The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 9

  She nodded, then tilted her head as if still listening for the man.

  “Is he here now? In this woods?” Barak turned them both in the direction that led deeper into the forest. He searched as far as his eyes could see, but saw no movement nor form of a man.

  “I got lost two days ago,” Talya said quietly. “It’s a long story.”

  “Which you will tell me on our journey to take you home.” He wanted to throttle her here and now. And after he had warned them of the danger . . . He tamped down his anger. Perhaps she had a good reason, though not one possible good reason entered his mind.

  He took her arm and began walking back to the camp where his men waited. “Where were you attacked?”

  She shook her arm as if trying to free herself from his hold, but he would not release her.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  He relaxed his hold. “Sorry, but I’m not letting go of you.”

  She shuddered, and he wondered briefly if she were cold. The shock of all she had been through might cause such a malady. Nessa’s teeth had chattered when he had found her, and her whole body shook as though it had no control to stop.

  He halted his step and pulled her closer. The action felt strange. This was Talya, Lavi’s little sister. But just the same, he stroked her back in an awkward but hopefully comforting gesture. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, close to her ear. “I need you to tell me everything you remember about your attack, where you were, when it happened. Perhaps my men can track them down.”

  “I hit one of them with a stone from my sling . . .”

  “Did you?” He could not hide the admiration seeping into his tone.

  “He dropped hard, so he might still lie on the forest floor.” She spoke softly, and he could feel her calming against him. How exhausted she must be. “The other man attacked me when I tried another stone. He held me and we fought, but I kicked him hard in a sensitive place and got away. I could not tell you how far I’ve come.”

  Barak nearly choked on his tongue at her comments. He held her at arm’s length. “For a slight of a girl, you’re stronger than you look.” He cupped the side of her head. “But come. We will join my men and you will tell me the direction you came from. Then you will rest.”

  She nodded against his hand, and as he turned her to walk her toward camp once more, he felt strangely bereft of the feeling of holding her, of keeping her safe. But as he soon settled her before the fire with his cloak wrapped around her and Keshet standing guard over her, it was Nessa’s face that appeared in his mind’s eye. Nessa’s broken body . . . which Talya’s could have been if she had not been so strong and fast. He shoved thoughts of both women aside as he led six of his men into the forest to complete his mission.

  9

  Deborah leaned against the parapet of the tower at the city gate, knuckles white in their grip on the rough stones. Her heart beat with sluggish strokes, as though the life she lived in this moment was not her own. Her mind swirled with every imaginable thought, and as the hours waned and she took up the spindle and distaff for something to occupy her shaking hands, the thoughts spun faster, as though trying to keep up with her whirling fingers.

  “They will find her, Ima Deborah,” Libi said as she handed her son Orel a basket of tangled wool and set him to winding it into a ball. Her voice, always so calm, remained infuriatingly so now. Could she not see the danger? Was she simply oblivious to the reality of Sisera’s threat?

  “I know they will,” Deborah said despite her true feelings, denying the guilt she felt for the lie. She had no word from the Lord that Talya would be safe. She did not know. She only hoped. Hope was such a fragile thread, like the thin strands Orel wound around his ball of wool.

  A bead of sweat formed along her brow, and she quickly swiped it with her sleeve. She looked at Orel, whose toothy grin could not help but pull a responding smile from her despite the anxious pounding of her heart. Please, Adonai, keep all of them safe. Even children were targets in Sisera’s war, often killed in front of their weeping parents. The thought brought the sting of tears, and she walked quickly away lest the girls see her misery, own her fear. Better to let them remain oblivious. What sense was there in breeding deeper fear in them?

  She glanced at Tikva asleep beneath the bench in the shade, the image of complete peace. How Deborah longed for them to know such peace always. Why did the All-Knowing One send only visions of darkness and war? I need hope. But no vision of peace or hope filled the place where her fear lived.

  Why was she finding it so difficult to trust?

