The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 7

  The men looked at each other, then at Deborah. “She said she was coming home . . . hours ago.” Lappidoth’s face paled. Deborah’s legs grew suddenly weak as a new kid’s. She searched for something to hold on to when Lavi’s arm came around her for support.

  “She is not here.” The words did not sound as though Deborah had spoken them. She searched her son’s troubled gaze. “Did she tell you something, anything?”

  Lavi’s brows knit, a myriad of emotions filling his eyes. “She told me nothing, Ima. I promise. I would not lie to you.”

  Elior entered the room at that moment. “Talya is missing?”

  Lappidoth said something Deborah barely heard. She sagged against Lavi’s strength, fighting to regain her own.

  “We’ll find her, Ima,” Lavi spoke softly in her ear.

  “But where would she have gone?” There had been no sign of Sisera’s chariots on the road below. “Has someone checked the cave?”

  “I’ll do it now.” Elior ran off before anyone else could speak.

  “If you will be all right, Ima, I will check with the guards at the gate.” Lavi squeezed her shoulders, and Deborah allowed him to lead her to one of the cushions where she sank down, drained of energy.

  Deborah looked at Lappidoth, whose face mirrored her own sense of utter helplessness and loss. “Do you think Sisera . . . ?” She could not finish the thought.

  “No.” Lappidoth came and knelt at her side, taking both of her hands in his. His gentle touch brought back so many memories, so many times he had attempted to comfort her where this favorite of his children was concerned. And yet, too often he had made excuses for her. “You know how she is,” he said, the familiar comment causing a sharp rift in her spirit. “She probably decided to explore something and got lost.”

  “She could die in the woods if she can’t find her way out.” How unsympathetic she sounded. Yet her anger simmered, and she could not seem to pull her mind from her helplessness and the reminder that where Talya and her father were concerned, she was a stranger, an outcast.

  “She won’t die.” Lappidoth’s voice rose, strong, insistent—defensive. “She’s smart and capable and she knows how to survive.”

  Suddenly she did not want his comfort. She pulled her hands from his grasp, heart pounding. “You don’t know that! You cannot possibly know what will happen.”

  He winced and she knew she should not take out her anger on him. And yet, if he had been a stronger man, disciplined their daughter more, said no now and then . . . She looked away from the hurt in his gaze.

  “We must pray for her.” He stood abruptly and walked to the window, no doubt hoping to see Talya even now hurrying up the street with some excuse for her delay.

  “I have never stopped praying for her,” she said. Yet the anger remained and her heart matched her bitter tone. His excuses, his assurances, even his prayers, did not comfort.

  Talya turned slowly in a circle, fighting the fear that traced the edges of her thoughts. She couldn’t be lost. Yiskah had come this direction. Surely she had. Talya had followed her steps, taken great care to pause now and then to read the footprints in the dirt, and even taken care to note the shape and color of the bushes she passed as she entered the dark forest.

  But the sun had dipped so quickly—how had she missed the orange hues that warned of deepening shadows? She should have found her way back hours ago—had it been hours? She glanced heavenward but could not see the sky past the covering of trees.

  Where was she? Her pulse jumped at the call of a night hawk and the answering squeal of captured prey. Barak’s warning flashed in her heart.

  Be safe. Do not travel without men to accompany you. You risk your life if you do.

  Her hand clenched the bow so tight she thought it might snap. Relax. You will find a way out. But her self-assured words only tightened the sinking feeling in her gut with each passing moment.

  She tilted her head at a sudden rush of wind. Leaves rustled the air in the trees above her head, and night creatures suddenly seemed to enter a celebration of mismatched song.

  “Yiskah?” She called her cousin’s name for the hundredth time, softly, lest someone besides the animals and insects hear.

  Fear took up the melody of the night sounds and danced a strange rhythm in her chest. She slipped the bow into the quiver at her back and fitted a stone into the sling instead. Barak’s men knew these woods—but Sisera’s men did too, if Barak spoke truth.

