Shadow of the Storm Page 21

  At a loss for how to begin the task, I stood behind him and surveyed the campsite. The boys were off on an adventure with Jumo, my mother, and the girls, looking for more useful roots and plants. Kiya was busy entertaining Talia in the shade, and my aunt and uncle were resting in their tent. No one was paying any attention to Ayal and me, but I felt self-conscious all the same.

  Ayal turned to look at me over his shoulder. “Just start chopping it off. It grows so fast now, it will only be a few weeks before it’s over my ears again.”

  “Mine does as well.” I said, lifting a tentative hand bearing the shears. “I notice that it is even a bit thicker since we left Egypt. I wonder if the manna has some sort of effect . . .”

  Since our daily diet had consisted of mainly manna, everyone seemed healthier. Even the elderly who left Iunu on the backs of wagons now seemed to have renewed vigor, and the livestock were healthier now than when they had lush Egyptian fields to graze upon. “Perhaps I should cut mine as well while I am in command of your sheep shears.”

  Ayal swiveled on the stool. “Don’t you dare.”

  I went wide-eyed, thinking he was serious, but teasing leaked into his expression and I remembered what he’d said about loosening my braid. Warmth revisited my cheeks. With a wink he turned his back, leaving me flustered, grateful that no one could hear our low conversation and very much trying to push away thoughts of my upcoming wedding night. Threading my fingers into Ayal’s silky, dark hair did nothing to help.

  With a deep breath, I held up a hank of hair and snipped it away, silently reassuring myself that it would grow back. “This reminds me of tending to my mistress back in Egypt.” I brushed back a lock from beside his ear. “Although, I had to shave her head so frequently that I rarely had to cut so much.”

  Ayal cleared his throat, but his voice came out husky. “How long did you serve in her home?”

  “Almost four years—until she sent me away after the plague of flies.”

  “Your mistress sent you away?”

  I smiled to myself. “Tekurah was petrified of magic. I think she was convinced that I would put some sort of curse on her, since Hebrews weren’t afflicted by the flies and our beasts did not die. I was very surprised that she let me go.”

  “Why did you not work with your mother as a weaver?”

  My hands stilled their motion. And although my heart called out the answer, my mouth refused to follow suit. He will hate you. He will look at you differently. He won’t want you.

  “Shira?”

  “My brother,” I sputtered. “My brother’s master had a friend looking for a handmaid, and Eben wanted me to go, so I did.”

  Ayal was silent for a moment. Did he suspect my lack of transparency?

  “Was your master good to you?” His question was hesitant.

  “Oh yes, Shefu was more than kind to me.”

  Ayal visibly exhaled. He must have been imagining the sorts of incidents that had been played out among many female Hebrew slaves and their masters.

  “No, it was Tekurah, Shefu’s wife, who was awful.” A sardonic laugh escaped my lips. “It was a full year before she stopped slapping me for every offense and was finally satisfied with my work as her handmaid.”

  Ayal’s fists were clenched in his lap, and his back tensed as if he were ready to defend me.

  I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It is all right. She was awful at first, but I survived. After that year, she relied on me so heavily I received no more than an occasional tongue-lashing. She was much harsher with Kiya.” I glanced at my friend, who was now sleeping under the awning with Talia tucked by her side. I may have endured Kiya’s punishment during that time, but her friendship had been worth the trouble.

  Ayal’s hand covered mine. “It’s a good thing that woman is far away. Or she wouldn’t have a head left to shave.”

  I giggled, fingers to my lips, and he laughed with me. How good it felt to be laughing with Ayal again. The tension that had hovered in the air since Leisha’s death had dispelled. I mouthed a word of thanks to Yahweh.

  “There now. That is as much as I can do with the shears.” My stomach flipped at the loss.

  He ran an exploratory hand over his closely-cropped head. “Feels so strange.”

  I poured the oils into my hands and, with a quick inhale, began rubbing the rich-smelling mixture into his scalp. He released a little groan of pleasure. “Perhaps I should have you shave my head regularly. That feels wonderful.”

