Pearl in the Sand (22 page)

“No. It happened too fast.”

Everyone was soul-weary by this time, and Miriam suggested that they partake of a simple repast. Rahab’s sisters-in-law and mother excused themselves to return to their settlement, wanting to relieve Rahab’s oldest niece who had been minding the younger
children throughout the morning. But Rahab and Izzie remained with Miriam and, after eating barley cakes and a vegetable soup, helped her clean up.

“Rahab, are you still in pain? You seem preoccupied,” Miriam said as they put away the crockery into a covered basket.

“No. No more pain, thanks to your miracle cure. I suppose I’m anxious. Do you think our neighbors will relent now that we’ve been proven innocent, and stop being suspicious of us?”

“I hope so. They’ll certainly feel remorse for this morning’s behavior. Would you like us to pray if you are worried?”

Rahab had never prayed aloud with anyone. The prospect of starting with someone as experienced as Miriam seemed daunting. She feared she would appear foolish and ignorant. Then again, to be able to pray alongside a friend was a joy she was loath to miss. “I don’t know how to pray as I should. I’ll sound awkward,” she admitted.

“I don’t know how God measures awkwardness, but I doubt He applies the same standards as we do. Salmone once told me that the Lord would speak to Moses face-to-face, as a man speaks with his friend. I have never forgotten that. I am no Moses, but I seek the friendship of God. I pray as I have been taught: I speak the words of blessing that my father and mother showed me. But I pray also from my heart, as if I were speaking to a friend. As if I were speaking to a father. I have memorized some of the prayers of the great leaders of our people—the words Moses spoke to the Lord, or the song of Miriam. I can teach you these things. Most importantly, though, I believe God desires to hear us. It delights His heart when we turn to Him with open hearts, without artifice.”

Rahab longed to experience the kind of intimacy that Miriam’s words evoked. Izzie also wished to learn to pray. So the three women stood respectfully and Miriam began with the traditional blessings:
Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of eternity
. She wove Moses’ own words into her prayers:
Teach me Your ways so I may know You and continue to find favor with You
. Rahab noticed that Miriam
began to speak her own prayers, her words emerging humble and unembellished, sincere phrases flowing without self-consciousness. She felt emboldened to pray in the same way, remembering phrases from the Law and blessings that had been taught to her in her days outside Israel’s camp. Izzie soon joined in. They stopped noticing the passage of time as they entered into a sweet realm that felt more real than the one they normally inhabited.

When they finished, Miriam fetched a battered harp and taught them the song of Moses and Miriam. Rahab had never felt closer to God, or closer to experiencing true friendship.

S
almone entered his tent followed by a pale and weary-looking Joshua. He heard the women singing before his eyes found them. Both men had left their shoes outside the tent, and their entrance made no sound. The women continued to sing, unaware of their new audience. Without thinking, Salmone’s gaze sought out Rahab. He searched the bent face, wanting to assure himself that she was all right. Parallel to the narrow nose, an ugly gash ran down her white cheek, barely closed. He remembered the moment he saw that rock fly, knowing it would find its target without being able to do anything about it. He had run, shoving people out of his way, knowing the while that he would be too late to protect her from that particular missile. He still shook when he thought of it. And it shook him still further that he was affected so deeply by it.

In the quiet atmosphere of the tent, the tension began to drain out of him and Salmone became more aware of the women’s familiar song than of the memory of the attack on Rahab, or even of Rahab herself. As if by tacit agreement, neither man spoke. Both stood hushed, entranced by the simple holiness of what they witnessed.

But before long, the two men could no longer resist and joined their baritone voices to that of the women:

The joyful song was interrupted as feminine gasps mingled with masculine voices begging pardon.

“You must excuse us, my daughters, for intruding on you.” Joshua managed to cut through the confusion. “Walking in here was like walking out of a sandstorm and into a quiet garden. Salmone and I are grateful to you for your sweet song. It has refreshed my heart, and I needed the refreshment.” Salmone nodded in silent agreement.

“My lord,” his sister said, prostrating herself before Joshua. “You honor Salmone and me by visiting our tent. Let me bring you some refreshments.” Joshua graciously bent and lifted Miriam up.

To Salmone’s annoyance, Rahab stood. “Izzie and I should return. Forgive our encroachment.”

Joshua waved his hand. “Nonsense. It’s you I’ve come to see.”

“Me?”

“Watch out, Joshua,” Salmone cut in. “She’s likely to repeat everything you say when she is nervous.”

“And why should she be nervous? Come, daughter, and sit by me.” Salmone’s mouth tightened as he saw Rahab gulp. With hesitant steps she moved near the patriarch before kneeling beside him. He noticed she tucked her hands into a fold in her dress to hide their trembling. He frowned, not understanding her extreme apprehension around Joshua. Or himself. It was as if she always expected them to put her down or cast her out. Why couldn’t the woman comprehend that she was safe now?

Rahab tried to quiet the rapid beating of her heart. It made little sense that a man of Joshua’s stature would trouble himself on her account.

“Salmone told me what happened this morning.” Joshua spoke as if on cue. “I wanted to see for myself that you had recovered.”

“You shouldn’t have concerned yourself, my lord. As you see, I’m fine.”

“What I see is the mark of my people’s insolence on your lovely face.” Joshua exhaled as though his breath weighed too much. “This has been the most abominable day. Achan is dead and buried in the valley beyond. Already the people call it the Valley of
Achor
for the trouble we have been through over this whole matter. It makes me furious that my people have added to our troubles by raising their hand against you. Please forgive us for our arrogance and prejudice, Rahab.”

