Providence (20 page)

“Have you known Gilead?” Reumah asked.

Hannah snapped out of her daydream. “Not long.” She tilted her head into Reumah's pull.

Reumah's hands stilled. “That is not what I mean.” Reumah's lilting voice ended on a provocative note.

“Oh. No.” She turned to view her mistress. “I have never been with a man, though someday I hope to be with child.” She tucked a wisp of hair into a tight braid. “It is my dream to be a mother.”

“That is a dream we both share.” Reumah tied off Hannah's hair with ribbon. If only there were ribbons to hide her ear nubs. Reumah stood and walked to a pile of folded linens.

The weight of the braid rested against Hannah's back. The weight of being a wife rested on her shoulders.

Reumah held up a mustard-yellow head covering. “This will accent the gold thread in your gown. We will secure the cloth with these.” She held sapphire-laden gold bands. The blue jewels glistened in the waning sunlight, reminding Hannah of the healing water of the pool.

“I cannot accept such a gift.” Hannah feared the gold and gems had come from the villages of Israel, ripped from the dead by Aram's raiders. Had the gold been offered to pagan gods for victory at the expense of her people?

Reumah's smooth fingers cupped Hannah's chin. “You cannot refuse a gift from the commander of Aram's armies. It would be an insult.” Reumah's eyebrows rose, daring Hannah to persist in her defiance.

Did she dare persist? She and Gil were still at the mercy of Naabak and Susa's swords.

Reumah released her grasp and flipped the golden head covering over Hannah's braids. “I have my husband and a chance at an heir. My standing has returned twofold because of your faith in the prophet.”

Finally, her deformity was covered.
Her stomach swirled. Would Gil touch them tonight?

She traced the gold bands on her forehead. Her fingertips rose and fell in the facets of the stones. “I will wear these in remembrance of my time in your household.”

“As you should. They were forged in Damascus. These trinkets”—Reumah's breath hitched—“are nothing compared to the jewels that await me now. My father is a harsh man. He was cruel to me when I was your age. The beatings stopped when Naabak sought me to be his wife. To have returned to my father's house a widow without coin or child would have been unthinkable.”

Hannah cringed at the thought of what her father and brother would do when they found out she was married. Given in hand by a foreigner to a Hebrew outside of the tribe of Levi.

“Then I am doubly grateful to Naabak for sparing my life, for it has spared yours. Because of Mereb's tricks, I was beaten by Konath. I do not wish those wounds on anyone.”

Reumah smiled through tears.

“You are a brave woman, Mistress, for believing in my God.”

Sitting beside her, Reumah took hold of Hannah's wrist. “I sensed a truthfulness in you. A spirit I once held. But that is talk of the past. We are not finished here. Your arms are bare.”

Reumah layered bracelets of gemstones to Hannah's elbows. One after another they fell, adorning her like a queen. She knew it would be useless to refuse her mistress. The tiny amber flames in Reumah's eyes sparkled brighter than all the riches adorning Hannah's wrists.

“These gifts are beautiful. I will not take them off.” Hannah admired the bright jewels along her arm.

“Oh yes you will. You will take them off or we will hear the music of clinking baubles all night.” Reumah giggled.

What could she and Gil possibly do all night? When Hannah's mouth fell open, Reumah laughed all the harder.

Hannah followed Reumah to where they had first glimpsed the prophet's tent. No matter how many times she wetted her lips, they dried like sheets in the searing sunlight. The evening breeze had banished the sun behind the cliffs. Carefully, she plotted each footfall of her newly-gifted sandals. Anxiety strummed her heart as if plucking a harp for pleasure.

Flames from a fire pit illuminated Gil and Naabak. Seeing them standing together conversing in the tongue for trade, warmed her blood more than the thought of a newborn babe. The peaks of two additional tents pointed to the heavens.

Gil glanced up as she and Reumah approached. “The night has begun, Wife.” He extended his hand. With cream-colored cloth draped from his shoulders, he resembled a handsome shepherd.

She took hold of his strong arm. “You left me to bathe and you have staked additional skins for shelter.”

Gil shook his head. “Not I.”

“Mereb then?”

