“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry. I’ve treated you badly.”
“Are you really sorry, Dinah? Prove it. Show me how you feel about me and our new life together.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, waiting, a smirk of superiority spread across his face. Once again, Dinah hated him. She saw his wish to control her, to humiliate her. How badly did she want her freedom?
Beyond her shuttered window, the moon and stars beckoned Dinah to break free, to live again. She whispered a silent prayer, then took Manasseh’s arrogant face in her hands and kissed him.
10
Miriam knelt beside the river, rubbing soap into the wet cloth, then rubbing it gently against a stone to scrub out the stains. Lady Jerusha knelt beside her, struggling to wring out the swaddling cloths that Miriam had already washed. It was not a task for a rich lady.
“Let me do that for you, Lady Jerusha. You don’t need to—”
“That’s kind of you, Miriam, but I can do it. I used to be much better at washing clothes, but I’m a little out of practice. It’s time I relearned.”
It was so hard to believe that Lady Jerusha wasn’t a rich lady anymore. In the two weeks since they had arrived in Moab, Jerusha had shown no anger or bitterness over the way her life had suddenly changed. Instead she had joined Miriam in all the work, doing tasks her servants had once done. And Lady Jerusha had been so kind to Miriam, so gentle with her, comforting her after Abba died. She understood Miriam’s sorrow. Jerusha had lost her husband, her daughter, and her father-in-law.
Once, Miriam heard Jerusha crying softly in the night and had tried to comfort her in return. “I was thinking of Eliakim,” Jerusha said. “I remember how cold his feet always were in the winter when he came home from the palace. I used to let him warm them against mine. It’s funny how you remember such simple things about the people you loved.”
Miriam understood. She remembered the way Abba’s silver hair and beard felt beneath her fingers. He used to tease her when she was a little girl, telling her it was made from real silver. She didn’t want to believe that Abba was dead. He had always wandered in and out of Miriam’s life unexpectedly, and she had learned not to depend on him too much, never knowing when he would come or go. Now she tried to pretend that he had just gone away again, that he might come back for her at any moment. But she couldn’t quite do it. The stain she’d scrubbed from Master Joshua’s clothes had been Abba’s blood.
With the laundry finished, Miriam waded into the river in her tunic to bathe and wash her hair. Lady Sara was trying to wash Rachel, who squirmed and fussed in the cold water. Miriam had been watching these rich ladies closely, imitating them. She was learning to keep herself bathed and clean, to scrub her hair until it shone, and to comb all the tangles out so it looked pretty. Maybe then Master Joshua would notice her.
Miriam was sorry for the way she had treated him when he’d told her Abba was dead. But she still didn’t understand what he’d meant when he’d offered to go back to Jerusalem with her. Should she have done it? Would Joshua really have lived with her and taken care of her? He no longer acted as if he remembered his promise to Abba. He paid no attention to Miriam at all. But Master Joshua had wept when Abba died. That must mean something. She hadn’t seen him weep for his own father.
Miriam was glad she had decided to stay with Joshua’s family. She wished Lady Jerusha was her mother. She never treated Miriam like a servant but talked to her the same way she talked to Lady Tirza and Lady Sara. Miriam’s real mother probably hadn’t even discovered she was gone.
Miriam squeezed the water out of her hair as she waded out of the river, then wrapped herself in her new robe. Abba had bought it for her with Master Joshua’s money so she could act as a decoy for Lady Sara. It wasn’t a rich lady’s robe, by any means, but it wasn’t one of the ragged hand-me-downs she’d always worn, either. She had never owned a robe as fine as this one and certainly never one that was brand-new.
“Let me help you, Lady Sara,” Miriam said. Little Rachel had finally grown accustomed to the cold water, and now she wanted to play in it instead of getting dressed. Miriam had already proven adept at handling the spoiled baby.
“Yes, we should start for home before it gets dark,” Jerusha said. Miriam gathered the wet laundry and piled it into a basket. Then she and Jerusha carried it between them as they walked back to the small mud-brick house they’d rented.
