Return to Me (9 page)

“Stop it! . . . Let go of me! I don’t want to listen to you!”

“There’s no reason for you to stay here. Please come with us, Yael. It will be the best adventure we’ve ever had in our lives.” She finally yanked her arm free and glared at him, her arms folded across her chest, her mouth stubbornly closed.

His mother called to him from the other side of the gate, “Come on, Zechariah, you’re missing the feast. And you’re the one we’re honoring today.”

“You’d better go,” she said, tilting her head toward the party. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Are you coming with me, Yael?” He meant to Jerusalem, but she simply shrugged in reply. “Yael, please!”

“I never should have told you my secret,” she said.

He sighed and left her standing alone outside the gate, knowing she was right, wishing that she never had told him.

T
omorrow. They were leaving Babylon tomorrow. How had the day crept up on Dinah so quickly? She wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. But Iddo assured her that he had packed everything they needed for their new life. It was time to go.

Dinah’s quiet Jewish community had become nearly unrecognizable, the market squares and homes overflowing as exiles from throughout the empire assembled to begin the long journey to Jerusalem. Thousands of horses and mules, camels and donkeys jammed the lanes and alleyways. But as she lay in bed, trying in vain to fall asleep, it seemed that all of the pieces of her life had been tossed haphazardly into a sack, shaken together, then dumped out again. And now, against her will, others had sifted through those pieces, deciding which ones she would be allowed to keep and which ones had to be thrown away.

Iddo lay awake beside her, neither one of them able to sleep. “What are you thinking about, Dinah?” he whispered. She couldn’t reply. He sat up on one elbow to look down at her in the dark. “I wish you could have been with me yesterday to see all that gold and silver! I saw the temple treasures, Dinah, can you imagine? The Persian treasurer counted out every single item to
Prince Sheshbazzar, more than five thousand articles—so much gold that it didn’t look real! The Persians are sending soldiers with us tomorrow to keep the caravan safe.”

Tomorrow. The word felt like a kick in the stomach. The journey that had once been a distant worry would begin tomorrow. Staying or leaving, it was probably too late for anyone to change his mind.

Iddo lay down again. “I was very disappointed when they announced the final tally of how many people are going, though. Only a little more than forty-two thousand. Can you believe that? It should be ten times that number. Hundreds of thousands of us were exiled, Dinah—including the northern tribes, who the Assyrians carried off. They’re free to return home from exile, too, but not a single one of them is going.”

“That still seems like a lot of people to travel in one caravan.”

“We won’t all leave at the same time. We’ve divided them into smaller caravans, leaving a day apart from each other. You and I will be in the first one, along with the temple treasures. Even so, I just don’t understand why we are so few people. . . . But I can hardly lecture the others when our own sons aren’t coming.”

Dinah turned over, facing away from him. The hours seemed to pass slowly and quickly at the same time as the moon made its way across the sky. Iddo rose long before Dinah did, but it was still dark outside, the stars shining in the heavens, when he came to tell her that it was time to go. She tied on her sandals and combed her hair, pinning it up beneath a scarf.

“The caravan is assembling over on the main street,” Iddo said. “I’ve loaded all of our things, but look around and make sure we didn’t forget anything.”

Dinah heard his voice, but his words meant nothing to her. “What did you say, Iddo?”

He rested his hand on her shoulder, his eyes filled with pity.
“This day will be the hardest one. I promise you that it will get better from now on.”

Dinah’s family roused from their beds to say good-bye, standing bleary and teary-eyed in the predawn darkness. When she finally had to let go and walk out of her loved ones’ embraces, it was worse than a death. People didn’t choose to die, but she and Iddo could have chosen to stay. For the hundredth time she remembered the seer’s words:
“I see a great tearing in your life. . . .”

She reached for Zechariah’s hand. But his father grabbed him one last time and held him so tightly that Dinah wondered if he would ever let go. She hadn’t seen Berekiah weep since he was a boy, but he was weeping now.

“Don’t do that to the boy,” Iddo said. “He asked for God’s guidance, and the Almighty One answered.”

“Why is it so impossible to follow God?” Berekiah asked bitterly.

“It’s hard,” Iddo said. “That’s why so few people do it. But it’s not impossible.”

Berekiah finally released his son. “You’ll come later, right, Abba?” Zechariah asked tearfully.

“When we can, son. As soon as we can.”

Dinah had to believe he was telling the truth, or she never could have found the strength to leave her family behind. She took Zechariah’s hand, gripping it tightly in her own, and turned away. They followed Iddo through the streets, jammed with Jewish families dragging their children and possessions to the waiting caravan. The sounds of heart-wrenching sobs and lingering good-byes filled the morning air. The crowd jostled her. She had to look down to watch her footing on the dark, uneven road, her tears still blinding her, and when she finally wiped them away and looked up, Iddo stood waiting beside the two-wheeled cart that held all their possessions. A lifetime
of memories crammed into a wagon that a single mule would pull—a mule that would plow land when they arrived. Iddo helped Dinah and their grandson climb onto the seat he’d made for them. He would walk in front of them, leading the mule.

