The Walls of Arad Read online

  “Not yet. It is not time.” Joshua’s voice was clipped.

  “It won’t be long though, will it? Before we enter? It’s been almost forty years.”

  “Thirty-nine next week.”

  Zadok shifted uncomfortably. Why couldn’t Jacob see Joshua didn’t want to talk about it? “How many of that generation are left?”

  Joshua set his cup on the sand. “Moses and Aaron met with the elders last week. The tribes of Dan and Issachar each have two, Reuben has three, and Asher and Naphtali have one each.” He paused. “And Miriam.”

  Abba cleared his throat. “Joshua, you have another grandchild, yes?”

  Joshua smiled. “I do. Micah. That makes seven.”

  Zadok breathed easier as the conversation took a pleasant turn. Joshua and Abba babbled about sons and grandsons and how much little girls captured their hearts. Even Jacob softened when he mentioned his little ones, until Zadok stopped listening altogether. Would he ever be part of a conversation like this? He had given up on marriage and children, but these last weeks …

  “Zadok?” Joshua’s low voice startled him as he placed his hand on Zadok’s shoulder. “How is Arisha doing…with Miriam?”

  “Struggling. Miriam is the only person she’s ever really felt safe with. Or who’s loved her.”

  Joshua smiled. “Until now.”

  Heat crawled up Zadok’s neck. Hopefully the darkness would hide it. “It will be an enormous loss for her.”

  “I’m glad you are there to help her through it.”

  If only he could. Zadok knew the pain of death. He’d lost both sabbas and both savtas in just the last few years. And there wasn’t much that could lessen the ache. But he could at least be with her.

  If she let him.

  The work was done for the morning, and Arisha was free to spend the afternoon with Zadok. As she ducked her head inside the tent to put away the clean dishes from the mid-day meal, his voice caught her attention.

  “Want to walk to the spring?”

  “Sure.”

  Zadok took Arisha's hand and headed east.

  She stopped, pulling on his hand. “It’s that way.” She removed her hand from his and pointed north.

  “Yes, the biggest one is that way, but there’s a place I like better this way.” He grinned as he walked backward. She pursed her lips, glancing sideways at him for a moment. “All right. We’ll see.” She caught up to him again, and they strolled to the shallow river that joined all four springs.

  “This spot is where my sabba first met my savta almost forty years ago.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They reached the river and Zadok spread his cloak on a fallen date palm and motioned for Arisha to sit. “My savta—actually she’s my great-aunt—had two little girls. She was a widow, and she would bring them here in the afternoons.”

  He sat next to her. “She’d dragged some fallen trunks from the date palm trees into a half-circle so the girls couldn’t run too far and she could rest while they played. My abba found them one day, and she had fallen asleep. He was a few years older, and he played with her children, and ended up playing with them almost every day. One day his uncle—Sabba Kamose—came to check on him, ended up talking to her, and eventually they married.”

  “Sounds like a great story.” Arisha sighed contentedly, lifting her face to the sun. “Oh, the sun feels so good.”

  Zadok laughed and did the same.

  “So Zadok, why aren’t you married already? You’re kind, and handsome. I can’t imagine any girl wouldn’t be thrilled to be your wife.”

  Grabbing a handful of sand, he allowed the golden grains to fall through his long fingers. “That’s the long story I told you about the other day.”

  “I think we have time now.”

  “I was almost betrothed once.”

  She suppressed a gasp. “What happened?”

  The muscle in Zadok’s jaw twitched as he stared at the mountains in the distance. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. But she had. So she waited.

  “Her name was Marah. We were days from betrothal when Aaron asked me to be the shepherd for the Tabernacle flock.”

  “That sounds like an honor. At least a compliment.”