Together they hung the laundry up to dry, draping it on the ropes the men had strung outside the house. The lines were always in use, usually draped with long lengths of swaddling cloth that Tirza used to diaper her baby son. He was a colicky child, and Tirza was always exhausted from rocking and nursing him. She was grateful when Miriam offered to wash his clothes.
Through the open window Miriam heard the mumbling, singsong chant of the men as they recited evening prayers. They swayed and bobbed in rhythm as they prayed. Since she had never been to the Temple in Jerusalem, she had never heard such prayers before. Tonight the men were praying to find work. Ever since arriving in Moab they’d spent every day trying to find jobs. So far they’d had no luck. Master Joel had studied to be a priest back home. Miriam wondered why he didn’t look for work at one of the many temples here in Heshbon. And Master Joshua had worked for the king of Judah; was there no king in Moab?
By the time Miriam finished hanging laundry, the evening star twinkled above the neighbor’s roof. She went inside and began unrolling her bedding. Everyone went to bed as soon as it grew dark, since they couldn’t afford oil for the lamps. She stole glimpses of Master Joshua as she worked. The men always closed their eyes when they prayed.
She unrolled Lady Jerusha’s mat beside her own, then helped Mattan and Nathan arrange theirs on the opposite side of the room beside Joshua’s mat. Jerusha hung a blanket to divide the two sides of the tiny room. This house was much too small for eleven people, but it was all they could afford.
The married couples slept in two cramped storage rooms with curtains hung over their doors for privacy. Miriam envied Sara and Tirza. She saw the tender way their husbands treated them, especially Master Jerimoth. He couldn’t help touching Sara’s hand or her shoulder whenever he was near her or slipping his arm around her waist, as if he needed to draw an essential nutrient from her in order to live. Was it because of the babies? If Miriam gave Joshua a baby, would he treat her that way, too?
The men finished their prayers and said good night, but Miriam tossed on her pallet for a long time, unable to sleep. She heard the soft voices of the married couples as they talked together in the darkness, and she felt an unbearable loneliness. She wanted to belong to someone—to be held and cherished in the cold, dark night. Is this how her mother had felt? Had the nights been lonely for her, too?
“Miriam, figure out what you want in life and grab it,” her mother had once told her. “Don’t wait for good things to come to you because they never will. You have to grab what little happiness you can from this miserable life.”
That’s really all Miriam wanted: just a little taste of happiness.
Lady Jerusha was already asleep beside her. Miriam rose quietly from her pallet and crept across the room past the dividing curtain.
Master Joshua slept on his back with his arms bent above his head. She stood for a moment, gazing down at him, but his face looked no less troubled in sleep than it did when he was awake. Don’t wait, her mother’s voice seemed to say. Miriam knelt and lifted the blanket to lay beside him.
“Miriam . . .”
She whirled around at the sound of her name. Lady Jerusha stood beside the curtain.
“Come back to bed, Miriam,” she said gently.
“I . . . I was just making sure he had a blanket.” Miriam realized immediately that Jerusha would never believe her, and she was sorry she had compounded her guilt by lying. What would happen to her now? Would Lady Jerusha throw her out of the house? Miriam was so ashamed for getting caught that she wanted to run out of the door and never come back. But the nigh
t was cold, the city dark and unfamiliar. Besides, she had no place to go. Shaking with fear, she crept to her mat and lay down again, turning her back to Jerusha.
After a moment, she felt Jerusha’s light touch on her shoulder. “Miriam?”
“I know what you must think of me, Lady Jerusha—that I’m no better than my mother.”
“I don’t think that at all. I think you’re a lonely young woman who just wants someone to hold her and love her.”
Miriam began to cry. How had she known?
Jerusha gently rubbed her back. “It’s not your fault, Miriam. I’m sure no one ever taught you that what you wanted to do was wrong. But Yahweh’s Law says we must not sleep with someone unless we’re married to him. Your body is a gift that you will give your husband someday. God wants you to save it for him.”
