Journey to the Well: A Novel (19 page)

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Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel
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Over one fire hung a caldron with boiling water necessary for fleecing the lambs. In the other trench, a mass of kindling was lit to make an oven for roasting the lambs. As the fires were started, several elders of the village took turns reading portions of the story of the exodus from Egypt and leading the people in the ancient Passover hymns. The people of Shechem, including the women and children, all faced the
kibla
, the top of Gerizim, as the elders read. It was toward the
kibla
that the
Samarim
prayed. They listened in reverence and awe as the high priest extolled the names of their holy mountain:
Beth-el, the House of God; the Great and Chosen Place; the Tabernacle of His angels; the place destined for sacrifices; the House of the powerful God; the Mount of Inheritance and of the Abode (Shekinah glory).
Surely nowhere in the land was there anything like their holy mountain, Gerizim.
As sunset approached, one of the young men deftly cut the throats of the lambs over a ditch. The blood was passed among the families and was touched to the faces of the men, women, and children. Marah bowed her head as Jesse touched her face with the sacred reminder of how their ancestors had been saved from the Death Angel. For the Death Angel passed over the homes of those families who had applied the blood to the doorposts of their homes as Moses had commanded. The firstborn of Egypt, from the son of Pharaoh to the lowest servant, had died. It was the final plague that would set her people free.
The high priest made a ritual inspection of the lambs, looking for blemishes. The sinews of the legs were withdrawn and the lambs were spitted on a long stick. When the lambs were prepared, they were laid over the heated oven and a thick covering of turf was laid over them to seal the oven.
Waiting was the hardest time for small children, for the roasting took three or four hours.
“Mama, when will the lambs be ready?” Caleb asked again. “I am hungry.”
Marah still felt a tug at her heart to have the little boy call her mama. She brushed his hair with her hand and smiled at him. “It will be a long time, Caleb. Would you like to have me tell you some stories?”
“Oh yes. Tell me again about Moses and the angels, Mama.” He snuggled up against her.
“Well, you know that Moses was our great leader. When he died, he entered into heaven itself, and there sat on a great white throne, while he wrote our sacred Scriptures; by the glory of the angels was he nourished, of their food he ate, at their table he sat, with their bread he satisfied his hunger, in their bath he bathed, and in their tent he dwelt. In heaven he is greater than the angels, for these sing the praises of the Lawgiver, as they call upon him to read the Law . . .” She stopped and looked down at Caleb, who had fallen asleep in the miraculous simplicity of very young children. He was a handsome little boy, the image of his father. He had inherited the blond hair from his father’s line, and from his size now, Marah knew he would also be tall.
Abigail was frailer than ever, and while she had walked slowly beside her husband to the mountain, it was obvious to Marah that the elderly woman was exhausted. Abigail slept quietly and Marah also closed her eyes. Most of the village rested, waiting.
The signal was given that the lambs were cooked, and the blackened lambs were removed from the oven. The high priest spoke the familiar words of the Passover service. His words echoed down the mountain to the men of the village who had gathered, their robes tucked partly into their girdles, “girding their loins,” and their staffs in their hands. Elon stood in dignified silence near Simon.
Since the commandment had been to “eat in haste,” the men fell upon the meat, eating their full share before taking wooden platters to the waiting women and children who remained in the tents. Marah, Caleb, and Abigail hungrily tore off pieces and ate the warm meat that Jesse and Elon brought them.
Marah and Caleb, as well as all the other families, carefully gathered up any bones and scraps and wool that was left and threw them into the still smoldering fire. All must be consumed and reduced to ashes. The commandment was that “nothing should remain until the morrow.”
Marah uncovered the small earthen jar of water she had brought, and they all performed the ceremonial washing before standing at the door of their tent for the final prayers. The voice of the high priest solemnly reverberated through the mass of people. It seemed to Marah as the voice of God speaking from their sacred mountain.
With his duties over, Jesse tucked the rolled tent under his arm and Marah helped lift the sleeping Caleb to his shoulder. Jesse’s strong carpenter arms carried both easily. Marah gathered the rest of their things, and they joined their neighbors as the people made their way in the moonlight back to their homes in the village. Some carried candles and others carried small oil lamps as they walked. Simon and Hannah walked close by Elon and Abigail as she held tightly to her husband’s arm.
Marah, watching her mother-in-law slowly make her way home, was filled with a sense of sadness. Abigail would probably not see another Passover.
The village dogs barked, and men looked after their families. In the late hour, no one wanted to be left alone on the mountain or be a straggler on the road home.
“You did well at the Passover, Jesse,” Marah said with pride as they walked. “I saw the high priest watching you and he seemed pleased.”
“He is responsible for the work of the Passover. At least he did not seem as irritable as last year.” His tone of voice told Marah he was happy with her observation. Then Jesse chuckled to himself. “I thought Gera was going to fall into the oven. He almost stumbled placing the lambs.”
“Perhaps he was nervous?”
“Perhaps.”
Marah looked at Caleb, asleep on his father’s shoulder. He was as dear to her as if she really was his mother, yet, how she longed to give Jesse a child. She had been late for the time of women this month and a hope had risen in her heart that she would bear a child for Jesse at last. Her hopes had been dashed again. Though they had been married four years, there was still no child. Her barrenness lay heavy on her heart. When she had timidly spoken of it to Jesse, he had drawn her close and kissed her.
“To have you in my arms, beloved, is enough. Don’t worry. It shall happen in time. I have a son already.” He meant to comfort her, but it was a reminder that his only child was by another wife.
As the months stretched into years, her desolation increased. Had the Lord shut up her womb? Had the child she had borne Zibeon damaged her in some way? Her heart cried out,
Oh God Who Sees Me, am I never to bear Jesse a child? Are You punishing me for my pact with Shimei? It was wrong in Your eyes. Surely I shall not bear the shame of that forever.
Marah kept her agreement with Shimei to herself. No one must ever know she had conspired to do such a thing. Yet God had seen and heard. Marah felt a weight on her chest. Perhaps this barrenness was her punishment forever. She had gone to Shelomith the midwife to see if there were any herbs that would help, but nothing had worked.
At last Shelomith had shaken her head sadly. “You were badly torn. The babe nearly took your life with him, so great was he. It could be that there is more damage inside that we cannot see. Only God can give life. I can do no more.”
Yet while her husband was strong and lusty, she was sure she would never bear another child. She looked over at Jesse’s handsome face in the moonlight, a lock of hair over one eye. How she loved him. Elon and Abigail, unlike Athaliah, never reproached her for not giving them more grandchildren. They delighted in Caleb and loved Marah like a daughter. It was a peaceful household.
She looked around at her small family. She had much to be thankful for, yet a tear slipped silently down her face. Brushing it away, she moved closer to Jesse as they neared Shechem.
PART V
 