  “I had already begun raising some on my own. Hardly anyone is raising sheep out here. No one has more than three or four; they’re all waiting until we get to Canaan. They think it’s too difficult here, that it will be too hard to move them with us.” He blew out a sharp breath. “So I said yes. The only problem was, I couldn’t participate anymore in the drills to get ready to invade Canaan. It would take all my time to build the flock.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “One, I want to. I want to do my part. Two, Marah’s father wouldn’t let me marry her. He said it was time to let go of the nomadic life of Abraham and Isaac. That I needed to settle down in Canaan and build her a home and be home every night, not out chasing sheep. He didn’t think I could provide for her the way he thought I should, was afraid as a shepherd I wouldn’t get a proper allotment of land when we reach Canaan. So he wouldn’t let her marry me, and to save his reputation he started telling everyone I was a coward, that it was my choice not to be in the army.”

  He sighed. “Joshua and Aaron tried to set the story straight, but her father is pretty persuasive. Now half of Judah thinks I am too afraid to fight for Israel.”

  Her heart hurt for him. She placed her hand over his. “I’m sorry. That must be very painful.”

  “I try not to think about it.” He turned to her. “Miriam said someone in Arad taught you about Yahweh?”

  “Danel. He learned about Yahweh from an Israelite who was captured and held there a long time ago.”

  He frowned. “Someone who was captured told him about our God?”

  “That’s what he said. Someone they held as a prisoner and, I gathered, held for quite some time, then escaped.”

  Emotions flooded Zadok’s face—too many for her sort out. “That was my great-uncle.” His voice was low.

  “The one who met his wife here? At the spring?”

  He nodded.

  “He was captured? How?”

  “When Israel sent scouts into Canaan, they came back with a report not only about how beautiful and fertile the land was, but also about how fierce the people were. My people were afraid, and instead of trusting Yahweh, they demanded to be taken back to Egypt. For that, Yahweh said we would have to wait forty years to enter Canaan, one year for every day the scouts were in Canaan, until all of that generation had died. Only the next generation could enter.”

  “Oh, how awful!”

  “Well, some of the people made it even worse by trying to show Yahweh that they were no longer afraid. They attacked Canaan, but they were soundly defeated, and left behind many wounded. Moses asked my uncle to use his skills as former captain of the guard in Egypt to help retrieve the wounded. He’d only been married a month and didn’t want to go, but after a day or so Savta Tirzah convinced him that he should go and bring them home to their wives and children.”

  “She was very brave.” I don’t know if I could do that.”

  “So he went, and was captured by some of Arad’s soldiers. The prince held him for days, weeks, trying to find out when we were going to attack again. Kamose kept telling him we wouldn’t be coming back for forty years but he wouldn’t believe him. A boy there helped him escape.”

  She grabbed his arm. “That must have been Danel! He said he grew up in the palace.”

  “And Kamose told him about Yahweh.”

  “Danel said they talked almost every day.” Her words tumbled out. “It’s how he learned your history, and he taught the stories to me.”

  “If you were in the temple, and he was in the palace, when did you see him?”

  “I helped count up all the offerings each day, and they sent me to the palace with the report. I gave it to Danel. He was so kind … he was the only person who ever really talked to me. One day, I was
very upset …”

  “Why were you so upset?” He took her hand in his.

  “I was sad I didn’t have a home, a mother. That I didn’t matter to anyone…. And Danel told me about Yahweh, and that I mattered to Yahweh, and to him.”

  He grinned. “He was right.”

  “The year I became a woman, it was right before the fertility rites. I would have had to participate. I was terrified. Danel told the priestesses that he needed me to learn a new system for counting and reporting the offerings, and I would need to stay in the palace for several days. He took me to his house and I stayed with his wife until the festivities were over. So I was safe for another year.”

  He tilted his head and studied her. “It sounds like Yahweh was watching out for you even then.”

  She paused, rubbing a scar on her hand. “I didn’t tell you everything before. I escaped because I wasn’t just expected to be part of the rites like everyone else. There was more … ” She didn’t want to think about it now. Didn’t want to tell him. What would he think of her?

