Читать книгу The Guardian's Promise - Christina Rich - Страница 14

Chapter Six

“I speak of your marriage.”

Mira’s bottom jaw dropped. She snapped it closed and then opened it again. A firestorm swirled in her amber liquid eyes. This brash young woman struggled to form words. A first. It did not take long for her to find the iron in her spine.

Like a child, she crossed her arms and stomped her dainty sandaled foot. “I mean no disrespect, Abba. I beg of you, do not make me marry Esha.”

Caleb gaped at his daughter as if she’d grown a serpent’s head. “This is a family matter, Mira. We will discuss it later.”

She scanned the courtyard. Servants, slaves and family members stared at her. Her shoulders hunched. She swiped her hand over her cheeks, first one, then the other. It was strange how her defeated tears were somehow tied to his emotions.

“Please, Abba!”

Caleb shook his head a moment before she ran from the courtyard. The muscles in Ari’s legs urged him to run after her, if only to explain the situation. However, the knot in his belly told him she would not think him much of an improvement over the drunkard.

Dark, foreboding clouds should have cut a path over the table. It would have suited his mood. Thoughts crashed around in his head. Something else altogether squeezed tight in his chest at Mira’s distress. He’d made a vow to protect Joash, keep him safe until the appointed time when he would claim the throne of Judah. He’d also made a vow to serve Caleb, a vow from which he was now released, with the hope on Caleb’s part, that he’d marry his daughter. A marriage that could never occur.

Ari scrubbed his palm over his jaw. The entire situation reeked of fermentation. It left a bitter taste on his tongue and a bag of shekels in his belly. If he were another man...if it were another time...he would honor Caleb’s request.

“If it pleases you, adon, I would seek the Lord.”

The corners of Caleb’s mouth lifted. “Of course, Ariel.”

He left the courtyard and entered his shared quarters. Four stone walls. Lonely and cold, even in the heat, without all the servants’ mats cluttering the floor. Isolation closed in until he could no longer breathe.

A roar thundered in his ears. His heart beat out a tattoo, a tattoo that threatened to increase until he’d collapse from the erratic rhythm. He did not want to be consumed by the loneliness, eaten by the icy hardness forming in his chest. The only way to counter the coldness was to enter into the presence of God. However, the reality piercing his chest told him God may have forgotten him.

He grabbed a rolled mat and climbed the stairs to the flat portion of the roof. He peered across the horizon as the sun began to disappear, leaving indescribable hues stretching from north to south. Here the roaring in his head lessened, here he could almost breathe.

Until the hour reminded him, with a desperate longing, of all the rituals he had performed at the temple. In this place, there was no lighting of ceremonial lamps, no song echoing off the temple walls, no offerings to the Lord, no training his men in the courtyard, only the words of the prophets stamped in his mind, words he often shared after the evening meal.

He raked his fingers through his hair. There would be no words this evening. Not from him.

Releasing the cord from around his bedding, he flung it out before him. The soft fleece called to his knees as he prepared for his prayers. A flicker of light caught his attention. The distant glow faded and breathed to life in rapid succession before slowing and repeating.

He moved closer to the edge of the roof and scanned the horizon for another signal. A small, faint glow, no more than the twinkle of a barely visible star, responded. He crossed his arms over his chest. Athaliah’s soldiers remained close, but not close enough for him to ascertain the messages passed between camps.

The muscles running down his neck and across his shoulders tensed. At least Caleb had chosen to stay, which eased the burden somewhat. If his master had decided to leave for Hebron, as a servant, Ari could not defy him. Even as a free man, would Ari have done so? He owed Caleb much, yet his duty was to protect the child. A duty he could not perform while he was miles away.

“Perhaps the soldiers are, in truth, only here to keep the peace.” The closing in his throat told him otherwise. Devastation always followed in their wake.

There was no doubt the men would come back for Mira. If he signed the contracts hidden in his bedding, he’d be bound to protect her. How was he to protect her and the child at the same time?

An ache sparked in his chest over the dilemma. He was caught between donkey’s teeth. Tama would guard Joash well if needed. They’d formed a plan years ago, and she knew it well. She’d also proven herself once before. There was no question that Tama would not fail her duty to the child. But would he fail to protect Mira if the soldiers came back for her?

“Ay!” The contracts were not even signed. It was impossible for him to write his name on the parchment and yet he already considered her his responsibility, especially when he thought of the queen’s defiled men touching her.

