Authors: Linda Ford
“
Abba
had contracts drawn the day before the attack upon our people, yet your Ari did not accept them. He did not even mention them before he left for Jerusalem.”
Silent tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
“I will leave you to your grief, Sh'mira.” Ruby rose to her feet. “On the morrow you will shore up your courage, and you will begin to pull your weight again. It is not fair to
Ima.
”
Guilt at her selfishness piled on her like stones. If Ari had not accepted her father's offer it was akin to rejection. He did not want her for a wife, more pointedly he did not love her as she had loved him. Perhaps Ruby had been right. Perhaps, Ari did look at her as nothing more than a farmer's daughter.
Chapter Thirty-Four
T
he yoke dug into her nape as she carried the empty water jars to the well. The slowness in her gait had nothing to do with the bandages wrapped around her healing feet. She had hoped the pain in her soul would ease with each passing day. But not even the antics of her young cousins brought her happiness.
Kneading dough in preparation for challah, a task that had always brought her joy, left her with a hollowness that threatened to bury her in the depths of despair. It had been a simple household pleasure she'd hoped to perform for Ari. And now that, too, was gone.
The worst of it had been her lack of desire to play the lyre. Although it soothed her father, helping him find his rest at night, she couldn't do it. Not when she'd miss Ari's rich baritone singing along.
The pale stones of the well came into sight, and a small tear slipped from her eye. The last time she'd been here, it had been over spilled oil. It had been the beginning of her realization of who the real Ari was. The beginning of the end of their contact, even if it had meant nothing to him.
She lifted the yoke from her neck and laid it within the branches. The dark earthenware jars swung back and forth like pendulums, reminding her of the color of Ari's eyes. She slumped onto the stone bench.
Shore up your courage.
Ruby's words pounded in her thoughts, just as flashes of Ari bombarded her. Even now, her soul ached from the loss of the tender promises in his eyes.
Why had he lied? Yet, she knew he would never lie. He had not spoken vows. Had not signed the contracts. Had never said that he loved her. And she had never said she loved him, either. Her stubborn pride had kept her from saying what was in her heart, and now she would never see him again.
The pounding of feet upon the pathway broke through her pity. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Rising, she turned the wheel to draw up water.
“Mira, Mira, your father begs you to come quickly,” one of her young cousins called, the urgency in his voice set her heart with fear. She turned, releasing the wheel. The bucket dropped into the darkened sheath.
“What is it, Yousef? Has something happened?”
The boy bent at the waist heaving for air. Mira approached him and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You must tell me, is all well?”
“Oh, all is well. It is wondrously so.” He straightened, and took a few slow deep breaths. “We have visitors.”
“Visitors?” she asked, peering into the boy's brown eyes. Surely, he had been mistaken. Other than their closest neighbors, which her cousin would have announced, visitors did not come to her father's house. The terrain, as magnificent as any, was too harsh.
“Oh, yes, Sh'mira. Goats. Lots of goats. And sheep. And even cattle.”
“Animals? Our visitors are animals?” Mira teased. She rose to her full height and allowed him to take her hand. She had nearly forgotten about the earthenware jars until the warm desert air blew across them, causing them to clank against their perch. She turned back to the well, drawing Yousef along with her.
“Of course not. There are men and women.” He tilted his head and looked at her. “There are even girls,” he said in a hushed voice.
“It that so?” She removed her fingers from his and brushed her hand over his mop of curls. “Come. Help me fill the jars with water, so that our guests may find sustenance from their journey.”
Mira watched in amusement as he tried his hardest to pull up the bucket of water. “Here, allow me to help you.” She wrapped her fingers around the handle right beside his. Together they turned it. Yousef stood on his toes and peered over the edge of the well. “Careful. You do not want to be lost down there, do you?”
He cocked his head and looked at her with curiosity. “Is it far?”
She laughed, even as it caused her pain, for it was a question Joash had once asked. “I do not know, for I have never fallen in,” Mira said, giving the boy a wink.
They filled the jars and then Mira settled the yoke onto her shoulders. They began down the path to her father's house, her young companion rushed ahead in excitement.