  With a nervous laugh, I handed him the pot and insisted that he rub the oil into his beard, afraid that such an intimate gesture would betray just how much his nearness affected me. I washed my hands in a nearby pot of water and wiped them dry, not willing to chance a sharp blade in slippery hands.

  Lifting the copper blade from the pouch, I tested its edge and then began my task. The memory of the monotonous chore returned, and I lost myself in the strokes. When I finished shaving his head, I moved around in front of Ayal, and my breath caught at the first sight of him without his hair.

  “That bad?” He frowned. “Do you want to break off the betrothal?”

  I pursed my lips, pretending to consider the offer. “Hmm. Possibly.” I squinted. “Perhaps if you wear a turban . . .”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “You’d better finish the job before you make your final decision.”

  “All right.” I pinned him with a look. “But hold still. A turban will do nothing to hide an ugly scar across that handsome face.”

  His eyes danced with laughter, and for a moment I found myself drowning in their fathoms.

  Blinking off my daydreams, I lifted the copper blade, pushed his chin into place with a finger, and then took a long swipe up his neck. I released my breath, thanking Yahweh for all the times Tekurah had demanded every single hair be removed from her body. My hand did not shake.

  Ayal watched me from beneath lowered lids. The more I tried to ignore the scrutiny, the more aware I was of my hands on his skin and his knees bracketing mine. I paused to wipe the blade on the linen towel, needing a break from the effort.

  “I wish I did not have to do this.” Ayal’s words seemed pained.

  “Shave?”

  “No.” He waved a hand in the air. “All of this. This consecration. This setting apart of the men in our tribe.”

  “Is it not an honor? For all of you to serve in the Mishkan?”

  He frowned. “It is.” He looked away. His jaw worked, as if grinding his teeth against something he wanted to say. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath through his nose. “But I do not feel worthy.”

  It was the last thing I expected to hear from Ayal’s lips, and it shocked me into silence.

  He dropped his head into his hands. “I asked for your forgiveness, Shira. But I did not tell you all of my sins.”

  He paused, and my pulse tripped. What more would he say? Was I not the only one he had approached while still married? Were there more lies to uncover?

  Looking down at his hands, he sighed. “Leisha was not a happy woman. As I have told you, she was unfaithful to me. Many times. My family, as you well know, did not like her, and the unfaithfulness became more and more obvious as time went on. But it was not only for that reason.”

  He lifted sad eyes to mine. “She was with child when I married her. The twins were born only a few months afterward.”

  “They are not—?”

  “They are,” he said. “They are mine. At least as far as I know. And they resemble me so much I have little doubt.”

  They did. Ayal’s features were mimicked in so many ways in the two boys. His smile in Ari—his laugher and his light, warm eyes in Dov.

  “I wish I could plead youth or ignorance or something else, Shira. But I knew what I was doing. I accompanied my brother on a sale of ewes to her father in Iunu. When she suggested a . . . secret meeting, I did not hesitate.”

  He ran a hand over his half-shaved face.

  “My father never f
orgave me for bringing such shame to our family. He had already made arrangements to betroth me to the daughter of another Levite. Leisha’s mother was Hebrew, but she had been well-known as a prostitute before she married. My father refused to even give the customary bridal gifts or celebrate the marriage in any way.” He shook his head. “Although my brothers did not hold it against me, their wives always have. They were merciless with Leisha.”

  As they are with me.

  He dropped his head into his hands again. “Now you know what a wicked man you are bound to. If I had restrained myself, I would not have put her, or myself, through such misery.”

  I knelt in front of him and waited for him to meet my gaze. When he finally did, I placed my hand on his knee. “Remember when Yahweh spoke from the top of the mountain?”

  He nodded, his eyes glassy. “I felt so exposed, as if every horrible thought and deed I ever committed was laid bare for everyone to see.”

  “I did as well. But after the Voice stopped, didn’t you feel clean? As if by dredging all that blackness out of your heart, Yahweh washed it away?”

