Read Journey to the Well: A Novel Online
Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor
Journey to the Well: A Novel (6 page)
“I will send the girl for water to Jacob’s well tomorrow at this time. It is a long walk. I’m sure she will be gone long enough. I will be waiting,” Reba smirked.
“Tomorrow at this time,” Zibeon answered, his gruff voice dangerously soft.
Two women were headed their way and Reba pretended to examine a pair of sandals. “I have not seen anything that interests me,” she said loudly. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you will find something tomorrow,” Zibeon answered in the same tone and watched her walk away, her ample hips twitching as she walked. As he moved to the back of the shop, he eyed Shimei, daring him to mention a single word. Shimei spread his hands in a depreciating gesture and moved away. Zibeon looked through one or two baskets until he found what he was looking for. He unwrapped the soft leather covering and held up a beautifully carved leather box with inset jewels. He examined it carefully and nodded his head. He stood for a moment, savoring his thoughts, and then returning to his stool, he picked up his tools. He brought the mallet down again forcefully on the awl.
Now the betrothal ceremony was over. He had only to bide his time. Zibeon continued to muse, ignoring his mother and brother. He had what he wanted. Let his mother’s words flow over and around him like a small breeze. Let her celebrate. He had the wife of his choosing and Athaliah would have her grandchildren. He nodded to himself and lifted his cup of wine.
Across the village, Marah also thought of the betrothal ceremony. She had served the guests with downcast eyes, her mind troubled. Even when the betrothal scrolls were signed, she couldn’t bear to look at Zibeon. She had already determined to be a dutiful wife, and tried to convince herself that perhaps the rumors about his first wife were untrue. Perhaps he had changed. Casting about in her mind, she sought for all the positive things that she could find, yet that night she trembled inwardly when he was near her. She watched Zibeon partake freely of the wine that was offered, and now and then he would glance her way from under his heavy brows. She looked away. Whenever he tried to get near her, she would find an excuse to move elsewhere.
Reba circled Zibeon, laughing a little too quickly at his remarks, bending a little too close as she fussed over him pouring the wine, exclaiming how pleased she was with her new nephew. Marah wondered if their neighbors and friends saw through the transparency as easily as she did. Once or twice she caught some of the women whispering among themselves and nodding knowingly toward Reba and Zibeon. Then their eyes turned toward Marah who looked away and busied herself. She did not need or want their pity!
Suddenly, Marah looked up to find Zibeon directly in front of her. The smell of the wine was strong, and he bent over her with a smile that turned to a scowl when he saw the fear in her eyes. He bent to whisper a few words and then with a laugh turned away.
Marah went white and Hannah, standing with Simon as witnesses to the betrothal, saw the brief scene and moved quickly to Marah’s side.
“Child, you are pale. What has happened?”
Marah felt she was going to be ill. She wanted to scream and run out of the house, losing herself in the dark hills. Hannah took her arm and hissed, “Smile!” in her ear as she firmly propelled Marah to her aunt. Hannah looked Reba in the eye.
“Our bride-to-be is clearly overcome with all the excitement. Perhaps she should rest?” It was more of a demand than a question.
Reba was at first irritated and then, seeing that Marah was on the verge of fainting, chose to be benevolent. It would never do for the girl to be visibly sick at this moment. She dismissed them with a cursory wave of her hand.
“It is time for our bride to rest. So much excitement,” she purred as she moved among the guests, urging more wine and food as Hannah and Marah went quickly up the steps to the roof of the house. They could hear as the guests began to drift away to their own homes.
“Ah . . . a fine match, Reba.”
“You have done well for the girl.”
As though there had never been such a betrothal event and never a more gracious hostess.
Marah heard Zibeon’s voice as he too departed, but it was low and she could not make out the words.
Marah stood quietly, with Hannah’s hand upon her shoulder. She calmed herself, taking deep breaths of the cool evening air. Staring out into the night, she was rigid with unshed tears.
