Providence (3 page)

“Daughter.” Gil's mother brushed her hand against Hannah's cheek. “My son is a good man. If you have need of him, he will find you.”

“But how—”

A man bellowed from within the house.

“Shhh.” The woman's eyes widened. “I must go.”

“May I leave word?” The door closed before Hannah's request could enter. Hannah wondered if a life with Azor would be filled with such worry. Not ever speaking of her past or of her curses.

Turning the corner into Gil's alcove, she collapsed beside the barrel where she had taken refuge before. “Come to me Gil,” she breathed. “Did you not speak of hope and mercy?” Her chest constricted as if the bronze hoops of the barrel had bound her ribs.

Her head snapped up on occasion when men's voices neared the sheet. But Gil's boisterous laugh never came. Her prayer had fallen on deaf ears. Again. The Jews were God's chosen people, but God had chosen to shun her. Punish her for something that happened long ago by an unknown ancestor. Perhaps Azor was all she deserved
.

She had to get home. Her mother would return soon from the tabernacle. As she pushed herself up with the palm of her hand, her ruby bracelet settled on her wrist. She had not removed it in hopes the prophet would seek her out when he came to the temple. But the prophet lingered in Mahanaim instead of Jerusalem.

Balling her fist, she flayed at the side wall of Gil's house. The prophet's refusal to heal her had been the worst day of her life, but this day was in ruins as well. Burnt meals. Secret betrothals. No rescuer.

The sheet billowed in a gust of wind. Did it, too, rejoice in mocking her? A flash of rebellion tensed her body. She was tempted to rip down that soiled sheet. She lifted her hand to catch the frolicking cloth. The glimmer of her jeweled bracelet stopped her. Gil had seen the bracelet, commented on its value. He would remember it belonged to her. He would know she had visited his…she would not say it. She would not say bed.

Thieves could easily steal from Gil's alley. The alcove had few places to hide her bracelet. Gil's mother did not seem surprised by an inquiry about her son. An inquiry from a stranger. A woman in need. Did other women clamor to his door?

She stared at the barrel and decided it was a better fit than the crates with all their slats. She laid the circle of gold and rubies in the dust, in plain view from where Gil slept. Closing her eyes, she willed Gil to find the treasure, to find her.

She sprinted home, past the market, the well, the crowds.

Panting, she caught her breath before entering her home. Her mother stood near the pot of figs, ladle in hand, sampling the stewed fruit.

“It is sweet enough, Daughter.”

Hannah nodded, her mind blank of a response. At least she had finally done one thing as planned today. But she did not plan on marrying a shriveled Levite. Her flesh itched at the thought of sharing a marriage bed with an old priest when all she could think about was sharing another moment with Gil. Seeking the prophet was her only hope of escape. The man of God had to set her free this time. Set her free from this sin stain. Set her free her from bondage to Azor. Set her free to be with a man like Gil.

Gil had to find the bracelet and come to her.

He had to.

She needed an escort out of the city and to Mahanaim. And Gil was the only man she could trust to take her.

3

All evening, Hannah wrestled with her bed sheet. Did Gil return home each night, or did he slumber in the fields? Would he spy her bracelet before a thief? Thoughts and schemes raced through her mind. When morning came, she hurried to her tasks, hoping chores would keep her sane.

She hoisted a water jar onto her shoulders, rushed out of the courtyard, marched to the well, and ignored the chatter of the women in line behind her. She wanted to proclaim, “I am not unclean. My father has made atonement.” But would they even believe her?

As she returned home, a donkey loaded with bundled wheat shafts slowed the pace on the city street. She was caught in a crowd. Nestling the side of her face against the coolness of the clay jar, she hoped the drape of her head covering cloaked her from being recognized.

“Alabaster, beads, bangles,” a merchant shouted.

Leave it to a salesman to find opportunity behind the rump of a slow donkey. His father had taught him well.

The chants of the merchant grew louder, came closer. “Men, trinkets for the fair and lovely.”

Hannah believed the heckler was upon her. Did he mistake her for a man? She had no free hand to test his wares.