“I thought . . . if I slept with Master Joshua—if I gave him a baby—he would want to marry me.”
“If he slept with you, he would have to marry you, that’s true. But someday he might resent the way you tricked him into it, and for the rest of his life he might feel trapped. Is that the way you want him to feel about you?”
Miriam shook her head. “Are you going to tell him what happened?”
“Of course not. Nothing happened.”
“But you’re going to send me away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because now you know what kind of a person I really am, and you’re all so religious and so good and—”
“You’re wrong, Miriam, very wrong. I’m not a good person. But I am a forgiven person, and there’s a world of difference between the two.”
“I don’t believe you would ever do anything wrong, Lady Jerusha.”
“No? The truth is that for a time I chose to stay alive by living the same kind of life your mother lives.”
Miriam whirled around to face her. “I don’t believe you. You’re nothing like my mother.”
“That’s because God changed me. He worked two miracles, Miriam. He forgave me for the choices I made, and He gave me a second chance, with a godly husband who loved me, even though he knew how I had lived.”
“Master Joshua’s father?”
Jerusha nodded, biting her lip. “Miriam, I know how lonely and unloved you must feel right now, especially with your father gone. But Yahweh will be a father to you if you’ll let Him. And just like a real father, He will provide for you, give you guidance and advice, and He’ll love you more than you’ve ever been loved in your life. His word promises that if you delight yourself in the Lord, He will give you the desires of your heart.”
Miriam stared. “You mean Master Joshua will marry me?”
Jerusha gently brushed a lock of hair off Miriam’s face. “When I was not much older than you are, I thought the desire of my heart was a man named Abram—a simple country farmer like my abba. But God knew so much more than I could ever know. And God gave me Eliakim.” In the dim light, Miriam saw tears glisten in Jerusha’s eyes.
“I think the desire of your heart, Miriam, is to find a husband who loves you and who will stay with you and take care of you for the rest of your life. Am I right?”
Miriam nodded tearfully, remembering all the men who had come and gone in her mother’s life, sleeping with her for a time, then disappearing when they grew tired of her. Even Abba hadn’t loved Mama enough to marry her and make a home with her.
“Only Yahweh knows whether or not that man is Joshua. You must learn to trust God, Miriam. He will provide what’s best for you.”
11
Dinah sat on the edge of her bed and wept. She had just vomited her breakfast. Now she knew for certain that she was pregnant.
According to the tiny scratches she’d made on the wall every day, more than a month had passed since Manasseh captured her. All the other signs of pregnancy were there. This bout of morning sickness confirmed her fears.
God of Abraham, why now? Why this?
Her plan to win Manasseh’s trust had been going so well. She could move freely through the rooms of the harem but still not beyond them. Her shuttered windows opened now, even though iron bars prevented her from climbing out or jumping to her death. But her greatest achievement had been convincing Manasseh to bring her presents of gold and silver jewelry—earrings, bracelets, necklaces. She hoarded these pieces to use as bribes and to finance her flight to freedom. Yes, everything had been going so well. Until now.
If she didn’t find a way to escape before her pregnancy began to show, she would surely be confined to the palace once Manasseh learned of it. But the prospect of escaping within the next few months seemed hopeless.
Dinah had a vague plan to pay a caravan driver to smuggle her out of the city, but she had no idea where she would go after that. Where was the rest of her family? Were any of them still alive? She never saw Abba or Joshua among the nobles and officials milling in the courtyard below her window. She feared they were dead.
Now she was going to have a baby. Manasseh’s baby. It was true that she hated him, but there was no doubt in Dinah’s mind that this was her baby, too. The child would be part of her family—part of Abba and Mama, part of Jerimoth and Tirza and Joshua, part of Grandpa Hilkiah. She and her baby would escape together somehow and continue her family line. No matter what, she would never allow Manasseh to shape this child into his own image.
As another wave of nausea swept over her, Dinah sank to her knees beside the bed. God of Abraham . . . please! Show me what to do. Help me and my child escape from this terrible place!
