Pearl in the Sand (38 page)

Rahab turned on her heel and left him. She fumed her way to bed. His unreasonable and uncharacteristic withdrawal made her so angry that for once she forgot to worry about not being wanted. What ailed the man? Had he lost all sense? Why was he careening from fury to worry to childlike huffiness? Because she had been a few hours late?

You disappeared without a word
. Her unexplained absence had fretted his mind. And through the hours of waiting, he must have grown increasingly resentful of her thoughtlessness, swerving between fear of the worst and anger over her cavalier disappearance. But his insistence on sleeping alone verged on a childish tantrum. How could a man who had withstood the worst she had thrown at him be provoked to such a degree by a minor incident?

Rahab twisted in bed.
You need your own space
, he had said, his voice too calm. Did he think that she was avoiding him? In truth she was. However, she was not avoiding the man, his company, his presence, or his society. These things she loved. She was avoiding his disappointment. Avoiding his regret at having married a woman not good enough. Did he not know that? Had he, perhaps, for once, misread her? Had he left in a huff because he felt hurt and unwanted? By
her?

T
ossing in bed did not help, and turning was no improvement either. Rahab’s anger had long since evaporated. Instead she wrestled with the odd idea that her self-assured husband might be laboring under the false notion that
she
had spurned
him
.

He had once accused that she expected his love to fail. Well, perhaps it had, a little, the night before. He had left her behind, alone with her tears, his mien cold as he walked out. He could have abided by her. Instead he had walked away.

And when she had stayed away from home all these hours, had he thought she was making an indictment against him as a husband? Had he thought she had stayed away from home because he had failed her? That she avoided him because she was disappointed with him?

Salmone, her lion of a husband who fought the enemy with legendary courage, who led thousands every day through times of peace and war, whose confidence seemed to her unshakable, was at this moment lying in another bed not because he didn’t want her, but because he thought she didn’t want him. She sat up straight. If
she was right, she was sleeping in the wrong bed. And if she was mistaken, she was about to suffer another mortification.

Rising, Rahab took the time to straighten her shift and push her tumbled hair off her shoulders. Making little noise on her bare feet, she padded to the back of the tent and swished the curtain aside. In the darkness she could make out Salmone’s shape, his back turned to her. Before doubts could sap her courage, she marched forward, lifted the blankets and slid under. Salmone remained inert, his quiet breaths rising and falling as before.

“What are you doing?” he barked just as Rahab relaxed.

She jumped so hard her teeth rattled. “S-s-s-sleeping in my bed.”

“This is not your bed,” he said, his back still turned to her.

“My bed is with my husband.” Biting her lip, Rahab forced herself to lift her hand. It felt like it belonged to someone else. She willed it to move and placed it on Salmone’s shoulder. “My place is with you, Salmone. I don’t want to leave.”

He sighed. A few moments passed. Then he turned around, his face so near that she could feel his breath stirring against her hair. “Stay, if you want. But not out of duty.”

“I want to be with you,” she confessed, trying to infuse her voice with the love and longing that had become her constant companions. In the thick darkness, she felt his hand move about her waist. With a strong push and pull of fingers, he drew her into his arms and held her. For the first time since waking many hours before, Rahab felt her muscles unclench. The unspoken things that remained unresolved lay between them still, but ignored for the moment. Rahab was content to be near him, embraced by him.

She sensed that he was as wakeful as she. “My sister is with child,” she blurted, wanting to share the precious news with him.

He propped his head on his palm. “I am happy for her. She’s been barren for many years, hasn’t she?”

Rahab told him the story Izzie had shared with her. “Salmone, why do you think God blessed her? He seems to act out of His holy
justice when I would expect mercy, and pour out mercy when I would have doled out judgment.”

He drew a finger down her cheek. The simple touch made her shiver and noticing, he gave the ghost of a smile before withdrawing his hand. “I suppose our sins warp our expectations.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean that the reason God seems to act in ways that make no sense to us is that our perceptions are wrong. Our expectations are subtly twisted. We long for things that harm us and run from the things that grow and heal us. We think good is bad and bad is good. God acts rightly, but to us, it seems confusing. Or sometimes plain wrong.”

Rahab digested Salmone’s response. “Do you … Do you think my perceptions about my past are wrong too?”

Salmone was quiet for a moment, gathering his words. “I think they are a mixture of truth and lie, which make them very convincing, and therefore very dangerous. But it seems likely that where you would believe yourself deserving of condemnation, the Lord would desire to give you mercy.”

Rahab sank into silence. How would her life change if she could, in the secret interior places of her heart, begin to believe the promise that lay at the root of Salmone’s words? As a woman, as a wife, as a lover, as a daughter, as a friend—would she arise a different creature from the one she was now if she put her faith in the merciful goodness of God? If she truly believed that God forgave her, accepted her, counted her as one who belonged to Him—would that change her life?