The stars were beginning to fade, the sky in the east turning light when the cart finally lurched forward and began to move. The procession filled the road from one side to the other, and Dinah couldn’t see the beginning or the end of it. They had traveled a very short distance and were still inside the city walls when she saw their neighbor, Mattaniah, running toward them against the flow of the caravan, weaving in and out between wagons and animals and people. He halted beside Iddo to ask breathlessly, “Is Yael with you?”

“No, I haven’t seen her all morning. Have you, Dinah?”

She shook her head.

Mattaniah swayed as if his knees threatened to buckle. “She’s missing, Iddo! I can’t find her anywhere!” Iddo pulled the cart over to the side, motioning to the others to go around them. “I woke Yael up this morning, and we carried everything to our cart and loaded it. She said she was going to sleep in the back of it, but when I looked beneath the blanket just now, she was gone!”

Too late, Dinah remembered her promise to Miriam to take care of Yael as if she were her very own daughter. She had been too engulfed in her own grief to do what Miriam had asked.

“I thought she might be riding with you,” Mattaniah continued, “but if she isn’t here . . . Have you seen her, Zaki?”

Dinah saw the unmistakable look of guilt on Zechariah’s face. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze as he shrank back from Mattaniah as if wanting to hide. “Zaki? Do you know where Yael is?” Dinah asked.

“I-I promised not to tell. I can’t break my promise.”

“Well, I can’t leave her behind!” Mattaniah shouted. “Don’t you understand that? She’s my daughter!”

“Tell us, son. Please,” Iddo said.

“But I gave my word, Saba. How can I break my word?”

“A promise may be broken if it’s a matter of life and death. Yael is just a child. She can’t survive here without her father. You have to tell us what you know.” But Zechariah bent forward and buried his head in his arms, sobbing. Mattaniah seemed about to leap onto the cart and shake the truth out of him, when Dinah suddenly remembered something.

“Wait! Don’t torture the boy. I think I might know where Yael is. After Miriam died, I overheard that Babylonian woman telling Yael that she could live with her. She was enticing her to become a sorceress even before Miriam died.”

“You’re right,” Mattaniah said. “She had the nerve to come to my home and ask to take Yael with her. Of course I refused but—”

“Do you know where she lives?” Iddo asked.

“In the Babylonian part of town, near the temple of Marduk.”

“I’ll go with you.” Iddo handed the reins to Dinah. “Wait here. And we’d better ask some of the other men to come with us, Mattaniah. We may have to threaten her if she’s hiding Yael.”

“What if Yael isn’t there?” Mattaniah asked. “Then what am I going to do?”

Zaki lifted his head and wiped his eyes. “Saba? I-I just remembered a dream I had about Yael. I dreamt that the wicked woman was hiding her in a big storage basket.”

“Thank you, son.” He and Mattaniah hurried away, racing back toward the city.

“What a terrible way to begin a journey,” Dinah murmured.

“Yael won’t like being carried away from here against her will.”

“I know, Zaki. But sometimes we have no choice.” Dinah wondered how many other people in this dreary caravan—wives and children too young to decide for themselves—were making this journey against their will.

Zechariah lowered his head again. “Yael’s going to hate me,” he said with a moan. “She’s going to think I told on her.”

“We’ll make it very clear to her that you didn’t. Besides, that woman has no right to steal one of our children away like that.”

There was nothing to do now but sit and wait, watching as carts and wagons and camels and pedestrians streamed past. Dinah wondered if she and Iddo would have to stay behind in Babylon after all, and join a later caravan. But as the sun rose higher in the sky, Iddo and Mattaniah finally returned. Yael was in her father’s arms, weeping inconsolably.

“Let me take her,” Dinah said, reaching for her. “Yael can ride with us for a little while.” They would console each other.

“It’s a good thing Zechariah told us about the basket,” Mattaniah said as he handed his daughter up to Dinah. “That’s exactly where we found her, hiding in an empty storage basket.” He thanked them again and jogged ahead to where he had tethered his own cart.

Yael gave Zaki a malevolent look as she settled onto Dinah’s lap. “You broke your promise!”

“I didn’t tell them your secret, I swear! I never told anyone!”

“He’s telling the truth,” Dinah said as the cart lurched forward again. “I was the one who guessed where you were. Zechariah didn’t tell.”

The steady stream of traffic hadn’t stopped flowing while they’d waited, and Iddo quickly rejoined the river of vehicles moving out of Babylon. Before long, Dinah saw the massive city gates ahead, guarded by armed soldiers, the enemy who had kept her people inside all their lives, reminding them that they were slaves. She was about to pass through those gates for the first time in her life. Her people had been set free. Under any other circumstances, Dinah would have rejoiced.

