Read Journey to the Well: A Novel Online
Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor
Journey to the Well: A Novel (9 page)
Zibeon stroked his beard, savoring this new thought. Then his chest swelled noticeably.
“So, I am to have a son at last!” He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, smiling to himself. Then he lay down, crossed his arms over his chest, and went to sleep.
With a small sigh of relief, Marah lay down also. This man she had married was very unpredictable! Zibeon was pleased. She had done what was expected of her, but it was no small comfort.
The next morning Marah was preparing the morning meal when he strode into the room, grabbed Athaliah, and swung her around.
“I am to have a son,” he announced.
The startled old woman barely caught her breath. Her mouth worked but no words came out. As he put her down again, she huffed, “Oh that I should have borne such a man. Did you think I did not know I was to have a grandchild?”
Zibeon grinned as he took some bread and cheese. “I am to have a son,” he almost shouted and strode out the door.
Marah slowly shook her head. Men. How could he be sure it would be a boy?
Marah stared down at the bread she had been kneading as a thought struck her. Zibeon had been almost kind to her these past months, as had Athaliah. Her mother-in-law wanted a grandchild as much as Zibeon wanted a son. Marah prayed fervently that it would be a boy. If she gave Zibeon a son, who knows, life with him might just be bearable.
The babe is sturdy
, Marah thought as she felt the child move powerfully within her.
, Marah thought as she felt the child move powerfully within her.
Shimei came quietly through the courtyard and went into the house. Marah had become used to Shimei’s elusive comings and goings. She saw that he feared Zibeon as did Athaliah, but for different reasons. “I wonder why he has never married,” she mused, half aloud. As far as she could recall, Athaliah never mentioned finding a wife for him. Those large, sad eyes watched her from time to time. When Zibeon was at the shop and Athaliah was not around, he made life easier by doing small tasks for her. When his mother and brother were around, he studiously ignored her and faded into the background. A strange man, Shimei, he would often disappear for days at a time. Marah understood that he went to the next village. Yet when she ventured to ask about Shimei, if he had friends he visited there, her mother-in-law had given her a strange look.
“There are some things best left alone,” she rebuked her daughter-in-law sharply. Marah asked no more questions about Shimei.
The chickens squawked, bringing her out of her reverie. Athaliah returned from the marketplace and approached to inspect Marah’s work. Marah put the dough on the paddle and set it to rise by the earthen oven.
“Did you knead it long enough?”
“Yes, Mother-in-law.” It was the same question every day but Marah answered patiently. Athaliah still had a criticism for every task, even after all these months, but Marah brushed them off. In spite of herself she had become fond of the old woman.
Athaliah patted Marah’s belly. “The child grows.”
“Yes, Mother-in-law, he grows.” She knew that to mention any other gender in the house caused severe displeasure.
Observing her strange new family, it was obvious that Zibeon was his mother’s favorite. Athaliah adored him and in spite of his manner toward her, doted on his every wish. As far as Marah could see, he never seemed to return the affection. He treated Athaliah like a servant and seemed to enjoy seeing her hop to do his bidding.
Once Marah had asked about Athaliah’s husband and saw the old woman’s face soften. Zibeon must have been the first child of their marriage.
“So strong was my husband. Zibeon is just like him. He was a beautiful boy and the delight of our hearts. Zibeon worked in the sandal shop with my husband and learned the trade from the time he was a young boy.” Athaliah studied her hands, lost in thought.
“What happened to your husband?” Marah ventured, sensing that Athaliah was in a talkative mood.
“He died of a fever when Zibeon was thirteen. Shimei was six months in my womb. When he died I nearly lost Shimei.” She paused, her face grown hard again. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had.”
“Was he a difficult birth?” Marah prodded, her curiosity aroused.
“Two days the pains lasted and he was jaundiced when he was finally born. He was pale and sickly from the first. His constant crying nearly drove Zibeon and me mad. God willed his birth, but I do not see the purpose of it.”
