Providence (7 page)

Hannah eased back in her chair. Her master liked to talk. “Is your family far away?” All the better for Hannah if there were no guests coming and going from the house.

“They are behind the city walls, safe from the evil that has cursed my husband, and they believe, this household.”

“Evil?”

“Naabak's plague.” Reumah ran a finger around the lip of the honey jar. “Many fear our dwelling harbors evil spirits sent by angry gods.” She licked her finger and raised her arms up in the air. “I see no spirits. Do you?”

“I know only of the God of Abraham. But I sense no spirits.”

Reumah was a comely woman, attractive, not frothing at the mouth or clawing herself like a woman possessed by demons.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

Reumah called for the person to enter.

A man hurried into the bed chamber. If this was Mereb, he was older than Hannah expected, or at least it was how he appeared. His skin was like raisins, almost black, and grooved—scarred perhaps. The turban on his head was spotless unlike Gil's earth-stained coils. How could Naabak trust a man, even an old one, around his attractive wife? Perhaps Mereb was a eunuch.

Reumah rose to her feet. “Oh, Mereb, can't I have one evening without you.”

“A feast has been set for you, Mistress.” He glanced at Hannah.

“My husband brought her to me.” Reumah motioned for Hannah to stand. “You are not the only one who has escaped execution.”

Mereb bowed to Reumah. “If Naabak has deemed her worthy of this position, then we will work as one.” He turned to leave and motioned to Hannah to follow him.

Hannah rose and clasped her hands behind her back. She bowed before joining Mereb.

Reumah nodded. “The honey is at work already. I am certain.”

Mereb closed the massive doors. “Is she ill?” he asked.

“Not that I noticed.”

Hannah followed the Moabite down the hall. There were two small rooms at its end—barren squares containing a basket for clothes, a mat to lie on, and a bowl for waste. No doors. No secrecy. The close quarters reminded Hannah of the alcove where she had first met Gil. Her throat tightened as she remembered his carefree smile and bold laughter. If only he could visit this room, lie on her mat. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She had to flatter Reumah and stay in her favor.

Collapsing onto the woven mat, Hannah pricked her lips with some stale bread portioned on a plate. How would she escape from Aram and return to her family? The daughter of Zebula was not born into slavery. She passed the evening listing what she would need for her journey—a horse, a skin of water, a weapon. How would she arrive at such a stash?

A squeeze to her shoulder sent her heart racing. She sprung into a seated position and came face to face with Mereb. “I thought someone had come to harm me.”

Mereb let go of her shoulder. “There is no answer at our master's door. I fear for her. You said she was ill.”

Had she? She stood and rubbed her arms, calming the bumps that had risen from her start. Mereb had mentioned Reumah's sickness. She was not the first. Was her mistress distraught at the report she had brought about Naabak?

She hurried down the hall to Reumah's bedchamber. There was no need to knock if Mereb had not received an answer. She pushed open the door. Perhaps Reumah had fainted?

Hannah sprinted into the room and a moan caught her attention. It came from the bed. She gasped and covered her mouth.

Reumah reclined on the bed, her head slung backward on a pillow. Konath lounged beside her.

8

Hannah turned and fled. Reumah's sultry pose, and the image of Konath gazing at her body, stunned Hannah's morality. Konath's wrath-filled eyes chilled her blood. She hesitated at the top of the stairs. Did she dare run down into the camp? No. She did not need a crowd of leering men to watch her punishment.

Racing to her room, she flattened her back against the wall and prayed the couple would return to their adultery.

Pounding footsteps echoed down the hallway. Konath was coming. Mereb had vanished. She tried to calm her breathing. Her chest burned for air.
God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, do not abandon me now.

“You dog.” Konath was upon her. He clenched her throat with calloused hands still warm from sin. “Forgetting your place has ruined my night.”

Hannah's face grew hot. Her temples drummed a deafening beat. An apology gurgled in her voice box.

Konath relaxed his grip. She renewed her apology. He butted her head into the wall.

A confusion of light and lines blurred her vision as if she had stared at a candle flame for too long. “I didn't—”

“Shut up, swine. Soon Naabak's wife and armies will be mine. And you will be no more.”

