A Passionate Hope--Hannah's Story Read online

  His smile showed white between his dark beard and mustache. “I admit, I find it easier to pray in solitude. Did not Moses say that our God is near to us whenever we pray to Him? I think He hears our prayers no matter where we pray them. I don’t think our God is hindered by where we are.”

  “Another thing on which we can agree.” She started walking again and he fell into step with her.

  He squeezed her hand ever so gently, then released it and slowly led her back to her parents’ tent. How grateful she was for him in that moment. He would not be like Hophni or Phinehas. He would love only her and be a caring, protective husband.

  4

  Hannah lifted the last of their provisions into the cart for the return home, her heart as anxious as her thoughts. She looked about at the disarray of the camp, a semi-organized mix of women putting things to rights, leaving the area as they’d found it until the next feast. Men grabbed the reins of their pack animals to head west, back to the hills of Ephraim.

  Hannah nodded to her father that the cart was ready and drew up alongside her mother. Meira hurried to join her and pulled her aside.

  “I want to hear everything that happened, since it seems my brother spent the entire feast with your family instead of ours.” She winked and smiled at Hannah’s embarrassment.

  Hannah glanced beyond her friend—and future sister-in-law—to see Meira’s mother Galia hobbling toward them. “I’ll tell you later, when we are on the road.” She motioned in Galia’s direction.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Ima,” Meira said, leaning closer to Hannah’s ear. “She’s come to talk to your mother, and you know they will discuss Elkanah.” She pulled Hannah ahead of the mothers and sisters-in-law, following the men and pack animals and skipping children. “Now tell me everything.”

  Hannah laughed. “There is not that much to tell. Except . . .” She searched the crowd, spotting Elkanah with his brothers, then looked into Meira’s anxious gaze. “He asked me to become his wife!”

  Meira squealed. “I knew it! Elkanah is so private with his words that no matter what I said, he would not tell me.”

  Hannah dug her toe into the dirt, hiding her embarrassment. “Then I suppose I should not have told you either until the betrothal.” She looked at her friend. “You will not tell anyone?”

  Meira linked her arm through Hannah’s. “Of course not! I’m just so happy that we will be related!” She pulled her arm free. “Although once I am wed, we will not see each other often.”

  “I’m sure there will be time for visits.” How much would change with her own marriage? To leave her father and mother and cleave to her husband, to be part of his family . . . The whole thing was exciting and yet caused a hint of fear.

  “It is a little hard to imagine, isn’t it?” Meira suddenly sobered. “I mean, everything is going to change.”

  Hannah nodded, her gaze shifting to the men walking ahead of them. Did Elkanah think of her now? Or were they back to discussing the corruption of the priesthood? Did men talk of love or only about political and religious machinations?

  “Oh, we were quite impressed with him.” Hannah’s mother’s voice carried to her from behind, interrupting her musings.

  The running feet of children caused Hannah and Meira to turn. Peninnah, the young daughter of her mother’s friend, stopped with her friends when they saw Hannah and Meira. Hannah turned to see Yafa, Peninnah’s mother, join Galia and Adva.

  “What are you talking about?” Peninnah asked, looking at Meira.

  “Nothing that would interest you,” Meira said, showing her obvious annoyance with the child.

  Peninnah scowled, sadly a too typical expression in one so young. She turned to her companions. “Probably because it’s about boys.” She laughed, the tone sarcastic. Her friends laughed with her, and they walked off, but not before Peninnah tossed another comment behind her. “Well, I’m not too young to talk about those things. I already know who I want to marry when I grow up.” She stalked off, and Hannah and Meira exchanged surprised glances.

  “She’s terribly sure of herself,” Meira said.

  “Yes. And too young to know anything of such importance,” Hannah agreed. “When I was her age, I had no such certainty.” She kicked a stone in the path.

  “She’s a child,” Meira said. “Children often say foolish things.”