“Young woman.”

The address was too close to ignore. Her elbow rose to ward off his seller's assault. Her heart rapped against her chest anticipating a run home.

“Ah, but your arm is bare. Can I not interest you in—”

She whipped her head his direction.

And stared.

At her bracelet. The rubies sparkled in the sunlight they captured.

At Gil. And his radiant smile.

“You do have interest.” He herded her without a touch toward a narrow side street. “Your father has coin, no doubt.”

She matched his pace not knowing where he was guiding her and not caring. Gil had found her and she would follow him out of the crowd, out of the city, out to Mahanaim. “You came.”

He drew her into a doorway. The bustle of the city was but a memory. “Jewels are my business,” he said in a loud voice. And lower, “My mother spoke of a sad girl in need. I know very few who wear such wealth.” He held up her gold and ruby bracelet.

Setting her jar out of the way, she met his gaze. He grinned as if she had bought all his trinkets.

She let him take her arm and slip the bracelet on her wrist. His calloused fingers slid over her skin like a silk ribbon.

“It is a perfect fit,” he said, eyeing a passerby. His fingers cocooned her hand and wrist.

“We are in public,” she whispered.

“Did I not say it was lovely?” He winked and dared her with his just-made-a-sale eyes. How could she chastise him further when he was one of the few people who braved a touch?

He shifted closer. “What else do you have need of?” His tone was that of a true merchant.

You.
She swallowed hard trying to figure out how to tell him of her true need. Her heart skittered like a startled rabbit in the wilderness. “The prophet is in Mahanaim.” She took a deep breath. “I need to go to him.”

He studied her face. His head dipped to the side as if he understood her request. “What of your brother?” His deep voice brimmed with curiosity and caution. He was still playing the role of the persistent merchant.

She shook her head. “Me. Solely, me.”

His brows furrowed at her answer.

“I must go soon.” She emphasized the last word.

Gil surveyed the street. His grip on her hand tightened. He must have determined no one was watching their interaction. The touch of his hand warmed her belly.

“Why the rush to see the prophet? Will he not return to the temple here?”

Her lips quivered with the answer. The emotion of her response pounded in her forehead, her throat, her chest. “My father has washed his hands of me. He is arranging my union to a priest.”

“You are betrothed?” The words rasped from Gil's throat. He tore his hand away. “That is why your brother scolded me?”

“No. I do not think he knew. I did not know. My aunt spoke freely of it yesterday. She thought I knew of my father's decision.” She wrapped her arms tight around her, keeping the shakes from racking her body.

Gil's stance mirrored hers. He lost the fervor of a merchant. He lost his words. His boisterous mannerisms vanished.

“I cannot blame my father. He has made every sacrifice to cleanse me. He brought me before the prophet. The year of Jubilee has passed me by. I am still in debt to this curse. My father accepted an honorable man's offer of marriage. A joining with a Levite.”

“If he is an acceptable husband, why do you flee?” Gil leaned in to hear her slightest whisper.

She glanced away from him, toward the light above the sandstone buildings. Tears amassed behind her eyes. After a quick check of her surroundings, she grasped his hand and curled it in hers, resting it below her chin as a most cherished possession. “I want to be whole. Clean. A prize to my betrothed. Not a shackle.” She spoke as if she had known Gil from the cradle. “That is why I need to see the prophet of Israel.”

“For this priest?” He began to pull away.

“No.” She held him fast, not wanting him to abandon her. If only she could confess that it was for him, the man who sought her out when others kept her at a distance, but giving him hope that they could be together was foolishness. “I do it for myself.” She glanced downward at their intertwined fingers, at her sandal straps, anywhere but his handsome face.
God of Israel, listen to my heart.

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Gil lowered his face so she could not avoid his gaze.

“There is,” she blurted out. “And I cannot lie to you. I carry a curse. Punishment for an ancestor's transgression.”

He did not flinch. Her confession hung in the air, but he did not retreat in disgust.

She cherished the drag of his fingers over her palm.

