Journey to the Well: A Novel (7 page)

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Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel
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“I was merely putting them in a safe place,” Reba blustered.
“Of course Zibeon will be pleased!” She shot Hannah a look of pure hatred, but placed the candlesticks among Marah’s household goods.
The day before the wedding, Shimei came to take the small flock of sheep and the three goats to Zibeon’s pens. One of the sheep was killed and dressed for the wedding feast. Reba wanted to keep the sheep and goats to sell, but she dared not go against Zibeon, and he made it clear he expected the animals in his pens. The chickens were carried away squawking. He didn’t miss anything that would add to his wealth. And there had been a scene over them.
Marah was on the roof the day Zibeon came, and she crouched back from the parapet not wishing to give her presence away.
“Why haven’t the animals been brought to my pens?” Zibeon demanded.
“Ah, Zibeon, surely you can spare a goat and a few sheep?” Reba’s voice was wheedling.
Then Marah heard Zibeon’s low growl of anger and saw him take Reba by one arm, pressing his fingers painfully into her flesh.
“That was not our agreement. Were you trying to sell them, Reba?”
“You are hurting me, Zibeon. Let go of my arm. It was only a thought. Of course I will see that the animals are brought to you. They will go into your pens tomorrow. Of course you are entitled to the animals.”
“Thanks to your bride price, you have enough money to return to Haran. As far as I am concerned, the sooner you are gone, the better!”
Marah heard the small cry of pain as he released Reba’s arm and strode angrily out of the courtyard. Marah had warily glanced down and saw Reba standing there, rubbing her arm and then shaking her fist in a defiant gesture at the empty gate. Ducking down, Marah remained still until she heard Reba go into the house and then crept down from her hiding place and walked toward the door of the house as if she had just come into the courtyard.
Reba was slamming things down in the house and muttering to herself when she saw Marah come in. She stared at her as if to determine if the girl had witnessed the previous scene, and when Marah gave no indication of having seen her humiliation, she turned away again to sort and pack her things. She picked up the jeweled box and stared at it a long moment. Then she smiled and opened it, taking out the headband of coins. She laid it with the other wedding garments and, with a defiant look at Marah, rolled up the box in a bundle of clothing and placed it in her own basket.
It had been a gift, Reba had told her, so Marah shrugged and turned to help with the evening meal. Marah could not anticipate Zibeon’s rage when he found out Reba had taken the box for herself.
The two women ate quietly, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Marah ate slowly as if she could somehow hold back this last night hour by hour. Finally, as she lay on her pallet, she realized that though tomorrow would come, tonight was hers alone. She looked up at the stars and the constellations that had taken their places in the night skies since the beginning of time. Was the great God of the universe aware of who she was? A simple girl of Samaria? Did He not order the heavens and the seasons that came and went year after year? He must know of the anguish in her heart and her unhappiness, yet it was He who ordered their lives according to His plan. As her father had said many times, “Does the God of all the heavens not know His way?” Somehow, her life to come was His way, and she accepted it simply. In the months that had passed, with Jesse living in Sebaste, it was easier to put him out of her heart. The friendship between them was a moment that was to be only a memory. She would close that door tightly within her. No one would touch that inner place, ever again, especially not Zibeon. He would have her body, but her spirit could never be taken by force.
7
 