  “I just couldn’t bear it. Danel helped me. If he were ever to be found out, or I …”

  “Don’t worry, that’s over now. You’re safe here.” He flashed that smile that always made her feel secure.

  For now, at least, she could put Arad out of her mind.

  But some day, Israel would attack Canaan, and what would happen then?

  Arisha sat across from Miriam before the crackling fire enjoying the evening meal. She handed Miriam the last manna cake just as a cup slipped from the woman’s hands and smashed onto a rock placed around the fire. Shards from the pottery cup scattered and milk splashed on Miriam’s feet and her cloak.

  A chill crawled down Arisha's spine. She grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the wet fabric to sop up the spilled liquid.

  “Don’t fuss now, I'm fine. Just a little wet.” She grabbed Arisha's wrist and caught her eyes, stared her down. “I'm fine. I just spilled a bit of milk. Now stop.” She pasted on a smile that appeared forced, but Arisha dutifully stopped.

  Tense silence hung between them as they finished their manna. Finally Arisha could stand it no longer. “Miriam, what’s wrong? I know something is not right. You sleep more, you are weaker…. You say I am a woman and must marry.” She drew in a ragged breath. “So do not treat me like a child. Tell me the truth. What is happening to you? Are you…?” Biting her lip, she tried to bring herself to speak aloud the hated thoughts she’d been avoiding for weeks.

  “Yes, daughter. I am dying. I feel it. My heart wants to stay here, stay with you, stay with my brothers.… I am not ready to leave. But my body is finished, I’m afraid.” She brushed at the wet hem of her cloak.

  Arisha's chest ached. Stop talking. Miriam had to stop saying these things.

  “It has been betraying me in small ways for over a year. Nothing you would see, but I noticed. In the last few weeks, though, the changes, the deficiencies, have become most dreadful.” She sighed deeply. “I am so desperately tired. I can barely hold the smallest item. Even standing takes almost more strength than I have. I fear it won’t be long.”

  She took Arisha's hand, and with her other hand, held up a finger. “And my one wish, before I join our fathers, is to see that you will not be alone. That is why I have been pushing you and Zadok so hard. I know it is a little fearsome at the moment, but he will be good for you when I am gone.”

  Arisha opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. She only nodded.

  Miriam set her empty cup aside. “I’ve eaten the manna and spilled the milk. The meal must be over.” She laughed weakly. “If you’ll help me, I think I’ll go to sleep now.”

  Arisha rose and helped Miriam to stand. Wrapping her arm around Miriam’s waist, Arisha noticed the woman was surprisingly light, as if in just two weeks she’d lost half her weight. Arisha guided her into the tent and had barely slipped Miriam’s cloak off before she nearly collapsed onto her mat. Arisha pulled the blanket over Miriam’s shoulders, and laid her down.

  She was asleep in moments.

  Arisha cleaned the dishes and left them outside the door of the tent, then sat and listened to the fire pop as the evening breeze drifted by. Her worst fear had been put into words, spoken aloud. Now it all made sense. The reason Miriam had been so insistent she marry.

  Because she was going to leave her.

  Everyone she’d ever known had left her—or shoved her aside—eventually. Would she ever have anyone who would stay? Ever have a home that would always be hers, or would she continue to be passed around from one unwilling stranger to another?

  As the thoughts chased each other around and around in her head, one person kept reappearing, one person who might be able to help her navigate the sea of grief she was about to find herself thrown into.

  Zadok.

  She found herself walking through camp, nearly to the end of Zebulon and headed toward the pastures. When had she risen and started walking? She didn’t remember. As she passed the last tent, thoughts of Zadok didn’t erase the heartache that engulfed her, but another feeling snuck into her heart as well—one she didn’t recognize but which was quite pleasant. She almost smiled.

  She wrested the branch from the gate and entered the pasture. Holding the hem of her tunic away from her feet, she trudged toward the spring where Zadok kept his flock close to water and lush grass. She watched her step but glanced up now and then, searching for him. There he was—his strong form stood tall among the sheep, his sleeveless sheepskin cloak blowing behind him. His staff hung from his elbow as his arms crossed his chest. His head never still, he scanned the fields, constantly looking after his sheep. She caught her breath. Would he care for her with such determination?