She clawed at his hands. The overwhelming need to breathe roared in her chest. Yanking a finger from her throat, she rasped, “But…Naabak—”

Hot breath puffed in her face. She did not flinch. Her curse spared her the stench.

“Your Naabak battles fever from the day's ride. Demons torment his mind. Soon his stubs won't be able to wield a sword. Even if he lives, he will be useless to the king. And all that is his will pass to me.” Konath's crazy-eyed squint sent a shiver across her skin. “Your last memory will be of me taking my pleasures before you die.”

She held his stare, too terrified to look elsewhere. He eased the pressure on her neck, but kept her pinned to the wall. She hung in the air against the wall like one of Reumah's tapestries. Laughter barked in her flawed ears.

Konath released his fierce grip.

She fell to the floor and lay like a corpse until his footsteps faded into the night.

Rolling to her side, she cradled her ribs. Her bones ached like a paddled rug. She breathed thanks to God for restraining Konath. The vile man had not slaked his lust with her, or Reumah. But Naabak could not succumb to his disease. If God allowed Naabak to die, her end would be the same as the day of her capture.

“You fared better than me.” Mereb bent to examine her body.

Hannah pushed him away. She did not have the strength to explain about her deformed ears and her curse this night.

“He did not draw blood. Must have been the wine he drank this evening.”

Wine? Her mouth gaped.
“You knew he was in there?” She scrambled to her feet. “And you sent me in?”

“Someone had to stop the adultery. I am of no consequence.”

She shoved him toward the opening to her room. “Get. Out. You have sealed my tomb with your trickery.”

Mereb grasped at her tunic. “You have found favor with Naabak. Your presence is a reminder to Reumah of their vows.”

“And Naabak is dying.” The force of her words pained her throat. “If Konath succeeds our master, all that belongs to Naabak—you, me, Reumah—will belong to that animal.”

“So be forthright with Reumah. Speak to her of your time spent with her husband.” Mereb touched her hand.

She drew back. “It is my first day. I have barely served her.”

“You are both young,” Mereb said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Think of Naabak. He is not the one in the bed of another.”

“Is he able?” Hannah's hand clapped over her mouth. She was the virgin daughter of a priest. To be discussing marital relations with a man was forbidden. “You must leave.” She rubbed her bruised arm.

“Naabak spared my life and yours. He deserves our allegiance.”

“Is there not a priest or elder in Aram that can heal him? I have heard of the temple sacrifices in Damascus. Certainly there is a medium in this heathen land?”

Mereb shook his head. “The king has inquired of his officials. They have tried spells and talked to spirits, but Naabak still suffers.”

Hannah closed her eyes. She envisioned the boy dancing before the prophet singing praises to Jehovah. Would the mouthpiece of God heal Naabak? Show him mercy because of his disease? With her enslavement, how could she speak to the man of God and tell him of the kindness Naabak had shown to a Hebrew captive? God did not take away her curse and she was the daughter of a chief priest.

She glanced out the window at the stars taking charge of the darkness. Longing filled her heart, for her homeland, for Gil.
Oh, Gilead. If only I had your bravery.

“You must go to our mistress and remind her of her position.” Mereb dropped to his knees. A trickle of sweat dripped from beneath his turban. “Reumah can keep us both safe from Konath.”

She laughed at the insanity of her situation. At a Moabite bowing at her feet. At the hope that Konath could be restrained by another man's wife. Mereb did not join in her madness. He gave her a you-know-I-speak-the-truth stare. A stare she had seen in the eyes of her parents.

“Is Konath gone?” She studied Mereb's expression for the truth. She did not want to interrupt another lust-filled interlude.

He nodded. “To his men.”

Befriending Reumah and gaining her trust was the only means of survival. If Hannah had any hope of returning to Jerusalem and seeing her family again, she had to return to the bedroom of iniquity and make amends.

9

Hannah paced outside the vine-swept doors of Reumah's bedroom. She would beg if need be and take the blame for barging into Reumah's bed chamber. Naabak had to be kept alive. Fever or no fever. If Konath came to power, Reumah's protection would cease. Konath would rule this household, take his sexual pleasure, and slit Hannah's throat. An ending he had vowed.