M
arah could hear Reba moving around in the house below. She stood and dressed slowly, but now the thought struck her like a knife in her heart. It was her wedding day! It had come at last in spite of her desperate thoughts willing it to wait. It would take all of her courage to get through this day and the night to come. As she stood at the parapet and looked out across the village, heaviness lay upon her heart. She stood quietly, lost in her thoughts, but her reverie was quickly interrupted.
“Marah! Come down. You will be expected to be ready for your attendants!”
Putting her few personal possessions in a small pouch to be taken by Hannah to Zibeon’s house, she looked around at the small area that had been her own. The house had once echoed with laughter and love. But love was not to be hers. Jesse’s face came to mind, and with all her will she pushed it away. She must not allow herself to look back. She gathered her things and slowly went down the steps.
There was a knock at the door announcing that Hannah and several neighbor women had arrived along with two of Marah’s friends, Timnah and Atarah. Behind them came other women of the neighborhood. They all looked over Reba’s preparations with a practiced eye. Gathering the wedding garments, they exclaimed over them in animated whispers. One woman counted the coins in the bridal headband. Marah unbound her hair as they began to dress her. Since her wedding feast was the only time she would appear in public with her hair down, her friend Atarah carefully combed the rich tresses that tumbled down.
“Such a bride, may this day be the greatest of all days, may she have many sons!” The women mouthed the expected phrases.
“Chattering chickens,” Hannah murmured in her ear.
The headband of coins was carefully placed above her forehead. The veil was drawn over her face and the crown of leaves was wound around her head by Timnah and Atarah. Marah watched Reba as she glanced from time to time at her own small pile of belongings. Tomorrow the cousin would claim the lands. The house had been rented to a man in the village. Reba had made arrangements at the caravansary with a merchant’s caravan that would be traveling through Haran; they would leave early in the morning. Marah knew she would probably never see her aunt again. Contemplating the thought, Marah found she had no emotions at all in regard to the woman she had shared her home with for these past few years.
“You are such a silent bride!” Timnah scolded. “It is no fun to dress someone who will not even talk to you!”
Marah turned toward Timnah. She had not been an attractive child, and as she had grown older, her long face and narrow eyes gave her the appearance of a frail bird. Her parents were seeking a husband for her, but as yet, they had not been successful. It was an important event in Timnah’s life to be an attendant. Marah reached out and touched her arm.
“You are a help to me, Timnah. I know you have done everything very well. Thank you for being with me today.”
Timnah brightened and blustered a little, but easily distracted, she went over to indulge herself in the food.
Atarah had a round face, a smooth complexion, and a tendency toward plumpness, but she possessed a genuine good nature and sense of humor. Her parents had just announced her betrothal to a young man in the village. He was plain and stocky and was learning the pottery craft from his uncle. Atarah was happy enough. At least she would not be an unmarried maiden, as seemed Timnah’s fate.
Marah watched the scene around her with detached curiosity. She lapsed back into silence when Timnah wandered away. She answered questions when asked, but mostly listened to the women chatter to one another as they helped Hannah and Reba see to the last-minute preparations. Marah sat in her lovely bridal dress—an oasis of silence in a desert of commotion.
Hannah spoke to her from time to time to reassure her. The girls checked and rechecked their small clay oil lamps and the small vials of extra oil that hung from their waists on cords. They must be ready with lights if the bridegroom should tarry and come after dark.
More neighboring women came. It would seem to be the one wedding all wanted to observe, to the last detail. They looked over the simple preparations with practiced eyes.
They exclaimed over Marah’s dress as Reba bustled about importantly.
“The Lord be praised that you have a veil to hide such a long face! You should be more courteous to our guests!” Reba hissed in Marah’s ear when the others were occupied elsewhere for a moment.
From time to time someone peered through the gate into the street. Mothers fussed at small children who ran about. Timnah and Atarah arranged and rearranged Marah’s garments and fussed over her until finally Hannah shooed them away. The women whispered to one another as they observed the bride. They made a great show of being joyful for her, but Marah did not wish to meet their eyes.
As the day wore on into late afternoon, some of the older women and children dozed. A small rivulet of perspiration ran down Marah’s back. Time seemed to stand still as she let her mind wander to other things. Once again she and Jesse were walking through the fields; talking while he watched the sheep. She heard the song of the little flute and the sound of the
kinnor
Jesse played to soothe the restless animals. Now and then a shrill laugh or cry from one of the children would bring her back to reality. The day seemed endless and even her attendants lapsed into silence. Timnah or Atarah would get up from time to time to see if the bridegroom was coming, but all was still.
 
Zibeon magnanimously furnished the wine for the men of the village who came into the inn from the fields at the end of the day. Darkness had fallen by the time the men left the inn with Zibeon. Torches lit the procession and each man carried his own candle. Villagers along the way called out greetings and good wishes, crowding upon their rooftops to get a better look at the procession. Farther down the street as they approached the home of the bride, the cry went up, “He is coming! He is coming!”
All eyes were focused on Zibeon as he approached the door. Some of the women came out to welcome him. Marah steeled herself to face her groom.
At last there was a loud knock at the door and Reba hurried to swing it open. Zibeon stood outside, dressed in his Sabbath clothes with a garland about his head. His great beard was trimmed. Forgotten were the gossip and rumors of earlier days. It was a wedding and the groom was more than presentable.
“I would see my wife!” cried Zibeon.
Marah was brought to the doorway and waited, trembling, as according to tradition, he lifted the veil.
“Ah, a treasure indeed! Rejoice with me, my friends, for a more beautiful maiden cannot be found!” The guests smiled and nodded at the expected words as Zibeon placed Marah’s arm on his, holding his large hand tightly over hers as though she would run away. The bride thus captured, the procession began the walk to the house of the groom.
As the noisy wedding party approached Zibeon’s house, Athaliah stepped forward to greet her new daughter-in-law, her narrow eyes boring into Marah’s. Marah greeted her new mother-in-law respectfully, bearing the shrewd inspection patiently. Athaliah might not be any easier to live with than Reba, she thought, but after two years with her aunt, she felt no fear of Zibeon’s mother.
“Welcome to the house of Zibeon, Daughter. We have awaited your coming with great expectations.” Athaliah stepped back to allow the bride and groom to enter the house and then turned to the crowd. “May our guests enter and be welcome.”
The invited guests also entered the house for the wedding and the marriage feast, and the door was shut. With more noisy good wishes and comments, the rest of the village dispersed to their homes.
Marah’s attention was drawn to Zibeon’s brother, Shimei. She had not seen much of him and was only vaguely aware of who he was. She knew he was unmarried as he still lived in Zibeon’s house. His long sharp nose, piercing deep-set eyes, and high forehead, along with his thin body and long arms, reminded her of an owl. He had a way of hopping with a strange bouncing gait when he walked. She was trying to decide what kind of a person he was when he edged his way up to her.
“I am Shimei, Zibeon’s brother,” he said almost apologetically, in a soft, breathy voice. “You are very beautiful.” He peered at her as one would examine a curiosity, then spoke again, half to himself, “Rizpah was beautiful too.”
Marah stared at him. Was he simple-minded? Again she felt apprehensive about her new household. She knew who Rizpah was. Why in the world would he mention her at this time?

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