  He sighed and softly brushed his knuckles down my cheek. “I have never felt so free as I did in those hours afterward. I felt brand new.”

  “Then why are you still carrying this burden of guilt?”

  “I have asked myself the same thing again and again. So many nights I lay awake out in the fields, searching the stars for such answers.”

  Pulling his hand from my face, I turned it over and caressed it with my palm. “It reminds me of something Reva told me. That I have been nurturing my scars instead of speaking truth to myself and allowing them to heal. Like Dov, curling his hand up and refusing to let us rub oil into his wound so it can mend. And look at the beauty that has come, even from the ashes of your sins. Dov. Ari. Talia. It seems to me that Yahweh somehow takes the broken parts of us and builds something better than we could imagine.”

  It is time to speak truth. To yourself, and to Ayal. The thought came so clearly to my mind that I knew it was not of myself, but something deep in my spirit—an echo from the Voice, commanding me to let go.

  “I have not been completely honest with you either, Ayal.”

  His head snapped up, confusion across his face.

  Dropping my hands to my lap, I clutched the copper blade. I scraped my thumb against the edge, procrastinating. After a long, slow breath, I released the truth. “It was not only because Eben found a place in Shefu’s home that I went to serve Tekurah. It was for my safety.”

  He bristled, but his eyes beckoned me to continue.

  I sighed, drawing courage from the honesty he had gifted to me. “His name was Akharem. He was an Egyptian overseer. And I believed myself in love with him.”

  37

  FOUR YEARS AGO

  IUNU, EGYPT

  I wandered down the cobbled street, bare soles scraping against the uneven stones and daydreaming of the secret smile Akharem had given me as I left the workshop. As the son of the man who owned the linen shop, he was charged with overseeing the weavers. He watched me under the guise of his job, but each covert wink of his kohl-rimmed eye made me desperate for the next. My thirteen-year-old heart knew little of men and saw only the handsomeness of his face, not his heritage.

  Dragging my fingertips along the rough wall of a mud-brick house, I turned the corner. Blinded by the bright sun, I stumbled on an errant cobblestone, pitching forward, but hands grabbed me before I could slam into the ground.

  Blinking against the brightness, my maladjusted eyes registered only a black silhouette against the blaze of a blue sky.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I shaded my eyes with a hand, trying to place the familiar voice. The subject of my meandering thoughts stood next to me. My pulse pounded a feverish rhythm.

  “Thank you, my lord, I am fine. Just fetching a basket of food from our home.” I took a step, assuming he would release me. Instead, his grip curled tighter around my upper arm, his fingertips pressing into my skin. My stomach lurched as I braced for a rebuke.

  He laughed. I startled at the sound, and my bewildered gaze collided with his. Realizing my mistake, I dropped my eyes to my dusty toes.

  His grip loosened, but instead of letting go, he slid his hand down to my wrist, a note of humor in his voice. “Don’t scuttle away, little mouse. I will walk with you.”

  A jolt of confusion swept through me, and I once again looked up at him. Instead of anger or censure, there was a pleasant glint of appreciation in his eyes. He reached up and brushed aside the rebellious hank of hair that had drifted into my eyes, skimming my forehead with his finger. I had gathered my unruly curls against the back of my neck with a length of string that morning, but they refused to be contained.

  As my mind scrambled to keep up with my pulse, I shrank back. “That is not necessary, my lord. I know my way.”

  His bottom lip pushed out in displeasure, and he dropped his chin with a chastened look. “You do not wish my company?”

  Was Akharem actually interested in me? I understood the disdain Eben felt toward Egyptians after the horrific death of our father, but there were many kind Egyptians—such as my brother’s master, the owner of a musical instrument shop.

  Besides, Akharem was only a few years older than I was, and a few of my friends were already betrothed—one even expecting her first child. How could I refuse the company of a handsome man who showed interest in me? Especially one who appeared in my dreams every night?

  The streets of Iunu were deserted. Eben would never know. Allowing a small smile, I nodded. With a flourish, he gestured for me to continue on.