A rumble vibrated in his chest, and he clenched his fingers into fists until pain sliced across his knuckles. He released the pressure of his nails from the palms of his hands and rolled his shoulders. She was not his to protect. One scrawl of ink and she would be his, but he could not, would not take her as his wife without love, even to save her from an awful marriage to Esha.

He looked toward Jerusalem and knelt on his mat. He gazed across the twilit sky. Shades of blues and grays disappeared into the inky blackness of night, revealing the twinkling of stars placed in the heavens by the hand of God. His chest tightened, expanded, choking off the air in his lungs. Never had he felt so divided. More than anything, he longed to do the will of the Lord. What His will was, Ari no longer knew. And if the Lord did not show him soon, what was Ari to do?

Stay? To be in the continuous presence of Mira without marriage. Watch a man unworthy of Mira’s affections, even in her scorn, take her as a helpmate? The thought soured his stomach.

Ari scrubbed his hand down his face. As much as it pained him to never see her again, he knew where his duty lay and it was not to the woman who had captured his protective instincts.

A soft breeze rustled his garments, bringing with it the sweet smell of the henna blossoms hedged around the vineyards. He saw Mira, pure and innocent, in his mind’s eye, leaning over one of the small flowers inhaling the scent just as she had earlier in the day. His life’s blood quickened with the need to touch her fingertips. To press his lips to her brow. If only for a second.

Ari gripped the neck of his tunic in anguish and threatened to rend the garment in two. Even when Jehoiada sent word of his imminent freedom, Ari knew he could never return to the temple and the duties he’d held before Athaliah’s murderous rampage. Life as he had known it had ceased to exist when he had left the gates of Jerusalem. And as hard as it had been to abandon his beloved city with all haste in her time of trouble, it would be even more difficult to leave this village and the friends he’d made.

Blowing out a breath of air, Ari released the fabric and prayed for peace to settle his anxious heart. Although he had not forgotten even one day to meditate on the Lord’s law, at times he doubted whether God had remembered him. Had the Lord abandoned him altogether? Had the Lord forgotten Joash? Had the Lord forgotten His covenant with King David?

“Do you remember your promise to David, Lord? ‘Your house and your kingship shall ever be secure before you, your throne shall be established for evermore.’” He shook his fist at the heavens before bowing his head in remorse.

Questioning God’s faithfulness did not sit well in his soul. He knew once the questioning began, it would soon fester and eat away at his heart. Ari fought the urge to bury his face into his hands. Instead, he stared into the great void and waited for some sort of reprimand from God Himself.

The quiet was only interrupted by the bleating of a goat. Still, he waited, for God’s peace to cloak him. Just as he was about to give up and seek his sleep, a star streaked across his vision and faded into the dark night. He recalled a psalm memorized from childhood.

The Lord doth build up Jerusalem: He gathereth together the outcasts of Israel. He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord, and of great power: His understanding is infinite. The Lord lifteth up the meek: He casteth the wicked down to the ground.

If the Most High, in all of His greatness, cared to name even the stars and knew their number, would He not remember Ari?

“Forgive me. The unknown is like torment.” He paused. “If You hear me, O Lord—” his voice a mere whisper to his own ears “—grant me Thy guidance. Thy wisdom. Courage. I am Your servant, Most High, humbled before You.” Whether bound to another man’s house or in freedom. He inhaled the warm, henna-scented night air. An ache throbbed in his chest at the fragrance so much a part of Mira. Could he love her? Could she love him? Of course, it did not matter if God did not will it. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head. “I will go where You lead.”

Had God heard his prayer? Ari could only hope. For there was a promise in that psalm, one Ari would hold on to until Jerusalem was restored from Athaliah’s devastation.

Lying down, Ari laced his fingers to better cushion his head. Seeking to remove Mira from his thoughts, he tried to recall the faces of his brothers, and that of his sister, who had surely grown and married. He recalled the etchings in the stonework of the temple walls, many of which he’d tried to recreate in the bricks he had laid for Mira’s bridal house. Ari smiled and shook his head. No matter where his thoughts began, they always seemed to lead him back to her. Thoughts that had occupied his mind ever since his master had suggested a marriage with his beautiful daughter.

The light thrum of strings began to filter into the night. Mira often played the lyre for her father to soothe his ailing health, which always amazed Ari given the condition of her disjointed fingers. He’d never asked what had caused the scarring and curling of her fingers, but he’d heard the servants speak of an accident when she was a child, one where a wild dog had attacked her. If their stories were true, that made her rescue of him all the more courageous.

