To Dwell among Cedars Page 27

  Could it be that Ronen was that man?

  When he spoke again, his tone was gentle. “May I see?”

  “See?”

  “Your hair.” His expression was meek, almost pleading. “You don’t have to, of course. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable. It is just . . . I have been going out of my head imagining what you look like without the scarf.”

  My pulse took flight as I weighed his words, searching for the truth of their meaning on his face and finding only sincerity there. Something told me this moment would change all the others to come, but I lifted my hands, slipped my fingers beneath the tucked-in end of my scarf and loosened its tight hold.

  With my eyes averted, I unwrapped my hair, allowing its heavy bulk to unfurl, the thick spill of it cascading over my shoulder, then held my breath as I allowed him to look his fill.

  “You are . . .” He paused, then, to my astonishment, he reached out and drew one of the golden waves between his fingers, slowly sliding down its length in the same reverent way he played his lyre. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered. “But I thought that even before you removed the covering. I would think that even if I was blind.”

  Astonished by his bold declaration, I jerked my chin up and met his eyes. “Even though I am a Philistine?”

  He took a step closer, his gaze traveling over my face in a leisurely way that made my palms go damp and my bones numb. “Because you are the woman the Creator made you to be, no matter where you come from or what you look like. I could never have guessed eight years ago, when I found you trembling behind that rock wall in the middle of a field, that I would want so badly to make you—”

  The clearing of a throat interrupted whatever Ronen was about to say, and both of us turned our heads to find Natan standing a few paces away, hands on his hips and wicked amusement in his eyes.

  “Not interrupting anything,” he said, flashing a grin of pure younger-brother mischief, “am I?”

  Thirty-Three

  Ronen

  For the first time since I’d known him, Natan had sought out my company of his own volition, asking me to help him build a charcoal mound, which told me that somehow I’d actually broken through some of his more stony defenses. It was a victory that was worth putting off everything else for another hour or two. Including the inevitable confrontation with my cousin.

  But even as I followed Natan on the muddy path toward the burned-out tree, my blood was still humming from my conversation on the roof with Eliora. I’d not meant to speak so boldly to her, nor to reveal myself quite so thoroughly, but last night had opened my eyes to more than just my lack of faith in the God Who Hears.

  I’d always known Eliora was devoted to her family, but I’d watched her rush about the household all evening, tending to everyone’s needs with downcast eyes, as if she were some sort of servant who might be whipped if she did not perform.

  When I’d realized that her determination to refuse help and to carry everyone else’s burdens upon her own back was more about fear than anything, I had not been able to control my mouth, desperate to make her see herself as I did and to stop pushing herself to exhaustion in the quest to prove her worth. When she’d surprised me by complying with my presumptuous request to uncover her hair, it had been all I could do to not drag her into my arms, regardless of what I’d been sent here to do.

  I’d spent many hours last night battling my rapidly escalating guilt over deceiving her family, which had been exacerbated by the quiet but unsettling conversation I’d had with her father. Tangled up with what Elazar had said about Samuel was the way my half-hearted prayer for rain had been answered so clearly, along with the soul-whisper I’d had about Natan’s future. And I could not stop thinking about how Eliora said her Hebrew slave in Ashdod had somehow known the Ark would one day rest within a grove of cedar trees.

  Had Abiram’s insistence that signs and wonders were a thing of the past—and therefore only the priests must be the source of guidance and wisdom—been based on faulty assumptions? Or worse, had my uncle deliberately misguided me for some reason?

  I’d been so wrapped up inside my divided mind as Natan and I made our way to the remains of Eliora’s oak tree that I was stunned to find myself standing in front of its carcass. My stomach twisted at the sight, and I was glad that she was not here to view the wreckage in full daylight. Years of her work undone in one night and all by the blackened husk of the enormous tree that had been such a refuge and comfort to her.

  “Where do we start?” I asked Natan, in order to distract myself from thoughts of his sister’s beautiful green eyes overflowing with grief at the damage.

  “Let’s cut up as much as we can before I start building the mound. Shouldn’t take long since much of the center burned away already.” Natan kicked at the charred trunk, and the bark promptly collapsed inward. “It’ll take me a few hours to build the mound, but I’d like to have the fire burning before nightfall.”

  I slipped my lyre from my shoulder to place it atop a nearby boulder and off the sodden ground. “I’ll help as long as I can, but I need to go rehearse with the others and then make sure all the instruments are ready for the ceremony tonight. Besides, my cousin will be wondering where I am.”

  “Are you avoiding him for some reason?”

  It was the first time Natan had asked something personal of me, and I was so shocked by the novelty of it that I answered without forethought. “I’m deliberating something that I’m not quite prepared to discuss with him.”

  He fidgeted with the ax in his hand, running a finger along one of its edges. “Risi?”

  “What about her?”