Gil and Naabak both spit out a laugh.

“Your prophet left us these dwellings.” Naabak pulled his wife taut to his body. “He has gone to rest and pray.”

“Will he return?” Or would he report to her father that she was truly wed?

“I doubt it.” Gil led her to the middle tent. One staked between the prophet's and a distant dwelling.

Naabak and Reumah raced each other to the farthest tent. Giggles and shushes followed their shadows.

“Do not worry. Susa will stand guard when we sleep,” Gil assured her.

Her face flamed as with fever. “We will sleep?”

Gil leaned down, and his breath teased her ear. “Not for a while, Wife.”

29

Gil held open their tent flap and indicated with a gallant sweep of his hand for her to enter first.

Hannah picked at a thread in her gown until it snapped. She wrapped her arms around her waist and rubbed her sides.

“My mother is not here.” She trembled as the tent flap closed leaving them alone with a low-burning lamp for light.

“Thank goodness for that.” Gil laughed deep and short. The giddy tone to his chuckle had vanished. He moved closer. “You do not need her instruction. Not with me.” With steady hands, he removed her gold head band. His eyes held her gaze. He glanced away briefly to keep the prongs from snagging her braids.

Her head covering loosened. The unbound freedom of her temples sent a light shiver down her neck and arms. As the cloth slid from her scalp, her heart slammed against her ribs like a battering ram. “I do not know of such things.” Her breaths hurried from her mouth as if she had traveled to the peak of the highest mountain. “What shall I do? To you.” Looping a finger under a bracelet, she stroked the gold, pinching it to calm her nerves.

She looked at Gil, and his face did not seem as carefree as when they entered together. “I want to,” she assured him. “I've wanted to.” She released the bracelet, letting her arms fall to her sides as her confession fell between their bodies.

“Hannah.” His face sobered. “I have never.”

“Oh.” She looked to the mat as he stroked the weave of her hair. “I thought…”

He lifted her chin. “Never. But I have seen livestock in the fields. And when I was old enough, the landowner let me birth the calves. I know enough about mating.”

Standing tall, she gave him a smile of assurance. “Since you have the knowledge, I will follow your lead.”

The chuckle started low in his belly and bubbled up his chest. “Didn't Reumah tell you anything?”

“She said I would need to remove my bracelets.” Gold bracelets clinked as she raised and lowered her arms.

Gil gently grasped her wrist. “I can help you with those.” He sat on the mat and his eyes begged her to join him. Sitting on her knees in front of him, she held out her arm. He slipped off the first bracelet. The smoothness of the metal against her flesh sent a tickle across her skin.

“Anything else?” he asked. Another trinket abandoned her skin.

“To remove?”

“That Reumah told you.” His warm breath brushed over her fingers. He kissed her hand and held his lips to her skin.

She shook her head. Gil's tenderness drained her of any remembrance. “It happened fast,” she blurted out, trying to catch her breath.

“I only work fast in the fields.” He flashed a street-thief grin and snatched the last bracelet from her wrist, leaving her arm bare. Holding up a circle of rubies, he said, “This band reminds me of the bracelet you left me as a summons.”

She ignored the glint of scarlet in the lamplight. “I left the bracelet for my mother. It was a gift from my father the day I saw the prophet. The day we met.” Emotion built behind her eyes. “My mother does not know where I am. Or that we are married. I wish she knew I was safe.” A tear slid down her cheek. “And happy.”

“Hannah. Wife.” Gil's caress on her neck lifted her burden. “You will see your mother when we return home.” Gil sought out her tears and erased them with his lips.

How could she tell him of her doubts? What if under religious law she had two husbands? Had her father received a bride price from Azor? Had money changed hands between them? Would lying with Gil be adultery?

She longed to be honest. “If Azor—”

Gil's hand briefly covered her mouth, smothering her words. “We will not speak of him. Not tonight. Tonight, we express our love. The prophet bound you to me and I am going to love you.”

Gil tugged off his tunic. He sat bare-chested, in a loincloth.

“Do you want me, Hannah?” He took her hand and drew her splayed fingers down the grooves of his chest. His skin was smooth, with soft, curly hair that felt like wisps of clouds upon her fingertips.