She held tightly to Yael, who had cried herself to sleep in her arms. The caravan stretched in front of them and behind
them on the vast plain as far as Dinah could see, enveloped in a cloud of dust like the glory cloud that had accompanied Moses and her ancestors. As the miles rolled past, she wondered if Iddo would grow tired of walking. But no, he stood taller than she had ever seen him, his back no longer bent as if carrying a heavy load. His face shone with sweat and with tears of joy in the sunlight. She closed her eyes, unsure in that moment if she loved him or hated him.

I
’m tired of riding, Abba,” Yael called to her father. “May I please get down and walk?” The cart’s monotonous bumping and swaying, the endless rumble of the wheels along the dusty road bored her. A choking cloud of grit hovered over the caravan like fog.

“I suppose so.” He slowed the cart so she could scramble down to walk beside him. “But be careful, Yael. And stay close.”

Yael would never admit it to anyone, but one month into the journey she was glad that her father had found her and forced her to come along. At first the open countryside that surrounded and dwarfed her had terrified Yael. She had clutched the moonstone amulet Parthia had given her, wishing the seer could have read her stars one last time and given her a glimpse of her future before Abba had snatched her away. But little by little as the days and nights passed, Yael had found comfort and hope in looking up at the familiar stars each night and watching the moon goddess’ steady waxing and waning. Parthia had taught her well, and Yael knew that once she was able to study her star charts again, she would find advice and direction for the future on her own.

It didn’t take long before Yael grew tired of trudging along at
the caravan’s dreary pace. She walked faster and faster through the weeds along the side of the road until she was far ahead of her father. She heard Zaki calling to her above the rumble of hooves and wheels and finally stopped to wait for him. He straggled up beside her, puffing for breath. “Your father said not to run off like that. You’re going to get lost.”

“How can I get lost?” she asked, spreading her arms. “You can see forever! I would stand out like a flea on a bald dog.” She wished she could run through the green fields and wade through the canals on the north side of the road, exploring all the way down to the Euphrates, washing her dusty feet in the wide, murky water. The river was nearly always in sight, sometimes tantalizingly close to the road, sometimes shying away again to disappear for a while like a serpent slithering into the grass. So far, the caravan road had followed the winding Euphrates like a shadow, staying just beyond the broad swath of green farmland and date groves along the river’s banks. But on the other side of the road, away from the river, the flat landscape looked desolate and lifeless.

“Let’s walk together,” Zechariah said, tugging her arm.

Yael wiggled out of his grasp and stayed right where she was. “No. You’re no fun anymore.” She watched as their two carts rumbled past and continued down the road, side-by-side as if competing in a slow-moving chariot race.

“Come on. We don’t want to fall behind,” Zaki pleaded.

“I know, I know! ‘It’s important to keep up. No dawdling or lagging behind,’” she said, imitating the nagging voice of their caravan driver. She stubbornly waited until the two carts had nearly vanished in the dust cloud then raced to catch up, reaching them before Zaki did.

“Stop running off,” Abba scolded. “If you don’t stay where I can see you, I’ll make you ride in the cart again.”

They heard shouts ahead and the irritated bray of camels.
The flow of vehicles slowed and began squeezing to the right side of the road. “Another caravan must be coming,” Zaki said. “We have to get out of the way.” He was right. And now their entire procession of people and carts would have to move aside to make room for the string of camels and donkeys approaching from the other direction, their drivers bellowing at their laden beasts. The delay would slow their own progress.

“Get in the cart,” Abba said.

“Why? I promise I’ll stay close from now on and—” But her father picked her up and set her on top of their load before she could finish.

“These traders would love to carry away a beautiful young girl like you and sell you to some rich man for his harem.”

They had to move aside again to let three more caravans pass before the day ended. By the time they camped for the night, the sun had already set and the sky was growing dark, the air cool. No matter how hot the sun shone during the day, the desert air turned surprisingly cold at night.

Yael helped Safta Dinah fetch water and kindle a fire to prepare their evening meal. Abba said their leaders carefully planned each day’s journey to allow them to reach a caravan stop with a source of water by nightfall. But some delays couldn’t be helped, and as time passed, the group had divided into three smaller ones, a day or two apart from each other. So far, Yael and her father were still in the leading group along with Zechariah and his grandparents. They camped with each other and ate together every night, and she had begun calling Zaki’s grandmother “Safta,” the same as he did. Dinah had seemed pleased.

