Providence (23 page)

“No, you will see.” He kissed her wrist. “I will leave tonight for Mahanaim. And if the prophet is not there, I will go to Aram.”

“So soon.” She did not want to be parted from his warmth.

“It is best.” Another kiss bathed her skin.

“Then I will stay and oversee the workers. Our home will be ready—”

“You cannot stay here.” Gil's eyes closed as tight as the day she watched him die.

She pulled away. “This is my home.”

He sought to draw her back into his arms. “They fear you will ride out to meet me.”

“We could do that still.”

Gil rested a hand on her shoulder. “Your brother is in the other room and he has threatened to expose us as adulterers if we go against his wishes.”

Her stomach churned like a storm-tossed fishing vessel. “I will not share a room or a bed with Azor.”

“You will bed with your mother. I have made threats of my own. There are people who will look out for my interests. People who owe me their livelihood.”

She bit her lip and withheld her grief. Not one sob rallied from the bed. She wouldn't give her brother the satisfaction of hearing a wail. “How long…how long must I wait?”

“Shimron has given me four Sabbaths.”

“Will that be enough?” She clung to his neck, wishing she could drink in the scent of him.

His hands glided from her shoulders to her hips. “If not, look for the boy Uzzah at your window. He will hide you until I return.”

She kissed him hard, but with soft lips. Long, but with quick pants. She bunched his tunic in her fists. “I love you.”

“And I you,” he breathed. “Know that your man of Judah is ready for a fight.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, “As is your woman of Judah.”

34

The first Sabbath passed.

Had Gil found the prophet in Mahanaim? Had Benjamin agreed to assist Gil? What if Azor's kin had detained her husband and all was lost?

The second Sabbath passed.

Was Gil in Aram? In Naabak's care? Imprisoned or impaled?

The third Sabbath passed.

She prayed that every shout from the street, every bold laugh, every clop of hooves, announced her husband's valiant return. His return with a host of witnesses. Or just one. One who would testify to their union. She was no adulteress.

Two nights before the fourth Sabbath, she was invited to dine on the sacred meats from the day's sacrificial offerings. She sat at a table with her mother and Rebekah. Shimron and Azor lounged nearby. Her father was absent, serving at the temple.

Reumah's bracelets sparkled on Rebekah's arm as she handed Hannah a plate of fatty portions. If the foreign gold was rededicated to God, then apparently God did not have need of it, nor the orphans, nor the widows.

“
Toda
, Sister,” Hannah said through thinning lips. “I only want for bread and oil.”

“Daughter of Zebula, you are a Levite,” Azor professed. “My clan welcomes you. Eat your fill.” His eyes revealed his delight in welcoming her.

Breathe. Out.
“I must refuse your kindness, Azor. Although you are gracious, my husband shall return soon.”

Shimron chuckled too long. “That thief robbed you of your virginity and rode off to escape punishment. On a stolen horse I might add.” Wine spilled from his cup at his final accusation.

A scold teetered on her lips.

Rebekah's daughter wailed.

Hannah remembered her own child and calmed her anger. In a few days, or hours, Gil would return, or Uzzah would come to her rescue. Rest was what she needed if she was to ride into the foothills and sleep on rocks under the moon.

“Forgive me.” She rose to her feet. “I am tired.”
Tired of your scorn.

“Sit down,” Shimron snapped. “My wife has a child to feed. You can clean the scraps from our table.”

She turned to Azor. He acted deaf. He dipped a piece of manna into his stew and chewed it like his tongue needed to taste every nibble.

Gilead. Make haste.
“As you wish, Brother.”

Later that night, lying in bed, she listened to her mother's restlessness. The rustle of linen on woven reeds reached her ears again and again.

“Daughter,” her mother whispered.

Hannah crawled to her mother's side. She held her mother's hand in the dark for comfort. “What is it?'

“I do not want my grandchild living in Hebron.” Her mother gave Hannah's hand a snug squeeze.

“Your grandchild will remain in Jerusalem. I am sure of it.” She stroked her mother's face.

“I bore no more children after you.” Her mother latched onto her arm in a grasp of desperation.

