Pearl in the Sand (28 page)

“It was a good day when you joined Israel,” he said into the silence.

“What?” she asked, her mouth falling open. She forgot her concern about how she looked and stared at him. She could not have heard aright. Not those words of belonging from Salmone. “What?” she said again.

His mouth softened into a lazy smile. “I see you’ve given up repeating me. Now you’re repeating yourself.”

A
fter eighteen days of wretched inactivity, Salmone rose from his sick bed long enough to take a few faltering steps around the tent. His legs wobbled as he moved, but they carried him, for which he thanked God. A steady stream of friends had been trying to cheer him since Zuph allowed visitors. Because his strength had contracted to a fraction of its usual vigor, he often fell asleep in the middle of conversations, like an old grandmother. Zuph warned him that it would take weeks before he felt himself again. Joshua scoffed at his impatience and told him he ought to be grateful he lived, and that God was restoring his health back to him. He knew this to be true, yet it did not help the chafing impatience that tormented him at having to be helped every time he ate or sat or emptied his bowels.

Aside from the awful infirmity, pain dogged his every conscious hour. Deep inside his gut, the lacerations in the layers of skin and muscle and vital organ ached with a tenderness that made him catch his breath as he moved.

Rahab and Miriam smiled when he barked at them, not taking
any offense. He was as grateful for this as for their incessant care of his needs. Their casual acceptance of his foul moods made it easier to bear himself. They made certain to spare him from feelings of guilt. With Miriam, whom he had known since infancy, he already felt a level of comfort that long familiarity had established. Now his enforced intimacy with Rahab birthed a similar comfort. He found her easy company, never intrusive or awkward and demanding. She soothed him without trying. He liked her conversation. She often surprised him by her insights. Only the night before she had told him how the Passover had come alive for her during the siege of Jericho. He had asked what she meant.

“Hanani and Ezra told me how, in Egypt, the Pharaoh would not let your people go,” she said. “So the Lord brought down plague after plague upon the people of Egypt, and in the end, death came against all the firstborn of the land. They told me on that day the people of Israel were instructed to remain inside their homes, with the doors closed, and the blood of lambs marking the sides and tops of the door frames. When the Lord sent the destroyer to go through the land and strike down the Egyptians, the destroyer passed over the homes of Israel by this sign.

“My family and I were in Jericho when God sent destruction and death against our nation. We too were told to stay inside our home. We were given no sacrifice, not belonging to Israel then, but God chose a scarlet cord the color of blood to hang outside my door as a sign to preserve us from death. Shut up in my home, surrounded by death and yet being spared from it, I felt a little of what your fathers and mothers must have known—that it was God alone who held our lives in the palm of His hand.”

Salmone had been amazed at Rahab’s intuitive understanding of God’s ways. Her conversation often enlivened his otherwise monotonous surroundings. He liked also her ability to remain quiet and listen. Though he knew it to be a selfish decision, he chose not to insist that the women conscript others to help with his care. He preferred limited companionship and was reluctant to expose his
weakness to anyone else who might irritate him further with needless clucking.

His world, usually so large and encompassing, had shrunk to the size of a tent. When on the twentieth day of his confinement he took his first steps outside and saw the sun, he almost wept with relief. His friends set up a chair of sorts for him, comfortable, yet firm, easy to get in and out of. Nestled in its depths, Salmone held court for his horde of visitors.

In spite of the thick knot of people that surrounded him and vied for his attention, Salmone became aware that he had not seen Rahab for hours that day. He stopped Miriam on her way to fetch water and said in her ear, “Where’s Rahab?”

She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. “With this army of admirers, you can’t bear to lose one?”

Salmone drew his eyebrows into a frown. “Where is she?” he insisted, feeling a knot in his stomach. Her absence grated on him more than he cared to admit.

“In the women’s tent.”

“Oh. How long will that be?” he asked, disappointment over her absence sinking in.

Miriam rolled her eyes. “As long as it takes.” She played with the tip of her fingernail. “Don’t worry. Abigail is coming to help me instead. She can manage now that your nursing needs are so much lighter.”

Salmone turned his head away, vexed. What cared he for Abigail and nursing? He wanted Rahab. He swallowed hard as the thought sank in. He missed her. He wanted her back. Scowling, he hunkered down in his chair and ignored a question directed at him. The one benefit of sickness was that people pretended not to notice when he was rude.

In the evening, Joshua came to visit him as he had often done in the course of Salmone’s convalescence—a high honor given the man’s list of unending responsibilities. He always managed to come at the time when other visitors had disappeared, and the tent of the
wounded, now empty of every patient save Salmone, was reduced to four or five people. Joshua had established a routine of time alone with Salmone, followed by prayer. Often, Joshua would invite Miriam and Rahab to join in the prayers.

