Providence (22 page)

“The prophet joined us in marriage.” Gil's hand massaged her shoulder. His touch made her feel like royalty, not a soiled and cast-off daughter.

Her mother-in-law's hands flew into the air. “
Selah.
We will celebrate tonight. My husband and his sons are away.” Excitement shone in her eyes as she straightened her head covering. “I will put leeks in the stew.”

“Not on my account.” Hannah gave Gil a knowing glance. Her stomach was a tumble of nerves and the flavoring would not tickle her tongue.

“Definitely on your account,” Gil said. “We will celebrate as a family.”

The pride in his declaration wrapped around her like a golden-threaded scarf.

After dinner and ample apologies from her mother-in-law for being unable to offer lodging, she and Gil headed to his alcove with a blanket for comfort.

“My mother's husband provides a roof for her. It was not provided for me.” A hint of sadness was buried deep in his explanation.

“At least your mother did not require a bribe to spare you a stoning. You are a good man, Husband.” She hoped her encouragement would lighten his spirits. “You have always been kind to me.”

After they dipped under the sheet to his alley, he caught her in an embrace and kissed her so tenderly, the day's worries faded away.

Uzzah's scold of one of the horses rang out on the other side of the soiled-sheet wall.

“Do you need to check on the boy?” Her concern coaxed a handsome smile from her husband.

“He can take care of himself. He has been on his own for a while. Interfering will bring more shouting.

“Is Uzzah an orphan?”

“An orphan in need of work and guidance.” Gil smiled as if remembering the boy's prior misdeeds. “I watch over him as does the landowner.”

“Zadok seems like a fine man.”

“He is, but he prefers if I oversee the boy.” He arched his eyebrows. “Zadok has never lived on the streets.”

Gil spread the blanket near the rain barrel. “Recline in your palace, my wife.”

She sat and leaned against the house wall. Her feet throbbed against the straps of her sandals.

“Now you will have me to watch over. I am an orphan. And this—” She indicated the crates. “Is our bedroom.”

“Not for long.” He swaddled her with the ends of the blanket.

Tears welled in her eyes. She nestled her face into the crook of his neck.

“Hannah.” Her name reverberated from his throat. “Your family is not lost.”

His broad chest was a rest to her weary bones. “I knew the consequences when I left. I do not mean to weep. Forgive me. We are together and safe.”

His breath was warm upon her ear nub. “Weep for joy my wife, for you have been in my bed too long and not in the women's tent.”

Her mind raced.

A chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “It is the truth.”

When was her last time? With Reumah. Before they visited the temple of Hadad. She counted the days and weeks. She was overdue. He did not lie.

The alley was dim, even light from the window did not disperse the shadows. But Gil's grin of delight was a beacon in the darkness.

She wished she could fly over the city and sing out her news. “I am carrying your child.”

32

Grunts and shouts of stone masons trailed off on the afternoon trade winds. Hannah's new home was almost complete, built on the land Zadok had sold to Gil. She scanned the fields for Uzzah. The boy was taking ample time with his chores.

Two riders caught her attention. Their donkeys were at a full trot. Dirt clouds swirled from the animal's hooves. Had Gil hired more workers?

As the donkeys neared the stable, she realized by the cut of cloth that these men were not laborers. The stiff-backed man in the lead was her brother. The second man with a gray beard long enough to rest on his mount's mane, and an ornate robe coveted by those barred from the most holy of places, could only be Azor.

Warmth flamed across her face. She would have blamed her condition but the babe had never caused her fingers to tremble. Options flashed through her mind. Run inside. Flee to the fields. Hide with the livestock. Thoughts of escape had come too late. Shimron whipped his donkey in her direction.

She glanced over the landscape. No Gil in sight. She held her ground. Receiving two disgruntled priests made her feel like the caged pigeons trapped behind wood as Gil guided their wagon across the Jordan.
God, why do you conspire against me?

Shimron dismounted. Azor remained seated atop his ride, high and lofty.

“Sister.” Shimron's voice was as melodious as a snake charmer's flute. He raised his arms in her direction. Surely, he did not expect an embrace, or worse, a kiss.