“Child, what did he say to you?” Hannah whispered.
“Oh Hannah, I am so afraid.” Marah looked up, shuddering slightly as she relived the moment, and bitterly repeated the words.
“‘Soon, little bird, you will not be able to flee from me!’”
5
M
arah knew Jesse would be leaving soon for the village of his father-in-law. Still, she hoped to speak with him one last time. She had waited until the middle of the day when the village was quiet. Reba slept in the heat of the day and Marah watched to be sure she was asleep. Reba snored loudly. Quietly, Marah slipped out the door and with one last fearful look about, covered her head with the dark shawl and hurried away by a path behind the village. She took a water jar to cover her steps should Reba wake and miss her.
arah knew Jesse would be leaving soon for the village of his father-in-law. Still, she hoped to speak with him one last time. She had waited until the middle of the day when the village was quiet. Reba slept in the heat of the day and Marah watched to be sure she was asleep. Reba snored loudly. Quietly, Marah slipped out the door and with one last fearful look about, covered her head with the dark shawl and hurried away by a path behind the village. She took a water jar to cover her steps should Reba wake and miss her.
Her heart pounded as she moved quickly through the trees to the hillside where she could hear the soft bleating of the sheep. Was Jesse still there? Had the new shepherd taken over the flocks? Marah chewed her lower lip as she thought of Jesse’s betrothed. She knew he had already met Tirzah at his ceremony.
“Is she . . . pretty?” Marah asked Hannah.
“She has a kind face,” Hannah replied tactfully. “She is not too plain, and seems to have a good temperament. She will make him a good wife.”
Now Marah climbed the hill and saw to her relief that it was indeed Jesse with the sheep. He was playing the
kinnor
, a small lyre, to soothe the animals. It reminded her of the small flute he had carved for her. She wondered if it was still hidden. As she watched him from behind a tree, she looked cautiously behind her to see if she had been followed or anyone at all was in sight. There was no one.
kinnor
, a small lyre, to soothe the animals. It reminded her of the small flute he had carved for her. She wondered if it was still hidden. As she watched him from behind a tree, she looked cautiously behind her to see if she had been followed or anyone at all was in sight. There was no one.
Jesse must have been thinking of the flute also, for in a moment he put down his lyre and walked over to the rock. He stood looking down for a moment and then after glancing around, lifted the rock and took out the lambskin bundle. He was standing there, looking down at it when Marah walked up quietly and stood in front of him.
“I also wanted to see the little flute. I’m glad it is still there.”
“Marah!”
She looked furtively around. Her head was covered with the dark shawl to keep from being recognized as she went to find Jesse. Now she felt like there were eyes hidden in the trees and behind the rocks. Someone would see them. After hesitating for a moment, with a show of boldness, she set down the water jar and eased back her shawl. The sun made highlights in her hair.
Jesse almost reached out to touch it and pulled his hand back as though burned by the fire of her dark tresses.
“Jesse. I . . . I wanted to speak to you. I knew I would find you here.”
He looked down, a bit embarrassed by being caught looking at the flute.
She spoke again. “I know we should probably not talk, but I heard you were leaving the village. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Yes, I’m leaving,” he said, his eyes still on her shining hair, “to be an apprentice to Tirzah’s father. I will be learning to be a carpenter.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Can you imagine me, a shepherd, making tables and tools?”
Marah smiled. “You’ll be a good carpenter, Jesse. You are very good with wood. I know you will do well. I . . . ah . . . wish you good fortune in your marriage and that your wife will bear you sons.” She stumbled over the word “wife.”
Jesse tried to return the blessing but found the words stuck in his throat. Marah realized he could not wish her well in her marriage, nor could he wish her children by Zibeon.
“Thank you,” he answered lamely.
Marah ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the little flute. She wanted to put it to her lips and play on the beautiful instrument that had been carved by Jesse’s gentle hands.
