Journey to the Well: A Novel (13 page)

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Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel
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“Do you know the house of Hannah and Simon?” she whispered.
The boy nodded warily, his eyes on Athaliah who had begun to rock back and forth moaning softly.
“Tell Hannah that her friend needs her and to come quickly.”
“Is she ill?” the boy inquired cautiously, looking again at Athaliah.
“Yes, she is ill.” Marah nodded quickly, relieved she didn’t have to explain more. She took the boy’s arm. “Will you go? I cannot leave her as you can see.”
The boy smiled and nodded. With the energy of small children, he took off at a dead run.
Marah turned back to Athaliah. She put her arms around the old woman and laid her cheek against the leathery skin, wet with tears. “Come and rest, Mother-in-law. Come inside and rest and you will feel better.”
Athaliah did not answer but allowed herself to be led slowly into the house to her pallet. Marah spoke softly, gently, as to a child as she covered Athaliah. Stroking the wrinkled forehead, she waited with the older woman until at last she slept. Marah walked slowly, wearily, to the doorway and her heart lifted as she saw Hannah hurry into the courtyard with her basket of healing herbs.
“Hannah, I am so glad you have come.”
“Athaliah is ill, child?” Hannah hurried toward her and then stopped suddenly, looking at Marah’s face. “There is more?”
“Oh Hannah,” Marah cried, and couldn’t speak. She was gathered into the comfort of Hannah’s arms and the two women stood for a long moment in the center of the courtyard.
“I don’t know where to start . . . ,” Marah began.
“It is always best to start at the beginning.” Hannah nodded encouragingly.
They found a place of shade, and as it was nearing the time of afternoon rest, the village became quiet as shopkeepers closed their shops for the noon meal and returned to their homes. Composing herself, Marah began with the confrontation between Shimei and Athaliah at the evening meal and told her friend all that had happened up until Shimei had given her the scroll and disappeared into the night.
“Has the shammash come back with the elders?”
“No, but I expect him any moment. What shall I say to him? What shall I do?”
“You must not add a lie to the deception that has already taken place, child. Tell him of the bill of divorcement. It will free you. I do not believe he will object to your caring for Athaliah until the kinswoman arrives. He has already seen that she is not herself and cannot be left alone.”
“But what about Shimei?”
“That is not for you to trouble yourself over, Marah. He is in the hands of God and you can do nothing more for him. You do not need to tell an untruth, yet I would not recommend that you tell the shammash all.” Hannah gave Marah a knowing look.
Marah sighed. It was as if a large burden had been lifted from her shoulders. “Yes, I see that you are right, as usual.” She gave Hannah a wan smile.
Hannah patted her arm. “And when the kinswoman comes, you must come to Simon and me. Shimei came to us and we talked. He is indeed a strange man, but he wanted us to know about the bill of divorcement. Even if he had not suggested it first, we would have had you come to us as soon as we knew your circumstances.”
“Oh Hannah, I don’t want to be a burden on you and Simon.”
Hannah drew herself up. “Did you think we are poor friends who cannot help someone we love in her time of need? What must you think of us?”
Marah lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “You are two very dear, kind friends. What would I do without you?” Then she looked earnestly up at her friend. “Oh Hannah, I feel so lost. First I am a widow and now I am a divorced woman. The house and all are Athaliah’s and then a kinsman’s after she is gone.”
“It is well that it is so, Marah. This house and strange family are not for you. You must have a new life. Shimei knew. He wanted you to be free. Whatever he is in his life, he showed you kindness. He took a chance returning to the village. There. You see? It is settled. When you are relieved of Athaliah’s care, you come to us.” Hannah raised her eyebrows in question.
Marah smiled. She had someplace to go when Athaliah’s relatives came. She would be with friends. She looked at Hannah and nodded.
“I must return home.” She reached into her basket and handed Marah a small pouch of herbs. “This will help Athaliah sleep, if you need her to.” She looked meaningfully at Marah. “If you need us for anything, send for us. Such a day. You will be all right, child. Peace be with you.”
“And with you, Hannah. And . . . thank you.” The two women embraced.
“Ach, it is nothing.” With a wave of her hand, Hannah hurried home.
The bag of coins! Marah moved quickly into the house to check on Athaliah. To her relief, her mother-in-law still lay on her pallet. Her eyes were closed but her lids moved and Marah knew she was awake. Marah heated some water and ground the herbs into a powder with a small stone. She put the powder in a cup and poured the hot water over the herbs to let it steep, keeping a wary eye on Athaliah.
“Mother?” she ventured cautiously, kneeling down beside the old woman.
Athaliah turned her face toward Marah and opened her eyes slowly, trying to focus on Marah’s face. There was no sign of recognition.
“Wh-who are you?”
“I am Marah, your daughter-in-law, wife of your son Zibeon.”
“Zibeon?” Athaliah pondered the word. “Yes, Zibeon, a fine boy, big and lusty. His father will be proud.”
Then she tried to rise. “Where is my son? I do not hear his cries. Have you hid him from me? He will be hungry.” She clutched at Marah’s arm. “What have you done with my son?”
Terrified, Marah looked into the twisted face of her mother-in-law, and felt like she was looking into the demented recesses of a soul.
“Zibeon is, ah, with his father. They will be back soon. You must rest. You must save your strength.” Marah prayed silently with all her being. She took the cup, and lifting Athaliah’s head, she gave her a few sips of the liquid.
Athaliah drank and sank back on her pallet. “Yes, I must rest so I can care for my son.” She peered at Marah. “You are the midwife then?”
“I am just here to help you,” Marah said softly.
Athaliah nodded and closed her eyes.
14
 