“I know,” Hannah said, the guilt of her curse pushing down on her conscience. Had she been so foul to God that her mother's womb was shut? She held her mother close.

After a long while, her mother unraveled from their embrace and searched out a satchel near her mat. Hannah's arm raised and a bracelet slipped over her wrist.

“You left this for me the night you fled, but it belongs to you. Your father would want you to have it. Oh how he tried to make atonement for you.”

She kissed her mother's cheek. “I know in my heart he tried.”

“He is not here tonight.” Her mother cradled her hands with the touch of one holding an alabaster jar of perfumed oil. “I will bless you and your child.” A melody, sung in whispered words, rose from her mother's mat. “May the Lord keep you, my daughter. May the Lord make his face shine upon you. May the Lord be gracious to you, and give you peace. Peace, oh my daughter.”

And with love bursting forth from her chest, Hannah sang, “
Selah
.”

35

Hours later, Hannah awoke with a start. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a war drum. Her mother slept oblivious to Hannah's flustered state. As she lay back down, a small rock tumbled from the folds of her tunic. She looked to the window. A silhouette of a face peered over the sill. The form bobbed. An arm motioned in an ecstatic state. Uzzah.

She rose quietly like a seductress slipping out at sunrise. Her mother slept facing the doorway, her back obscuring Hannah's escape.
Forgive me one more time.

Uzzah helped her jump from the sill. The dark of night was beginning to lift like steam from a summer rain puddle.

“Hurry. My mount is waiting,” Uzzah whispered.

She followed Uzzah through the courtyard, to the street. His horse waited two houses away, tied to a bramble bush.

They ran past a house and an alley where she hid from her brother as a child. Dim light glowed from the second house. Shadows shaded the side street.

She jerked to the right. Her arm pinched with pain. She fought to stay on her feet.

“Going somewhere, Sister,” Shimron said, loud enough to wake the neighbors.

“Let go.” She wrestled against her brother's grip. His fingernails embedded into her flesh with a righteous fury.

“Leave her be.” A sling whirled above Uzzah's head. The
whishing
of the leather grew louder.

If only her brother would listen to reason. She did not want to see him hurt, but she would not be the wife of another. She dropped to her knees.

Uzzah released the stone.

Shimron shifted. He shrieked. Blood spurted from his nose.

When her brother's grasp loosened, she pulled free.

Shimron lashed out in a rage. He slammed his fist into her jaw.

She ran. Mouth throbbing, she mounted the horse.

Uzzah aimed another shot.

“Not in the face,” she mumbled.

“Now you tell me.”

“Harlot,” Shimron rasped.

Uzzah readied another assault.

Her brother ducked. “Thief.”

Uzzah catapulted onto the mount and slapped its rump. Hannah urged the horse into a run. She didn't look back. She left her brother wounded in the street. She left Azor without a bride. She left without a head covering, free and exposed.

Wind whipped her hair like a flag caught in a breeze. Uzzah buried his face into her back, tickling a spot between her shoulder blades. She smiled. Wetness trickled from her lip. A token from her brother.

They rode at a gallop, past the well, toward the Jaffa Gate.

“Whoa.” She pulled back on the reins. Shepherds and sheep, wagons and wagon masters, clogged the square. She weaved the mare in between the masses.

The city gate was closed. A guard stood watch.

“Why isn't the gate open?” she asked a merchant. “I have to get through.”

“Only a fool would venture out,” the woman answered. “Foreigners are camped in the wilderness.”

Gil? Naabak? It had to be. She would find out soon enough. She would not wait for Shimron to sift out the city.

The fortified stone walls of Jerusalem loomed above her.

Uzzah tapped her shoulder. “I know how to escape.”

So did she.

36

Hannah rode toward the inn. She planned to walk down the outside of Jerusalem's walls and make it to the foothills before the heat became unbearable. Oh, to rest with Gil. Her true husband. Her true love.

“Hide the horse in the stable in case my brother has begun a search,” she said to Uzzah. “You can lower me from the window with a rope.”

“In your condition?” Uzzah's voice squeaked.

“I will be fine. I am a woman of Judah now.”

