By Way of the Wilderness (30 page)

Miriam forced herself to straighten up. She went over to Shani and put her arm around her. “You must trust in the goodness of the Lord. I will not see the land of milk and honey, but you will see it, as will your children.”

Shani struggled to pull the green dress down over her head, but she soon discovered that there was no chance at all of wearing it. The months that had passed since Israel left Sinai and wandered in the wilderness had been a time of development for her. She was now about sixteen, as well as she could guess, and she had grown taller and her figure had grown fuller.

With a muffled cry she yanked the dress off, threw it aside, and picked up the simple cotton dress she had been wearing every day. It was worn thin and shapeless from many washings.

She heard a sound in the camp and she looked out the door of the tent. Bezalel was leading a dozen sheep through the middle of the camp. He was laughing and his teeth flashed white against his bronzed skin. He was looking down at Yona, who was beside him—as she usually was.

“Can't she even leave him alone long enough for him to do his work?” Shani muttered bitterly. She watched as the pair moved out of sight and noted that Yona missed no opportunity to reach out and take Bezalel's arm. With a quick motion Shani went back into the tent and began grinding the wild oats she had gathered, breaking them into a coarse flour in a hollowed-out stone and using a rock to crush the seeds.

Miriam came in bearing a small goatskin flask of milk and said, “I've asked Bezalel to kill one of the sheep. We'll have fresh meat tonight.” Coming over, she stood beside Shani and let her hand rest slightly on her head. A light of affection came into her eyes. She had aged much during the long, tiresome wanderings in the wilderness. It was harder for her to get around now, but she hated to admit it. More and more she had come to rely on Shani. The girl had become like a daughter to her, the daughter she'd never had, and now she sat down and began talking about household matters and what was happening in the nation.

Shani listened, amazed that Miriam knew so many of the Hebrews. Sometimes it seemed that Miriam knew every woman and child in the camp, but this, of course, was impossible. Finally Miriam mentioned Bezalel's courtship of Yona. “I'm surprised he's been chasing her for as long as he has. His love affairs have never lasted very long.”

“Has he had a lot of them, Mother?”

“Oh, he's always been chased by girls. He's such a handsome young man. He's been in love a dozen times—or what he thinks is love. But no one's ever been able to pin him down.”

“Yona's trying hard enough to get him…. I think she will.”

“I hope not.”

Shani looked up quickly. “You wouldn't want them to marry?”

“No. She thinks his gift for making things is going to make him rich—and it would, under different circumstances.”

“He'll never get rich out here in the wilderness. Who would he sell things to? No one has any money.”

“I didn't want to mention it, but Yona's trying to get him to go back to Egypt.”

Startled, Shani said, “Back to Egypt! Why, he would never do that.”

“I hope not, but she keeps talking about how much money he could make working for the rich Egyptians.” Distaste came into her eyes. “I don't think she'd care if he made idols for those awful people.”

“You don't think he'd do it, do you?” Shani asked quickly.

“I think he has better sense than that.”

“I'm not so sure. Men don't have much sense when a woman sets out to get them.”

Miriam leaned over and took Shani's hand. She held it in both of hers, and her eyes grew soft. “Don't be bitter, Shani. You're such a sweet girl. You have such a good spirit. Try not to be upset with Bezalel. He has so much talent, but as you say, he's a man, and men are weak where women are concerned. We just have to pray that he'll have wisdom to see beyond that woman's seductive ways.”

The two sat for a time talking, and Miriam's old eyes were sharp as she studied the girl's face. Shani had blossomed into an attractive woman, and Miriam thought,
Bezalel's a fool not to see what's before his very eyes!

****

“Tell me some more about the Promised Land, Caleb.”

Caleb had stopped by to watch Bezalel, who was making a sword for him. It was to be a better sword than most of the Hebrews possessed. Bezalel had been experimenting with a new kind of metal that was much harder and stronger. Caleb was sitting with his back against a tree watching the young man work. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. What does it look like? Are there many trees, forests, valleys?”