Marah began to see Zibeon in a different light. A young boy, grieving for his father and forced to take over his father’s business and do a man’s work to support his mother and baby brother. With her husband gone and Shimei fraying her nerves with his crying, Athaliah had turned to Zibeon, focusing all her love and attention on her firstborn. She had spoiled Zibeon outrageously and now paid the penalty for her attention. Yet Athaliah didn’t seem to notice.
In her eyes he could do no wrong. There was much about this family she wanted to know.
When Zibeon returned home that evening, he noticed something in Marah’s demeanor toward him and seemed to watch her curiously. Then he did something out of character.
“Wife, join me at my dinner.”
Marah looked at Athaliah, but Zibeon ignored his mother and patted the cushion next to him. Clearly Athaliah was not included. Marah lowered herself carefully. Zibeon picked up a piece of cheese and ate it slowly, watching her speculatively from hooded eyes.
“So ... my little bird is no longer afraid of the snare?” he asked softly.
Marah’s eyes grew wide. It was true. She did not fear him as before, yet something told her to be cautious. “I seek only to please you, my husband.”
“Please me?” Zibeon growled. “My mother seeks to please me, my brother seeks to please me . . . and my little Marah, what would you know of what pleases me, hmmm?” His face was close to hers and he had taken her arm, gripping it tightly. She did not flinch, but bravely looked back at him. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. After a long moment, he released her arm.
“You have spirit, Wife. I like that.” He brought his face close to hers again. “My little mouse gets bolder.” He chuckled to himself.
Athaliah watched furtively from across the room. She did not hear his last words.
That night, Marah lay awake on their pallet listening to Zibeon’s heavy breathing as he slept. He had turned to her that night, but there was something different about his love-making—he seemed almost gentle. Was it because of the child? He had put his great hand on her belly and felt the child move. It seemed to please him. Marah sighed. A strange man, her husband. Why did he seem pleased that she did not fear him as before? He was a man of many moods and his temper was like a sudden sandstorm in the desert, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, briefly she had seen another side of Zibeon. A side she was sure even his mother did not see.
With the time of birth drawing near, Athaliah took over more of Marah’s household duties. Marah still went for the water up to her last few weeks, for it was the only time that she and Hannah could meet and talk. This past week she had missed Hannah’s company, but Athaliah kept her so busy she had little time to think of her wants. An air of expectation had come over the household and even Shimei appeared to stay closer to home. Marah still puzzled over Shimei and once asked him, “Why do you not work in the sandal shop?”
Shimei had shrugged. “My brother does not wish my assistance in the shop. I procure the leathers for him.” He sighed. “It pleases Zibeon to send me on many errands.”
Marah thought she detected a bitter note, but when she looked at Shimei’s face, it was as bland as usual.
The pains began suddenly one day as she was mending. Dropping the garment, she clutched her belly. All the stories she had heard of the ordeals of the first birth came to her mind. She didn’t know what to expect and suddenly she was frightened.
Her cry of pain brought Athaliah running. Alarmed, the old woman helped Marah to her pallet, then ran to the doorway. “Shimei, get the midwife, Shelomith, quickly!” Then, for all the neighbors to hear, “My grandson makes his way into the world today!”
But the child was not born that day or the next. Time had no meaning, for day and night were as one. The pains ebbed and flowed. Cool cloths were placed on her head. With eyes glazed with pain, she saw Shelomith take Athaliah aside and caught snatches of their low conversation.
“Her passageway will not give for that great babe she carries.”
“You must save my grandchild!” Athaliah had hissed. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can give her something to ease her pain, but the babe struggles to be born. It is with God.”
The midwife took out a small mortar and pestle and mixed water with some herbs that she carried in packets in her goatskin bag. Athaliah lifted Marah’s head and they put the strange mixture to her lips.
“Drink this, it will ease your pain, Daughter-in-law.”