She strolled forward and feigned a kiss for formality. “Why is he here?” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Is the gold not enough?”

Shimron pinched her chin, causing her eyes to water. “He would not accept an offering that was likely tribute to a false god.”

“Rededicate it if he thinks it plunder.” She stepped back, her stomach tightening. She had the pit of a prune burrowing into her belly.

“I made the offer, dear sister.” Her brother kept his voice low. “He finds it unacceptable. Apparently in his old age, he values a wife more than coin.” Her brother's inflection on the word “wife” made the pounding of the stone masons echo in her cursed ears. “You may sully yourself, but not our lineage. I am the heir of Zebula. My children shall not be disregarded because of your selfishness.”

Heat flashed through her body, causing her skin to prickle. She had been honest with her family, not self-serving. “The Blessed One of Israel performed the ceremony on the mountain. I belong to another. Surely he will honor the prophet's proclamation?”

“He questions your truth.” Shimron waved Azor forward. “Along with others.”

And how would others know of her words? Ignoring Azor's arrogant posture, she took a deep breath. “I have a husband, sir. I have told the truth about our marriage. I do not need two men in my bed.” The
plinking
of the masons halted.

Azor raised a hand as a shield to her anger. “I have the utmost regard for the line of Zebula. Have your father and I not sworn to uphold God's Law? The word of a Levite is trustworthy. However, I have not found a witness to your claims, and I cannot trust a man from the streets. I have no doubt his deception and trickery has swayed your testimony.”

Her body quaked with a righteous rage. “How dare you insult my husband. On his land. In front of his workers.” She stumbled backward into the arm of a stone mason. He handed her a cup of water. She drank her fill. She did not extend an offer to her guests.

A storm of topsoil clouded the sky. Charging hooves stampeded through the field. The rhythm brought her comfort. Gil had come to her rescue. Again.

Gil jumped from his mount almost atop her brother. He stood in front of her, blocking the sun. His hands-on-hips stance revealed one of Konath's daggers.

“What brings you to the outskirts?” No welcome rang in Gil's greeting.

Azor pulled on the reins of his donkey and lengthened the strap as if readying a whip for an attack. “We have come to discuss your claim to this woman. We can find no witnesses to your union.”

“The prophet of Israel gives testimony.” Gil's booming voice and the mention of the prophet caused work on the house to come to a standstill.

“No one has seen the prophet since he left Mahanaim for the mountain.” Shimron raised an eyebrow inferring she and Gil had something to hide.

She stepped from Gil's shadow. “Did you ask Makir? The one who leads the army? I spoke with him, face to face, while the soldiers of Aram amassed in the valley. It was Makir who told us where to find the prophet.”

“I have kinsmen in Mahanaim.” Azor's voice rose with grandeur. “They spoke of our enemies crossing the border. Makir and others gave testimony that they had seen the prophet, and they gave testimony to seeing you, daughter of Zebula. But they could not swear that you had met the prophet.”

“We met.” Gil stomped toward Azor's donkey like he was meeting a foe in the arena. “If your people have spoken with Makir, then you know we were not alone.”

She rushed to Gil's side. “The prophet healed Naabak, the commander of Aram's armies. Naabak's wife, a servant, and a soldier saw the miracle and our marriage.” Surely Azor would not persist with such a crowd of witnesses.

“So you have told.” Shimron contained his donkey without a care as to the turmoil he had brought to her door.

“Others say a sick man went up the mountain and a dead man came down. How is this the work of the prophet of God?” Azor asked.

“They were not the same man.” She threw her hands up in despair. How could she make her brother and the priest believe the truth? She rounded on Shimron. “I am your sister, raised in the same household. Did our parents not instill the Law in us? I will not speak falsely.” But she had when it was needed to safeguard her dignity. And Gil's. But they had made atonement. And only God need know of the past. “Do you believe me, your sister, to be a liar?”

“Hah.” Her brother's chuckle startled the donkeys. “Do not speak to me of your birthright. You fled in the middle of the night with this man.” He flung a wrist Gil's direction insinuating Gil was as bothersome as a tedious fly.