  Hannah glanced behind her at her mother, deep in conversation with Galia and Yafa. Yafa was not a woman Hannah knew well, but her mother had uttered plenty of complaints about her over the years, despite their friendship. Peninnah was her only child, and her husband doted on the girl. Everyone said the child was spoiled and that her parents ought not to give in to her ways so often.

  “She will find marriage difficult unless she marries a man who puts up with her attitudes. I fear even at thirteen she is already ruined.” Hannah glanced again at her friend. “At least that’s what my mother says. I hardly know the girl.”

  “Well, I know her.” Meira also glanced behind and ushered Hannah forward out of earshot of the older women. “Yafa has been close to my mother for years, and she brings Peninnah with her wherever she goes. When they visit, Peninnah is always getting in my way.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know it is not nice to say such things of a child, but I am always relieved when she leaves!”

  Hannah touched Meira’s shoulder. “Well, at least she is too young to be part of your betrothal or be among the bridal virgins.”

  Meira gave Hannah a look.

  “No.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “Your mother would allow it?”

  Meira shrugged. “My mother and Yafa are friends. I had no say in the matter, even though Peninnah should be two years older before she is allowed such a privilege. It was not worth fighting about, though if she makes a nuisance of herself at my wedding, I will find a way to send her off, even if I have to beg every one of my brothers to lock her in a room somewhere!”

  Hannah laughed, but quickly stopped when she saw Meira’s serious expression. “Perhaps I can keep her from being too disruptive,” she said.

  “Well, I was hoping you would attend me.” Meira smiled. “I would appreciate you keeping an eye on the girl. Maybe do something to help her feel important. I think she acts worse than she is. At least I hope so.”

  “I hope so too.” Hannah tucked a strand of hair beneath her scarf. “Did you see Lital while we were there? I wanted to look for her, but once Elkanah stated his intentions, it slipped my mind.”

  Meira tsked. “Well, I should hope my brother, your future husband, would take precedence over a friend we never see anymore.”

  Hannah pondered that a moment, wondering how well Lital actually fared after the things Elkanah had revealed. After the way she had seen Phinehas lust with a look . . . “I do worry about her. She has no one to watch out for her.”

  “She’s pretty strong, though. And fast. We used to race each other when we were young and she always won.” Meira looked into Hannah’s face. “You’re truly worried, aren’t you?”

  “It would be nice if we could talk to Rinat to see how her daughter fares.” Hannah glanced behind her but saw no sign of Lital’s mother. She released a sigh. “I will ask my father to check on her the next time he serves.”

  “A wise idea. Now let’s talk about something else.” Meira put her hands on her hips. “Did Elkanah say how many children he wants?”

  Hannah blushed briefly and waved off her friend’s comment. “Has Amachai told you the same?” She had learned to deflect unwanted questions from her brothers, who were masters at avoiding any attempts at probing into their personal affairs.

  Meira hid a slight smile. “Amachai wants a big family.” She glanced Hannah’s way. “Elkanah does too.”

  Though they had not spoken of it, the thought pleased her. Oh Adonai, let me give him everything he desires, and may he do the same for me.

  “Of course, every Hebrew man wants sons, and every good Hebrew woman wants children. A houseful. The more t
he better, I say.” She looked Hannah up and down. “You will have no trouble giving Elkanah more children than he can count.”

  Meira’s girlish giggle lifted Hannah’s spirit.

  The sun had risen just above the horizon, licking the dew from the grasses, and began to warm her from head to toe. But the heat from the sun could not match the warmth of excitement and fear and embarrassment she felt at what awaited her when they arrived home. Soon she would be a woman betrothed.

  The walk home had taken two days, but the women did not bother with the tents the last night. The sky was clear and so bright that they all decided to sleep in a circle under the stars. Hannah yawned, recalling her inability to rest that night and almost every night since. There was so much to do and so little time to complete it!

  She tossed the covers aside, though dawn had yet to crest the ridge. Her father had gone far beyond the normal provisions for her in his dealings with Elkanah’s family. “He will never be able to divorce you, my daughter, even if you never bear him a son,” he had said.