She gripped his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Yes, Gil,” she gasped. “I want you.” He had stolen a piece of her heart the first day they met when he touched her lip with a pomegranate seed. But at the moment, there was no time for speech.

~*~

When she awoke, Gil was gone. She rested her hand on the mat where his body had lain. The woven reeds trapped his warmth. The previous night had not been a dream. She shivered as she remembered Gil's eager yet tender touch.

A high pitched scrape caught her attention. With morning light piercing through the stitched seams of the tent, she knew someone was at work. Was Gil forced to labor after his wedding night?

The flap of the tent opened. She struggled to sit.

Gil swept into the space beside her, filling it with his presence.

“We will be on the move shortly. Naabak has insisted we honor the Sabbath and rest at sundown.” Gil lifted her hand to his lips. “I'm not sure I want rest on this night.” The stroke of his palm on the back of her hand sent a stream of energy radiating through her arm.

“Naabak is certainly taking to our ways.” She straightened her wayward tunic.

“He will not follow our law to the letter tonight. But with his soldiers camped in the valley below, we must begin our descent.”

The scratch of a shovel against rock caused her teeth to ache. “What is going on outside?” She licked her lips. Gil followed the sweep of her tongue with his eyes. She kissed her husband's cheek and smiled as she remembered their time together.

Gil drew her closer. “Mereb is collecting dirt from the mountain.” He pressed his mouth to hers and let his lips linger.

“I did not think Mereb cared for our land.” She kissed him softly, yet fully and rose to dress.

Gil leaned back on his arms, his fingers inches from the gold bracelets he had slid from her arms the previous night. “Naabak has ordered that our soil be brought to Aram so he can kneel on it and pray to our God.”

“And Konath's body?” Not a twinge of sorrow plucked at her heart.

“Has been wrapped. His family in Damascus would expect it to return.”

“I will lead the donkey that carries his remains. The stench will not bother me.” She sat and slipped on her sandals. “Is it sinful to be glad he is no longer a threat?”

“I think not since I share your glee.” Gil helped her to her feet. “Wife,” Gil said with enthusiasm. “We are free. Free to go home to Jerusalem.” He brushed her hair from her shoulders. “Let me show you how free we are.”

While Gil assaulted her with kisses, the
raatsch
of Mereb's digging barely brushed a nerve. Her heart leapt with delight in returning to Jerusalem, to her home, and to her people. But what would her family say to her coupling with a man from Judah? If her father had promised her to Azor, a Levite, would Shimron announce their union as adultery? Would her brother allow their bodies to be crushed by stone?

She had watched Gil die once while trying to save her life. She would not let him be taken from her again. She would fight for their love. And if they had to die, she would die first.

30

After weeks of hospitality from Benjamin's family, it was time to head south. Hannah would never forget the brave man who saved her from being ravaged in the pit. Benjamin's parents would never forget the couple who had sought his freedom.

Gil and Benjamin brought special offerings to God on the Sabbaths to honor His devotion. Gil shared a portion of Naabak's riches with Benjamin. The comfortable bed Benjamin provided was worth far more than the golden trinkets.

Now, every clop of hooves, every stallion's whinny, brought her closer to Jerusalem. Would there be a feast in honor of her return? A shunning? Or had her brother mourned her death by wild beasts and moved on, awash in temple duties?

The heavy pat on her leg brought her back into the present. The stroke of Gil's hand lessened her hesitation. He touched her often. Often enough that it had become commonplace. But then he had never shied from making her feel whole.

“You are bleeding.” Gil pointed to her lip.

She fingered her mouth. Blood bathed her skin. Her anxious spirit had her nipping at her own flesh. She swallowed bits of skin.

“It's of no consequence,” she offered as an excuse. Why should she worry Gil about their reception?

They rested the horses in the foothills outside of Jerusalem. Gil picked at a bronze orb embedded in the bridle. Traitorous symbols of Aramean pride accompanied them on their journey home.

“These mounts will bring curious stares.” Gil rubbed the bronze medallion. “Our return will reach your father's ears before we stretch our legs.”