If she were to believe Yousef an entire village descended upon them. Mira locked her knees, her feet refusing to move. Nervousness grasped ahold of her that several long releases of breath eased.
Dare she hope Ari had returned? Had not Yousef said goats, sheep and cattle were among the visitors? She swallowed against the tears threatening to spill. Whoever their rare visitors were, Ari would not be found amongst them, of that she was sure.
With another deep breath and a swipe at her tears, she steadied herself. It mattered naught who they were, they deserved hospitality, and she had tarried long enough.
The farther she moved along the worn path the louder the baaing cries became. Intermixed among it all were voices calling out to the herd. She turned her ear for a familiar voice even as she knew it would not be there. In light of the recent attack on her family she hoped the visitors were not bent on mischief.
She strode up the hill and rounded the curve. Here she halted at the sight before her. The vineyard south of her home burst in bright greens, flourishing from the recent rains. But it was the vision surrounding the courtyard that left her in wonderment. There were not just a few sheep, there were many. Near a hundred, maybe more.
Her gaze trailed to the pen where their lone lambs had been housed and found it occupied by goats. Several oxen were tied outside the pen, to the posting fences. Men, twenty or so, milled about erecting a larger fence while others corralled the sheep with their staffs to keep them from wandering into the wilderness.
Something caught her attention as she glanced across the sea of activity. She shielded her eyes with her free hand and peered deeper into the group of women. Was Lydia among them?
Before she could ascertain the truth the woman turned away from her. Perhaps it was only her foolish heart longing for something that could never be. Why would Ari's family travel among livestock?
She dropped her hand, and straightening her shoulders walked home, her sore feet crunching pebbles as she went. Each rounded and jagged object pressed through the sole of her sandals. The cuts and scrapes on her feet rebelled with every step, especially now with her extra burden, yet it was no more painful than the chasm ripping her heart into two.
Everywhere she walked Ari had been at one time or another. Even here, he had oft taken the earthenware from her, carrying it for her. And as she gazed upon the men digging holes for the posts, she could not help but feel bereft, for that had been one of the many chores Ari had tended to when he lived among them.
Her memories prodded her to run from this place, to close her eyes and her heart to her father's house, for it was filled with dreams of Ari. However, she could not abandon her family with so many guests to tend.
Lord, grant me courage.
She neared the stone structure she called home. A man she did not know in blue and purple robes and a turban knelt before her. She looked upon him with curiosity. Then another man, as finely adorned, did the same. Even though she could not see his face, he, somehow, seemed familiar. As did the next and the next. She narrowed her eyes.
Who are these people? God, why do they honor me so?
And then the last knelt, his graying beard tucked against his chest. He tilted his chin and looked her full in the eyes. His own were filled with merriment. The other men glanced at her as well and recognition dawned. The earthenware jars swayed as she stumbled.
“Hello, Sh'mira, daughter of Caleb.”
Warm desert air caught in her chest, expanding to uncomfortable proportions as she stared into Ishiah's eyes. What was Ari's father doing here? Her body trembled such as a fig leaf in a windstorm. Her heart thundered like that of a drum. Believing her senses played tricks upon her person she squeezed her eyes closed.
Someone relieved her of her burden, leaving her to drop her hand to her side only to find it grasped with the warmth of another.
She lifted her eyes.
* * *
Caleb had sent for her when they first arrived. Her slow pace had given Ari time to negotiate a bride price. His anxiousness had led to impatience, and his impatience had led to worry when she had yet to show.
Of course he had not been pleased to discover Mira had been up moving about on her feet such as they were, for he had no doubt they remained raw. He had been ready to seek her when young Yousef ran down the hill.
He waited for her to appear. What seemed like long moments had passed. He held his breath. Waiting.
Now he looked deep into her amber eyes. Her tearstained cheeks told him that her days had passed much like his; in pure agony. He had wanted to curse his delay, yet there was a need to finalize the details of his former life.