  Even if Elkanah thought he needed a son and took another wife to get it, she would not be sent home to her father. Did her father fear she would be treated as his sister had been, cast off for displeasing her husband? The thought and the fear it brought haunted her more than it should. Of course she would have sons. Hadn’t it been her longing for most of her life? Was not God good? He would not deny her heart’s one desire, would He?

  She took a lamp from the niche in the wall and went to the sitting room to take up her weaving. She still had so many things she wanted to make to take with her, and the more she had ready by the betrothal tomorrow, the better. Especially if Elkanah requested a quick marriage.

  Even one son would be enough, Adonai. Please let me conceive quickly to put everyone’s mind at ease.

  Why was she praying such prayers? It was her father’s provision in the contract that had conjured such fears. She shook herself. Her father was simply looking out for her welfare, doing his best to protect her.

  Oh Adonai, please help me not to be so foolish as to doubt You. Surely You will grant Elkanah sons.

  The God she knew—the One she walked with in the gardens and among the wheat fields, or sought in prayer near the large oak trees or at times like this when she was alone—heard her. She knew He did. She had always felt close to Him. Talking with Him was as easy as speaking to a friend.

  Except when she feared. Sometimes she feared He would ask too much of her. It was then she felt distant, as though He had become a stranger to her. How did a woman give Adonai Tzva’ot, the Lord of Hosts, control of everything she longed for? Everything she held dear?

  She picked up the shuttle and began to work the weft by the light of the lamp. How weary she was! But tomorrow Elkanah would come with his father and mother and brothers and sisters-in-law and Meira to celebrate the betrothal, and she must finish this shawl to drape over her robe. She had only a little left to add before she could stitch the symbol of the Kohathites onto the edges.

  Elkanah would be pleased to see it, wouldn’t he? More than that, she wanted to be her best for him.

  Please, Adonai, let him not find me wanting.

  “Hannah?”

  Her mother’s whisper caught her off guard. The shuttle slipped from her hand and hung by the thread it was attached to.

  Her mother moved closer. “What on earth are you doing up at this hour? Have you slept at all since we returned?” She knelt at Hannah’s side and touched her knee.

  Hannah shook her head. “A little. I’m so anxious that all goes well, Ima. And I wanted to finish the scarf, and there are so many things going through my mind. What if his mother does not like me?”

  Adva held up a hand and pressed a finger to Hannah’s lips. “Galia will love you. And if she gives you trouble, you just tell me. You have nothing to fear, my girl. Everyone loves you.”

  “Everyone in my family.”

  “Everyone in the whole village. You burden yourself over so many little things. Let go of these fears, Hannah. You will make more trouble for yourself and your marriage if you cling to them.” Her mother took her hand, lifted her up, and held her close for a brief moment. “Now, come. Back to bed with you, and I won’t hear another word about it. I will finish the scarf if it comes to that. You take the morning to refresh yourself—rest, go for those walks you love, sing, play with the animals, help your father. But no more worries—understood?”

  Hannah stared at her mother. Adva was the one who always fretted, and now she was telling Hannah to take time off and relax right before her biggest day? Perhaps it was her mother who was delusional from lack of sleep. Hannah would rest for now, but she would not play the day away. She would be a bride ready and waiting by tomorrow evening. She would not give her new mother-in-law or sisters-in-law cause to fault her in anything.

  5

  Night came too soon. Hannah’s heart beat fast and she had to tell her breathing to slow as her sisters-in-law Ariel and Malka placed kohl over her eyelids and helped her dress.

  “Stop moving,” Ariel said, taking a step back from Hannah. “I don’t want to get black under your eyes. You’ll look like an Egyptian!”

  Hannah held still. She wasn’t used to wearing anything except the occasional ochre rubbed into her cheeks. But Ariel had made some kohl the day before and insisted that a little just above her eyes would make her even prettier than everyone claimed.

  “I shouldn’t be nervous.” Hannah clamped her hands together, trying to keep from fidgeting.