  As she neared, it became clear his arms weren’t crossed. He clutched a tiny lamb to his chest, swaddled under his cloak. One arm under the small animal, supporting it, one on its back, caressing its head.

  He noticed her approach and turned toward her, a smile taking over his face.

  She smiled for a moment, then the heated mix of emotions spun out of control and the tears spilled from her eyes.

  His eyes widened and he set the lamb on the grass, along with his staff. “Arisha, what’s wrong?” He jogged near and placed his hands on her arms.

  “It’s Miriam … sh-she …”

  “Is she hurt? Do we need to go tend to her?” He started toward camp but she grabbed his arm.

  “No, no, she’s not hurt.” Her heart felt as shattered as the cup Miriam had dropped. “She’s … she’s … she’s dying.”

  “Wait, y- you….” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

  “She told me.” Her eyes burned.

  “Oh, habibti, I'm so sorry.”

  “Habibti?”

  He grinned. “It’s Egyptian for sweetheart. It’s kind of unique to my family. Does it bother you?”

  She smiled and shook her head and he pulled her into his arms.

  Miriam called her daughter, or my child, which was wonderful, but she called many girls that. No one had ever used such a sweet endearment with her. The tears came faster. They soaked through his tunic, and her body shook as she sobbed. His arms felt wonderful around her, so strong. Like he could protect her from anything, like nothing could get to her.

  If only that were true.

  Zadok stroked her hair as he held her and let her cry. He rubbed her back and kissed her temple, and eventually her sobs calmed. She drew in deep breaths and turned her face to rest her cheek on his chest. After a moment or two, she stepped out of his arms. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

  “No, you didn’t bother me. I'm glad you came to me. I'm sorry you’re hurting so much.” He drew her closer, took her hands in both of his. “Arisha, I want to help you.”

  She frowned, shook her head. “There is nothing you can do. There is nothing anyone can do.”

  “I may not be able to stop Miriam
from dying, but I can try to ease your pain. If you let me.”

  She looked away.

  “I’m not marrying you just because Miriam wanted me to.” He placed his hand on her cheek. “That may have been why I met you, but it’s not why I want to marry you.”

  It’s not? “Why, then?”

  “Because I want to care for you, to provide for you, to love you. Maybe we don’t know each other well enough now, but I promise I will never hurt you, or allow anyone else to hurt you.”

  She thought a moment longer. “All right. But not until after she’s gone. I won’t leave her.”

  He smiled, wrapping his arms around her again. “If that’s what you want.” He pulled her close again and kissed her forehead.

  She rested her cheek against his chest. His heart thumped beneath her ear, and she closed her eyes and listened to the strong, steady beat. She’d marry him. She’d promised Miriam, and a woman alone could not survive in Canaan. Zadok was kind, gentle and would take good care of her. He appeared to have genuine feelings for her.

  But she would protect herself. She would not expose herself to the pain of loss she was only beginning to feel, a loss that would deepen over the next days and weeks.

  So she’d marry him.

  But she would not love him.

  Six

  7th day of Abib

  ZADOK paced in front of the tent he shared with his parents. The sun had already set and Arisha should have arrived over an hour ago. His stomach rumbled. He could go ahead and eat without her; Imma had left manna cakes and dates for them. But he hated eating alone anymore. He’d rather wait.

  The evening breeze was cool on his bare arms. Would she remember to wear her cloak? She promised she’d return before dark—promised she would let one of the many other women happy to do so spend the night with Miriam so she could get a good night’s sleep. Should he go after her? He knelt before the fire and stirred the dying embers, added another log, then rose and stared between the long, straight rows of tents, willing her to appear. After a few more moments, her familiar form ambled toward him. Her head was down, her shoulders slumped, her gait slow.