Sweat plastered Joshua’s tunic to his back and dripped off his forehead. He wiped it out of his eyes with the keffiyeh, which was wrapped around his head, then crouched to tie the bundle of grain he had just cut. His back ached from bending with the sickle all morning, but he couldn’t rest until noon. His Moabite employer had taken a risk hiring him without any experience, and Joshua had to prove himself if he hoped to stay on for the threshing after the harvest.
Joshua was still unaccustomed to hard labor. He fell exhausted onto his pallet each night after sunset and never moved until dawn. Then he would rise, say morning prayers with Jerimoth and Joel, and walk the mile and a half to the fields to work. But he was grateful for this grueling struggle for survival. It gave him little time to dwell on why Yahweh had abandoned him and his family.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the far side of the field where the women walked behind the reapers, gleaning the kernels of grain left behind. Jerimoth’s wife, Sara, worked slowly after fainting on her first day in the hot sun. Her soft hands were unaccustomed to the sharp, bristly stalks and were already riddled with fine cuts. Beside her, Miriam was able to do twice as much work with her strong back and nimble, work-hardened hands. But the sight that broke Joshua’s heart was seeing his mother bending in the field.
“Mama, stay home and help Tirza with the babies,” he had begged. She wouldn’t listen to him.
“I was born a farmer’s daughter,” Jerusha said. “I’m not ashamed to work in the fields.” But it was difficult for Joshua to imagine his mother as a farmer’s daughter. He had known her only as the wealthy palace administrator’s wife, gowned and perfumed and seated among the other nobles’ wives at palace banquets. She had presided over a busy household of servants who cleaned and cooked and scrubbed clothes for her. To see her on her knees grinding grain between stones or bending in the broiling sun to scavenge for wheat aroused emotions inside Joshua that frightened him: anger, hatred, and the desire for revenge, all directed at Manasseh. Bitterness, resentment, and devastating disillusionment, all directed at God. The painful words of David’s psalm had become his unending refrain: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
The workers on either side of Joshua advanced ahead of him. He bent and swished the sickle through the wheat, hurrying to catch up. The dust and chaff made his lungs ache, but he knew he had been fortunate to find any work at all. It had been obvious to all the farmers they had approached that Joel and J
erimoth knew nothing of farm labor. Young and strong from his military training, only Joshua had been deemed fit for hire.
“You concentrate on reestablishing Grandpa’s business,” he’d told Jerimoth. His brother had poured himself into the task, spending long hours in endless negotiations, plotting business ventures and mergers, angling for a loan on the goods he had in storage in order to purchase more. Joshua had neither the knowledge nor the nerves for the rigors of the marketplace. He was better off earning their daily bread through physical labor until Jerimoth’s market risks had time to reap interest. Joshua had faith in his brother. He had to. His faith in God had died with Abba.
Joel, their brother-in-law, had been distraught when he was rejected as a field hand. How would he support his wife and newborn son? Jerimoth had finally set Joel up in business at a small table in the marketplace, soliciting work as a scribe. Joel spent his days reading and copying contracts, letters, and other documents for anyone who would hire him. The few pieces of silver he earned helped pay their rent. He was also teaching Nathan and Mattan how to read and write.
Joshua turned around to check on the women again. Mama looked tired but all right. Sara was wilting fast. He worried that she might be pregnant again. Miriam was working hard enough for all of them. The women could rest after tomorrow, on the Sabbath. For Joshua it would be a workday like any other. There were plenty of Moabites willing to work if he didn’t. It would be the first time in his life that Joshua had knowingly violated the Torah, but their survival was at stake. He wondered what Abba would have done. “My God, my God . . . In you our fathers put their trust . . . They cried to you. . . .”
Finally the foreman signaled to stop work for the noon meal. Joshua wiped his gritty brow again and tossed his sickle onto the pile with the others. He walked stiffly across the field to where the women were laying out their lunch. He made a point of joining them every day to let the other workers know that he was their guardian and protector.