Caleb laughed. “It's a land flowing with milk and honey. That's what the Lord promised us and that's what it is.” He went on to describe the fruitful land of Canaan. He himself was not a farmer, but he had a quick eye for such things. He spoke for some time about how the dwellers in Canaan had laid out their farms close to the River Jordan and how bountiful the crops were.

“You saw the grapes we brought in. They were huge, and they were delicious too.”

Bezalel held up the shining blade and examined it critically. “Almost through here.” He took the sword by the hilt and made passes in the air. “It's well balanced. Try it out, Caleb.”

Caleb stood up, took hold of the sword, and exclaimed, “It seems to fit in my hand as though it were made for it!”

“Why, it
was
made for it! Don't you remember I made that cast of your grip?”

“You've done a magnificent job.” Caleb cut through the air with the blade and then stared at the sword in admiration. He put his hand on the young man's shoulder. “You'll see that land one day.”

“Not me. Only those under twenty will go in. I was twenty just before you left.”

“The Lord wasn't absolutely clear on that point. Surely He is pleased with your devotion to Him—and the work that you did on the tabernacle.”

“Well, that work's done now.”

“But Israel's going to need good men, sound solid men, fighters.”

“I'm not all that great a warrior, Caleb, not like you and Joshua. Besides I'll be an old man if I do get to go in.”

“You'll be about sixty. That's not old. I'll be over eighty. Joshua will be older too, but you know God has given me a promise that my physical strength will remain.”

Bezalel smiled. “You two are different. I'm just not sure about myself.”

Caleb ran his hand along the gleaming length of the blade and said sadly, “I've wondered about Moses and Aaron and Miriam. They've been our leaders since we left Egypt.”

“Will they be allowed to go in, do you think?”

“I have no idea. But by the time we enter the land, Bezalel, you'll have a wife and a tent full of children. Maybe even some grandchildren.” His eyes lit up then, and he held the sword up firmly, gazing at it as he murmured, “And you will be free. That's the important thing—free.”

“Forty years is a long time.”

Caleb reached down and pulled the medallion from beneath his garment. He held it out and said, “Look at this. A lion on this side and a lamb on that side. I have no idea what it means, but it means something. I think it has to do with Shiloh, who is to come.”

“Quite a difference between a lion and a lamb.”

“I know. I lay awake sometimes at night wondering about what kind of man could combine the courage and the strength of a lion with the meekness of a lamb, but I can't picture it.”

The two men stood there, and Caleb spoke for some time about the days that were to come. Finally he left, and Bezalel turned and went to his tent. It was late afternoon now, and the shadows were long. He was not conscious of the sounds of the camp, the lowing of the cattle kept in herds out at the borders, the yells and laughter of children playing and women calling to them. These were all familiar sounds, but Bezalel was thinking now of the long years that seemed to stretch out into eternity. At his age, forty years seemed like forever, and the idea of being sixty years old … Well, he could not even imagine that.

As he moved around through the tents, he came in sight of his own and suddenly stopped dead-still. There in front of his tent, Shani was standing with a tall, well-built man somewhere in his midtwenties. Bezalel tried to remember where he had seen him, thought perhaps he was a member of the tribe of Simeon, but he could not be sure. He was a strong-looking fellow, lean but muscular. His garments were well made, and his beard was black and glossy, as was his hair.

Suddenly the man reached forward and pulled Shani to him. He laughed and kissed her, and at that moment Bezalel, the maker of beautiful objects, the architect of the tabernacle and of the ark of the covenant, lost it!

With a growl deep in his chest, he threw himself forward, ran up to the two and grabbed the man by the arm. It was like grabbing an oak tree, but he jerked him away so hard the man staggered backward.

“You get out of here and don't come back!”

“What are you doing, Bezalel?” Shani cried. “Hiram didn't mean anything.”

The man called Hiram caught his balance. He stood there at least three inches taller than Bezalel and much stronger. “Is this your father?”

“Yes!” Bezalel said.

