“Don’t you want her? Aren’t you ever going to get married and have children?”
“Of course I am . . . someday. Then you can give her back to me.”
As soon as she got home that evening, Yael pulled Safta Dinah aside to talk about her friend. “Leyla is betrothed to a man she barely knows. She wants to have a baby, but I’m so scared for her, Safta. You know how sickly Leyla has always been. Do you think she’ll be strong enough to deliver a baby?”
“I don’t know. She may never be able to get pregnant at all if she’s that ill.”
“It still bothers me that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Her brother Rafi and the other men in her village get to choose who they’ll marry.”
Rafi. He had been on Yael’s mind all day like a melody that kept repeating. She thought of his smile, his halo of dark curls, his beautiful eyes. And most of all, the intensity of his gaze as he’d looked at her.
“You should be thinking about it, too,” Safta said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Hmm? Thinking about what?”
“Marriage! Isn’t that what we’re talking about? As the daughter of a Levite, you could have the honor of marrying a Levite or a priest. I promised your mother—”
“I know, I know,” Yael laughed, drawing Safta close for a hug. That was the easiest way to change the subject with Safta Dinah. “I promise I’ll start thinking about marriage soon.”
Rafi was still on Yael’s mind as she helped the other women prepare for the evening meal. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said, that the husband was supposed to rule over his wife. She decided to ask Zaki about it when he arrived home from the yeshiva. She approached him as he prepared to wash his hands.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked. “I have a question for you.”
“Yes, of course. What is it?” Sweet, responsible Zechariah, always so serious compared to Rafi, who didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Zaki was a little taller than Rafi, but not as muscular, with the trim build of a scholar. He wore his dark hair cut shorter, his beard neatly trimmed, and his kippah slightly askew on his head no matter how many times he straightened it. He would be a priest in a few more years, but to Yael he would always be the solemn boy she had grown up with, the friend she had known all her life.
“Does the Torah really say that a husband should rule over his wife?” she asked.
“Yes, it does. The Almighty One told Eve, ‘Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.’”
“But why? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, because Eve tempted her husband to sin.”
“I thought the serpent tempted them.”
“The serpent tempted Eve and then she tempted Adam. But the Almighty One also said that Eve was created from her husband’s side to be his partner. They’re supposed to work together in love, two people becoming one.”
“How can they do that if they don’t know each other or love each other?”
“Why all these questions?” Zaki gave a slow, easy grin, and Yael saw the boy she’d long known behind the serious scholar. But concern for Leyla kept her from returning his smile.
“My friend Leyla is betrothed to an older man, chosen by her father. She doesn’t even know him, but she says she has to obey him from now on. That doesn’t seem right, does it?”
Zechariah grew serious again. “No. It isn’t right. That’s another difference between us and the Samaritans—one of thousands of differences. You already know they don’t value human life, and they don’t value their women, either. They see their wives as property, not as helpmates. I wish you wouldn’t spend so much time there, Yael. Can’t you make friends with some of our own women?”
“I asked a simple question,” she said, growing angry. “I don’t need a lecture on who to make friends with.”
“We were friends once, weren’t we?” he asked softly. “What happened?”
“We still are.” She said it lightly, but it wasn’t entirely true. Yael knew Zaki didn’t approve of her astrology. The more renowned she became as a seer—and the closer Zaki came to becoming a priest—the more she distanced herself from him. He had once told her that the penalty for sorcery if she was caught was death by stoning.
Yael studied the married couples that evening as they gathered around to eat together, and their affection for each other was obvious in their looks and gestures. She wanted that sweet closeness for her friend—and for herself someday. She wanted Leyla to be happy. And healthy. She kept glancing at Hodaya with her dark curls and beautiful eyes and thought of Leyla.
And Rafi.
Chapter
31
Yael stood at Leyla’s bedside, her worry and frustration leaving her too tense to sit. “Can’t the wedding be postponed?” she asked Leyla’s grandmother. Her friend had fainted a few minutes after Yael arrived to help with the final wedding preparations.
“I’m fine,” Leyla insisted. “Just a little dizzy.” But Yael made her lie down, just to be sure, and now her fever was rising. She moaned from the pain in every joint in her body.
“It’s too late to postpone the wedding,” her grandmother said. “Her father would be shamed. The food is being prepared, the guests are coming in three days. It can’t be changed now.”
“Never mind his shame—what about Leyla’s health?”
“I want to get married,” Leyla said. “The stars are all favorable, remember?” It was true. Yael had consulted her charts again, and the stars showed no indication of illness.
Leyla spent the next three days in bed, drinking her grandmother’s potions of blood and goat’s milk, but she still wasn’t completely well on the day of her wedding. A veil hid her pale face and bruised-looking eyes, but nothing could disguise the fact that she was too weak to walk unaided. Yael sat beside her as they waited for the groom’s procession to arrive, trying to calm Leyla’s nerves with empty chatter.
“Will I still be able to visit you?” Yael asked. “I don’t even know where your new husband lives.”
“In another village, only a short walk over the mountain from here. I promise that as soon as my marriage week ends, I’ll send servants to bring you there for a visit.”
