Providence (19 page)

His proclamation hummed in her ears. She was not a prostitute, but she could not deny that she had fallen prostrate onto Gil and kissed his mouth. A farewell kiss.

It was not an untruth. The prophet's stare condemned her. It couldn't be. Was she not only cursed, but sullied?

The prophet lowered his staff and shook his head in judgment.

“I did not touch this man for pleasure.” She looked from Naabak to Reumah to Susa to Mereb for affirmation. “Or for lust.” At least not this day.

The man of God tilted his chin skyward. His gaze rose above his long nose.

Did he know what she was thinking?
She jumped to her feet. Where had the prophet been? She had cared for a fallen Hebrew. Alone. Pointing a finger back at the prophet, she said, “If you had been here, the matter would have been settled. You could have healed Gil with a touch. Susa went in search of you. You had wandered off, leaving me here with enemies of Israel.”

Susa squared his shoulders. “I did a thorough scouting.”

The holy man remained silent.

Did he want her to repent of all her failings since leaving Jerusalem? Surely, entering the temple of a pagan god required more chastising and atonement than trying to save the dying?

“I am not brazen,” she stuttered, trying to calm her ragged breaths. “I called out to God. Whether it was my plea to Jehovah or this place…I do not know. I covered him, mourned for him, and yes, I laid on him.” Her posture buckled under the weight of her confession.

Gil stood beside her. She needed him to say what she did was not immoral. She needed his warmth, his laugh, his acceptance.

“So it is true.” Gil's voice lowered. “You touched me?” He stroked his jaw as if trying to remember what happened. “Everywhere?”

She nodded and choked back blame. Tears stung her lids but she would not let them fall. Comforting a dying man was not a sin. Not a man who had risked his life to see her healed. Her heart was pure. She wasn't a filthy harlot. When the panic of losing Gil settled upon her, she did what any loved one would do. She bid farewell to his body. And she would do it again.

“Let Aram take the blame,” Naabak said, stepping forward in the splendor of ornate armor. “Your God showed me mercy. My soldier ignored a command and acted dishonorably. I came here because of the testimony of this girl. Lay the consequences at my feet.”

“No, Master.”

Naabak turned at her voice.

“I am unclean. Touching the dead is forbidden. His blood was on my skin. My farewell kiss was more than a ritual. In truth, I did not want the kiss to be the last.” Her confession floated in the air. Everyone heard it, but her words were meant for Gil.

Standing on the mountain, her confession echoing above its catacombs, she remembered seeking Gil among the alleys of Jerusalem. Should she repent of her actions, of going into the wilderness with a man she barely knew? Her throat felt like it housed a rock. No. She would never say that her time with Gil was immoral. Spending hours with Gil had been a blessing.

“I sought you out, Blessed One, because I wanted to be healed. You once told me it was not my time. I left Jerusalem to seek when my time would come, or if it already had. Now, I only want to return home.” The pinch in her throat made it difficult to continue. “I can live in disgrace. I already have.”

“There has to be something we can do?” Reumah addressed her husband and the prophet at a healthy distance. “We have riches. We can make an offering. Pay a sum.”

“I have no ties to Gil,” Hannah said to her mistress.
“He is not my husband.” She looked at Gil. “I should have righted all the lies. Even the one on the cart when you addressed me as your wife. I should have stayed in my father's house and accepted my fate.”

“Stop.” The sharp, angry tone of Gil's voice startled her. He pointed at the prophet, then to Naabak. “This man was sick with fever. He had pus for blood. I had a blade in my back.” Gil's hand flayed in the air like he directed music. “Look at us now. We are here and whole only at Hannah's urging. Surely, God has not shunned her. He did not shun any of us.”

Gil grabbed her wrist and lifted it high. “Bind us together. I don't remember this woman's body on mine, but I want to.”

Hannah's mouth fell open as Gil announced his lust.

The prophet perked up at Gil's proclamation. He stamped his staff as if he was disgusted by the day's events.

Gil squeezed her hand. His touch made her float on a breeze. “I am a lawful man who desires a wife. I have testified that Hannah is my wife. Make it so. Make my falsehood truth.”