When Jesse had failed to return to Jerusalem with their uncle, Ari had to know why. Feeling responsibility weigh heavy upon his shoulders, he left Mira to God and went in search of his brother whom he never found.
“Sh'mira,” he whispered. Finally she moved, taking a deep breath of air.
“Is it really you?”
Halting the movement of his thumb over the back of her knuckles, he gave her a slight squeeze. Over the course of the past few days he had dreamed of this moment. He had memorized each of the words he would say. Now, however, all thought beyond pure joy failed him. Any words that may have been meant to pass his lips remained locked inside him.
She lifted her free hand and swiped away the tears. “I did not think you would return.”
With a will of their own his eyes closed. He had feared insecurities would grip her. “You knew it here,” he said, tapping his chest.
“Yes. I did, but thenâthen...my sister told me of the contract, and how...”
Aware of the pairs of eyes watching him, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her hair. He inhaled her cinnamon and honey scent. “There were things that I had to take care of.”
She leaned back, peering into his soul. “This?” she asked, waving her hand indicating the livestock.
“And more.” He stepped away from her, yet his eyes did not break contact. “I sinned against your father with my deception. It was necessary that I seek his forgiveness and then make my sacrifice.”
Mira tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Sheep are your way of restitution?”
“No.”
“The goats?”
“No.”
“The oxen?”
“No.”
“Do you intend to take them to Manna?”
“No, Sh'mira.”
She fisted her hands onto her hips and glared. “Then what, Ariel? Why have you brought them here?”
“It is my bride price.”
Her brows lifted and then she shook her head. “Certainly, one sheep would have sufficed.”
Reaching out, he drew his finger behind the cup of her ear, tucking a stray strand. “You,
ahavah,
my beloved, are worth all of my possessions.”
“You gave all you had?”
Ari would have laughed if she had not looked truly appalled. The truth of it was he would have given all. However, wise words had kept him from doing so. As his father had advised, he would need some of his wealth to provide properly for his future family.
“No. Although, I would have if your father would have been reluctant to relinquish you.”
He witnessed the hesitation in her eyes, watched as they pooled with tears. She closed them and bowed her head. His heart beat erratically within his chest, even as she took slow, deliberate breaths. Would she reject his intentions? He had been so very confident in her answer that he had brought his family and the documents.
Ari pulled the laundered veil from his neck and held it within his hands as if it were precious pottery. The delicate blue cloth shimmered in the breeze. “Sh'mira, if you will allow me to adorn you with this veil, it would be a sign of the covering of my love for you the rest of our days.” He stepped forward and lifted it above her bowed head. Just as he was about to drape it over her, Mira held up her hand. She lifted her eyes and shook her head.
His heart stopped beating.
“Ari, you honor me.” She closed her eyes momentarily. “We,” she said, looking at someone beyond his shoulder, “cannot accept the bride price you offer, for I can never leave my family.”
“Iâ”
“No! I have always known my duty is here. I have no brothers. My father has no sons to carry on our way of life. It is my duty to marry a manâ”
“Daughter,” Caleb said as he stepped forward. “Your willingness to sacrifice yourself is admirable and I love you for it. However, I will not allow it. If your heart belongs to Ariel, then so be it.”
“I will not abandon you,
Abba.
Nor will I abandon all of your hopes and dreams to live mine.” Her gaze shifted to Ari's. “No matter how big they are.”
Ari motioned to one of his kin. He waited until his cousin brought forth a small wooden table, and then he knelt before her. He reached into his girdle and pulled out a leather strap and an awl. With the objects, he raised his hand to her. “Then I will remain forever your bond servant, Sh'mira, daughter of Caleb.”
For a moment she only stared at him, and then she fell to her knees. “You would be willing to give up everything for me?”
“Yes. Mira, I love you with all of my soul. All of my being, if only you will take me as your husband.”
“What of your family?”
“I have many brothers. My father has many sons.” He smiled. “Certainly we can visit often.”
“You are certain?”
“I have never been more certain of anything,
ahavah.
” He pressed his lips to her brow. “Will you take me as your husband for eternity?”
“For eternity.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“For eternity.”
* * * * *