“Have you seen your new home?”
“Not yet. Not until after the wedding. My father said that Basam added a beautiful new room just for me.”
At last Leyla’s groom arrived with an escort of musicians and singers and dozens of relatives and guests. Leyla was too weak for the traditional procession through the village and had to be carried on a chair decked with flowers. They proceeded to the village square for the formalities, followed by the marriage feast.
Basam was a portly, unsmiling man, older than his bride by at least fifteen years. Sitting side by side, they seemed opposite in every respect: Basam dark, and sturdy as an oak tree; Leyla pale, and frail as a willow branch. Yael remembered how fragile Mama had looked during her last months of life, and she felt a terrible foreboding for her friend. She turned to Leyla’s grandmother, seated beside her and whispered, “How could her father agree to this? She’s too ill to be married.”
“The stars and omens have all been favorable, Yael. Remember?” Yes. It was true.
The huge feast lasted late into the night with roasted lamb and wine, followed by singing and dancing by torchlight. Yael’s father had also been invited, and he sat with the men while Yael sat with the women from Leyla’s household, including her young stepmother, Raisa. All three of Raisa’s little children resembled Hodaya. As time passed, Yael watched her dear friend shrivel and droop like a tender shoot beneath a desert sun, but she could do nothing to help her. When Leyla’s new husband escorted her to their bridal chamber, Yael packed up her star charts and left her friend’s house for the last time, walking home with her father.
Yael waited a full month after the wedding, worrying about her friend, wondering how she was doing, but the promised servants never arrived with an invitation to visit. She
waited a second month, then a third. By now the early fall rains had begun. Yael told herself that the bad weather was making travel difficult. But when the weather cleared and the almond trees blossomed and she still hadn’t heard from Leyla, Yael decided to walk to her village one morning and ask about her friend. She saw Rafi sitting among the elders at the entrance to the village and greeted him as she would any longtime friend.
“Rafi! How—?”
“Hush!” one of the elders shouted. “Do not speak!”
Rafi quickly rose from his place, shaking his head at her as if she had committed a terrible sin. The other men glared at her in disapproval. Rafi looked very uncomfortable as he motioned for her to walk a short distance away from the others to talk.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Women don’t address the elders at the gate. And why did you come here all alone? Where’s your father? Don’t you know it isn’t safe or proper for a woman to travel unescorted?”
“That’s silly. You can see my father’s land right over there across the valley. He was too busy to come, and besides, it only takes a few minutes to walk here.” She didn’t understand why he was making such a fuss. “Listen, I’ve come to ask about Leyla. How is she? I miss her.”
“My family hasn’t heard from her since the wedding.”
“What? That was months ago!”
“Leyla’s husband hasn’t invited any of us to his home or allowed her to visit us.”
Yael swallowed a lump of fear. “Is she . . . do you know if she’s well? Does your grandmother visit her?”
He paused before replying. “Our grandmother died two months ago. We sent word for Leyla to come, but Basam wouldn’t allow it.”
“That’s horrible! Poor Leyla!” This was worse than Yael had feared. Leyla had not only been cut off from her and Rafi but from her beloved grandmother. “I thought Basam and your father were business partners. Surely he’s heard something.”
“The partnership has ended. It’s a husband’s right to make decisions that concern his wife,” Rafi said. “There’s nothing we can do.” But Yael could see Rafi battling to control his emotions, his concern even greater than her own. Basam held Leyla prisoner. But why had all the stars predicted that they would have a wonderful marriage?
“When you do see Leyla, please tell her that I was asking about her. I would love to visit her. I miss her.” She felt powerless—and furious—as she turned to start walking home.
“Yael, wait. Don’t walk back alone. I’ll come with you.” Rafi hurried to catch up with her.
“Won’t they think that’s even more scandalous?” she asked bitterly, gesturing to the elders with a tilt of her head. She was angry with them for being men and for their stupid, controlling rules that separated her from her friend.
“It isn’t a question of scandal. I mean it, Yael. Don’t ever walk alone again. Ever! Your safety is the issue.” He tried to take her arm as they continued down the road away from the village, but she shrugged him off.
“My safety? I thought our people were at peace. There hasn’t been any trouble in ten years.”
“Yes, we’re at peace. But that’s not the point. Not all of the young men in the local villages have the same moral traditions that you do. And the truth is, many of your young men don’t, either.”
“What do you mean? All the men I know in Jerusalem follow the Torah.”
“You may think so, but they don’t. No one talks about it, so it’s a dirty little secret, but our villages have certain . . . celebrations. Especially now, in the springtime. And many of your saintly Jewish men like to join us for the festivities. In fact, that’s how one of your priests fell in love with a village woman. There will be more of these affairs in the months to come, I’m certain.”
“I know all about the high priest’s son. Everyone gossiped about him and the Samaritan woman he married.”
“The marriage was a mere formality. He had already taken her as his concubine.”
Yael felt her face grow warm. “What does that have to do with me walking home alone?”