Haman
 
24
 
T
he horse galloped wildly, its flanks wet with lather, mouth foaming at the bit as it obeyed the relentless urging of its rider.
“Faster, faster, you poor excuse for a beast!”
Haman looked back briefly over his shoulder, seeking a sign of the two men who pursued him. Two small figures appeared in the distance. Far enough. He would make the gates of Shechem.
The men at the caravansary opened the gate as he approached. The sun sank behind Mount Gerizim as he dashed through the gate and brought the heaving animal to a halt. He looked to his rear with a touch of a sneer in his smile.
I have reached Shechem
, he thought.
I am safe
.
“Perhaps it is too late to find the house of Elon,” Haman considered as he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. He needed to rest, he thought, stretching his cramped muscles and yawning. “Tomorrow is soon enough to seek out my long-lost relatives, if they are here.”
No other strangers came into the caravansary before the gates closed, but it would not be wise to go about in an unfamiliar town this night. He stretched again and turned toward the man who was obviously in charge. Perhaps what he needed would come to him. Introducing himself, he made a brief inquiry and went to the cubicle of a room he had been assigned. With disgust he noted the simple bed and table with a small lamp. It was not what he had been used to, yet under the circumstances it would have to do. In due time, there was a knock on the door, and a woman lifted the heavy curtain and entered, her bracelets tinkling in the soft light.
“You sent for me, my lord?” Removing her mantle, she moved toward him with practiced grace.
 
In the morning, Haman stood in the doorway. He had not given a thought to his horse. A servant had led the animal away. Well, he didn’t need it now anyway. From the looks of things, he would not need it for a long time. Perhaps he would sell the beast. He patted his girdle where he had tucked the bag of coins. It would have to take care of him for some time. Frowning, he considered the events of the previous night. Traveling by himself had been his downfall, that and being foolish enough to investigate someone’s cry for help. He found a drunken merchant lying dead, his murderer poised with the dripping knife still in his hand as he reached for a bag of coins on the ground. When Haman slid off his horse and took in the scene, the thief, thinking him to also be easy prey, lunged at him. Strong and agile, he sidestepped the clumsy thrust of the knife and planted his own between the thief ’s shoulder blades.
“Fool! Did you think to make me your next victim?” He picked up the merchant’s purse that had dropped from the dead man’s hand and turned to look at the merchant.
“Ah Haman, you have an interesting dilemma here. Keep the gold or go to the nearby caravan and find relatives or friends of the merchant.” Perhaps there was some gain here for him. He tucked the gold into his girdle with one hand and was preparing to clean his knife.
Just then riders appeared on their camels, materializing out of the night. He stood beside the dead bodies with the knife in his hand and eyed them warily.
“He has killed your brother and his servant, Zadok. Kill the thief where he stands!”
“Murderer! You shall pay for your crime!”
“I didn’t kill the merchant. His own servant killed him and tried to kill me. He lies beside his master.”
“You lie, murderer, you shall pay!”
From the looks on their faces, this was not a time for discussion. He grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle; in a moment he was riding for his life.
The two men had stopped to take care of the dead merchant and his servant, but he knew they would pursue him. They believed he killed the brother of one of them. The Avenger of Blood would demand his life in return. His only hope was to reach Shechem. It was his good fortune that it was not only his destination but it was one of the cities of refuge, designated by God in the Book of the Law. Now, the idea of looking up these relatives appeared an even better one. He had ridden hard to make Shechem by nightfall. It was a matter of life or death.
He surveyed the compound for anyone who looked suspicious and questioned one of the camel drivers.
“Has anyone else entered the caravansary this morning?”
“No one,” the man replied, shrugging his shoulders.

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