Providence (4 page)

“He said it was not my time.”

Gil let out a low, breathy cough. “Has the prophet ever left a cripple maimed?”

She thought of all the times her father had spoken of the prophet's miracles. Miracles of their God. She could not remember a time when her father had come home disappointed. Well, there had been one time.

Gil broke the silence. “That is why I go. To see the man of God heal you or explain his failing. Why are some in Israel forgotten?” He halted as they neared the city wall. “I will accept nothing less than a full healing.”

The sincerity and determination in his voice renewed her spirit. “Nor will I.”

Gil stopped at an inn built into the wall of the city. He leaned his shoulder against the wooden planks of the door, and with an upward thrust of his body, opened the door without summoning the innkeeper. He led her through a tidy sitting area and a dish-stacked kitchen. People had gathered here, but they were asleep now. She followed him up a flight of stairs. Gil needed no lamp to light the way.

“You have been here before,” she said, a bit breathless. She wasn't sure if it was a statement of the truth or a question. She did not know if she wanted an answer.

“Yes, but not for a while.” His voice wasn't even winded.

She and Gil scaled another set of stairs and then climbed a ladder leading to a small room. He hesitated in front of a window, an opening in the city wall framing the black of night. “We can drop down from here and be outside the city. We will be long gone before the gates open in the morning.”

“Is it safe?” She had heard of thieves hiding in the hills.

“I have done it many times before.”

“The innkeeper does not mind you coming and going?” She tried to spy the distance to the ground, but in the darkness it looked like a pit.

“Not if I share my winnings.” His deep voice rattled low with a laugh. “Are you scared or curious about my ways?”

A little of both. She had never been alone with a man who wasn't a relative. She had not questioned Gil about the women he met in the gleaning fields or the women who hung out at night in the alleys, but now she wondered if he searched them out. “I do not leave the house after dark. My father says it tempts danger.”

“Do not worry. No harm will come to you.” Gil unhooked a coil of rope hanging near the window. “I don't sleep much.” He handed her the end of the rope. “If I'm restless, I find a game of chance or drunkards to fool.”

He opened a cupboard and withdrew a long, narrow sack. Even with only the moon's light, the outline was unmistakable. It was a sword.

“I won this casting lots.” He fastened the blade to his belt as if it were nothing but a pouch of coins. “Perhaps the heavens knew I would have need of it.” His hand grasped her arm, gentle but firm. “Come. I will lower you down.”

She took the rope. The knotted cord stuck to her clammy palms. The frayed edge pricked her skin. Was this a warning about leaving home? Once she left Jerusalem, there was no turning back. She wrapped the rope around her waist, but fumbled the first twine.

“Here. Let me take care of this.” Gil cinched the rope—not too tight—around her waist.

“That's what you do isn't it? Care for women and children in the gleaning fields. Keep them safe.”

“I try.” He helped her onto the sill. “In a few fields. Not all the women stay safe.”

“Is that why you bring such a sword?”

“Mahanaim is near the border. The Ammonites do not concern me. They are weak. But Aram plunders our people. Wealth is their god. ”

“We are not at war.”

“The foreigners in the fields would disagree.” He urged her forward and looped the rope through a pulley. “We must hurry.”

Hannah gripped the cut stone of the sill. Her fingers grew warm from the tepid bricks hoarding the warmth from yesterday's sun. She turned, and braced her sandals against the wall. Sure of hand, she held onto the length of rope. She walked downward. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. The wall was her road. Gil lowered her, skillfully, carefully. The thud of her feet on solid ground released a gust of breath from her lungs. She unfastened the rope so Gil could join her in the wilderness. The knot she unbound seemed to take hold in her stomach.

A slight breeze blew against the side of her face.
Make haste.

Gil scaled the wall with ease. The load he carried—sword, satchel, waterskin—did not impede his descent. He heaved the rope to the ledge with the skill of a herdsman.

“The innkeeper will know we have fled.” She bit her lip in anticipation of word getting back to her family.

“I am not the only one who ventures from this window. I tied the knots of a fisherman not a field guard.” He placed a hand on her swathed shoulders and guided her toward the path.