  Talya glanced again at the sky through the trees’ thick tops, now seeing a small handful of distant stars. She squinted into the darkness ahead, her feet carrying her over broken branches that somehow crunched too loudly in her ear. Was she headed the right direction? How had she gotten so turned around?

  Muscles tensed in every part of her body, and her senses rose to heightened alert. Birdcalls caused her heart to thump harder. Sometimes men mimicked birdsong. She paused beneath the limbs of a thick oak and pressed a hand against it for support. To chase Yiskah through the trees had been a foolish choice.

  Surely her parents, her brothers, would be sick with worry by now and probably out combing the woods in search of her. But what if she had come too far east or south? Would Yiskah have returned, hidden the idol, and lied to Shet of her whereabouts? Would Yiskah care what happened to her, tell anyone where she had gone?

  What a fool she was.

  The dusk deepened further. No light broke through these surroundings, not in any direction. She turned slightly. Surely she had come from behind. All she need do was walk back that way. One step at a time, she felt her way through the darkness. But without the light, without even a torch to guide her, she would never find the markings now. She should stop and stay where she was until dawn broke. But with the loss of sun came the brisk threat of cold.

  She shivered, though the chill air could not compare to her fear—that living thing crawling its way deep within her, as loud as the creatures that spoke all around her.

  Deborah stood atop the city gate with both daughters-in-law, watching the torches carried by the men of the city move through the brush. Her heart beat with sluggish strokes, as though her body rebelled at the need to cling to hope. Talya, where are you?

  An ache no words could comfort settled within her as she recalled the last words they had spoken. An argument. Always conflict with that girl, and always over Talya’s need to prove herself capable of defending herself and anyone around her. Her boasts seemed so hollow now.

  “They are returning,” Libi said, pointing to the line of torches now drawing near the city gates. Guards pulled the leather straps, and the wooden boards squealed against their effort to open them. Deborah searched the stream of men for some sign of her daughter, but the darkness hid the outline of their faces.

  “Do you see her?” She glanced from one daughter-in-law to the other. Both shook their heads.

  “It’s too dark to tell, Ima Deborah.” Ahava touched her arm. “But do not fear. God is with her.”

  Was He? She nodded, unwilling to allow the thought to take hold, and flew down the steps with the strength of one young again. She hurried to Lappidoth’s side. “Any sign of her?”

  Lappidoth’s shoulders sagged even as he reached for her outstretched hand. “I’m sorry, my love. There was no sign. It is too dark to see her footsteps.”

  Her strength drained as water from a broken cistern seeps into dust. The bitter taste of gall filled her throat, and she choked, nearly emptying her stomach in the center of the square. Get hold of yourself. She spoke to her heart, trying to wake it from its deadness, for her limbs refused to move until the men around her began the slow trek to their homes and the gate’s hinges squealed once more, shutting out all who might seek entrance in the night.

  Talya would not be coming home.

  Where are you? Her heart cry echoed within her, seeking a place to settle, feeding the guilt, the anguish, she had feared since the moment she realized Talya had not returned with her men for the evening
meal. Hours had passed. Stars now danced above them, and Deborah had the sudden urge to wish for clouds to hide their winking brightness. How dare they shine down on them to glimpse her pain.

  She closed her eyes and sucked in a much-needed breath. Scents of earth and fire drifted to her. Footsteps receded into the distance as the men continued home. Silence filled the space around her now, broken only by the breathing of her husband, sons, and daughters-in-law.

  “We should go home, Ima,” Lavi said, coming to stand at her side. “There is nothing more to be done for Talya tonight but pray.”

  Deborah lifted blurred eyes to his and swiped errant tears from her face. She slowly nodded as one in a dream and allowed her son to guide her steps.

  But a moment later the peace of the square shattered with the wails of a young woman. Deborah stopped, turning toward the sound. The woman’s weeping grew louder. As she came into the torchlight, it was clear her husband had fairly dragged her out of their house and cast her toward Deborah’s feet.

