The Journey Begun (5 page)

Four

arah pulled her work dress up to her knees and bustled across the yard, a frown hardening her face. Jesse and Joshua stopped their game and gawked at their mother.

Miriam ducked back in and hurried to Deborah’s side. She reached out to steady her grandmother’s listless body.

“Here, help me get her to her sleeping mat.” Sarah pushed in front of her daughter-in-law and grasped Deborah by the shoulders. Miriam supported the incapacitated woman’s waist as they lifted her out of the chair and half carried, half dragged, her across the room. Sarah eased her onto her back while Miriam wrung her hands, unsure how to make her grandmother comfortable.

Deborah stared at the ceiling through half-open eyes and worked her jaw, trying to speak. She succeeded only in pushing a bead of saliva to the corner of her mouth. Sarah passed a finger in front of her eyes to draw her attention. “Mother, can you hear me?” Miriam heard the forced calm in Sarah’s voice, and knew her mother-in-law’s heart must be as wrenched as her own.

Deborah shifted her quivering stare to Sarah’s face, but no words came. Miriam’s throat caught at the sight of her grandmother’s eyes, the whites now webbed with scarlet, her pupils
wide
[B3]
 
. Sarah brushed a wisp of hair from Deborah’s forehead. “It’s all right, Mother, everything is going to be fine. You just need rest.”

She glanced at Miriam. “Heat some water. We have herbs that will help.”

Miriam tore herself away and hurried to the banked cook fire. She blew aside the ashes and added a small heap of kindling to the glowing embers. She coaxed a flicker of flame into a modest blaze and piled as much tinder onto the small fire as she dared before grabbing a goatskin pouch and rushing outside to fetch water.

Two dirty faces peered through the doorway as Jesse and Joshua craned their necks around the lintel. They stared at their grandmother kneeling beside Deborah’s prostrate form.

“Out of the way, boys!” The heads disappeared as Miriam struggled in with a skin full of fresh water. “Go watch for your father and Uncle Jonah on the road.” Although the men weren’t due for another two days, she thought it a good way to keep the boys out of trouble.

Miriam splashed water into a clay cook pot, stoked the fire, and nudged the pot closer to the crackling blaze. Wiping her hands on her dress, she hurried back and knelt beside Sarah, her eyes searching Deborah’s face.

Time stood still, with only the crackle of the fire and Deborah’s labored breathing breaking the stillness of the room. Sarah stroked Deborah’s hair and dabbed beads of moisture from her face with her scarf. Her composure drew Miriam’s attention. She had never seen her stalwart mother-in-law assume such a gentle countenance. Her touch was firm, but gentle; her voice soft, almost lilting. Miriam perked as her ear caught the faint strains of a lullaby. She stared as her mother-in-law whispered the tender melody to Deborah. It was a simple air, but not one she recognized. Miriam stood motionless, rapt at the scene.

The hiss of sizzling water broke her reverie. She hurried back to the fireside and tested the sputtering liquid on the back of her hand. “Where are the herbs, Mother?” Miriam asked, as she moved the steaming pot back from the flames.

“Come tend to your grandmother. I’ll get the herbs,” Sarah rose, wiping her hands on her dress.

Miriam hurried back to Deborah’s side. Settling to her knees, she lifted her grandmother’s arm and caressed her hand. Her fingertips traced blue-black veins scurrying randomly under paper-thin skin like a river delta in search of the sea. Deborah’s soft hazel eyes, which only moments before had radiated such warmth, were glassy and hollow. It struck Miriam for the first time how frail her grandmother really was. In her eyes, she had always been a pillar of strength, ever in control. This was the mistress of the Ben Amittai household, the timeless matriarch of her beloved family. The ravages of time would not be denied, though, and the woman now lying before her was neither strong nor in control. A knot rose in Miriam’s throat that she couldn’t swallow away.

Deborah’s pale face twitched, flickering eyelids betrayed a fierce struggle pitting her will against the apoplexy gripping her body. Tears of helplessness clouded Miriam’s eyes as she whispered encouragement to her grandmother’s besieged mind.

Across the room, Sarah waged her own battle against time. Scanning the spice shelf, she scooped together bundles of dried seeds and leaves. What was there—mint and anise to relax the muscles? Myrrh to settle the dyspnea? She searched for frankincense, the most valuable of their medicinal herbs. The aroma of the burnt gum would help Deborah’s labored breathing, but there was none to be found. She spotted a wad of terebinth gum nestled behind a cluster of dried rosemary. She frowned. It wasn’t as good as frankincense, but it would have to do. A good herbal concoction should help,
but
[B4]
 
the most of the work would be up to Deborah’s mind and body. Only time would tell whether she would recover from the attack.

Sarah pulled the herbs together and set to work. She pressed the tree gum onto a small stone and wedged it between two larger rocks near the fire. While the paste heated, she turned her attention to the mint and anise. She pinched a measure of both herbs into a stone mortar and ground them to a powder with a stubby pestle. A small dose went into a small clay cup, dissolving with a hiss as hot water swirled into the cup. She roiled the solution with a wooden spoon and turned to rejoin Miriam at Deborah’s side.

