Return to Me (32 page)

“I can’t sleep. I’m worried that you’re going to leave me.”

“I won’t leave you.” But Yael knew that she wouldn’t be making that decision, Rafi would. Hodaya limped closer.

“What are you doing? What are those scrolls?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s go back to bed.”

For now, her future with Rafi would have to remain unknown.

I
n living quarters as close as theirs, Zechariah could easily hear everything that was going on. Yael was in love with a Samaritan and determined to marry him. He heard all of his family’s well-intentioned pleas and arguments, and he knew that his free-spirited friend would do whatever she wanted to in the end. Zechariah had tried for years to lure her away from the Samaritans and their astrology, but he had failed. Once she married Rafi and moved to his village, no one would ever see her again. He would never win her back to God. She would die with the pagans.

The morning after Yael arrived home with the news, a familiar dream jolted Zechariah awake just before dawn. But it had a different ending this time. The storage basket with Yael hidden inside was tightly bound with ropes so she couldn’t escape. In the dream Zechariah cut through the ropes with one of the sacrificial knives he was learning to use and set her free.

He lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it meant. As the sky grew lighter, he heard his grandparents talking outside in the courtyard. “Iddo, we have to do something! You know what those Samaritans are like. It makes me sick to think of Yael living with them. They’ll destroy her. She’s like
my own daughter, and I can’t bear to lose her. We can’t let her marry him.”

“Don’t worry, Dinah. Mattaniah assured me that he’s going to refuse Zabad’s offer.”

“She’ll run away with him—I know she will. We haven’t convinced her that she’s making a mistake.”

“Mattaniah asked us to watch her and make sure she stays here. We can’t let her go to the farm.”

“She ran away from here once before, remember? She went all the way to the village to see Leyla. She’s fearless.”

“I know. But Mattaniah needs time to figure out an honorable way to decline Zabad’s proposal. Yael was right when she said that a flat refusal will start another war. We can’t risk insulting him and causing more trouble.”

Zechariah climbed out of bed and hurried outside as the solution to the dilemma suddenly came to him. The dream had shown him the answer, and it seemed so obvious, so inevitable, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “Saba, I know of an honorable way for Mattaniah to decline Zabad’s proposal. He can say that Rafi’s proposal has come too late. That he already chose a husband for Yael and settled on a dowry. He can show him a signed marriage contract. Then if Rafi runs away with Yael, he would bring shame to his family. He would be stealing another man’s wife.”

“I cannot advise Mattaniah to lie.”

“He won’t have to lie. Mattaniah can sign a contract with me. I’ll marry Yael.”

“No, Zaki,” Saba said. “You should marry a wife who loves you—and who loves God.”

“Yael is a Levite’s daughter and—”

“Do you have proof that she’s a suitable wife for a priest? Is she devoted to the Almighty One?”

Zechariah turned away, hoping Saba wouldn’t read the truth
in his expression. Should he tell them about the dream he’d just had? Would they believe him?

“Yael’s family dabbled in astrology and sorcery in Babylon,” Saba continued, “and she’s been mingling with the Samaritans all these years.”

“I know. But the same is true of our entire nation, Saba. Our ancestors all drifted from the Holy One, didn’t they? Yet He forgave us and offered us a second chance. Isn’t Yael still a daughter of Israel? Doesn’t she deserve a second chance?”

“But what kind of a marriage will you have,” Safta asked, “if she loves someone else and not you?”

Zaki couldn’t think about that right now. This was the answer, he was certain of it. “You both have to admit that this is the best solution to the problem. Everyone knows that Yael and I have been friends since childhood. We might have been promised to each other years ago.”

“Let’s not rush into this,” Saba said, holding up his hands. “There must be a better solution. Once our emotions have calmed down, maybe we’ll see it.”

Zechariah drew a deep breath, his mind made up. “I’m my own man, Saba. The decision is mine to make. I’m going to offer Mattaniah my proposal so he can turn down Zabad’s. If Yael and Rafi run off together, there’s nothing we can do about it, but at least we tried.”

“If they decide to run off, Yael would become his concubine, not his wife,” Saba said. “I tried to explain that to her last night, but I don’t think she was listening.”