  “Tell her what you just now told me.” Her cousin Shet clenched both hands, and Deborah could see that he was using every bit of self-control he possessed not to lash out at his wife in front of them all.

  Yiskah held her hands over her head as if waiting for a blow, her weeping carrying throughout the small village.

  “Hush now,” Deborah said, in no mood to put up with the exaggerated emotion. “Tell me what you know.”

  The girl’s tears did not abate despite Deborah’s command until her husband yanked her up by the arm and turned her to face Deborah. “I . . . that is . . . I saw Talya this afternoon.” She gulped, and Deborah’s body went rigid in a vain attempt to force herself to be patient.

  “I was in the olive grove just north of our settlement . . . worshiping Asherah.” The woman’s words caused a look of near hatred to appear on Shet’s face.

  “Go on,” Deborah said, trying to ignore the thought that Yiskah could be the cause of the nation’s suffering and what she herself would do about it if she was.

  “Talya caught me and confronted me, and . . . she picked up a rock and smashed it against the image. I feared she would use it on me or that the goddess would strike me dead for what Talya did.” She turned suddenly defiant eyes on her husband. “Your own grandfather allows his wife to worship her.”

  Shet’s hand connected with Yiskah’s cheek so fast it left Deborah speechless. “My grandfather married a foolish woman after my grandmother died, as it appears I have done as well. My father and mother do not worship idols, wife. Nor do I.” He was shouting now, and Deborah raised a hand to stop the outrage.

  “We will surely deal with this, my son. And you are right to be angry. We all have the right to be angry with this. But right now, we must find Talya before Sisera does.” She looked at Yiskah, who seemed less defiant and not nearly as weepy now.

  Yiskah held a hand to the cheek Shet had slapped. “I don’t know where she went, Prophetess. I ran off and circled back to my home. I thought Talya would follow.”

  “Why did you not tell us this hours ago, before the men wasted precious time searching in what could very well have been the wrong direction?” Deborah curled her hands tight, forcing herself to calm. Beating the girl here and now would not give them the answers they desired. And stoning her would rile the men into a frenzy, and they would lose all strength to continue the search in the morning.

  Oh Adonai, what do I do?

  “It is too dark to look for Talya anymore this night,” Lappidoth said, making the decision for her. “We will set out at first light. If she lost her way, she could have ended up in one of the forests that stretch between Bethel and Ramah. It could take days to search the area. In the meantime, go home. Sleep. And meet me at the gate at dawn.” He dismissed the men who had stayed while her sons half carried Deborah to their house.

  7

  Jael stepped into the small clearing, a kind of simple courtyard she’d made in front of her tent, and lifted the clay urn atop her head. “Gather dung and twigs for the oven,” she said to Daniyah as the girl emerged from Jael’s tent, her hair disheveled and the look of sleep in her eyes. “I’m going to the well.”

  Nadia and Raja met her as she passed them, each woman carrying her own water jug.

  “I trust you both slept well,” Jael offered as they fell into a rhythmic step, the jugs balanced on their heads.

  Nadia shrugged. “I fear I do not sleep as well as I did in the desert. The night sounds of the forest waken me.”

  “I hear them too,” Raja said. “Fareed doesn’t hear a thing. The man could sleep through a windstorm.”

  The girls laughed softly, but Jael held her tongue as they approached the berm that they must cross to reach the road just above them—the road Sisera’s chariots had traveled that first day and several times since.

  Sisera had been to visit their camp, each time surrounded by hundreds of outfitted warriors, men who were too confident, too arrogant. Jael’s heartbeat quickened at the memory of his first visit.

  “Ah, Heber, such lovely women you have!” Sisera had turned from facing Heber and walked deliberately toward Jael’s tent, where Daniyah stood beneath the awning, her hair draped in a thick veil that did not hide her face. He pushed past Jael before she could think to respond and stopped in front of Daniyah.