  She glanced heavenward, but even the sky had filled with clouds too numerous, blocking the sun. How far had the men gotten? Why would Talya run off when Barak had specifically told them the threat had grown too severe? If Yiskah spoke the truth, the girl had simply acted without thinking. So typical of her.

  Irritation seeped into the place where worry rested, and she turned away from watching the road, from trying to see into the trees beyond where nothing moved but the leaves and branches. Birds flitted from the trees to the skies, and a lone dove came to rest on the parapet. Deborah studied it, and it seemed to gaze at her for the briefest moment before taking flight to another location out of sight.

  Oh, to be like a bird and fly away and be at rest. But as long as her daughter remained lost, there would be no rest. Did You not call me to lead Your people? Her prayer held the slightest tinge of anger, for she could not shake the feeling that somehow by her very purpose, by her obedience, her family should be protected.

  Shadows blocked the sun’s filtered rays even more, and the call of a runner caught her attention. She leaned over the parapet.

  “Who are you and why have you come?” she called when he was within earshot.

  The man shaded his eyes as he glanced toward her. “I am come from the city of Shechem. The men sent me to tell the prophetess that Sisera has breached the city and kidnapped the daughters of the elders there.”

  Deborah stared, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. So it was true. Barak’s prediction had now reached Shechem. Had Talya been caught in that same web?

  Hours passed and night fell quickly. Only the barest hint of light still clung to the edges of the horizon. Deborah’s hands cramped from gripping the parapet so tightly during this final hour. But as the men straggled toward the village gates with no sign of Talya, Libi and Ahava grabbed her arms and held her steady.

  “It’s all right, Ima Deborah. They will find her. We must believe.” Libi leaned her dark head against Deborah’s shoulder and patted her arm for comfort.

  “Libi is right,” Ahava agreed, squeezing Deborah’s hand. “Look, there is Lavi, leading a group. Surely he has news.” She seemed eager to go to him yet reluctant to leave Deborah’s side.

  “Take me to him,” Deborah said. She leaned on their strength as they maneuvered the steps. She staggered when they reached the last one, her heart skipping a beat, then another, in hope . . . always hope. Ahava, with Tikva on one hip, left her side and raced toward her husband, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward Deborah.

  Lappidoth emerged from behind their son, and Elior stepped forward, catching Libi and Orel in his arms. The men circled Deborah and the girls and children, and Deborah stood stoic, reading the news in each defeated face.

  “You did not find her.” It was a foolish and obvious thing to say, but she found herself saying it nonetheless for something to fill the awful silence.

  “We did not get as far as we might have,” Lappidoth said, his tone carrying his telltale attempt to reassure. “The forests are many and thick in the area. She could have traveled a day’s journey in any direction. The winds have blown the branches and leaves, hiding her footprints.”

  Deborah simply nodded, the news adding to the numb feeling she had courted throughout the day. She glanced toward the gate and glimpsed the guard she had put in charge of the man from Shechem, realizing in that moment that she had completely forgotten about him.

&
nbsp; “There is news from Shechem,” she said dully, looking to each son and her husband in turn. “Sisera has infiltrated the city and taken the daughters of the elders. He is trying to ignite war.” She drew a heavy breath and smoothed her robe in a nervous gesture. “I have kept the messenger guarded until we can send a group to Shechem to confirm his story.”

  Lappidoth stepped near and pulled her close. “You are cold,” he whispered against her cheek. “Come. You must not fret, beloved. We will find her.”

  “In what condition?” Talya’s broken body beside a dry wadi filled her imagination. Was it a vision of the future? But it did not feel like a vision from above.

  “In good health,” Lappidoth insisted. “Come. You must rest.”

  “I have done nothing but rest all day.” She lifted her hands to show him their lack of flax or wool dust, though in the dimness he could not tell to what she alluded. She had stopped her spinning long ago, feeling too restless to continue the task.