“I am afraid of your man of Judah. Harm will befall me if something happens to you.”

She motioned for Uzzah to hurry. “I will be safe. I have come this far.”

She prayed her man of Judah was camped in the outskirts, for she would not let herself be captured again. If the cupboard was unlocked this morn, she would grab a weapon.

Hannah opened the door to the inn. With dawn's light at her back, there was no need to trick the lock and shoulder it into obedience as Gil had that first night. A few travelers lounged at the table eating morning bread. Hannah's stomach roared at the thought of a meal. An older woman greeted her and offered food. Hannah accepted a small piece of manna. Uzzah snatched a plump raisin cake from the plate.

“We are in need of the window.” Hannah nodded discreetly toward the stairs.

The woman's brow furrowed.

“I have been here before.” Hannah didn't want the hostess to think her house was a victim of gossip. “My husband, Gilead—”

“Yes.” The woman clasped her hands. She ushered Hannah toward the stairwell before returning to her guests.

Uzzah caught up with Hannah on the second flight. He had a fist crammed with dates.

As she turned to eat the fruit, hushed voices carried down the corridor. Men's voices. Was this a trap? She swallowed and listened. What if Shimron had predicted her route? Did he know of the window? Last time she had fled from this window, she had Gil at her side, not a hungry boy.

Uzzah urged her forward. Had he no fear? Freedom was a few steps away, but what if they faced a fight?
Face it. For Gil. For our child.

She tiptoed the remaining stairs, trying to retain an element of surprise.

At the top of the stairwell, Uzzah squeezed by her side, his leather strap at the ready. She whipped around the corner, and climbed the small ladder, her young protector close behind.

Talking ceased.

Cloaked heads turned.

She gasped.

“Hannah.” Gil, Naabak, and the prophet spoke in unison. Another man with a chest wide enough to wrestle oxen stood next to her husband. It looked like the man had been pulling visitors up the wall for years.

Her muscles went slack. “You're here. In Jerusalem.” She blinked several times making sure the men were not an illusion. “Praise God.” Emotion strangled her words.

Gil came closer. “How is my wife?” His ardent smile collapsed. His eyes narrowed as he inspected her lip and jaw. “Shimron?” He spit out the name like a curse.

“He tried to keep me from leaving. Though, his face looks far worse than mine. Uzzah is precise with a stone.” She rocked on the heels of her sandals, longing to be scooped into Gil's arms, his strong, loving arms.

Leaning in, Gil whispered, “Later, I will show you how much you have been missed.” The rumble in his voice caused warmth to sweep from her neck into her cheeks.

Uzzah stomped his foot. “What of my bravery? Her brother crouched in the alley, ready for her flight.”

Gil rested a hand on Uzzah's head. “I would have been here days ago if I traveled alone.” Gil nodded slightly toward the prophet. “But I knew you could slip in and rescue my wife from a house of priests.”

Naabak laughed. “Do we not venture to see the same priests?”

She turned and marveled at her former master. His skin was the color of walnut shells not seeping sores. His beard had grown thick and black from his chin to his defined nose. She bowed out of habit mostly, but also gratefulness. “You came all this way. For me. Am I truly worth all this trouble?”

Naabak raised his arms. His cloak fell away exposing an ornate breastplate. “Oh, Israel, Look at me. I am alive. Strong. Truly in command of all the armies of Aram. My wife is expecting an heir, as are you I am told.”

Had she heard Naabak correctly? She would bear a son? An overly content grin radiated from Gil's face. Naabak must be truth telling. Did the prophet reveal this knowledge during their travels?

“I would be buried in a tomb if you did not tell me of your God,” Naabak added.

“I am blessed that you have come. Truly we have need of your testimony. But I do not want to be the cause of a war between our people.”

The prophet sighed. “Neither Israel, nor Judah, will attack with the Sabbath so near. If they do, they will sense the Lord is not with them. If I speak on behalf of Aram, what leader would dare risk their men? I persuaded the commander to come to the temple.”

She grasped Naabak's solid hands. Gone was the mutilated flesh of leprosy. “May our God bless you for the kindness you have shown to me and my husband.”