Did she dare mention the prophet of Israel to Reumah? Did Reumah wish for her husband's healing? Or was she waiting to warm Konath's bed? Oh, how Hannah longed to return to her own land.

With a deep breath, she knocked. The pain of Konath's beating radiated down her spine.

“Enter,” came Reumah's reply.

Reumah reclined in the chair by the honey jar, lazily stirring the nectar. She didn't look up from the circles her finger created. “You will not judge me.”

She knelt in front of her mistress, face to the floor. “What is there to judge? I am a lowly servant and I entered your chamber unannounced
.” Because of Mereb's deception.

“Hah. I saw your face.” Reumah jolted forward in her seat. “Do not lie. You thought me shameful.”

“You stunned me.” Hannah tried not to cast blame. “I did not expect another man to be in your bed.”

“He was not in my bed.” Reumah pounded the table.

Hannah's muscles tensed at Reumah's harsh denial. By the letter of the law, he was not in her bed!

“You were not forthright earlier.” Reumah ripped away Hannah's head covering. Cool air bathed Hannah's ear nubs. “Konath warned me about your cunning.” Reumah pulled Hannah's hair as she drew back.

At the mention of Konath's name, Hannah's jaw clenched. Her hands fisted, embedding fingernails into her palms. He had tried to force himself on a virgin and now he soiled Naabak's bed. Did he give the order to murder Gil? Or did Konath slay Gil himself?

She stayed on her knees, but she would not stay silent. “Your husband knows of my curse. He spared my life and deemed me fit to serve his wife.” She let her last word, the one of Reumah's position, linger in the air. “As you heard from his own lips, Konath knows as well. But he is not a man to trust with secrets.” She braced for a slap. None came.

Reumah bent over as if in pain. She rested her elbows on her knees and wept into her hands. “I have failed. I have birthed no heir for Naabak. When he dies, his land and wealth will go to his father's people.” Reumah's chest heaved as she swiped tears from her cheeks. “I will live in my family's home a bitter widow, handing bracelets to my brothers to sell in the marketplace for my keep.” She swept another tear from her face and perfected her posture. “If Konath favors me, I will retain my wealth and position.”

Hannah caressed her blood-stained knuckle, a gift from Konath. Why should she care about the fate of this foreign woman? A heathen caught in adultery—with Konath no less. Gil protected the widows and downtrodden in the gleaning fields. Would he have taken pity on Reumah and championed her plight? She remembered Gil offering the pomegranate berries and coming to her defense when her brother's temper flared. Her heart ached. Gil would have helped Reumah find peace in her distress.

She bit her lip, fighting back the pain of losing Gil and her family. “I know of someone who could heal your husband.” The words rushed from her mouth before she could censor them.

“Who?” Curiosity brightened Reumah's features.

“There is a prophet in Israel. I have seen him heal—”

Reumah rose and dismissed the announcement with a flip of her hand. “Naabak has seen officials at Hadad's temple.”

“But has Naabak seen an official grow a leg?” She followed Reumah to the bed and did not picture what had passed on the sheets. “A lame boy danced before my eyes. Skin grew on bone. New flesh.” She hesitantly touched Reumah's back. “I believe the prophet could restore Naabak.”

Reumah whirled on her “Did you petition this prophet? What of your ears? I do not see proper flesh. If this prophet of yours is so great, why did he not heal you? You stood in his presence.”

Heat flooded Hannah's limbs and cheeks. “He touched me but he said it was not my time.”

“And what if it's not my husband's time?” Reumah clutched a pillow to her breast. “He should accept the ridicule of this Jew?”

Hannah's mouth fell open at Reumah's callous blasphemy.
Oh Lord, forgive this mockery.
Knees weak, she dropped to the floor before her mistress.

“It has to be Naabak's time.” Her words rose with hope. “Naabak has no time to spare.”

Reumah sprawled on the bed, her hair splaying across her headrest. Her gaze rested on the ceiling and danced from one rendering to another.

Hannah removed her mistress's sandals and sat by the bed.