Gil held her hand close and captive and leaned closer. His free hand slid down her spine. “A tail? An extra leg?”

She jumped backwards cautioning him not to move his hand any lower.

Gil halted his tease.

“I have laid plans to disobey my father,” Hannah said. “If I break any more laws, my intended may prefer another.”

Gil gave a carefree laugh. “You are young and beautiful,” he said in a low rumble of a voice. “Your intended will receive you as long as you remain a virgin.”

Her back straightened. “I will remain a virgin.”

“Come.” Gil pulled her into the street.

“Where are we going?”

“I will escort you home.” He gestured as a merchant showing a table of wares.

“Home?” Had he too decided to desert her?

“Your father owes me payment, does he not?” He cocked his head, expecting her to answer. “Do not worry,” he whispered. “We will go north and find the prophet. What's one more commandment broken?”

Her eyes flew open wide. Had they broken God's laws? She had deceived, but did she lie? Had Gil? They had not committed adultery, unless…did he lust after her when he touched her? Was he coveting what was to be Azor's? Did she look to Gil as to a husband? Her bones became light as dust. Her mind raced. Gil was still speaking.

“Be like spies…sneak together…tonight.”

She held onto her jar as onto a boulder in a swift running river. They were about to shatter a few commandments and her limbs were all a tingle.

4

Hannah tugged at the hood of her cloak to make sure it shaded her face. The loose fit of the garment hid her curves but didn't cover her guilt at leaving her family. How would her mother fare when in the dawn's light she would discover her only daughter had vanished, a ruby bracelet left in her stead? No robber would take a girl and leave gold. Her mother would know she had fled of her own free will.

She slid along a line of neighboring houses, her hand steadying herself against the ridged bricks in the early morning darkness. Air settled in her lungs like bundles of harvested flax, forcing her to choke out every breath. She moved discreetly toward the Dung Gate and let the woven layers of her linen tunic brush down to her toes, to shield her from the notice of the men carousing in the city after dark.

Her heart pulsed in her ears: Go back. Go back. Go back. But she would not obey. Every step brought her closer to being restored, made new. Her senses would be able to taste roasted quail or delight in the aroma of henna blossoms.

“
Shalom,
” a deep voice greeted.

She gasped. Alarm speared through her body. Her hand shot to her throat as she turned around. Her shoulders collapsed when she recognized Gil.

“You gave me no warning.” Her words ached in her throat.

“Did you forget our meeting place at the bend near the pools?”

Blinking, she scanned the area. “I did not realize I had arrived. My mind is awash with other things.”

“Your family?” Gil's head bent lower. “You could wait. The prophet will return to Jerusalem, the city of David.”

“When? How long must I suffer and wait?” She tucked loose strands of hair under her covering. “It is best I leave. My father cannot give away what he does not have. I do not want to be buried in the arms of an old widower.” She looked at Gil, trying to see his expression in the shadows. Did he desire to stay in the fields? Did he have to protect his mother? Did he have misgivings? She cupped her hands but not in prayer. “Am I asking too much of you?” she stammered. “The fields—”

“Shhh.” Gil hushed her worries and took hold of her arm, leading her toward the wall of the city. “The harvest has ended for me. My mother has her husband, his children. And I will have you back before we are missed.”

“But what if we are seen? My parents are reasonable. Not so much my brother. They will not forgive you if they find out we have been alone together at night. My brother believes this curse is my fault.”

“I will take the blame.” Gil's voice did not waver. “Men from the tribe of Judah do not run from a fight.”

“Neither do Levite women dressed as men.” Her fists relaxed at Gil's quiet chuckle.

When his laughter died down, he met her gaze full on. “I, too, have reasons for wanting to see the prophet.”

“Is your mother in need?” A rush of sympathy shortened her steps.

“Not of healing. If the prophet speaks for our God and does His will—”

“You know he does.” Her words almost shrieked at his blasphemy.

“Then why is the daughter of the chief priest not healed? If you cannot be restored, what of the poor? The half-breeds?” Gil's pace quickened. They turned a corner.