  Lappidoth seemed to sense her disquiet and wrapped a patient arm around her shoulders. She walked slowly, her thoughts whirling, her feet sluggish. Talya. Why do you not come home?

  Behind her the sound of the heavy wooden beam being dragged to bar the doors sounded like the high-pitched scream of mourners. Deborah shook her head, angry now. She must stop thinking the worst had come. Hadn’t Lappidoth assured her they had not searched every forest? Surely . . . surely . . .

  She sagged against her husband’s hold, too aware of the eerie silence of her children surrounding her. As though they all walked behind a bier, waiting for that final moment to bury their dead.

  Crickets chirped, the sound grating, and high above in the treetops bats awoke, their wings like whispers on the wind. Deborah trudged onward. Their courtyard appeared like a foreign thing, and servants came with food and drink, but Deborah merely shook her head and allowed Lappidoth to lead her to her mat.

  “Try to rest, Deborah.” Lappidoth knelt at her side and pulled the scarf from her head. He brushed stray strands of hair from her forehead and wiped errant tears from her cheeks, where they could not seem to keep from falling. “We will pray God’s protection over her.” He bent to kiss her cheek.

  “What if God says no?” She looked at him then, the question tasting like bitter herbs on her tongue. “He did not protect the daughters of the elders of Shechem. He has not stopped the slaughter and capture of our innocent women and children throughout all of Israel.” She paused, swallowed hard. “He did not protect my father, my brothers.” She rolled away from him, forcing back the urge to weep.

  He touched her arm, but she shrugged aside his attempt to comfort. “God does not have to answer my prayers, Lappidoth. He will do what He pleases, for His glory.” She could not keep the bitterness from shrouding her words.

  Lappidoth sat silently beside her for the space of too many breaths. “You are right, beloved. God has no reason to hear our prayers, nor to answer them as we want Him to. But that does not mean we should not pray. Would you tell those who come to you for advice to forget the law, to do as they please?” He turned her gently to face him, his penetrating gaze holding her fast.

  She shook her head, her heart feeling as though an arrow had pierced it.

  “Did not Moses tell us that God is near when we pray to Him?”

  She heard the kindness in his tone. She nodded but could not speak.

  He grasped her hand and held it between both of his own. “Deborah.” He stroked her palm. “My heart is breaking every moment I do not hear our daughter’s voice. But I cannot blame God for her absence. I can only blame myself for failing to protect her.”

  “It is not your fault.” She spoke from some unimaginable need to comfort him, yet the slightest niggling of doubt accompanied the declaration. She did blame him for not standing up to Talya more often, for leaving Deborah to deal with their constant struggling. “Talya is strong willed. She would have run off whether you allowed her to or not.”

  The words were unfair and she knew it. Talya was obedient, even if she did beg to get her way. She had simply made a foolish choice, if Yiskah spoke truth. Or . . . Sisera had found her before she got her bearings.

  “Talya is strong willed,” Lappidoth agreed. “But she is good, and we will find her.” He squeezed her hand and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Pray, beloved. And do not fret. We cannot know what tomorrow will bring. But we can trust the One who holds it already in His hand.”

  Talya glanced at Barak out of the corner of her eye. There had been a firm set to his jaw ever since he returned with the news that they had found no sign of the man who attacked her, though they recovered and buried the body of the one she had killed with her sling.

  “How much longer?” she asked, feeling the need for something to fill the quiet.

  “Not far now.” He tapped the earth with his large staff, like the kind a shepherd carried. A weapon, she knew, to add to the bow and sling he already wore like ornaments across his back and side. He tilted his head to look at her, and she didn’t miss his slight smile despite his intense sense of purpose. “Anxious to put your mother’s mind at ease?”

  “Anxious to sleep on my own mat and not share space with forest creatures.” Talya’s heart grew light at the full smile he gave her now. “Though Orel will be disappointed that I did not bring him any bugs.”