Her pulse pounded in her temples. She wanted to be Gil's wife. She wanted to be wrapped in his arms from dusk until daybreak. She wanted…him. She hoped her marriage bed thoughts were not gleaming in her eyes.

The prophet shook his head. “Her father is not here to pledge her to you?”

“The girl belongs to my wife,” Naabak said, indicating Reumah. “She has been under my protection and in my household.” Naabak smiled broadly as though he had conquered a formidable foe. “I give this woman to this man.”

“You are not a Hebrew,” the prophet scoffed.

“The God of Israel, your god,” Naabak emphasized, “restored my body and my command. He brought these two together long before we crossed trails.”

“Gilead,” the prophet called out, his eyes still resting on Naabak. “Your kinsmen reside in Jerusalem.”

“Yes. My mother is the daughter of Abiathar. They await my return.” Gil squeezed her hand tighter.

“And your father?” the prophet asked.

“I do not know my father.” Gil's voice lowered to a reverent growl.

“Did your mother know him?”

Gil's foot scraped the ground as a ram ready to charge. “No. She did not know the beast.” Gil's grip relaxed.

“And you, daughter of Aaron, daughter of Zebula, a Levite.” The prophet stomped his rod as he recited her heritage. “If you marry this man from the tribe of Judah, you forfeit the choice meats your father and brother bring from the temple. Will you leave the table of Zebula? Of Shimron?”

Gil let go of her hand and stepped toward the pool. Her hand tingled as it hung by her side. Gil sat on the stone ledge, his hands clasped in his lap. Was he still weak from the impalement?

“What is food to me?” she said. “My dead mouth already keeps me from the table. To me, even the choice meats offered to the priests taste of nothing.”

The prophet made an annoying clicking noise with his tongue. If that was supposed to sway her thinking, he had better try something more spectacular. Her nerves had become bold after weeks in Aram.

“By birthright you have been chosen to eat the fatty portions of meat. Your father has been chosen to receive them. Would you cut yourself off from the blessings of your lineage?” She heard the “for him” even though the prophet did not speak it forthright.

“And what blessing would that be?” She clamped her jaw so tight she thought she might break a tooth. “The scorn of my brother? The tears of my mother? The punishment for a sin I did not commit? My father is a proud man, but I do not believe he is proud of me.”

“Are you proud of him?” Gil sounded as serious as she had ever heard him.

She didn't know how to answer. Her father had tried to find a cure for her curse. He made offerings in the temple and gained an audience with the prophet. But even he had grown weary and welcomed Azor's bid. She glanced at the prophet. His forward lean made him look anxious for her answer. She whispered, “Yes,” for all the years her father had given her hope.

“I am not proud of my father.” Gil's confession caused her to turn around. “He left my mother in stalks of wheat, abused and afraid. I cannot offer you a lineage like your father's.”

Shame would not cast its lot over her again. She sat on the stone beside Gil and stroked his beard firmly, bringing his gaze upon her. “You accepted me that first day in your”—she lowered her voice so only Gil could hear her—“bedroom.” She resumed her normal volume. “You accompanied me to Mahanaim. You fought for me in the olive grove. Saved me in the pit. Our journey is not over.”

“You will regret this Hannah
bat
Zebula.”

Did he truly believe that lie? Her heart raced. “I have met your mother and seen the love she has for you. That love has grown in me. You are an honorable man fending for the poor and the widows. I have lost you twice as you fended for me. I feared you dead in the grove and when you spared my life on this rock. You had better not leave me again Gilead
ben
Abiathar.”

His gaze grew serious as she spoke of her devotion. He cradled her face as if he held a delicate alabaster jar. His thumb was a gentle breeze upon her cheek. “I will not leave you.”

“Enough.” The prophet's interruption sent a shudder down her back. “Let me be done with all of you.” With the crook of his staff, he indicated that she and Gil come forward.

She latched onto Gil's arm as they approached God's spokesman.

The prophet whipped off his belt and wrapped it around Gil's wrist, then hers. Frayed camel's hair pricked her skin.

Naabak, Reumah, and Susa crowded the prophet. Mereb peered over her shoulder.