Salmone had been ensconced back in his pallet by the time Joshua came. The day outside had tired him more than he imagined, and he lay on his feather bedding feeling sluggish and useless.

“I hear half of Israel came to visit you on your first outing today,” Joshua commented as he made himself comfortable on the floor next to Salmone.

“At least. I made them kiss my ring and bow in respect.” Joshua ignored him and looked around. “Let’s pray. Where’s Rahab?”

“In the women’s tent.” Salmone did not quite manage to wipe the resentment from his tone.

“She didn’t do it to inconvenience you,” Joshua said, amusement coloring his voice. “It’s God’s design.”

“Did I say anything?” Salmone snapped. “I’m not
that
self-centered.”

“Are you sure?” Joshua asked and guffawed.

“It’s a relief someone in this tent is amused.”

“What are you going to do about this?” Joshua asked suddenly serious, his face wiped clean of its laughter, looking intent.

Salmone chose to play obtuse. “What’s to do? As you said, it’s God’s design.”

Joshua threw him a stern look. “About your feelings for Rahab. Are those God’s design too?” he demanded.

Salmone turned away his head. He toyed with the idea of dismissing Joshua’s allegation, but concluded that he would be wasting his breath. Joshua was not a man easily sidetracked or deceived. Salmone had two options: refuse to discuss the matter, or unburden himself with the one man he respected above every other. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you love her?”

Salmone had run from that question the way sheep run from mountain lions. Yet, it always caught up with him in the end. Could he love a harlot from Canaan? Could he thus pollute the line of Judah? And yet, the woman he had come to know, the loyal friend who placed others before herself, who spoke truth and showed kindness even under pressure and provocation, the woman whose tenderness had perhaps saved his life, bore no resemblance to the
zonah
he had envisioned. His thinking became muddled when he placed these considerations next to each other—
who Rahab was
and
what Rahab had done
.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, Joshua. I’m confused.”

“Confusion is not of God. You must look to your heart and find the source of it. Let me tell you one thing. If you find that you do love her, I will stand behind you should you choose to marry her. I admire her, Salmone, and as I have said from the beginning, God Himself brought her to us. So you would have my blessing. But only if you love her. Both of you deserve nothing less.”

Salmone stared at Joshua in disbelief. Had the leader of Israel just given him permission to marry a Canaanite woman who had once made a living entertaining men in her bed?

A week later Rahab returned to the tent of the wounded wearing a new dress in pale blue linen and a shuttered expression. She avoided Salmone’s eye as she circumvented his swathe of friends gathered outside the tent of the wounded and went straight inside to seek Miriam. Salmone had to battle the urge to get up and follow her inside right away. Why had she not greeted him? Why had she seemed so distant? After what seemed an interminable time, Salmone made an excuse and pulled himself out of his chair and walked inside the tent. Rahab was already helping Miriam, listening to his sister’s update from the previous week. Salmone shuffled over, his gait that of an aging man suffering from a double hernia.
He stood over Rahab as she knelt on the floor, binding clean bandages. His heart did a flip at the sight of her. “Welcome,” he said.

“Thank you.” She glanced up at him and down again. “You look improved. Less orange.”

“You look paler. Didn’t you like the women’s tent? I’d heard it was a pleasant place to spend a week.”

She flushed scarlet. At first he thought he had embarrassed her. Did Canaanites not speak of such things openly? Then a new suspicion made him lower his brows in a fierce frown. “Did they mistreat you? Did someone offend you?”

Rahab waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing.”

Salmone let out an explosive breath. “It isn’t
nothing
. What happened? Tell me.”

“Please, Salmone. Let it go. I don’t wish to speak of it.” Her voice sounded small and vulnerable. Salmone wanted to explode with frustration. He could not force her to talk. He could not force the women of Israel to show respect to one who had given their nation nothing but loyalty. He could not even force his injured body to bend down so he could comfort her. With a muffled growl, he turned his back and walked to the other side of the tent.

Miriam came to him and put a calming hand on his arm. “This is ridiculous,” he hissed under his breath.

“I’m afraid it’s partly my fault. Abby told me that some of the women felt snubbed because I chose Rahab alone to help me nurse you. They won’t hold it against me, or you, of course. But they blame her for worming her way into our affections. They doubt her sincerity.”

“Is she to suffer because of her kindness to us? I won’t have it.”

“Salmone, you can’t do anything about it. It will merely make matters worse. You must trust God to vindicate her.”

Salmone crossed his arms and raised his chin. “You want me to sit around doing nothing while the women of Israel torment Rahab because of her goodness to me?”

“I want you to trust God. Leave it in His hands.”

Salmone made an irritated sound in his throat and walked out.