“I guess I’ll have to be blunt. There’s a widespread belief among my people that an unaccompanied woman must be looking for . . . a partner. The local men believe they have the right to claim her. And a beautiful woman like you . . . ?” He shook his head without finishing.
“I never heard of such a thing.” Nor could she imagine Zechariah and his fellow Torah students doing something so outrageous.
“Well, it’s true. The Torah says that once a man ‘takes’ a woman, he’s obliged to marry her or pay the bride price for her stolen virtue. But if the men don’t follow the Torah . . . well, she may spend the rest of her life as a prostitute.” Yael’s cheeks burned from such candid talk. She didn’t know how to reply.
Rafi halted suddenly and drew her to a stop beside him, resting his warm hands on her shoulders. “Now that you know, Yael, promise me you won’t take chances again.” He smiled at her for the first time since she’d greeted him back in his village, and the warmth from his hands seemed to spread all through her. He was such a handsome man. She had to resist the urge to brush his dark curls off his forehead the way she brushed Hodaya’s.
“All right. I promise.” Abba’s land was just ahead. Yael could see the door to his stone house standing open and hear his goats bleating in their pen. “Thanks for walking me home,” she said, then turned and ran toward the house without looking back. She needed to get away from him. The way her heart raced when she looked at him frightened her. Yael remembered a morning long ago, when Safta’s cousin Shoshanna had told her, “Someday a young man will catch your eye and your heart will be drawn to him, and he’ll be the only thing you can think about. . . .”
And a week after Yael went to Rafi’s village, she still thought about him. She thought of him while she worked and when she walked to the spring for water and when she lay in bed at night. She was thinking of him as she sat with Safta Dinah and Hodaya and the others after the evening meal one night—and when she looked up, there he was, magically appearing at their courtyard gate as if she had conjured him with a spell. He asked to speak with her father, not to her, but she overheard their conversation.
“I need your help, my lord. My sister Leyla is very ill. She’s asking to see your daughter, Yael. May she please come? I wouldn’t dream of bothering you if it wasn’t urgent, my lord.”
Rafi hadn’t addressed Yael or even looked at her, but she leaped up from where she’d been sitting. “Let me go with him, Abba. Please! You know I’ve been worried about Leyla.”
“Of course,” Abba said. “I’ll go, too.”
It seemed to take forever for Abba to get ready. Yael tucked her star charts in her bag and begged him to hurry, wanting to run all the way to her friend’s house. The situation must be serious if Rafi came all the way to Jerusalem looking for her. How had he even found her house? She waited until they were outside the city walls and walking down the ramp before blurting out, “What’s wrong with her, Rafi? Is she sick? Please tell me! I’m so afraid for her!”
“She’s gravely ill,” he said quietly. “You’ve taken care of her during her illnesses before, and she’s asking for you. She wants you to read her stars and tell her which god to petition.”
“Read . . . what?” Abba said. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s nothing, Abba. Leyla has always been a little superstitious.”
The night had grown dark by the time they reached Basam’s house. It had been a tiring climb up a winding road that took them over the top of the Mount of Olives. No one offered any introductions when they entered the house, nor did Yael see Leyla’s husband. Her heart hammered with fear as she left Abba and Rafi and followed one of the women into Leyla’s bedchamber. Tears sprang to her eyes the moment she saw her friend lying on a bed of blood-soaked cushions. Her skin was as white as linen. Yael ran to her side and knelt down. “I’m here, Leyla. It’s me, Yael.” She was alive but only half-conscious
. She didn’t respond. Yael looked at the bloody mattress, the piles of bloody cloths, and asked, “What’s wrong with her? What happened? This isn’t one of her usual weak spells.”
“I’m a midwife,” an elderly woman said. “She is expecting a child, but yesterday she began to bleed.”
Yael’s anger exploded. “Leyla is much too frail to have a baby! Something has been wrong with her blood all her life. She never should have gotten married! Never should have gotten pregnant!”
“Can you help her?” one of the other women asked. “She wants this baby.” Yael saw the amount of blood and knew the truth.
“The baby is gone. Your midwife can see that as clearly as I can. Leyla already lost the baby, and now she’s losing too much blood. We have to stop the bleeding.”
“We tried. Her blood won’t thicken and clot.”
“Did you give her yarrow to drink? Pack her womb with clean cloths?”
“We did everything we could. She was asking for you to come and consult the stars.”
Yael ordered more lamps and spread out her charts. She even went outside to study the night sky. She couldn’t believe what she saw. The stars and the other heavenly bodies all lined up favorably. Leyla’s illness didn’t even appear among the omens.
“Can you tell us which gods we must appease?” one of the women asked when Yael came inside again.
“I-I don’t know. Appeal to all of them!”
She sank down by Leyla’s side and took her pale hand in both of hers. Leyla held the little moon goddess that Yael had given her in her limp hand. “I’m here, Leyla . . . I’m here,” she said over and over. Her helplessness felt like a deep ache inside her. Leyla was dying, just like Mama had, even though there were no unbelieving neighbors this time. Yael could do nothing but watch her friend bleed to death. Hours later, Yael was still holding her hand when Leyla took her last breath.