“No, he's not!” Shani snapped. “He's not kin at all.”

“I'm her foster father,” Bezalel said, inventing the office on the spot. “And I'll thank you to leave and not come back.”

“We're not kin at all, Hiram,” Shani said, her face rosy with anger. “Bezalel, what do you mean acting like a wild man?”

“I'll not have you dallying with this kind of fellow!”

Hiram's face grew tense. “This kind of fellow? If you're not her father or her kin, I don't have to take that kind of talk.”

Bezalel stepped forward and gave the big man a push. “Get out!” he shouted. “I don't want to see you around here again.”

Hiram returned the push, saying, “I'll leave when she asks me to leave and not before.”

Bezalel struck out, and his fist caught the big man high on the cheekbone, merely grazing it. Hiram had struck back at the same moment, his big, hard fist catching Bezalel right in the mouth. As he reeled backward onto the ground, he knew he was making a fool of himself, but he could not help it. He had lost control as he never had before in his entire life. With a yell he scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the bigger man. He threw many blows, some of which Hiram caught on his forearm, and none of which did any damage.

Hiram's blows, however,
did
do damage. He struck quickly and hard, and Bezalel seemed to take a perverse delight in the pain they brought. Time and again he was knocked into the dust, but he always came to his feet and threw himself forward. He was dimly aware that Shani was calling at him to stop, and that Miriam's voice was also somewhere calling to him, but he did not care. He was determined to drive the man away.

Finally a tremendous blow caught him right on the temple, and the whole world seemed to turn into thousands of red and green specks that swirled around him. He felt his back hit the dust and he tried to rise, but he could not. He was aware of something running down his face, and when he blinked, blood filled his eyes.

He felt hands on him and, blinking, managed to see that Miriam was bending over him. He raised his head and saw Hiram looking at him curiously. There wasn't a mark on him, and the big man shook his head and turned. “I'm sorry. It was not of my doing.”

Shani stepped toward the big man. “You did nothing wrong, Hiram, but you'd better go now.”

“May I come back later?”

“Yes. Certainly.”

Bezalel was beginning to feel the pain from the hard blows he had taken. His ribs felt like they were coming apart, and when he tried to lift himself, he gasped.

“Come and help me with him, Shani.”

The two women got Bezalel to his feet and then inside the tent. “Here, lie down, you fool,” Miriam snapped. “We'll have to clean him up,” she said to Shani, “and I think that cut in his eyebrow is going to have to be sewn up.”

“I'll get a needle and thread.”

Bezalel lay there, shocked at what had happened. He was not a man of hot temper and had never felt the explosive anger that had been released in him. While the two women anointed his cuts and bruises with oil, he watched Shani's face, but it was like a mask.

“This is going to hurt,” she said calmly, as she began stitching up his eye. He gritted his teeth against the pain. When she was finished, he muttered, “I want to sit up.”

“Better lie down,” Miriam said. “I'm going to give you some strong wine, something to kill the pain.” She brought a bitter-tasting drink to him, forced him to gulp it down, and then said, “You lie there, and while you're there, pray that the Lord will give you better sense.”

Whatever it was that Miriam gave him soon began to work. His limbs began to tingle, and his eyelids grew heavy. The more he lay there thinking about what he had done, the more foolish he felt. “Shani,” he called out, and she came to stand over him.

“What is it?”

“I don't want you to do that again.”

“I'm a grown woman, Bezalel.”

“You're too free and easy with that man. Who is he, anyway? I can tell he's no good.”

“No good! Why, he's one of the finest young men in the tribe of Simeon.”

Bezalel's lips closed firmly, but that hurt, so he let them relax. “Well, I'll talk to him, and I'll find out what his intentions are.”

“You stay away from him,” Shani said sharply. “He hasn't done anything with me that you haven't done with Yona.”

Sleep was coming fast, but Bezalel opened his eyes and protested, “Well, that … that's different.”

“No, it's not different. Now go to sleep, and I hope this will give you a little more sense.”