  He pinned me with a sardonic look. “I’m not a fool, Ronen.”

  I thought of the way he’d come upon us on the roof, and the knowing amusement in his mismatched eyes as he’d interrupted the moment in which I’d nearly lost my head and begged her to be mine, regardless of the cost.

  “No,” I said, acknowledging the truth. “No, you are not.”

  “Are you planning to approach Elazar soon?” He seemed to be gritting his teeth, bracing for the answer.

  “It may not be as simple as that,” I murmured, looking down at the crushed remains of Eliora’s flowers beneath the burned-out tree. She would be devastated when she saw how it had cut a path of destruction that may take years to restore to its former glory. Would my deceit cause the same sort of damage to the fragile thing that had been blooming between us?

  “What is difficult? You want her as a wife, do you not?”

  I did, even if I hadn’t fully admitted the truth to myself before now. The draw she’d had on me, even from the first time I’d seen her dancing at the wedding, was undeniable. And every moment I’d spent with her since then had felt like the unfurling of something far more precious and rare than the most exotic bloom Eliora had cultivated on this mountain—even when my intentions had been less than honorable.

  But how could I reconcile all that stood in our way? I could not possibly walk away from this mission. Not when Abiram had been planning all of this for so long. Not when doing so would mean letting go of both justice for my father and brothers and the return of the rest of my family. And yet the conversation I’d had with Elazar last night during the meal had made me question everything in a way I hadn’t before.

  It made me wonder for the very first time if perhaps I was on the wrong side.

  “There’s no need to worry,” said Natan. “It’s plain she would welcome the match.”

  “And how would you feel,” I asked, hesitantly, “if Elazar did accept my offer?”

  “I have no say over her decisions,” he said, his tone as severe as the edge of his ax. “And you certainly don’t need my blessing, so there’s no need to waste your time with me.”

  I flinched, taking a step backward. “What makes you think I’m wasting my time with you?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Again, Ronen, I am no fool. I thought perhaps . . .” He paus
ed and pressed his lips in a tight line for a moment before he continued. “Feigning friendship with me won’t change how she sees you, and Elazar and Yoela think you’re some gift sent from the sky for their beloved daughter. What is the point in waiting?”

  “Where did you get the idea that my regard for you is anything but genuine, Natan?”

  He replied with nothing more than a grunt as he crouched to untangle two limbs, cursing when they refused to submit to his harsh and jerky movements. I nudged Natan’s shin with my foot in a half-teasing, brotherly gesture. Scowling, he swiped at my sandal, but I would not let him get away with saying what he did and then shrugging me off.

  “Tell me, Natan,” I ordered. “What have I done to give you such a ridiculous notion?”

  “Nothing,” he said, aggravation practically spewing from his mouth as he pushed to his feet. “Nothing at all. But I know what comes next.”

  “Next?”

  “Gershom and Iyov moved on. Medad and his brothers moved on. Adnan and Padi have moved on. Even my own father . . .” He stopped, glaring at the dirt by my feet. “You’re no different. And I don’t expect you to be.”

  The words sounded as hollow as the gutted tree laying before us. Natan may look like a man, with muscled shoulders from hefting his ax, but he was still a boy who’d been left behind, tossed aside, and forgotten. I knew the feeling all too well.

  “I want your sister as my wife, Natan. It’s becoming more and more clear by the moment that she’s everything—” I cleared my throat—“that there is no one else like her in all the world. But that has no bearing on our friendship. I was impressed with you eight years ago, with the way you fearlessly took me on to protect her, even though back then I was the one who towered over you. And even though you are as prickly as a thistle more often than not, I see myself in you.”

  His brow furrowed, the ire seeming to drain from him.

  “I am just as much an orphan as you. My father is dead, my brothers are dead, and my mother took the rest of my siblings off to Naftali territory to live with her new husband. I understand what it’s like to feel untethered. Like you’re unsure if anyone truly cares whether you live or die. But this family . . .” I paused to take a breath and steady myself before saying more.

  “Elazar’s family truly loves you, Natan. They invited you and Eliora in without precondition. There is no hidden motive. No merit to be earned. And they certainly won’t cut you off if you step over the line—or they would have already. Gershom and Iyov may be busy with their training, but no matter how much grief you’ve given them—and I’m certain I only know a portion of it—they speak of you with affection that cannot be contrived. I would venture the two of them would go to the ends of the earth for you if necessary. And any so-called friend who cannot remain loyal in trial or pushes you to become something you are not was never a friend at all. And if miracles actually do happen and Eliora becomes mine, then I will be proud to call you my brother.”

  Both of us were stunned by my outburst. And I realized at that moment that I’d made a decision without even knowing it. How I would possibly explain that decision to my uncle, and what it all meant for the future, I couldn’t begin to consider. But I needed her. I’d been empty for so long that the only thing seeming to fill that void had been thoughts of restoring what had been lost to me—until Eliora reappeared in my life and made me hope for something I’d not even cared about before now. I wanted to know more of her, to build a future with her, to hold a life in my hands that we’d created together.