“I sought the prophet to heal my curse.” Her secret slipped from her tongue for all to hear. She glanced at the house. Only half the workers seemed to be listening to the argument. “As did our father,” she continued, poking Shimron in the chest. Restraint kept her from slapping his face. “Gil saw to my safety.”

“He soiled a virgin intended for another,” Shimron shouted.

The
tinks
and
tanks
from the masonry work died off completely.

“I am an honorable man.” Gil's declaration rang out over the fields. His body shook as it contained his rage.

“Oh, and who will testify to your honor?” Shimron spat at Gil. “Your father?”

Gil's arms rippled. His hand hovered dangerously close to his dagger.

She hugged his waist in a show of love and support as she pointed to the path. “Go. Leave. Now.” The force of her command scratched her throat. “Your point is moot. I will not reside with Azor. I am carrying my husband's child.”

Shimron's eyes became as wide and dark as a pair of plums.

Azor rode closer, still sitting high on his mount. Hannah put a hand to her forehead to assess his demeanor, but the sun's brightness burned her eyes. Surely he would go now that he learned of the child.

“You are no longer welcome here.” Gil jerked free from her grasp. The jar caused a twinge in her gut. She didn't stop her husband. She couldn't. He muttered insults in Hebrew. Words she tried not to recognize.

“I will not allow God's commandments to be mocked. By law,” Azor shouted red-faced, “the child is mine.”

“Never.” Gil unsheathed his blade.

“Gilead.” She called his name like his mother, shrill and strong. No blood would wet this soil. “Husb—” She gagged and bent at the waist. At the force of her call, vomit erupted from her mouth and splattered the donkey's hooves.

Her vision faded. Someone called out her name.

Oh God, do not take my babe.

33

Hannah woke in the bed she and Gil shared as husband and wife. She sat, feeling like a tattered sack emptied of its fruit and thrown on the wood pile. Gil rested in the corner of the room. He had used an old tunic as a mat.

“I did not fare well in the heat. Do they think me demon possessed? Did they flee our land?” Her voice came out deep and rough through her parched throat.

Gil hurried to her side. “They wait. For you.” His hand smoothed over her hair and stroked her ear stubs like they were normal. Healed. “How is my wife and our child?”

She placed a hand on her midsection. “I am no longer ill.” When she realized her hair was bare of cloth, her heart rallied with hope. “My head covering. Did Azor see my deformity?”

Gil nodded. “But it did not deter his desire to take you from me.”

“He has many children of his own. Why does he not return to them?”
Oh, Lord, how much longer will you punish me?

“Azor will not return home without you.” Gil clasped her hands. “And I will not let him take my family.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Can't they leave us alone in our happiness?”

“They will, when we bring witnesses to our union. That is why I am returning to Aram.”

Collapsing into his chest, she pulled Gil closer. She slipped a hand into his black curls and wrapped a finger around a lock of thick hair. If only she could anchor him here. Keep him by her side. Root him in the fields. “You cannot leave me. If you do not return…” A tear streamed down her cheek, leaving a trail of wetness and despair before it plunged to the linen below.

“I will return.” His voice allowed no doubt. “To you. To my child.” His hand slid over her stomach and halted in its middle. “I will not let that haughty Levite raise a rebel from Judah. This child will have my name.”

“Your good name.” Her throat tightened as she thought of Gil holding their child.

His eyes glistened with pride.

She lightly touched Gil's arm, rubbing the scars of battle. She marveled at her husband's strength. “You have great faith. No one has seen the prophet since we left him. And why would Naabak brave the threat of war to assist a lowly servant?”

He stroked the outline of her face, drying the deserting tears. “I will find them both and they will come. They will beg to return and sing the praises of my wife. What future did Naabak have without you? Without our God? Your prayers even raised a dead man.”

She leaned in, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, his breath warming her lips. “Do not give me false hope.” She breathed a laugh. “Hope. I thought it had finally come my way. With you.” She stretched one of his smooth curls between her fingers and watched it snap back into place. “I have lost all hope. God is still punishing me. But now, in ways more cruel.”