She should scold his touch. “Gi—”

“Save your breath daughter of Zebula. My thoughts are on what lays ahead, not what lies beneath. We must put distance between us and Jerusalem.”

Even if he was being untruthful, she would not remove his hand. The weight was comforting and no one could see. No one could gossip.

After they had walked a few miles, Gil bartered for a ride on the back of a wagon stacked with bird cages. Were these fowl for sin offerings? Perhaps the man bred them for sale? She was too tired to ask. She dangled her legs off the rear of the cart as Gil steadied the wheels. Blood pulsed through her throbbing toes. The birds didn't seem to mind the jolts and jostling from the rocky terrain, but her feet minded the bruising rocks. The bounce of the wagon eventually lulled her to sleep. Her head bobbed and bobbed and bobbed. Each stone they crossed seemed as big as a boulder.

Doves cooed.

Pigeons rooted.

She pitched forward.

“Lean on me.” Gil drew her closer to his side.

She stiffened.
We shouldn't be this close
.
Thank goodness for my extra layers of clothing.

“No one can see us,” he whispered as if he could read her thoughts.

How much time had passed? The last she remembered, Gil was overseeing the cart's wheels. His arm rested between her back and the cages, anchoring her body to the boards. She looked around. No one walked nearby. His embrace was well hidden. It kept her from falling.

She blinked at the fresh sun, a thin amber ribbon draped over the hilltops.

“My parents will discover I am gone soon.” She shielded her eyes. “My mother will weep.”

Gil loosened his hold. “We could turn around.” He squinted at the sunrise and opened his satchel.

If they returned now, Gil's life would not change, but she would be considered tainted, a shame her father's position could not erase. Not even Azor would have her. But when the prophet healed her, made her new, all her transgressions would be forgiven.

“No. This is the path I have chosen. I want to be whole.” A row of ruts in the ground caused the birds to squawk. Hannah righted one of the cages. “My father has sacrificed doves for my cleansing.” She smiled as though her condition were commonplace. “It didn't work. Nothing has.”

Gil's gaze made her uncomfortable.

“The first time we met, I gave you some pomegranate.”

Hannah nodded. “You called it your sweet delight.”

“It wasn't ripe. Sour enough to pucker your lips.”

Her lap held her interest. Had he realized her mouth was dead? Had he known all along?

“I'm a poor judge of food.” She fiddled with her head covering, pulling it tight to her face. Had he seen her ear stubs while she rested? “When I met your mother, I had burned a pot of figs.”

He seemed amused. “I cook. I can take care of us.” He untied a cloth and offered it up to her. “Have some dried mutton?”

Her stomach growled its approval. She bit into the dried meat and contemplated her companion. Walking half the night and being dusted face to toe didn't seem to drain his spirit. He already knew of her father and brother, of the temple rituals, of her curse. But stories about his family never surfaced in conversation. “Have you worked in the fields long?”

Gil stroked his bearded chin. He seemed older, fatigued in some way.

“Since I grew into my height and learned to fight.” Gil looked at the caged birds as though he heard their ruckus for the first time.

“Do you still have to fight?”

“Sometimes…if the bandits have not heard of my reputation.” He flipped the hood of her cloak over her covering so it shielded her face. “And I don't want to be challenged this early in the morning.” He grinned and popped a piece of mutton into his mouth. “Can't protect you on a hollow stomach.”

“Surely not.” She accepted another strip of meat. Maybe it would settle her stomach. Her insides trembled as if the donkeys were at a full trot. Was it his proximity, or the pain she heard in his voice when he spoke of the fields? Her shoulders slumped under the weight of her secret. He had left his position, his home, and his family to escort a stranger. He deserved to know the truth about her.

She rubbed her hands together, loosening salt grains from the meal. “I cannot taste your mutton. I cannot taste anything.” Warmth spread into her cheeks, up into her scalp.

“That is all?”

Did he understand what she had revealed? A shiver sliced through her, cooling her skin. She had disobeyed her father's command not to reveal her secrets. She had revealed one.