While Yael helped prepare the meal, Zechariah helped the men set up the shelters where they would sleep. Little more than a roof over their heads, the tents needed to be simple so the men could take them down quickly each morning and pack them away. The wind tried to blow out the fire as Yael and Dinah cooked, and
it carried particles of dirt that blew into their food no matter how carefully they tried to shield it. They had to shake grit out of their clothes every night.

After their meal of flatbread and lentils and dates, they all sat around the fire, weary from the long day of traveling. Their neighbors from back home, Shoshanna and Joel, had camped alongside them, and they all talked together as they watched the embers die. “Our father Abraham began with a journey like this into the unknown,” Zaki’s grandfather said, “traveling in the desert, camping beneath the stars.” He had become more talkative as they’d traveled, as if weariness and discouragement couldn’t touch him.

“And his wife Sarah went everywhere with him,” Shoshanna added. She reached for her husband’s hand like a new bride. Safta’s jolly cousin didn’t seem to get sad or to miss home the way Safta did.

“Zechariah, do you know why the Almighty One chooses to take us through the desert?” Iddo asked. Zaki shook his head, enthralled with his grandfather’s stories. This was exactly what Yael had meant when she’d told him he wasn’t fun anymore. “It’s because He wants to use the desert to strip us of our self-sufficiency,” Iddo continued, “so we’ll learn to trust Him and lean on Him.”

“Is He going to feed us with manna?” Zaki asked. “Like in the Passover story?”

“He doesn’t need to send manna this time,” Iddo replied. “He already provided everything we need through our fellow Jews, the ones who aren’t making the journey with us. The Persian king ordered them to pay our way.”

Yael stood, feeling restless. She was tired of sitting still and didn’t want to hear stories about the God who had let her mother die. But Abba grabbed her hand to stop her before she could take two steps. “Where are you going?”

“Just over there. I want to get away from the campfire so I can see the stars.”

“No, Yael. You can’t leave the caravan for any reason. You could easily get turned around in this trackless waste and die of thirst.”

“Besides,” Iddo added, “there’s nothing out there except the bones of people who wouldn’t listen.”

Yael exhaled. “I know you think I’ll run away again, but I won’t. I promise. I’ll just be standing right over there.”

“I’ll go with her.” Zechariah stood and walked a few yards away from the others, motioning for Yael to follow. Abba released her and she hurried away, stopping beside Zechariah a short distance from the smoke and firelight. The sky was blacker out here than on any night in Babylon, the stars more numerous, more brilliant. Shining across the middle of the sky was a milky swath, like clouds, that Parthia said was a thick band of stars, all gathered together in a luminous ring. Yael searched the sky for the constellation of the twins and smiled to herself when she found it. She wished she could peek at the sky charts that Parthia had given her, but she didn’t dare. They would have to remain hidden in her bag for now.

“Please don’t be mad at me anymore,” Zechariah said. “Can’t we be friends again?”

“You can’t keep a secret. Abba said you told him where to look.”

“No, I didn’t! The only thing I told him was that you might be hiding in a storage basket.”

“How did you know that’s where I’d be?”

“I had a dream. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true. I dreamt I saw Parthia hiding you in a storage basket.”

Yael stopped gazing at the stars to look at him in surprise. “You have dreams that foretell the future?” There had always been something . . . different . . . about her friend, different from
the other boys in their neighborhood. Sometimes when they played together they could almost read each other’s thoughts and know what the other would say before they spoke.

“I have a lot of strange dreams,” he said with a shy, little shrug, “but that’s the only one that ever came true.”

“The gods speak to people in dreams, you know.”

“Don’t say
gods
, Yael. There’s only one God. You need to forget all that pagan stuff from Babylon.” She ignored him and looked up at the stars again. “So, can we be friends?” he asked again.

She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look. “Will you promise not to tell my secrets this time?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“All right. . . . In that case, I’ll tell you another one of my secrets to see if you can be trusted.”

“I can.”

She moved closer to him and lowered her voice. “I know how to see the future in the stars. Parthia taught me. She told me I had a true gift for it.”

“Why do you need to know the future?”

“Because everything in my life keeps changing—first my mother died, now my father is taking me hundreds of miles away from home. The future is like a huge, deep hole in the road up ahead, and I want to see it before it comes so I don’t fall in and get swallowed up. I want to be sure there’s a way to get across it to the other side. The stars can tell me all that.”

“We’re supposed to trust the Almighty One, Yael.” She heard disapproval in his voice and knew he was frowning at her. “Abraham didn’t know what was ahead of him, either, but he had faith—”

“That’s the God of
your
father and grandfather. My mother believed in the moon goddess. You follow your family’s beliefs, and I’ll follow mine.”

“Yael, your father is a Levite. You worship the same God I do. The only God.”

“No, I don’t—and that’s another secret you can’t tell.” She turned away from him to walk back to the campsite.

“Yael, wait . . . Listen!”

“Don’t forget,” she called over her shoulder to him. “It’s a secret.”