Crown in the Stars (5 page)

Naomi’s mouth fell open and she squeaked, “Before your betrothal? Oh! That’s too soon—people will talk!” She shook the comb severely. “It’s a good thing Kal’s so likable. But your father should give him a stern lecture for being so bold!”

Shoshannah leaned over and hugged her tenderly—not fiercely, as she wanted to do. For how could anyone on earth ever forgive her if she crushed I’ma-Naomi with a hug? “I’ll miss you!”

“I’ll miss you too, Shoshannah-child.” Naomi hugged and patted her in turn. She sighed. “Well, let Kaleb make plans to be busy while you’re gone—it’s good for him. And I am sure the Most High has made wonderful plans of His own for you. Oh, but to build your lodge
beforehand
… the scoundrel!”

Shoshannah approached Noakh slowly, reluctant to take leave of the ancient patriarch. He was actually alone, seated on a log, carefully replacing the carved antler blade of a threshing sickle, binding it in place with leather strips and thick, dark resin. His lips puckered in concentration, he glanced up at her, then blinked and looked again.

“Little one.” He shook his silver curls reprovingly, while his dark eyes sparkled. “You shouldn’t look so much like your mother.”

“Then, please, Father of my Fathers, tell me how I should change.” She knelt at his feet, smiling, ready to listen.

“I pray you don’t change, Shoshannah-child. Your mother has been like another daughter to us; it’s a blessing that you are so much like her, never mind how we tease you. Now,
daughter
, please hold this pot for me—I could dump it over too easily.”

Shoshannah took the sticky wooden pot tentatively, knowing her fingers would be dark for days afterward. Feeling that she might not have such a chance to speak with him undisturbed for years, she said, “Father of my Fathers, I almost fear being so much like my I’ma. She told me about her enemies.”

“Yes, one of her own brothers and her only sister,” Noakh agreed, frowning in quiet sorrow. “And our Kuwsh. He was always a little wild, but I never expected such evil of him. It is his pride, Shoshannah-child. When I think of him—and of Nimr-Rada—I believe I have failed.”

“I don’t believe you have, Ancient One,” Shoshannah
said loyally. “You’ve done the will of the Most High. Kuwsh, father of Nimr-Rada, is the one who failed.”

She was afraid she had been too bold, but Noakh grunted mildly, reaching for the small dabbing stick in the resin pot. “Perhaps I should consider the matter in that way. Even so, we must always have things to regret; it keeps us humble, child.”

He returned the stick to the pot, wrapped some more leather cordage tight around the base of the sickle to fasten the blade, then sighed, looking at Shoshannah again. “As for your mother’s enemies, little one, leave them to the Most High. He knows them. They won’t escape Him forever.”

Thoughtfully he added, “Rebellious as the children of my children are… the Most High will punish them soon. I pray His anger won’t overcome us all.”

Noakh’s quiet words made Shoshannah shiver.

“I’ve heard something strange,” Mithqah said, as she and Shoshannah walked through the busy encampment, seeking the women’s tent of the Tribe of Metiyl.

“Tell me,” Shoshannah demanded, eyeing her friend’s worried, rounded face. Mithqah was becoming more and more serious as the years passed. It was unsettling.

“I heard some of the tribal leaders talking with our First Father Shem. They agreed that the younger generations are aging faster than the previous ones.
We
might die of old age before our own parents do!”

Shoshannah halted, staring, wondering if Mithqah had gone mad. “What?”

“I’m serious, Shoshannah! I was taking food to my father
and the others. The instant I walked into the tent, they stopped talking and looked at me as if my hair was green or something. I had to find out what they were talking about, didn’t I?”

“So you hid and listened?”

“Wouldn’t you have?” Mithqah moistened her lips, glancing around uneasily. “I heard our First Father Shem say, ‘We can’t continue to deny it.’ He did! As if it were choking him.”

Father Shem would never joke about something so dreadful. Shoshannah heard her own voice sounding very small and thin. “He meant what he said.”

“Should we ask him why he believes such a thing? Perhaps you could ask I’ma-Annah.”

I couldn’t. How could I even find the words? It would upset everyone
.

For the first time in her life, Shoshannah ignored a challenge. “Let us just pray to the Most High that it’s not true.”

“What do you think?” Mithqah whispered, leaning toward Shoshannah as they ate their evening meal near the hearth in the center of the encampment.

Picking at a bit of venison, Shoshannah studied her parents and then her grandparents—the tall, somberly dark-bearded Meshek and the kind, brown-eyed Chaciydah. Her mother and Chaciydah were quietly sharing their food. And Meshek was talking seriously with Zekaryah. Truly, they seemed right together—she had no sense that the generations were disordered. Until she looked at Shem and I’ma-Annah, who sat with
their raucous, fur-clad, wild-haired grandson, Metiyl, and his plump, sociable wife, Tebuwnaw—all of them whispering earnestly, shaking their heads.