Tonight it was as if she played for him and him alone. The chords, a soft, yet whimsical tune clashed through his conscience. It spoke to the warring emotions within his soul. When he went home, would he long for this isolated place? Would he long for a glimpse of the beautiful Mira? Would he long for her scorn and her outspoken ways?

Perhaps.

* * *

Mira uncurled her legs and rose from the woven rug. She leaned her lyre against the stone wall and tiptoed from her father’s chamber. His snoring assured her he slept soundly. Entering the courtyard, she massaged the gnarled joints of her fingers on her maimed hand and recalled the incident that had altered her life. She’d been naught but a young girl with the thought to protect her father’s sheep from the wild dogs. She’d never forget the vicious attack. The way the dog clamped down on her hand, jerking, twisting all the while clawing at her flesh. How could she, the scars she bore had kept her from an appealing marriage.

“You play with sorrow, my daughter.” Her mother sat in the center of the courtyard in front of the hand mill. Several oil lamps illuminated the lines of age around her eyes.

Mira dropped her hands to her sides, hoping she had not been caught massaging her fingers. “Do you ever wonder, Ima, if God truly hears us?” she asked, sitting across from her mother. Mira scooped a handful of wheat from the pottery bowl and dropped it into the center of the mill. She gripped the wooden pin extending upward from the round stone just above her mother’s hand.

“Of course He does,” she replied tilting her head to the side. The little coins, depicting her mother’s status as wife, adorned the headdress she wore and jingled with the slight movement. Mira had done away with her own simple veil once the servants had sought their beds, and so her hair hung freely down her back. A light breeze brushed across her cheeks, lifting her hair off her neck. She liked to imagine the wind was the Lord’s way of approving her slight rebellion.

“What if we do not know our own hearts?” Using the wooden pin to turn the stone, together, they ground the grain to a fine flour.

“What is it you ask, child?”

“I desire something, here,” she said, tapping her heart with her free hand. “What if my desires are selfish? What if they go against God’s will? What if He hears my prayers and it causes another’s prayers to go unanswered?”

Her mother halted the grinding. She brushed her fingers along Mira’s jaw as she smoothed back a lock of hair. “My child, you must trust God and His infinite wisdom. Prayers never go unanswered, but if they are not answered the way we think they should be, it is because God has something better for you.”

Mira considered the wisdom of her mother’s words. She knew she was right, but at times it was difficult to trust. For years she despised Ari for making her feel weak. But today he made her feel protected, cherished. Not an object to be pitied. She’d found herself daydreaming at the well, daydreaming of a union between her an Ari. The more she considered the idea, the more she longed for a marriage with him. But it was more than just wanting Ari for her husband, and that is what she did not understand. Why would God open her eyes to a glimpse of who Ari was only for her father to demand she marry Esha?

“You should rest, Mira. It is late.” Her mother curled her hand around her fingers. The warmth and tenderness of her touch brought momentary relief to her aching joints.

“I should—”

“Rubiel will be here soon to help. Now go on.”

“Yes, Ima.” Leaning across the mill, Mira pressed her lips to her mother’s sun-kissed cheek. She rose and started for her chamber.

“And, Mira,” her mother called.

“Yes, Ima?” Hope bubbled in her chest. Would her mother tell her she didn’t have to marry at all?

“Not all is ever as it seems. That is why you must trust God. If God wills it, then it will be so. Have faith.”

“Sleep well, Ima.” Mira slipped off her sandals outside her door and entered the women’s sleeping chamber with a heavy heart. The urge to fall prostrate overwhelmed her, an urge driven not only by her thoughts of Ari but from some sudden weight of fear that her life was about to change. Soon her father would pass from this life, and it seemed, soon she’d be the wife of a man who could not stand the sight of her.

She unfastened the girdle holding close her outer tunic. She slipped the heavier linen from her shoulders and folded the fabric before laying it on a small wooden stool. Careful not to disturb her cousin Tama, the servants and the young children, she stepped over their sleeping bodies and crawled onto her mat and beneath her blanket. Sleep would elude her, or at least until she worried her mind to exhaustion. “God, bring peace to my heart. Help me to trust in You and Your ways.” She knew she could not control the future, but this feeling of foreboding would not release the hold it had on her.

“And, God, protect my family from the queen’s men if they choose to return.” An image of Ari standing against the guards pressed into her mind. “Give Ari the strength to keep us safe.”

Once she spoke her request, the burden on her heart lightened and she breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what occurred on the morrow, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob would be with them.

“And, God,” she whispered into the night. “If I’ve found favor in Your eyes, please keep me from a distasteful marriage.”