“Commander of Aram,” the prophet began, “do you give this woman of your household to this Hebrew?”

“By my word,” Naabak said.

Pulling the belt tight, the prophet continued, “You are joined this day as husband and wife. A bond only God can sever. Gilead, man of Judah, return to your kin with your wife.”

Hannah could have sworn she heard the prophet breathe “
Selah
” in praise of their leaving the mountain, but she paid him no heed. Her heart rejoiced. It soared to the clouds. She envisioned dancing all the way to Mahanaim, her feet as wild as the wind.

Nodding to the small crowd, the prophet removed the belt, first from her wrist and then from Gil's. “I am done,” the prophet announced. He hiked the rocky path to where his tent was staked.

A smile as big as the Holy Land eclipsed Gil's face. He grasped her wrist and stroked the red ring left from their binding. Her heart spasmed with every slide of his fingers.

“We must celebrate,” Naabak said, raising a fist skyward. “Mereb, unfasten the wineskin.”

Mereb grumbled at his chore. “You do realize, Mistress, you are down not one, but two servants.”

“There are others.” Reumah sat at her husband's side. “We will need room for all our children and grandchildren.” She beamed at Naabak.

Hannah's stomach flipped at the mention of babies. She would be alone with her husband tonight and she was a clueless virgin.

“Speaking of children,” Gil cleared his throat. “Hannah and I will need to bathe. We are unclean.”

“Considerably,” Mereb quipped before tasting the wine.

Naabak held out his cup. “The pool is all yours. I do not wish for another dip. There are fine linens on the donkeys. Your prophet has refused payment for my healing.”

Mereb handed Gil some wine.

Gil tipped the rim of his cup until it clanked hers. “You may peek behind the sheet this night.” His grin struck a spark within her chest.

Before she could defend the slip of her hand in the cave, or her curiosity, he leaned forward. “I intend to look my fill.”

28

Hannah clung to the ledge of the pool. She couldn't stop the fleeting thoughts of an end to the curse she had carried all of her life. She shook her head and brushed away the idea. How much more could she ask of God? She had been blessed with Gil and his miraculous return to life. She would gladly carry her curse until her bones were dust, simply to be with Gil and share his love.

She let go of the rocks and dipped below the water. She dipped seven times, but not for restoration. She bathed to be clean for her wedding night with her new husband. A shiver of delight tingled across her skin as she envisioned their union.

“This one favors your coloring.” Reumah held out an indigo gown.

Blinking to clear the drops of water on her lashes, Hannah admired the weave of golden thread through the dark blue linen. The dress was fit for a princess, not an innocent going to her marriage bed.

“I am accustomed to plain linens.” Hannah emerged from the basin and stood on the smoothed stones. She grabbed a sheet warmed by the sun and wrapped her nakedness.

“Not today,” Reumah said. “You are a bride given by my husband and you deserve the best. If not for your urging, Naabak would have died in Aram, his line cut off from this life.”

“It is a new beginning for you and Naabak.” She wrung the dampness from her hair. “I have taken you away from his attentions.”

Reumah giggled. “I have received my husband's attentions, and I plan to receive them again tonight.” She rubbed her belly as if she were already expecting a child.

Hannah's cheeks warmed. Never had her mother spoken of her father in such a brazen manner.

Reumah's eyes gleamed like a young girl receiving her first gold ring. “That pool has given him the strength and hunger of a young bull.”

Hannah forced a smile and a wisp of a laugh at Reumah's revelation as if the talk was commonplace in a priest's household. Sweat dampened her palms. Did her ignorance show? Should she ask Reumah to reveal what was to come this evening when she and Gil were alone? Her mother had no reason to discuss a union with a man. There had been no official betrothal. She shook thoughts of Azor from her mind.

“What is wrong?” Reumah slipped the gown over Hannah's head.

“Nothing.” Hannah shivered. The exquisite weave brushed her body, silken and smooth like a flower petal. She wondered what she would do when Gil lifted the linen to her thighs.

Reumah began to braid Hannah's hair. The tingle on her scalp made her bones as light as a bird's. Would Gil's touch make her soar as high?