Journey to the Well: A Novel (3 page)

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Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel
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Leah tossed her head and went aside with the other women to speak in animated whispers.
Glancing briefly at the other women, Hannah said offhandedly, “Leah is always the bearer of bad news. Such a gossip. I think she must make up half of it just to shock us. Come, we’ve been gone long enough. We must return.”
As Hannah lifted her jar to her shoulder, Marah stood dumbly watching her, questions filling her mind.
Hannah walked quickly past the other women and started down into the valley. Breathless, Marah struggled to carry the full water jar while hurrying to keep up with her friend. For a moment, her concentration overcame her curiosity.
When she at last walked by Hannah’s side, her attempts at conversation were met with silence. Whatever was on Hannah’s mind was not going to be revealed in spite of her persistence. Marah sighed audibly. The walk on the way to the well had been more pleasant!
As they neared the street of the merchants, they passed the shop of Zibeon the sandal maker. Marah wrinkled her nose. The smell of the new leather drifted out into the street.
Glancing at her companion, Marah saw Hannah looking at the shop with a strange, hard expression on her face.
Zibeon himself stepped out of the shop. He was not dressed for work in his leather apron but rather in his Sabbath clothes. How strange, Marah thought, for this was the middle of the week, not the Sabbath or a holy day.
Zibeon’s dark, brooding eyes boldly met Marah’s as he leaned his large frame against the doorway, his arms folded across his great chest.
Marah knew it was wrong to stare. She should have modestly looked away, yet his eyes imprisoned hers as if she were looking into the eyes of a serpent.
“Marah!” Hannah’s sharp tone broke the spell. She shuddered and quickly looked away, hurrying once more to keep up with Hannah.
“I don’t like that man,” Marah whispered fiercely, and almost felt she could hear his low chuckle behind her.
Hannah had looked at her sharply and then, slowing her pace, said firmly, “We must not judge, child. Perhaps he needs a wife to make his life more pleasant.”
Zibeon was a widower and had not yet taken another wife, though it had been three years.
“A wife?” Marah snorted. “I would feel sorry for the woman who marries the sandal maker.”
“It is not for us to judge,” her friend repeated doggedly. “All things are best left in the hands of God. Look, we are almost home. I am sure Reba will be feeling better by now.”
Puzzled by Hannah’s attitude and the meaning of her words, Marah shook her head.
Hannah did not care for Zibeon either, yet she defended him. This was a strange day.
At the end of the street, the two friends parted. When Marah was almost to her door, she turned and saw Hannah still standing at the end of the street watching her. She waved, but Hannah turned and went to her own house.
With a heavy heart and questions chasing themselves around in her head, she entered the doorway a little anxiously, expecting to see her aunt still lying upon her mat. To her surprise, Reba was up, her best shawl about her shoulders.
Her aunt jumped when she turned suddenly and saw Marah standing in the doorway. “Must you sneak up on me like a thief?”
“You are feeling better?” Marah inquired quietly. Her eyes met Reba’s but she kept her face composed. Reba suddenly looked away.
“Yes. Of course I feel better. Can you not see it is so?” She waved her hand. “The pain went away, very suddenly. I saw no need to lie about.”
“I’ve brought the water from the well of our father Jacob, as you asked.” A statement, and a question.
“You did well to return in so little time.”
Marah wondered at the sudden change in disposition, but she was used to Reba’s many moods. She watched patiently as her aunt moved restlessly about the room, picking things up and putting them down again, glancing from time to time at Marah as she did so.
Then Marah saw the small exquisite leather box. It was beautifully designed with little inset jewels. Her eyes widened. Never had they owned anything so costly.
“Oh. It’s beautiful!”
As Marah reached out to touch the lovely box, Reba snatched it and placed it on a higher shelf.
“It was a gift,” she said possessively.
Marah heard a metallic sound as Reba picked up the box. It was full off coins.
Reba turned to face her. “Marah, you may as well know. I am returning to my family in Haran.” She paused, letting the words have their desired effect.
“You are going to Haran? Shall I be coming with you?” Marah felt panic rise. Reba was the only family she had.
“I am returning alone. I cannot leave you here by yourself—of course it would not be the right thing to do, would it? It has become necessary to make arrangements for you.”
“Make arrangements for me?”
Reba waved a hand impatiently. “Must you echo every word? You must be about your own life, with a good husband to provide for you.”
“Husband?” A shadow passed through her mind.
“Yes, child, a husband. You are of age and it is my duty as your, ah, family, to see that a marriage is suitably arranged for you. I promised your father, may he rest in peace. You should be grateful that such a fine man has asked for you at this time.”
Someone had asked for her. Jesse? Had he gone to his father? Now the full meaning of Reba’s words struck her. Jesse! She caught her breath and looked expectantly at Reba.
Reba turned away from her again. “You must trust me that I know best.”
Marah waited, thinking of the last time she and Jesse talked when she brought the sheep. Had Jesse asked his father to speak to Reba? Her aunt had already made the arrangements! Hope grew in her heart as she waited impatiently.
Reba took her time speaking. “He is a good man, and an able provider,” Reba went on.
This was news Marah should have welcomed, yet she began to feel uneasy.
“You shall be mistress of a good house. He has done well at his trade and has only an aging mother and younger brother to provide for.”
An aging mother? Younger brother? Both of Jesse’s parents lived. And Jesse had no brothers or sisters. Marah’s brain whirled and she thought back to the well and Hannah’s face.
A strange sense of foreboding gripped her as, with a small, almost inaudible voice, she asked, “Who is to be my husband?”
“Zibeon the sandal maker!” Reba crowed triumphantly.
2
 