  The Hebrew Quarter was just as deserted as Iunu in the heat of midday. Those not working at the looms or making bricks for various building projects all over the city were taking a respite from the blaze within their homes.

  I unlatched the door to our home and stepped across the threshold, telling Akharem I would be but a moment to fetch the basket I had been charged with retrieving. Without a lamp lit in our tiny mud-brick home, it was dark inside; the lone high window had been shuttered against the heat. But the light from the open door trailed directly to the basket of barley cakes and dried fish I had accidentally left behind this morning. It sat on the floor near my sleeping pallet.

  As I reached out to grab the handle of the basket, the room went dark. Why had the door closed? My eyes searched the blackness in vain. An arm snaked around me from behind, locking me into a fierce embrace. A hand clamped over my mouth just as I attempted to scream.

  “No. No, little mouse. I would not do that,” he whispered into my ear as his fingers dug into my cheeks. “I can easily snap your pretty little neck.” His other hand moved to my throat with just enough pressure to affirm his threat.

  My eyes grasped for something to latch onto, but I could see only outlines and black shadows. My breath went shallow behind his smothering hand, and my pulse pounded in my ears. His iron grip tightened, and his voice rasped as he pulled in a heavy breath. “I have waited long enough.”

  His lips gazed my neck, and I cringed. This cannot be happening. What could I do? He was not very tall, but solid and muscular. I had no chance of escape. My mother and aunt were at the looms, my brother working at the musician’s shop, and my sisters being watched by a neighbor. No one would know that I was a captive inside our home.

  Why had I insisted to my mother that I would be fine walking alone today? Begged and cajoled to be trusted with a grown-up task? I whimpered, and the sound seemed to come from outside my body, from somewhere in the darkness that engulfed me.

  Akharem slithered his hand inside the neck of my tunic. Terror seized me in a grip of paralysis. I tried to call out, but my mouth was dry. Only a choked “please” passed my lips.

  “That’s right, beg, little one. I know you want me too. ” He swiped me off my feet with his leg and pushed me to the ground. I smashed my head against a jar as I tumbled down, but before I could clutch the bleeding wound, Akharem
locked both of my wrists in one of his hands.

  The Egyptian twice outweighed me and had me pinned to the floor. My mind reeled, trying to devise ways I could slip away, but my limbs would not comply. I was helpless and too terrified to fight back.

  His hot mouth came down on mine, and he kissed me fiercely. The sickening thought that this horrid man was the first to ever kiss my lips flitted through my mind, sparking a surge of courage. I did the only thing my disoriented mind could devise.

  I bit his lip, hard.

  He spat and cursed and slapped me, knocking my head on the hard-packed dirt again. I tasted blood; my head throbbed, and lights flashed behind my eyelids. The tie on my hair had come loose, and my long curls were wild, covering my face and pinned painfully beneath my body.

  Was he going to kill me? I was glad I could not see his face through the curtain of my hair. Without seeing the decision in his eyes, I could still hope my life would be spared, even if my heart whispered it would not.

  He yanked at my tunic, jerking it above my knees.

  “Please. Please don’t do this.” Useless tears stung my skin and slid into my ears.

  “Worthless little Hebrew. I’ll do what I want. You’ve been asking for this for weeks.”

  I lifted my eyes, blinking away the all-too-vivid memories of that day, but the shame clung to me like a noxious weed. Ayal’s jaw was stone, his nostrils flaring and every muscle taut, as if ready to attack. I flinched, leaning back against my heels. Would he hit me? Push me away and break the betrothal?

  “If I could walk back to Egypt this moment, I would find that overseer and . . .” His hands flexed, as if around Akharem’s throat. “When Eben told me that an Egyptian had forced himself on you, I had imagined many horrific things, but for that animal to blame you? For what he did?”

  My hands trembled. “You knew?”

  He placed his palms on either side of my face. “Of course. Your brother is an honorable man; he would not keep such a thing from me.” His sunlit eyes were pools of compassion. “But, Shira, I want you to know that it changed nothing. I wanted to marry you then, and I want to marry you now.”