Faith of My Fathers (19 page)

“I think the desire of your heart, Miriam, is to find a husband who loves you and who will stay with you and take care of you for the rest of your life. Am I right?”

Miriam nodded tearfully, remembering all the men who had come and gone in her mother’s life, sleeping with her for a time, then disappearing when they grew tired of her. Even Abba hadn’t loved Mama enough to marry her and make a home with her.

“Only Yahweh knows whether or not that man is Joshua. You must learn to trust God, Miriam. He will provide what’s best for you.”

11

D
INAH SAT ON THE EDGE
of her bed and wept. She had just vomited her breakfast. Now she knew for certain that she was pregnant.

According to the tiny scratches she’d made on the wall every day, more than a month had passed since Manasseh captured her. All the other signs of pregnancy were there. This bout of morning sickness confirmed her fears.

God of Abraham, why now? Why this?

Her plan to win Manasseh’s trust had been going so well. She could move freely through the rooms of the harem but still not beyond them. Her shuttered windows opened now, even though iron bars prevented her from climbing out or jumping to her death. But her greatest achievement had been convincing Manasseh to bring her presents of gold and silver jewelry—earrings, bracelets, necklaces. She hoarded these pieces to use as bribes and to finance her flight to freedom. Yes, everything had been going so well. Until now.

If she didn’t find a way to escape before her pregnancy began to show, she would surely be confined to the palace once Manasseh learned of it. But the prospect of escaping within the next few months seemed hopeless.

Dinah had a vague plan to pay a caravan driver to smuggle her out of the city, but she had no idea where she would go after that. Where was the rest of her family? Were any of them still alive? She never saw Abba or Joshua among the nobles and officials milling in the courtyard below her window. She feared they were dead.

Now she was going to have a baby. Manasseh’s baby. It was true that she hated him, but there was no doubt in Dinah’s mind that this was her baby, too. The child would be part of her family—part of Abba and Mama, part of Jerimoth and Tirza and Joshua, part of Grandpa Hilkiah. She and her baby would escape together somehow and continue her family line. No matter what, she would never allow Manasseh to shape this child into his own image.

As another wave of nausea swept over her, Dinah sank to her knees beside the bed.
God of Abraham . . . please! Show me what to do.
Help me and my child escape from this terrible place!

Sweat plastered Joshua’s tunic to his back and dripped off his forehead. He wiped it out of his eyes with the keffiyeh, which was wrapped around his head, then crouched to tie the bundle of grain he had just cut. His back ached from bending with the sickle all morning, but he couldn’t rest until noon. His Moabite employer had taken a risk hiring him without any experience, and Joshua had to prove himself if he hoped to stay on for the threshing after the harvest.

Joshua was still unaccustomed to hard labor. He fell exhausted onto his pallet each night after sunset and never moved until dawn. Then he would rise, say morning prayers with Jerimoth and Joel, and walk the mile and a half to the fields to work. But he was grateful for this grueling struggle for survival. It gave him little time to dwell on why Yahweh had abandoned him and his family.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the far side of the field where the women walked behind the reapers, gleaning the kernels of grain left behind. Jerimoth’s wife, Sara, worked slowly after fainting on her first day in the hot sun. Her soft hands were unaccustomed to the sharp, bristly stalks and were already riddled with fine cuts. Beside her, Miriam was able to do twice as much work with her strong back and nimble, work-hardened hands. But the sight that broke Joshua’s heart was seeing his mother bending in the field.

“Mama, stay home and help Tirza with the babies,” he had begged. She wouldn’t listen to him.

“I was born a farmer’s daughter,” Jerusha said. “I’m not ashamed to work in the fields.” But it was difficult for Joshua to imagine his mother as a farmer’s daughter. He had known her only as the wealthy palace administrator’s wife, gowned and perfumed and seated among the other nobles’ wives at palace banquets. She had presided over a busy household of servants who cleaned and cooked and scrubbed clothes for her. To see her on her knees grinding grain between stones or bending in the broiling sun to scavenge for wheat aroused emotions inside Joshua that frightened him: anger, hatred, and the desire for revenge, all directed at Manasseh. Bitterness, resentment, and devastating disillusionment, all directed at God. The painful words of David’s psalm had become his unending refrain:
“My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?”

The workers on either side of Joshua advanced ahead of him. He bent and swished the sickle through the wheat, hurrying to catch up. The dust and chaff made his lungs ache, but he knew he had been fortunate to find any work at all. It had been obvious to all the farmers they had approached that Joel and Jerimoth knew nothing of farm labor. Young and strong from his military training, only Joshua had been deemed fit for hire.

“You concentrate on reestablishing Grandpa’s business,” he’d told Jerimoth. His brother had poured himself into the task, spending long hours in endless negotiations, plotting business ventures and mergers, angling for a loan on the goods he had in storage in order to purchase more. Joshua had neither the knowledge nor the nerves for the rigors of the marketplace. He was better off earning their daily bread through physical labor until Jerimoth’s market risks had time to reap interest. Joshua had faith in his brother. He had to. His faith in God had died with Abba.

Joel, their brother-in-law, had been distraught when he was rejected as a field hand. How would he support his wife and newborn son? Jerimoth had finally set Joel up in business at a small table in the marketplace, soliciting work as a scribe. Joel spent his days reading and copying contracts, letters, and other documents for anyone who would hire him. The few pieces of silver he earned helped pay their rent. He was also teaching Nathan and Mattan how to read and write.

Joshua turned around to check on the women again. Mama looked tired but all right. Sara was wilting fast. He worried that she might be pregnant again. Miriam was working hard enough for all of them. The women could rest after tomorrow, on the Sabbath. For Joshua it would be a workday like any other. There were plenty of Moabites willing to work if he didn’t. It would be the first time in his life that Joshua had knowingly violated the Torah, but their survival was at stake. He wondered what Abba would have done.
“My God,
my God . . . In you our fathers put their trust . . . They cried to you. . . .”