“Father Shem and I’ma-Annah seem the same age as their grandchildren,” Shoshannah whispered to Mithqah.

“Younger,” Mithqah corrected, distressed.

Shoshannah nodded, studying Shem closely. How could Shem possibly be approaching his third kentum—his three hundredth year? Of course he was nowhere near as old as the silver-haired Noakh or I’ma-Naomi, but… No. It couldn’t be true. And yet…
It must be true. Look at them whispering
. Shoshannah felt ill. And scared.

“You are both much too serious,” a woman’s voice teased lightly.

Shoshannah looked up, instantly forcing a smile. Her mother’s dear friend Tsinnah—diminutive, pretty, and rosy brown—knelt beside Shoshannah, smoothing her beautifully fashioned red wool robes. Tsinnah was always well-groomed; Shoshannah felt grubby beside her.

Concerned, tilting her dark, braid-crowned head, Tsinnah asked, “Are you girls worried about leaving with us tomorrow?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Shoshannah assured her. “We were just thinking of our parents… and grandparents.” She knew she sounded awkward and unhappy.

Mithqah simply sat there beside her, mute, her food almost untouched.

Tsinnah clearly suspected Shoshannah wanted to say more, but she quickly changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to our visit. There’s so much for us to talk about—a year may not be enough.”

Mithqah and I can ask her opinion
, Shoshannah thought, relieved. It might be best to talk to someone outside the
Tribe of Ashkenaz. “I think you’re right, I’ma-Tsinnah. And perhaps you can teach me how to dress properly—I feel like a wild woman beside you.”

Tsinnah laughed, pleased. “Your mother never said such a thing in all the time I was with her in the Great City. She hated to bother with her appearance.”

Mithqah scooted closer, interested, as Shoshannah said, “You were in her household there.”

Tsinnah’s laughter faded, her liquid-dark eyes becoming distant. “Yes. It was a terrible time. Your mother was so brave—I think I might have died in her place.”

“But you didn’t. You survived.”

“Because of her, Shoshannah-child. You should be proud of your mother.”

“I am.”

A wild disharmony of howls, laughter, and bellowing interrupted their conversation. Kal, eating with the other young men, had wrestled his brother Ozniy to the ground and was busily shoving a fistful of grass into Ozniy’s mouth.

“If you steal my food again, I’ll make you eat dirt! Are you full? Here, have some more!”

“Nmph!” Ozniy growled through the grass in his lips, trying to squirm away.

Just beyond them, Shoshannah’s brothers, Ahyit and Sithriy, whooped with excitement, frisking like two scrawny brown colts as Ozniy finally pushed Kaleb off, then managed to escape.

Shoshannah couldn’t help laughing, but Mithqah was horrified.

“Poor Ozniy! I don’t believe he was stealing Kal’s food at all; I think Kal just wanted to pound on him.”

“Enjoy this,” Tsinnah said, looking like a child herself.
“After you’ve married your Ozniy, you might long for someone to give him a good pounding.”

Mithqah eyed Tsinnah curiously. “Forgive me, I’ma-Tsinnah, but who told you that Ozniy and I might marry?”

“Your mother. While we were in the women’s tent today, she told me that she’s seen you watching him. She intends to speak to his mother while you’re gone.”

“There! You’ll marry him when we return, I’m sure,” Shoshannah said, pleased for her friend. She was even more pleased to see Ozniy wipe his face furtively, then glance at Mithqah, as if embarrassed that she had seen him beaten.
I should ask Tsinnah if my I’ma has said anything about my marriage to Kal …

“Shoshannah!” Little Rinnah charged toward her now, head down, lip out, followed by the twig-thin, bossy Adah, and the prettier, more reclusive Qetuwrah, who actually looked impatient.

Shoshannah held out her arms, smiling at her sisters. Rinnah dived into her lap and huddled there, glaring at Adah and Qetuwrah. “Tell them I can go with you!”

“Oh, little one.” Shoshannah hugged her baby sister, rumpling her curls. “I wish you could. But who will make our I’ma laugh if you’re gone too?”

Qetuwrah raised her black eyebrows, seeming almost offended. But Adah tossed her head. “Rinnah, I told you, didn’t I? You can’t go. Now, stop arguing.”

Rinnah’s chin quivered. Shoshannah hated to see her cry, and this wasn’t how she wanted to part with her sisters.

Tsinnah interposed sweetly, her voice kind but firm. “You each have to take turns visiting your cousins with me. Shoshannah’s the oldest, so she’s first. Now, don’t fight or I won’t give you the bracelets I’ve made for you.”

“Bracelets? Where?” Rinnah straightened, her tears forgotten.

As they walked to Tsinnah’s tent to retrieve the coveted ornaments, Adah whispered to Shoshannah, “Don’t worry about Kaleb. We’ll tell you everything he does while you’re gone.”