  “Of course you are nervous. All brides feel the same. But this is not your wedding night, so the only reason to be anxious is because you are meeting his whole family at one time. But do not worry, Meira will be there, and your mother and Galia are already friends.” Malka bent to tie the sandals to her feet. “I am sure they already love you.”

  “I hope so.” Hannah had her doubts about Galia, partly because Meira had confided that her mother had tried to get Elkanah to wed more than once during the time he had waited for Hannah, but she held her tongue as both sisters-in-law finished their work.

  “There,” Ariel said, smiling. “You look wonderful.”

  Hannah turned for Malka’s inspection. Her mother entered the room at that moment. She gasped, hands to her mouth. “Oh, my girl.” Tears filled her eyes as she came forward and grasped Hannah’s cold fingers. “How beautiful you are.”

  Hannah offered her a trembling smile, but she could not speak.

  “Are you ready? Elkanah’s family is coming down the street even now.” Her mother tugged gently on her hand, and Hannah allowed herself to be led into the sitting room, which her mother had transformed into a whitewashed wonder. Low tables spread with sweet treats and sweating skins of wine sat waiting. Hannah took the seat piled with the thickest cushion in the center of the room, while her nieces and nephews ran squealing around her.

  Hannah’s sisters-in-law came to shoo the children to a side room as the voices of Elkanah’s family drew nearer. Torches blazed in the courtyard, and her father and brothers greeted Elkanah, his father, and his brothers, while her mother welcomed the women in his family.

  “Come, come.” She could hear her father’s voice above the others, but then the chatter of men and women drowned it out.

  At last the crowd quieted and Elkanah’s family entered the house. Her father led the way to a side table where a parchment, the ketubah, was spread out awaiting their seals. Her mother had heated the clay in a small dish. After a few moments of silence while the men read the words of the agreement, both fathers pressed their seals into the clay and affixed them to the parchment. Hannah watched as her father rolled the parchment into a scroll and both fathers affixed one more seal to secure the document.

  Elkanah took the document and came and knelt at her feet. Hannah’s heartbeat quickened as he placed the ketubah in her hands. Their fingers briefly touched in the exchange. She met his gaze, noted the longing in his look. But this was not the
time for them. Not yet.

  “Have we agreed upon a date for the wedding?” Galia asked once the formality of the document sealing and gifting had taken place.

  “I think a year is sufficient time,” her mother said, stepping closer to Hannah’s side. “We will need the time to prepare all the things Hannah will take with her.”

  Galia’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. Elkanah stood, but his gaze never left Hannah’s. If he could have his way, would he wait as long as her mother suggested?

  “A year is too long,” Galia said, glancing first at her husband, then at Elkanah. “Our son has waited a long time for your daughter to grow to the proper age. We tried—” She stopped and shook her head. “A year is too long.”

  “Ima, please.” Elkanah’s tone held a pleading note, and Hannah sensed Galia had embarrassed him.

  “You know I’m right,” Galia said, crossing both arms. “I want to hold your children on my knees before I grow too old to enjoy the pleasure.”

  Hannah flushed hot at such bold words and looked at the parchment she still held in her hands. Meira had intimated Elkanah’s patient waiting. How could she possibly allow her mother to force on him another year?

  “Ten months then,” she heard Adva saying, drawing her back to this motherly bartering.

  Galia frowned, still appearing unconvinced. “Eight months, not a moment more. Six would be better, but we will agree to eight. It will be a perfect time between festivals.”

  Adva crossed her arms, her lips set in a thin line. Hannah looked to Elkanah for some sense of what he wanted. If she could be ready in three months, would that not please her mother-in-law? Dare she speak her thoughts? This was a ritual dance between the mothers. It was not her place to interfere.

  And yet, Elkanah’s dark eyes probed hers in that moment, and she felt as though he had touched her.

  “Three months would be doable.” Had she actually spoken? She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, Ima. The decision is not mine. And of course, there are so many things still to make.” She had not even started on the bed linens or extra pillows or material for coming children.