Finally the foreman signaled to stop work for the noon meal. Joshua wiped his gritty brow again and tossed his sickle onto the pile with the others. He walked stiffly across the field to where the women were laying out their lunch. He made a point of joining them every day to let the other workers know that he was their guardian and protector.

Jerusha walked forward to meet him with a skin of water. For the third time that morning, the words of David’s psalm echoed in Joshua’s mind:
“You brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you
even at my mother’s breast. . . .”My God . . . why?

“Thanks, Mama.”

“You look tired, Joshua.” She brushed the dusting of chaff off his beard and eyebrows. It made him look old, gray-haired. He wondered if he reminded her of Abba. Maybe she was using the weariness of hard labor to crush her memories, as well.

Miriam opened the bundle of food and passed barley buns to everyone. “Here, Master Joshua.”

“Miriam, I told you not to call me that! Look at me! Do I look like anyone’s master?” He regretted his harsh words as soon as he said them, but Miriam didn’t seem to mind. As he held out his hand for the bread, she examined the blisters on his palm from gripping the sickle.

“Your blisters have broken open. Do they hurt?” she asked.

“I’ll have calluses soon. Then it won’t matter.” As he took the bread and began to eat, Miriam removed her head covering. He glanced around to see if any Moabites were watching. “Miriam, it’s indecent to—” She tore off a narrow strip from one edge. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Hold out your hand.” For a young girl, she had an insistent way of taking charge that made everyone listen. Joshua held out his hand. Within moments, Miriam had deftly wrapped the cloth around his blistered palm, securing it around his thumb and wrist so it wouldn’t slide. As she tied the ends he noticed that her own hands were rough and scratched from the stubble. “Too tight?” she asked him.

“It’s fine.” He turned away from her and went to sit beside his mother. He avoided Miriam as much as he possibly could. Seeing her reminded him of Maki’s death and his own stupid mistakes. Remembering filled him with unmanageable guilt.

When the break ended, Joshua crossed the field again to join the other men. He surveyed the work they had done and calculated how much was left to do—at least three more days’ worth, he hoped. When he saw the foreman walking toward him, he felt a wave of uneasiness.

“Can I have a word with you, Jew?” the man asked.

“Yes, my lord.” The foreman worked bare-chested like the other Moabites, and his bronzed arms and chest were heavily muscled. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and Joshua had heard that he lived a rough-and-tumble life among his workers, breaking up their fights with his own fists, celebrating with them with strong drink after the harvest. The foreman lived in a modest home on the edge of the landowner’s property, overseeing his crops and herds year round. Joshua had never met the rich landowner. He lived in a lavish house in town.

“I notice you eat with those three women every day,” the foreman said.

“Yes, we’re all one family.”

“Is one of them your wife?”

“I’m not married.”

“I’ve been watching the little dark-faced one, the one doing all the work. I’m wondering if she’s available.”

“To work for you?”

The foreman laughed. “In a manner of speaking. I meant as my concubine.”

Hot anger blazed through Joshua at this insult to his family. He choked it back, remembering that his family no longer had stature in anyone’s eyes. Besides, if he threw a punch at this brawny man, he would likely end up with several broken bones and a few missing teeth. Joshua needed this job. He must answer shrewdly.

“As you know, my lord, we are Judeans. Our customs are very different from—” “You’re in Moab now, Jew.”

“Yes, my lord, that’s true. However, our religious beliefs require a contract of marriage before—”

“All right, then, I’ll marry the girl. She appeals to me. I’ll make any arrangements you want. I’ll even see that you’re hired for the threshing. After that, the grape harvest. Who knows, as my brother-in-law you could work for me full time.”

“But I understood that you were already married, my lord.”

The foreman shrugged his burly shoulders. “So? It happens that I am. But I make a good living. I assure you that I can support two wives quite well.”

The second insult hit Joshua harder than the first. He wasn’t able to afford even one wife, and his own mother had been reduced to gleaning. “I can see that you do well, my lord,” he mumbled.

“My first wife has only given me daughters. I would like to have a son.”

“With so many beautiful Moabite women, I’m surprised you would choose a foreign wife—and one who is Jewish.”

The foreman grinned, and Joshua didn’t like the look of it. “I have my reasons for choosing a Jew,” he said. “But you haven’t answered my question. Is the girl available or not? And at what price?”

Joshua recalled Maki’s death grip on his wrist, the strangled plea to take care of Miriam. Right now, Joshua’s own future looked pretty hopeless. How could he take care of Miriam? The foreman’s offer would certainly give her a better life than gleaning and subsistence in an overcrowded shack, better than the life she had lived in Jerusalem. But she was so young—probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. And so thin. Still, this was an honest offer of marriage, even if it was polygamous.

“I really cannot give you an answer, my lord,” Joshua said at last. “My older brother is the head of our family. I will tell him about your offer tonight.”

The foreman grinned. “Good. I’ll be waiting for his answer.”

When the day finally ended, Joshua walked back to town with the women. He ate the simple evening meal of bread and lentils and still felt hungry when he rose from the table. The heavy field labor created an appetite that these meager portions couldn’t quite satisfy. Yet the meal would have to suffice. They had three men, four women, and four growing children to feed.

As Joshua experienced true hunger for the first time in his life, he wondered how he had ever taken food for granted. Against his will, he thought of all the lavish meals he had eaten in the palace banquet hall, all the platters heaped with scraps that went to waste. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten meat. Yes, he could—it was at Yael’s house, the night his privileged life had come to an end.