Marah’s screams tore the silence, and once or twice she heard Hannah’s voice, speaking low with comforting words in her ear. As she bore down, they held her over the birthing stool, for she could not stand on her own. Her legs would not hold her up, and she felt her bones wrench as this great thing that was lodged within her body struggled to be free of her. Her body was drenched in perspiration as the wrenching pains came and went. From time to time they would lay her down again on her pallet to rest. She heard Hannah’s voice again.
“It goes badly for her. Will she be able to bear the child?”
“She has lost much blood. If she does not have the child soon, we may lose both of them. Perhaps God will be merciful, but she cannot take much more.” The midwife sighed.
“I have done my best,” she said softly. “It is in the hands of God.”
Marah was so tired. Was she going to die? She was ready to welcome death if only to escape the pain. Then, in her delirium, she thought she felt a man’s hand on her forehead, stroking her hair. Men were not allowed in at the birthing time. Was it Zibeon? It did not seem like Zibeon. A man’s voice whispered in her ear, “You shall not die.” The voice was gentle, yet with authority and in spite of the pain she felt a peace come over her.
Then they were lifting her, compelling her to push and push again. There was one final wave of pain and tearing its way, the babe slid free of her body. The midwife caught the child and Hannah laid Marah down again on her pallet.
Athaliah’s cry of triumph died in her throat. There was a terrible silence as Hannah stroked Marah’s head.
“Have I a son?” Marah murmured, exhausted, yet anxious over the child.
“It was a boy,” Shelomith said slowly.
“Was?” With a cry, Marah tried to sit up. “What has happened to my baby?” she cried.
The midwife looked down at the still form in her hands.
“The cord of life was wrapped around his neck. In the birthing, it must have choked him. He is dead.”
Athaliah put her hands to her face and began to weep softly.
Shelomith turned to Hannah. “The father must be told and the burying of the child seen to.”
Hannah started toward the doorway. “I will tell him.”
Just then Athaliah stopped weeping. Her head came up and she stepped forward, putting her clawlike hand on Hannah’s arm.
“No. I will tell my son.”
10
S
helomith saw to Marah’s needs, for the babe had done a great deal of damage in his passing. She gave Marah other herbs to stop the bleeding. The midwife then sprinkled something in a cup and they put it to her lips. It was bitter, and Marah nearly gagged, but Hannah insisted that she drink it. Within moments she sank into exhausted slumber. All night her body struggled for life.
helomith saw to Marah’s needs, for the babe had done a great deal of damage in his passing. She gave Marah other herbs to stop the bleeding. The midwife then sprinkled something in a cup and they put it to her lips. It was bitter, and Marah nearly gagged, but Hannah insisted that she drink it. Within moments she sank into exhausted slumber. All night her body struggled for life.
At last, near morning, Shelomith began to gather her potions and herbs and pack her goatskin bag. The time of danger seemed past and word had come that she was needed elsewhere in the village. Marah was barely aware of familiar voices.
“She will live. She will bear again. Return to your husband, Hannah. I will watch over my daughter-in-law.”
There was grief in Athaliah’s face but strength also. They gripped each other’s arms briefly, and Hannah left.
Marah awoke again, later in the morning to find Athaliah dozing beside her pallet. She tried to move but her body would not respond. She lay quietly, pondering the events of the night before. God had not willed that her child should live. Deep in her chest, an ache pressed like the weight of a stone. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and she yearned for the babe they had not even allowed her to hold. She had waited for Zibeon to come to her, for a word, anything, to share the pain of the loss of their son. But Zibeon did not come.
Athaliah woke suddenly and looked down on Marah. For a long moment she did not speak, and then, “The grief will pass, but you will not forget,” she said slowly. “You are young, you will bear other children, yet always, you will remember the first.”
Marah looked at her mother-in-law through her tears. She was puzzled by Athaliah’s words. Almost in answer to Marah’s unspoken question, Athaliah stood up, looking off into the distance of a time past. “Zibeon was not my first child,” she murmured. “I lost two before he was born, a son and a daughter. Both came to the birthing and both were stillborn.”
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