“I promised her mother—”

“I know, Safta.” Zechariah rested his hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. He was taller than her now by more than a head. “And I’m going to help you keep that promise.”

“Wait,” Saba said. “You need to pray about this some more and ask the Almighty One what to do.”

“I already know what His answer will be,” he said, remembering his dream. “The Torah forbids mixed marriages with Gentiles because we’ll end up adopting their ways, worshiping their gods. Wasn’t that why we were exiled? But He allowed us to return to the land to rebuild our nation. To marry and to have children—”

“Zechariah, listen to me—”

“I’m sorry, Saba, but it makes sense that I marry her. I love Yael, and I want to save her from making a huge mistake. I’m going to do this.”

Zechariah returned to his room before his grandparents could argue further. He could see how upset Saba was, but Zechariah was surprised to discover that his confession was true. He did love Yael. He always had. He would do what he’d tried to do all his life and save her, even though it would cost him the priesthood. That’s what the sacrificial knife had meant in his dream. He could never be a priest, never stand before the Almighty One and serve Him knowing that his own wife worshiped idols.

Y
ael grabbed the front of her father’s robe as she pleaded with him. “Abba, no! Please don’t make me marry Zaki! I don’t love him, I love Rafi!”

“It’s done, Yael. I told Zabad I was sorry, but you were already spoken for, that you’ve known Zechariah your entire life. I showed him the betrothal agreement. He understands that it’s a father’s right to decide for his daughter.”

“Was Rafi there? He would have fought for me, I know he would have.”

“No, Rafi wasn’t there. He had nothing to do with this proposal. In his village, the fathers arrange these matters.”

The walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on Yael. Abba stood in front of the door, leaving no escape. How could this be happening? “Please don’t do this to me, Abba! Please!”

“I’m sorry, Yael, but I honestly believe that this is what’s best for you. Zechariah is a good man, and he’ll treat you well. I can’t say the same for Zabad’s son. The Samaritans aren’t like us, especially the way they treat women. How can I allow my only daughter to marry a man who sees nothing wrong with polygamy or with marrying a twelve-year-old child?”

“Rafi would never do that. He loves me.”

“I know the men in his village, Yael. It’s a sign of prestige to have more than one wife—and several concubines, too.”

She clutched the front of Abba’s robe tighter, trying to shake sense into him, but he was unmovable. “Abba, please don’t do this!”

“It’s done.”

She remained in her room the rest of the day, refusing to speak to anyone, even Hodaya. She would figure out a way to be with Rafi. She would! Everyone watched her closely, making sure she didn’t run away. Abba slept right outside her door that night, blocking her path. But just before dawn, when everyone slept, she managed to pry off the wooden shutters and squeeze through the tiny window in her room. She knew the way to her father’s farm, even in the dark, and she waited there until it was light enough to walk to Rafi’s village. Yael had promised him that she wouldn’t walk across the valley all alone, but she had to. From now on they would be together.

Rafi wasn’t sitting outside with the village elders as she had hoped. Yael lifted her chin, intending to walk past them without speaking but one of the young men who attended the elders stopped her. “What is your business in our village?” he asked. The way he and the others looked at her made her shiver, as if undressing her with their eyes. Jewish men would never gaze at a woman so directly, so disrespectfully.

“You know me,” she told them. “I’ve been coming here with my father for years to visit with Leyla.”

“Leyla no longer lives here.”

“I know. But her family does.” She turned and strode past them into the village, hoping they wouldn’t stop her. Rafi said that her fearlessness had surprised him, and it must have surprised the elders, too, because they let her go. She hurried toward Rafi’s house, her progress slowed by all the village women who rushed forward to greet her, touching her and begging her to stop
and give them advice from the stars. “I-I’m sorry but I didn’t bring my charts with me . . . maybe another time . . .” They followed her all the way to Rafi’s house as if worshiping her.

Zabad’s wives were working outside in the courtyard, their children playing in the dirt when Yael entered the family compound. They all looked up at her, then quickly looked away again as if afraid. She strode over to Raisa, who stood at the loom, working the shuttle through the threads, and said, “Good morning, Raisa. Is Rafi here?” When she didn’t reply, Yael took the shuttle from her, halting her weaving. “Raisa, I helped save your life when your first baby was born, remember? Please. Send a message to Rafi that I’m here. That I need to speak with him.” The women had all stopped working and even the children were still. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as they waited, watching her. Finally, Raisa summoned one of her sons.