  Fear rushed up Jael’s spine, and Heber drew closer. But Sisera’s men blocked his path. “And what do we have here?” His long fingers cupped Daniyah’s cheek, stroking each side slowly, deliberately, his sneer evident. And then in one swift movement, he boldly undid the clasp of the veil that hid her flowing dark hair. Once, twice, he sifted the strands between his fingers.

  Daniyah gasped but did not move, her pulse pounding in her throat.

  If you dare touch her . . . But he was touching her right in front of them, and no one moved for the fear he evoked.

  “Someday you will come to me willingly, my sweet.” He pulled back, his smile confident, then strutted like a peacock toward Heber once more. “I will be back for those weapons within two weeks. Do not disappoint me.”

  Jael closed her eyes, tamping down the rising panic that always accompanied the memory. The well was just over the rise, not far from the city of Kedesh-naphtali where she had met some of their women. She stopped abruptly at the sight of two men walking toward them.

  “Stop,” she hissed, extending a restraining hand toward the girls. “Go back.”

  The men drew closer, and the girls turned quickly and obeyed without question. But the men had spotted Jael, so she waited for them to approach, wishing now that she carried one of those daggers Heber made.

  “Who are you and why have you come?” she asked, her tone strong, bold. She would not let them see her fear. By the look of them, they were Israelites, not of Canaan. Nonetheless, she took a cautious step backward.

  The one who appeared to be the leader, with long scraggly hair and beard, held up both hands to show he carried no weapon. “We come in peace. Is this the camp of Heber the Kenite?”

  “Tell me who you are and perhaps I will answer your question.” She did not have to trust them just because they were Hebrew, ancestral history between them or not.

  The man gave a slight bow. “Forgive me, mistress. I am Barak, son of Abinoam of Kedesh-naphtali.” He extended a hand toward his companion. “And this is my friend Keshet, son of Meshech, also of Kedesh-naphtali. We wish to speak to Heber the Kenite.”

  Jael studied the men for a lengthy moment, assessing the man’s words. “Heber is my husband,” she said at last. “Follow me.” She turned and made her way back down the embankment, leading them toward Heber’s tent, which was larger than the rest. She had even woven a striped banner to place along its awning to show visitors that his was the tent where they could seek welcome or refuge. A protection for the women, whose tents were off-limits to any visiting men, though Sisera had not cared one whit for the rules of hospitality.

  “If you wait here, I will send for h
im.” Jael motioned to a circle of large stones that acted as a courtyard in front of the tent’s opening, then turned to her tent, where she met Daniyah just returning with dung and twigs. “Go and fetch your father.”

  Daniyah lifted a curious brow but did not question her mother’s direction. Jael watched her run off toward the altar where Heber prayed each morning. These men were certainly early risers, the timing of their visit almost unseemly. She needed water if she was to prepare food for them, should Heber invite them to stay. But she couldn’t leave until Heber returned.

  She walked to the tents of her daughters-in-law and sent them to the well, snagging her son Ghalib to go with them in her place. Heber returned moments later while Jael sat at the grindstone in front of her tent, straining to hear what the men had come to say. When it became evident that the scraping and grinding would drown out their voices, she commissioned Daniyah to do the work and slipped behind Heber’s tent to listen.

  “We come in peace, my lord,” Barak said, holding his hands out once more in that defenseless gesture. Both men had stood at Heber’s approach, and all three remained standing. “We are neighbors to you, and we seek your help.”

  “And how can I help you, my son?” Heber folded his arms, clearly not opening his home to them yet.

  “We are men of Israel of the tribe of Naphtali. As you may have heard, our land has been cruelly oppressed by the Canaanites for these past nineteen, nearly twenty years. King Jabin’s commander, Sisera, has nine hundred iron chariots and thousands of men. They have brutally abused our women and children and killed many of our men. We are few in number, and we have few weapons at our disposal.” Barak cleared his throat, but his bold gaze did not leave Heber’s face. “We have heard that you are a Kenite, a worker of metal, and we would ask you to help us, to make us weapons to fight our enemies.”

  Heber stood silent so long that Jael wondered if he would speak at all.