But knowing it would call attention to them, she sighed and carefully wrapped it in the lambskin. Jesse placed the flute back in the hole and moved the rock over it.
“It will be our secret,” Marah repeated as before. “Perhaps someday I’ll be able to come for the flute and play it.” Then she sighed again. “Flutes are for shepherds and children, and I’ll be a married woman. There will be no time for playing a flute.”
His longing reached out to her like tangible warmth, but he did not touch her. For a long moment they looked at each other, and then she turned and covered her hair with the shawl. Jesse must not see her tears. He also turned away, looking out over the sheep for a long moment.
“Goodbye, Jesse.” She struggled to keep her voice from quavering.
“Goodbye... Marah.” His voice was muffled.
Marah grabbed the water jar and fled.
6
T
he time of the barley harvest was nearly over. Every farmer in the village was harvesting his crop. The women exchanged bits of news and gossip as they worked. Some tossed the grain into the air from their baskets and let the wind float away the chaff. Others used a threshing board, letting the children ride on it for extra weight as the oxen moved in wide circles over the grain. Some gathered the sheaves and other women cooked, bringing out the food at midday when everyone would stop for a noontime prayer and refreshment. It was a time when the whole village worked together.
he time of the barley harvest was nearly over. Every farmer in the village was harvesting his crop. The women exchanged bits of news and gossip as they worked. Some tossed the grain into the air from their baskets and let the wind float away the chaff. Others used a threshing board, letting the children ride on it for extra weight as the oxen moved in wide circles over the grain. Some gathered the sheaves and other women cooked, bringing out the food at midday when everyone would stop for a noontime prayer and refreshment. It was a time when the whole village worked together.
The workers harvested the family fields. As Marah moved gracefully about her tasks, she was aware that she was pleasing in the eyes of the men, young and old. During the harvest, many a maiden had been caught in the fields alone by an amorous young man and a hasty wedding had ensued. Simon watched over Marah as a father would, and Hannah stayed close by, but no one in the fields would bother her—they were all afraid of Zibeon. Many of them had been the recipient of his temper on occasion, and it was not an incident to be easily forgotten.
The days passed far too quickly. The last of the harvesting would be over and the time of the wedding was approaching. Working from dawn to dusk, Marah fell upon her pallet at night in exhausted sleep. Sometimes she slept soundly out of sheer weariness, but from time to time her strange dream occurred. It was always the same. Walking down a long road with that mysterious person waiting for her. It was not a person to be feared. As she walked toward the man, she felt only peace. He held out his hand to her and smiled, but as she went to reach for his hand, she awoke. Marah puzzled over the dream, but was strengthened when the dream occurred. Soon, with the preparations for the wedding, she put it out of her mind. She had no time to think of strange dreams.
Reba remade her beautifully embroidered wedding dress for Marah. A garland of leaves was woven for Marah’s head and soft embroidered slippers waited for her feet. Even though remaking the dress was a way to conserve the bride price for herself, Reba was a prideful woman and did not want anyone to say that she had not done her best for her niece. Reba was already aware of gossip in the streets when she went by. She held her head high and played the role of the gracious aunt to the end.
“I will be shaking the dust of this town of Shechem from my feet soon enough,” Marah once heard her mutter to herself.
A craftsman made the headband of coins that would be part of Marah’s dowry. It waited in the jeweled leather box. There was little that Marah would bring with her except for her wedding coins, the animals, and the candlesticks. The candlesticks! Marah thought of how Hannah had related the incident and smiled in spite of herself.
Hannah came in search of Marah and saw Reba with the candlesticks, trying to quickly put them out of sight. Fortunately, Hannah knew they had belonged to Marah’s mother.
“Ah, Jerusha’s candlesticks!” she proclaimed loudly. “Marah shall be proud to bring these to her new household.”
Hannah gently but firmly took the candlesticks out of Reba’s hands. Ignoring the woman’s sharp look of anger, she held them up and praised their fine quality.
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