“Go ask your brother Rafi to come here.”

His brother.
Yael felt the shock all over again at the reminder that this woman, ten years younger than Rafi, was his stepmother.

At last Rafi strode out into the courtyard. Yael had to resist the urge to run into his arms. She saw love in his eyes when he first saw her, then a look of pain. Then anger replaced all of his other emotions. “What are you doing here, Yael? You shouldn’t have come!” Before she could reply, he glanced around at all the women and children who watched and listened, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Leave us!” The courtyard emptied.

“Rafi, I love you. I came so we could run away together. Remember what you told me about claiming a wife? That if I was all alone it meant that—”

“No!” The anger in his eyes intensified. “No, Yael. That would bring shame on my family. My father is the village leader. Men of our standing pay a dowry for a suitable bride. They don’t
marry a sotah who throws herself at a man. And they don’t steal a woman who is already betrothed.”

“My betrothal is a sham.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I took you, you would become my concubine, not my wife. I need to marry a wife first. My heir can never come from a concubine.”

“Do you love me, Rafi?”

For a moment his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “With all my soul,” he said quietly. Then his face turned hard again. “Go home, Yael. Marry your Jewish friend.”

“But you and I are free people. If you love me and I love you, we can defy our fathers. No one can stop us from being together.”

“I would never defy my father. It would cost me my inheritance.”

“Not even to marry me?”

He hesitated for a very long moment. “No. Not even for you.”

Yael turned and fled—out of the compound, through the village streets toward home. Rafi didn’t follow her. She felt real terror as she ran past the elders and the knot of young men surrounding them, remembering how they had looked at her, remembering Rafi’s warning. Yael could barely breathe, barely see through her tears as she raced across the narrow valley, her legs pumping as fast as she could go. When she finally dared to look over her shoulder, she was horrified to see that three of the young men from the village were following her.

“Oh, God, no . . . please!”

Their steps were unhurried. They would easily catch her once she tired. She couldn’t possibly make it all the way up the hill to Jerusalem, to safety. Even if she made it to her father’s farm, Abba wasn’t there to protect her. No one was. She heard the men’s laughter behind her as they came closer.

“Oh, God, please help me!” She had no idea who she was pleading with.

She was nearly to her father’s house when she saw a man burst out of Abba’s front door, running toward her. “No!” she screamed. One of them must have left the village ahead of her, and now she was trapped. She veered away from the man, no longer knowing which way to run.

“Yael!” She heard the man calling to her. “Yael, wait!” She looked over her shoulder and saw through her tears that it was Zechariah. “Yael, run this way! Run to me!”

She did what he said, whirling around and staggering toward him as he closed the gap between them, falling into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he soothed. “I won’t let them hurt you.” But there were three Samaritans, and Zaki was outnumbered. She clung tightly to him, trembling with fear, as the men came within a dozen yards of them and halted.

“Yael is my wife,” Zaki told them. “We’re betrothed. Even you aren’t low enough to rape a man’s wife right in front of him, are you?” He turned Yael around, turned his own back on the men, and slowly walked with her the rest of the way to her father’s house, still holding her tightly. He never looked over his shoulder.

When they reached the house, Yael stumbled inside and sank down on the floor, weeping. Zaki stood in the open doorway, gazing out, saying nothing. A long time later, she finally dried her eyes.

“You followed me,” she said softly. “Why?”

“To save your life. It’s what I’ve been trying to do all these years. That’s why I’ve kept your secret for so long, so no one would know about your sorcery.”

She couldn’t comprehend it. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked at her for a long moment, then came to crouch beside her. “Are you all right?”

“I begged Rafi to run away with me, but . . .” A long, slow tear traveled down her cheek. She brushed it away. “He refused.
He cares more about his inheritance than he does about me. He could have defied his father if he really loved me.”

Zaki exhaled. “I’m so sorry, Yael. I don’t know what else to say.”

“We’d better go home. Everyone will be worried.” She stood and they left her father’s house to walk up the road to Jerusalem. She would do what Abba wanted and marry Zechariah.

Rafi didn’t love her.