  His laugh was low, throaty, as though he would not allow himself to laugh loud and long, as she wished him to. “I could find a few for him.” Barak stopped abruptly and moved the earth with his sandaled foot. He lifted a leaf and they both watched a beetle scurry from the intrusion.

  She leaned closer. “I think he will be fine with no for an answer this time.”

  He straightened, his smile unnerving. “Unlike his aunt, who has a hard time hearing that word, especially from her mother?” Barak’s dark eyes probed hers.

  “How did you . . . ?” She looked away. “That is not the same thing.”

  They continued walking, and Talya felt the heat of his gaze even from behind. “Somehow I’m not so sure,” he said softly as they rounded a tree line, keeping well away from the road.

  Silence fell between them. To argue with him here would cause their voices to carry, and she did not need his men hearing them sparring over something so personal, something she was not willing to admit to him.

  She was spared the awkward moment when the gates to her village appeared in the distance moments later. Talya nearly broke into a run to reach them. But Barak stayed her with his hand.

  “We go together,” he said, his tone commanding. “There is no sense in scaring the guards and having them shoot at us from the wall.”

  “But it is nearly daylight. Surely they will be able to tell who we are.” Talya looked over her rumpled robe—what she could see in the predawn light—and the dust clinging to the headscarf she wore. She couldn’t possibly look as bad as her clothes did, but one glance at her hands told her it was still too dark to tell. “Perhaps you have a point. But my mother will soon be watching from the wall, and my father and brothers will be out looking for me.” They would look for her. Of course they would.

  “They will wait until dawn,” Barak said, his pace continuing without a hitch. “Be patient, young one. We will be there soon.”

  Young one? So that was what he thought of her.

  Talya picked up her pace despite his warning, tired of his older-brother patronizing.

  He hurried to join her. “What are you doing?”

  The gates weren’t far now. She would take her chances with the guard on the wall. “I’m going home.”

  He gripped her hand, and she could not stop the shock that spread up her arm. She nearly stumbled, suddenly too aware of him.

  “Talya.” He spoke her name more gently now, but she pulled away. She would not be treated as a child.

  “What?” She continued walking, not slowing her gait.

  “Talya. Wait.” This time his voice held a command again, and she stopped mids
tride. “What is wrong with you?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. Such naivety. “I am not a ‘young one.’ In case you hadn’t noticed, I am a fully capable woman who can take care of herself.” She crossed her arms and stared him down.

  His mouth twitched as though she amused him. She wanted to slap the smirk from his face.

  “I can see that. And you are also a woman who can get lost in the woods barely an arrow’s shot from her home. But a capable woman, one who can take care of herself.” He crossed his arms, mimicking her pose, the staff still clutched in one hand.

  “You mock me.” The heat in her face intensified.

  “So I do.” He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer. “Talya. Please don’t confuse my comments with insults. It is good to be young, and you are a young maiden.”

  Her gaze dropped to her feet.

  “When you are old, you will wish to be young again. Trust me in this.” She looked up to search his gaze, trying to read his age in the lines along his brow.

  “You are young,” she said at last. “Just because you command men does not mean you are old.”

  His chest lifted in a sigh, the sound weighty to her ears. “Sometimes a person’s life is longer than their years.” He looked away from her, his feet slowly moving toward the gate.

  “You speak of your first wife.” Talya kept his pace.

  He looked at her. “My only wife.” The bitterness in his tone felt like a barb. The interest and hope she had placed in him vanished. His heart was still wed to a woman who rested in Sheol.

  10

  Ima!”

  Deborah’s heart twisted in an almost physical pain at the voice. She turned from handing her grandson a cup of water to see Talya running down the village street, headed straight for their courtyard.

  “Talya!” Deborah couldn’t run fast enough, and then Talya was there, flesh of her flesh, clinging, sobbing. “There, there. You’re safe now.” Deborah’s heart pounded despite the assuring words, despite the feel of her daughter’s arms around her, their tears mingling.