Rahab shook her head. “Their suspicion is understandable.”
Wrenching, but understandable
. “I hope that in time they’ll come to trust us.”

“I will do what I can for you. I can promise that none of our number shall lift a hand against you or your family again. They might remain cold and distant for a time, though. You must forbear until they come to know you better. Don’t give way to discouragement.”

“Thank you, my lord, for your help.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiled a lopsided smile. “It’s only your due. You’re one of us now, no matter how the children of Israel treat you.”

Rahab looked down. These were sweet words, by far some of the sweetest she had ever heard. Words of belonging. Words of vindication. Joshua was treating her as though he truly accepted her. Cared for her wellbeing, even. It seemed impossible that such a man—lofty in position as well as holiness—would stoop to provide for her needs. And yet here he was, exhausted from a sleepless night and burdened by a nightmare day, come expressly for the purpose of reassuring her.

Perhaps that was why she couldn’t quite accept the validity of his words. She heard them. Her brain understood them. But in her deepest being, she could not receive them. In her secret heart she believed that it was a matter of time before Joshua would be disappointed with her. Like everyone else, he would turn his back on her when he came to know her. She bit her lip and frowned. Rahab knew that she would feel the bitterness of Joshua’s rejection far more than the sweetness of his present support. The rejection would feel real. True. His praise felt hollow—unreal.

Joshua, misconstruing her expression, said to Salmone, “She’s weary. Salmone, walk Rahab and her sister to their settlement and make sure their neighbors behave. Then come to my tent after supper, and I will tell the leaders about what we shall do regarding Ai.”

They rose in respect as Joshua stood to leave, but he refused further escort outdoors. The tent seemed to shrink in his absence. Salmone turned to Rahab. “Would you like to rest here awhile before we go?”

“No, I’m well. And you don’t need to see us home. Izzie and I can take care of ourselves.”

“Can you?” Without warning, Salmone ran a finger down her cheek, just avoiding the livid wound that marked the tender flesh. Rahab shivered at his touch, and he drew his finger back, curling his hand into a fist. “I’ll walk you home,” he said through clenched teeth, and Rahab sensed that she had annoyed him again. What had she done wrong now?

Izzie, blissfully unmindful of this dense and lamentable soup of emotions, gave a cheerful smile. “You’re good to us. We’ll be glad of your company.”

Salmone’s half smile was drenched in irony as it turned on Rahab. “A mutual feeling, I am sure.”

Miriam packed some salve as well as a large ball of fresh cheese and half a dozen pan breads, which she insisted Izzie and Rahab take. “You’ve had a hard day. A little treat will cheer you.” Rahab was too tired to argue and Izzie too cheerful a receiver to think of arguing.

Just as they were leaving, Miriam ran back into the tent and came out with a feather-filled cushion. “Rahab, take this. You’ll need something softer than a blanket on sand for your cheek tonight.”

“Oh no, I can’t take your cushion. I’ve eaten your lunch. I’ve drunk your water. I’ve taken your cheese. I’ve received your bread. I’ve borrowed your salve. I can’t take one more thing.”

“For goodness sake, give me the cushion! You’re not sleeping on sand tonight and that’s final,” Salmone said, vexation in every syllable.

“But—”

“Not another word. Not a sigh. Not a peep. Not one more objection out of you. Understand?”

“Salmone!” Miriam sounded shocked.

“That goes for you too, sister. We’re going to have a quiet, peaceful, tranquil walk. Then I will knock some of our neighbors’ heads together. And afterward I will have another quiet, peaceful, tranquil walk home.”

The following day Rahab woke up clutching Miriam’s cushion, groggy from disturbing dreams. Her nieces and nephews, already nauseatingly alert, shrieked about the camp, playing hide-and-seek. She sat up and winced. Her cheek hurt. Her head pounded. Her body revolted against sleeping so long without proper bedding. She wished she could be alone and quiet. Instead, a four-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl and her eight-year-old cousin piled on top of her, insisting auntie Rahab hide them under her blankets. She held their cuddly bodies close to hers and dove under the covers. They giggled with abominable jubilation, moving about until they became a tangle of arms and legs.

“Don’t wriggle so much or the others will find you,” she warned
her nephew. In his effort to quiet down, he raised an elbow and shoved it into Rahab’s face, too close to her tender cheek.

“Oof!” Her head reverberated with jarring pain, and she pulled the blanket down and sat up. She blinked once to clear her vision. Salmone stood over her like a big oak tree, his face hidden by the blaze of the sun. She realized that the sun was high in the sky, and that it was late morning.

“I thought you would have risen by now,” he commented.

“Uh.”

“Not talkative in the mornings?”

“No.” Her nieces and nephew started wriggling afresh, growing impatient. First one, then another, then the last sprang free from the blanket’s grasp and ran off.

Salmone’s eyes followed their progress with good-natured interest. Shifting his focus back to Rahab he said, “Do you always take so many people to bed with you?”

Shocked, she looked at him with widened eyes. He became very still suddenly, his face frozen, his skin turning a dark red. She realized he had simply blundered. He hadn’t thought through what he said. Those same words, if uttered in deliberate meanness or sarcasm would have reduced her to a defensive barb. Under the circumstances, however, they struck her as funny. She put her hand over her mouth, but the laughter leaked out in dribbles. “Thank you,” she said.