’re letting me go?” Hadad asked.

“I’m sorry for holding you prisoner all day, but I’ll be taking a huge risk when I go back, and I was hoping to find at least one ally in Judah. I’m leaving at the end of this week. If you suddenly remember something, will you come back and tell me?”

“Sure. But I think you’re insane to go back there. She must be some woman.”

“Yes. She is.” The thought of Yael made Joshua more determined than ever to rescue her and marry her, regardless of the danger.

“Do you want a word of advice?” Hadad asked. “Go back as a Moabite.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve changed a lot in the last few months. You’ve put on muscle. You’re not just pale skin and bones anymore. I didn’t recognize you. So take the masquerade one step further. Cut your hair and beard like the Moabites do. You’re so brown from the sun, you’ll look just like one.”

“But the Torah forbids us to cut the hair off the sides of our heads or clip the edges off our beards like the pagans do.”

“True. And they would never expect Eliakim’s son to violate the Torah, would they?”

“No, I guess they wouldn’t.” Joshua thought about how he had already been violating the Torah—working on the Sabbath, eating with pagans, planning to build a temple dedicated to idols. He felt ashamed.

“He’s right, you know.” Joshua whirled around at the sound of his brother’s voice. He hadn’t heard Jerimoth come out to the courtyard. “Your hair will grow back once you return here safe and sound,” Jerimoth continued. “I think it’s a good suggestion, Joshua. I can use my connections to get you a job with a Moabite caravan traveling to Jerusalem. It will be a perfect disguise.”

Jerimoth’s offer moved Joshua. For a moment he couldn’t speak. “You’re going to help me, then?” he asked.

“Of course. You’re my brother.”

14

D
INAH SCREAMED AND WRITHED
in pain. “I can’t go on!” she cried. “I can’t!” She had labored for hours, but the baby refused to come. She had never imagined such relentless agony, such unbearable suffering. The midwives and royal physicians hovered around her bed telling her what to do, yet she felt utterly alone. No one soothed her or held her hand. She wanted her mother.

“You’re fighting against us, my lady,” one of the midwives told her. “You’re resisting the birth. Don’t you want this baby to be born?”

Dinah didn’t know the answer. The child had been conceived in violence, fathered by a man she hated, a symbol of Manasseh’s mastery and ownership of her. And she had resented her pregnancy at first because it prevented her escape. Maybe she didn’t want this baby to be born.

But no, the child belonged to her, too. He was part of her, part of Mama and Abba. She just wanted the pain to end.

“Push!” the midwife told her. Dinah cried out as her body strained to force the baby from her womb. In a terrible burst of burning pain, it was finally over.

“It’s a boy! A son!” someone cried out. “The royal heir has been born!”

Above the bustle of activity, Dinah heard her baby crying. “Let me see him,” she begged. “He’s mine.” But the royal physician blocked her view as he bent to sever the umbilical cord. When he finished, the child was whisked away, no longer hers.

“The king has a son!” the midwife announced triumphantly.

Dinah lay back, exhausted and shivering, as the physicians turned all their attention to her son. Her role had ended. She didn’t matter. “He’s
my
son,” she wept. “Please, let me hold my son.” The midwife wrapped a blanket around Dinah, ignoring her pleas. Dinah closed her eyes and cried until she finally drifted to sleep.