Fatigue began to have its way with her body, and sleep clouded her thoughts. In the periphery of her drowsy mind, Rahab was aware that Salmone held her, and that God held her too, no less tightly and securely at that moment. Then she sank into a dreamless sleep, deep and uninterrupted.

Rahab had begun making a wool tunic for Salmone the day after their engagement. She had wanted to present him with a special gift that would demonstrate her high esteem toward him. She had limited material resources of her own. Most of what she had when she escaped Jericho she had given to her family toward the purchase of their tent and flock. What could she give a man who seemed content with simple things?

Then she noticed that Salmone owned few garments and what he had was mostly old and well worn. He deserved such fine things! She thought of lesser men she had known, men without his integrity or character who had owned so much, whose world had been overflowing with lavish riches. She was determined to make him something opulent, something that demonstrated his high worth in her eyes. And she was set on surprising him before the start of winter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t that clever a weaver.

Izzie, however, was. Sisters came handy Rahab decided with a smirk, as she watched Izzie’s fingers fly over a particularly difficult section. She had asked Izzie to come and help her while Salmone was occupied with the business of Judah.

“Oh.” Izzie gasped suddenly and stopped working.

Rahab turned to her with concern. “Are you unwell?”

“It will pass. Or perhaps not. Excuse me.” She ran toward a bowl at the mouth of the tent and bent her retching head into it. After a few unpleasant moments she sat back. Silently, Rahab handed her a cup of fresh water and a cloth.

“It passes as quickly as it comes. I feel perfectly well now.”

“How often do you feel thus?”

Izzie waved a careless hand. “Not often. I would spend my whole day with my head in a bowl for this child. He is worth every discomfort.”

Just then a young boy knocked at the outer post of their tent, asking permission to enter.

“Come,” Rahab called out.

The boy took time to politely remove his sandals before entering
the interior of the tent. “Master Salmone sent me. He fears he will be very late this evening, and asks that you sup without him.”

After giving the boy a raisin cake for his trouble, Rahab settled back near her sister. “That man works harder than a poor farmer’s ox. This is the third evening in a row he has missed dinner.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t like your cooking. I could teach you a few things if you want.”

“Go on with you. A child in your belly and suddenly you know everything. My husband likes my cooking well enough, I thank you. He has too much on his shoulders, that’s the problem.”

Izzie became instantly serious. “Are you worried for him?”

Rahab shrugged. “As long as he is here with me, I am satisfied. He works too hard. But then there is so much to do. I hear Gerazim and our brothers are gone from sunup to sundown as well.”

“That they are. Well, at least you will have extra hours to work on this tunic. Another week like this and you might even finish it.”

Late into the night and with only a modest fire and small lamp for light, Rahab concentrated on Salmone’s gift, finally setting it aside when she heard his footsteps outside the tent. She could not wait to see his face when she gave it to him.

The compilation of too many late nights finally caught up with Rahab and she woke up a couple of hours later than usual the next morning. Through bleary eyes she saw Salmone settled on feather-filled cushions, absently munching on raisin cakes. He noticed she was awake and sauntered over.

“Sleep well?”

She raised herself up on an elbow. “Yes, thank you.” It occurred to her that his presence in the tent at this hour was unusual. He left long before this on most days. “Aren’t you going to work?”

“Not right away.” He was standing over her, and she tipped her head up to accommodate the great difference in height. Noticing her
discomfort, he lowered himself on the mattress near her, his hip close to her thigh. The unexpected closeness confused her so that his next words took some moments to sink in.

“Rahab, I have allowed a whole week to go by without resolving our differences. It’s enough time. If we don’t work through this tangle, it might fester.”

Rahab suppressed a groan. Couldn’t he see that she had barely opened her eyes? He wasn’t a man, he was a wolf who lunged at every opportunity. “Can I wash first?” she asked, her voice edged with rancor.

If he noticed that edge, he wasn’t moved by it. “Of course.”

She took her time rising out of bed. He watched her as she sauntered to the curtain, his eyes cool. “If you aren’t ready by the time I eat this raisin cake, I’m coming to fetch you,” he drawled.

Rahab snapped around. The implacable set of jaw and lips told her he meant it. With deliberate movements, he broke off a large chunk of the raisin cake and put it in his mouth. She whipped about and left his presence on hurrying feet. Could the maddening man not let anything go? What use was there in rehashing through the irresolvable? First thing in the morning, no less.

She rushed through her wash and pulled on a shapeless wool dress. Combing through her hair would take time and patience, neither of which she possessed. She lifted the red-brown curls away from her shoulders intending to tie them with a string when Salmone prowled over. He took the string from her nerveless fingers. “My raisin cake is finished. So are you.”