T
he days passed slowly as Marah cared for Athaliah who now lived in the shadows of the past. She was the young bride and talked to Marah as she would to her husband. Sometimes she was the young mother and longed for Marah to bring her son for her to nurse. She slept a great deal, and when one of the neighboring women came in to stay with Athaliah, Marah went for food and water. Marah used the coins sparingly from the small pouch. She did not know how long they would have to last. Hannah came when she could. Today they sat quietly in the fading warmth of the afternoon.
“Is there word from the kinswoman?”
“No, but she should be here soon. It has been weeks since Shimei left and told me he sent her word. I didn’t think to ask him where they were traveling from.”
Hannah patted her arm. “Who could think of everything?”
Marah looked wistfully across the courtyard, thinking back. The shammash had returned as she feared. But he had come by himself.
“I came to see the mother of Zibeon.” The words were kindly said. Marah obediently led him to see Athaliah. His sharp eyes took in the clean house and noted that Athaliah was well cared for. He also noted her frail body and hands that were bones barely covered with flesh. Athaliah did not awaken. The shammash nodded his head and stroked his chin thoughtfully and then stepped back out into the courtyard.
“The kinswoman has not arrived.” It was more a statement than a question, and Marah shook her head. It seemed that he did know everything. He paused as if waiting for something. Marah thought of the scroll.
“My lord, there is something I must show you.” She hastily entered the house and took the small scroll down from the ledge. Her heart pounded. She took a deep breath and returned to the shammash, handing him the scroll.
His dark eyes studied her face and the slight nod of his chin told her she had been right not to try to conceal the scroll. He knew. Every sound seemed louder than usual, and Marah waited again, feeling the depth of her weariness. Perspiration ran down her back.
“I have only the word of Shimei for what it contains, my lord. Please advise your servant of what to do.” She looked humbly at the ground.
The shammash opened the scroll and studied its contents for a few moments. “You know that you are free to leave this house?”
“Yes, my lord, but I could not leave my mother-in-law. Not until her kinswoman comes to care for her. If it is permitted . . . I . . . I would like to stay.”
“You are a good daughter. It is permitted. You must stay until the kinswoman comes.” His face became stern. “None of the land or house shall be yours. You may not marry a kinsman of this family. You will leave the house of Zibeon with only your dowry returned to you. Do you understand?”
Marah nodded. She could not speak.
His tone softened. “Do you have a place to go? It has come to my attention that you have no other family . . . ?”
Encouraged, Marah looked up at him. “Yes, my lord, I will go to the house of Simon and Hannah.”
He studied her a long moment and then handed her the scroll. “Keep this with you. It is sufficient that I have seen it.” For a moment he appeared to want to say something else but apparently thought better of it. Turning suddenly, he strode purposefully out of the courtyard.
Marah stared after him. She had forgotten the dowry. Of course, she was entitled to take back her dowry. Her mother’s candlesticks, and four of the sheep, the goat, some of the chickens, and the wedding coins that had been placed in an alcove in the wall. They were hers! She would not come to Hannah and Simon with empty hands. With a sigh of thankfulness, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked up into the blue sky. God truly had seen her need.
That afternoon Hannah came again, bringing some fresh cheese. They sat in the courtyard, and Marah drew the shawl closer around her shoulders. There was a chill in the air.
“The air grows cold. Do you think there is a storm coming, Hannah?”
“The rains of the month of Tevet begin soon. I do not think that Dibri will take the sheep out tomorrow. You will need to look to your animals. They will be restless.”
Marah nodded thoughtfully. She was weary. Athaliah could wake at any time of the day or night and need her, and she slept fitfully, listening to the old woman moaning in her sleep.
“The day comes to a close. I must return home. You are all right?”
“Yes, Hannah, I will be all right. I will make sure the animals are in their pens early tonight.”
Hannah rose to go, wrapping her own shawl tighter around her as the wind began to come up suddenly. She shuddered. “This is not to be a good night. I feel it in my bones. Keep your door bolted.” Then she turned back and looked closely at Marah. “You are weary, child. Do you wish me to stay with you? Simon will not mind.”
“No, thank you. I will be all right. Athaliah is no trouble and the house is sturdy. Greet Simon for me.”
“Peace be with you, Marah.”
“And with you.”
The leaves began to swirl in small patterns in the courtyard as the afternoon shadows grew long. Marah penned up the chickens and brought in the goat. Then she rounded up their few sheep and spoke gently to them, calling each by name as they meekly followed her.
After checking the courtyard for anything that should be put away, Marah barred the gate and hurried into the house. The animals moved restlessly in their pens. For once Marah was glad the animals were nearby. They gave her a sense of company on the lonely nights. She checked Athaliah who had been sitting listlessly in a corner rolling a ball of yarn that Marah had spun the day before. In the way of the aged and infirm, her chin dropped to her chest and she dozed. This had happened many times in the middle of a conversation. Then, Marah thought of the times when a spirit of madness lashed out . . .
“Aiee, they come again,” Athaliah screeched one day, throwing a pottery bowl at something only she could see. She swung wildly with the broom at the shadows of the courtyard. Marah wrestled the broom away from her as one of Athaliah’s wildly flailing arms struck her on the side of the head.
Athaliah would talk for hours of her girlhood, her marriage, her sons, or casually ask about the newest gossip. The strain of anticipating Athaliah’s actions was taking its toll, yet always Marah was gentle with her, soothing her when she was upset and listening patiently as the old woman talked on and on. This night Marah prayed for strength and that Athaliah would be calm.
Marah built a fire in the small, portable clay stove used indoors during cold or inclement weather. She added a few twigs and blew gently on the small flame. Then she added a few herbs and an onion to the stew they’d had for two nights and broke the bread from the morning baking into small chunks.

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