Z
ibeon has chosen you of all the marriageable girls in the village,” Reba declared brightly, ignoring the look of horror on Marah’s face. “Think how lucky you are!”
Marah stared at her aunt and felt tears fill her eyes. “The sandal maker? Please, let it not be Zibeon!” she implored. “He frightens me. He is not a kind man. I have heard things.
Please, I will do anything . . . anything! I do not want to marry him. I could stay with Simon and Hannah. They would welcome me.”
Reba’s eyes narrowed. Taking Marah by the shoulders, she shook her. “Be still. Why should Hannah’s husband be burdened with an extra mouth to feed? You know nothing of these matters. Where is your respect for your elders? The matter is already settled and I have agreed. Zibeon is a fine choice. You are a foolish girl to listen to groundless tales!”
Terror gave Marah boldness. Shaking her head she cried, “I cannot marry him, I cannot!”
Reba’s grip on Marah’s shoulders tightened. Her voice grew firmer. “Who are you to tell me you cannot?” Reba demanded. “You will do as I tell you! I have assured Zibeon that you are an obedient girl.”
Marah cowered as the truth of Reba’s words penetrated. Reba was all the family she had now. Hannah was right. Her aunt had the right to arrange the marriage.
She had fooled herself into thinking that Reba cared for her. After her father died, it had helped somehow. She tried to believe that Reba’s coldness only covered her grief. But now, as she looked at the pinched face in front of her, she saw desperation and something more—resentment. Had Reba resented that much having to remain and care for her? Marah shuddered.
Desolation swept over her and she sobbed quietly.
She remembered a girl of the village the year before whose parents had, out of necessity, chosen a man old enough to be the girl’s father. The women of Shechem had gossiped and tittered, and Marah recalled the face of the girl, stricken and pale, as she went dutifully to her wedding.
Reality filled Marah’s heart like a heavy weight. Her mind raced. Zibeon was old. He was almost twenty-five. Maybe he would die before the betrothal year ended.
Drying her tears, Marah drew on all the inner strength she possessed. She would go to Hannah. Hannah would know what to do.
Reba stepped back and dropped her hands, watching her as if waiting for any further rebellion.
Marah felt her childhood drop away like a discarded garment. Resentment and pain blazed out of her eyes as she looked back at her aunt. Turning toward the door, she stood tall and, with all the strength she could muster, lifted her chin defiantly.
“I would tell Hannah of my news,” she said and waited.
For a moment her aunt barred her way. Then, resigned, Reba stepped aside. She suddenly looked much older.
“Yes, by all means, go to Hannah,” she said sarcastically,
“but return shortly, as it is nearly time for the evening meal and you have your work to do.”
Marah nodded woodenly and saw the look of relief on her aunt’s face. She started slowly for Hannah’s house, but with a smothered cry, broke into a run.
The sun was setting and the dry wind from the land had begun to blow. Hannah opened the door before she could knock and gathered the sobbing girl to her.
“Hush now, child, hush,” she murmured, drawing Marah into the house and closing the door against prying eyes. “So it is tears you bring to me. What can be so terrible?”
“I am to be married.” Marah felt miserable.
“So, to be married. My little Marah, you shall be a bride. That is news for rejoicing, not tears.”
“Hannah, you don’t understand,” Marah sobbed. “It is to be the sandal maker!”
Hannah’s arms dropped to her side and she hung her head. “So it is true, then?”
“Why didn’t you tell me at the well, Hannah?” Marah looked at her friend in disbelief. “How could you keep such news from me?”
“Oh child, I had hoped it was only gossip of Leah’s making. I didn’t wish to frighten you, if perhaps it wasn’t true,” Hannah said gently.
Marah sank down on a wooden bench and looked at her friend. She felt hopelessness draining the color from her face. “He is cruel. I have heard stories how his first wife died. All of Shechem must be whispering behind my back. No other family in the village would approach Zibeon for their daughters. Only Reba. She doesn’t care for me. I saw it in her face. She only wants to be rid of me so she can return to Haran. She told me she is leaving.”
“She is returning to Haran? Good riddance, I say to that woman.”
Hannah continued to pat Marah’s shoulder as the words poured out.
“There was a beautiful leather box. It had jewels on it. I could hear the sound of coins when Reba snatched it away. I only wanted to look at it. Zibeon has paid the bride price for me!” The words tumbled over one another.
“I am to marry Zibeon and I am afraid! I thought—I thought it was to be Jesse. I thought, I mean, we talked. I’ve always known that one day Jesse would go to his father; that he would ask for me. What can I do? I must get away. I must leave Shechem.”
“Marah.” Hannah’s voice was firm as she held the girl gently by the shoulders. “And where would you go, a girl alone? How far would you get before thieves or someone worse found you? You must obey Reba or face the elders.”
The thought of the elders caused her to jerk her head up. A disobedient son or daughter who defied their parents could be stoned! Reba was her aunt, but she was as her parent.
She stopped weeping and looked sadly into the face of her friend. “Is there no other way? Couldn’t you or Simon speak to her?”
Hannah released Marah and looked with compassion at her tear-streaked face. In a voice full of pity and love, she said, “Child, you have no choice. Reba has taken the bride price and agreed. The
Ketubah
, the marriage contract, has been arranged. She has the right. You have no other family to speak for you.”
She held Marah to her again. “A cunning shrew that one. You can’t have much of a dowry, but there is not a young man in the village who hasn’t looked your way more than once.”
Putting a finger gently under Marah’s chin, she tilted her face up and looked at her earnestly. “Marah, I had hoped Leah’s gossip was not true, but word went out across the village this afternoon that Zibeon was on his way to Reba’s to ask for you and that Reba had already spoken to him. His bride price was four minas!”

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