Absorbed in concentration on her grandmother, Miriam jumped at Sarah’s husky voice over her shoulder.

“Here, get behind Mother and support her shoulders. We need her sitting up to sip this.”

Miriam knelt by Deborah’s head and eased the paralyzed woman’s shoulders onto her lap. Sarah dropped to her knees and lifted the spoon from the elixir. She tipped the edge of the cup and touched it to Deborah’s lips. “Mother, please try to sip this. I know it’s hard, but the herbs will help you relax. Steady her head, Miriam.”

Sarah’s gentle tone again struck the young woman. She wondered why Sarah never displayed such gentleness toward her, but then tightened her jaw and shook the thought away. Deborah’s welfare was all that mattered now. Her own feelings would have to wait.

Deborah choked, her throat gagging at the first trickle of the warm fluid. The second attempt was more successful. After three sips, Deborah arched her back, signaling a need to rest. Sarah dabbed at the traces of tea on her mother’s chin while Deborah caught her breath.

She lifted the cup again. “A little more, Mother. Please try.”

A few more sips and Sarah motioned Miriam to ease her grandmother onto the mat. Deborah closed her eyes. Miriam didn’t know whether that was good or bad, but she preferred it to the empty stare.

The two women stood and surveyed their patient. Sarah broke the
silence
[B5]
 
. “Keep the pot close to the fire and make sure we have hot water at all times. I’ll stay with Mother.” She dropped the spoon into the cup.

“Mother, do you think she’ll be…all right?”

“Of course. She’ll be fine.”

Miriam flinched at the edge back in Sarah’s tone. Her first inclination was to turn on her heel and walk away, but something stopped her. The picture of Sarah whispering her lullaby into Deborah’s ear crept back into Miriam’s mind. She surmised her mother-in-law’s terseness to be her way of coping with a world that had offered her little joy. Yet, as hard as Sarah was on her, Miriam knew the older woman was even harder on herself. Sarah developed strength and self-sufficiency, as her world neither forgave weakness nor respected dependence. Moreover, she demanded the same of those upon whom she was forced to depend. This afternoon, Miriam had a rare glimpse of Sarah’s shell peeling back to reveal a tenderness of which she never suspected her mother-in-law to be capable. It struck Miriam as curious that such vulnerability would emerge at a time when the threat seemed the greatest. She studied Sarah’s careworn face and compassion swept over her. Her eyes welled up, but she had no idea what to do.

Sarah looked up and frowned. “Well, what are you looking at?”

At that moment it occurred to Miriam what to do. She stepped over to her mother-in-law, put her arms around her, laid her head on her shoulder and hugged. Sarah tensed, but Miriam didn’t let go.

For a moment there was nothing, but as she was about to release, Miriam felt one hand and then the other touch her shoulders. They lingered for a moment and then caressed her reassuringly. She squeezed her eyes against the tears.

“I love you, Mother.”

Lll

The donkey guided the wagon along the road connecting the Jezreel Valley with the Sea of Chinnereth. The overcast lightened to a chalky haze, renewing Elias’ hope that there might still be a sun somewhere above the opaque canopy. The drizzle slackened to mist, and then gave way to an oppressive humidity, which felt worse than the rain. Shuddering from a damp chill, he pulled his cloak close to his neck, only to stretch it away again to recapture his breath from the stuffy fabric. He heaved a frustrated sigh and looked over at his uncle.

Jonah seemed oblivious to the weather. He hunched with the reins slack in his fingers, matted wisps of hair clinging to his forehead. Elias wondered at the uneasiness that gripped the older man, who forced his eyes to a blank stare at the road ahead.

“Are you all right?”

Jonah jerked his head and glanced at his nephew. “Hmm?”

“Would you like me to take Sheba for a while? You seem tired.” Elias nodded at the loose straps.

“Umm, no, that’s fine.” Jonah rubbed his forehead and labored a deep breath. “Well, all right. Maybe for a bit.”

He made no move to surrender the reins, so Elias reached over and lifted them from his fingers. Sheba threw a glance back toward the cart and kept clopping along the wet rocky road.

“Would you like something to eat? It’s midday—at least I think it is.” He shot another look at the cloud cover.

“Umm, sure.” Jonah massaged his temples and closed his eyes.

Elias reached behind the bench seat and retrieved a cloth pouch. He groped in the bag and withdrew a clump of soggy bread, which promptly disintegrated in his fingers. He rolled his eyes.
Great
. Digging down again, he found some dried figs, now half rehydrated and coated with soggy bread crumbs.

“I think the bread’s a loss, Uncle, but we have some figs left.”

They shared the fruit and went silent. Elias thoughts ranged from the disappointment of a curtailed trip to what was bothering his uncle.

Lll

Early that evening, Elias nudged Sheba off the main road toward the path to the village. “It doesn’t look like it rained here. The road shouldn’t be too slippery. Still, I’d like to make it up the hill before we lose the light.”