“I figured as much,” Gil said. “My mouth was as tight as a drawstring after tasting that pomegranate.” He tilted her chin toward his face. “And your eyes are not watering. My mutton is flavored with spices from the east. No one begs me for a bite.”

She instinctively licked her teeth. But still, nothing. Gil didn't seem to care. If he did, he hid it well. He sat, his leg still aligned with hers, still touching hers. Tears pooled behind her eyes. “I do not know what the world smells like. These birds and their droppings are nothing to me. My nose is like wood.” Her throat tightened.

He swallowed his last bite of mutton. “Then you may sit downwind.” His light-hearted laugh mixed with the coo-cooing cadence of the birds.

Stunned, she stared at him. The prophet had humiliated her. A future with an elderly priest awaited her. How could he tease her? Turning away, she gripped the edge of the cart.

Gil hopped off the back of the wagon. He faced her as he kept pace with the wheels. “I do not laugh at you. I laugh at those who scorn a woman like you. You eat and breathe. You are not lame or blind or demon possessed. I was dirty from the fields, and you treated me with respect. Why should you not seek it for yourself?”

Did he think her acceptable? He hadn't seen her deformity.

“I'll be stopping in Jericho to rest the animals,” the bird owner interrupted. “I will need help in crossing the Jordan. If you can guide the donkeys with me, you and your wife may ride on farther. Your wife can secure the cages.”

“My wife and I are in your debt,” Gil shouted.

Hannah's mouth fell open. “You should not support this lie,” she whispered.

“If we tell him we are not bound together, he would not have us for sure.” The breath of his words tickled her cheek. “Only a fool would deny that he is your husband. And it will cause us more trouble if he thinks you will leave one man for another.”

He was correct. She was cursed, but not by her own doing. There was no way she would allow herself to be branded as a traveling prostitute.

“I trust you are good with livestock, Husband.”

5

North of the River Jabbok, they camped for the night. She brought Gil a cup of water, wanting nothing more than to stay on watch with him, but she wasn't truly his wife, the one blessed to benefit from his warmth at night. Gil paced by a large rock sheltering the wagon and readied his sword to protect their one-cart caravan from bands of Arameans daring to cross the border or a desperate thief in need of sacrificial fowl.

The snores of the bird merchant relayed his trust of Gil. Awash in muddy water, Gil had driven the donkeys to shore hours before, never a complaint or a curse.

“Do not think ill of me.” Gil accepted her cup. His brown eyes were as serious as she had ever seen them. “I follow our laws, the laws of Moses. I lied today for your protection.”

“I know.” She stepped close enough to smooth the furrow in his brow. She would not condemn her rescuer. Not now. Not ever. “You are an honorable man.”

“And you are my temptress. That is another reason why I came.”

She stepped back, her tongue unable to form a response.

“I cannot lie anymore today.” He gulped the water.

“Your truth is my truth.” She spoke honestly. Her testimony left her lightheaded and weak legged.
Will he still care for me if he sees my deformity?
She truly hoped so, for her feelings for Gil had taken root and formed buds.

“Go lay in the cart.” Gil's command held a hint of amusement. “Mahanaim is another day's journey. Soon, the man of God will receive us.”

“I will recline but I do not know if I will sleep.” She took the cup from him. “May you find some rest this night.”

He tested the sheath of his sword. “As you wish. Though, it is unlikely.” The gravelly rasp of his voice left a deepening ache in her soul.

The warped planks of the wagon did not encourage her sleep. When she thought of demanding an audience with the prophet, her blood raced through her veins, swift and surging, like the waters of the Jordan during a flood. Sweat moistened her scalp. It was not the desert heat that tormented her but fear of the prophet's refusal, fear of parting from Gil, fear she would be trapped in a betrothal with Azor. The betrothal she desired was to the man who guarded her safety a few feet away.

That afternoon, the merchant left them a short journey from Mahanaim while he and his birds headed north to the Yarmuk River. She and Gil walked east, to the lands of another Levite clan, to the prophet's preferred residence.