  I could see the skepticism on Natan’s face and knew he didn’t quite believe that I meant what I said. Remembering how we first connected all those years ago, I made yet another decision.

  Lifting my hand to my neck, I gripped the lion claw one last time as I thought of the moment my father had given it to me. He’d pressed a kiss to my forehead, reminded me that Yahweh was with me, and strode off to do the duty that would lead to his death, because he’d followed the leadership of men who claimed they spoke for Yahweh but actually spoke for themselves.

  “Here,” I said, slipping the necklace over my head. “I want you to have this.”

  He raised his palms in refusal as I held it out to him, eyes wide with surprise. Although my heart ached at letting it go, I knew for certain it was time. My father would approve. And Natan needed the reassurance.

  “You know what this means to me,” I said, shaking it so that the claw clattered against the wooden beads that were strung on either side of it. “I do not give it to you lightly.”

  He must have finally accepted my sincerity, because he turned his hand over and allowed me to lay it in his palm. I hoped he understood that I was not offering a charm against calamity but a vow of brotherhood.

  With a solemn nod, he slipped the necklace over his head and settled it in the center of his chest carefully, as if it were just as precious to him as it was to me. Then he folded his arms as he glanced away and cleared his throat, twice. My own was choked with emotion as well, so I decided to give both of us some relief by shifting the subject.

  “Now,” I said, deciding to test whether our unspoken vow would hold, “when are you going to tell me what you were doing out there in the dark that night Eliora was injured?”

  He blew out a hefty sigh, his chin dropping. “She saw me?”

  “Do you really think your sister would be off chasing the moon? As usual, she protected you by saying nothing.”

  My admonishment did not go unnoticed. Natan grimaced, hooking a hand around the back of his neck. “I . . .” He cleared his throat again. “I went to meet someone, but she wasn’t there, so I went back. I didn’t know Risi was behind me.”

  “She?” I pressed.

  He scratched at his scraggly beard, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “Shoshana. She said she needed to tell me something, but she must not have been able to get out of the house undetected.”

  I gave him a warning look. “Careful, young Natan. Angry fathers are not to be trifled with. And neither are innocent maidens.”

  “I mean to marry her someday,” he said, squaring his shoulders with a defiant lift to his chin. “I’d only planned to meet her for a few moments, hear what she had to say, and then escort her back home. I’d never put her in danger. Or Risi, for that matter.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “Your protective instinct was one of the first things I ever noticed about you. I know you wouldn’t do so purposefully.”

  “I haven’t seen her since then, so I still don’t know what she wanted to speak to me about. But with strangers wandering about up here, I won’t chance meeting her alone until I know for certain it’s safe again.”

  I tensed. “You mean whoever hurt Eliora?”

  He shook his head. “I went to pick a few more apples for Risi yesterday, and there was some man I’d never seen before in her orchard.”

  “Was he aggressive in some way?”

  “No,” he said, “nothing like that. He looked like perhaps he’d slept up there. And from the dusty pack he was carrying and the state of his clothes, he had to have traveled some distance. Mostly he was just . . . odd.”

  “How so?”

  “His hair was very long. Like nothing I’ve ever seen on a man before; his braid was even longer than Eliora’s, and she has not cut her hair for as long as we’ve lived here.”

  “A Nazirite, perhaps?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone who makes a special vow to Yahweh. They do not cut their hair, drink wine, or touch the dead. Usually it’s just for a period of time, but a few have been known to take a Nazirite vow for life. Like Samson, the shofet who was killed at the temple in Gaza.”

  He hummed absently, pondering the information. “Well, Nazirite or not, the man peered at me in such a strange way, like he was seeing me through a haze or looking straight through me to the other side. When I asked him who he was and what he was doing in the orchard, he was silent at first, acting as though he hadn’t heard
me and gazing off toward the east, like he was watching the sunrise. When he did finally speak, he made little sense.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said I was a wild branch. And that I shouldn’t fear the fetters that carry me off to sea, or some such nonsense.” He waved off the idea with a huff of laughter, brushing aside the statement.

  But all the blood seemed to drain from me as he spoke. I’d heard those words before—just two days ago, in the very same orchard—from Eliora. “He said . . . he said you were a wild branch?”

  He nodded, with an amused tilt of his lips. “Yes. He also said that when I stand at the watchtower and hear thunder from on high, my knee would bow to the true king.” He shook his head and chuckled.

  “What else? Was there more?” I pressed, my mind whirling, grasping for meaning.

  He huffed in annoyance and scratched his head in thought. “Something about my roots growing deep in the shadow of cedars?”

  “Which tree?” I asked, my breaths coming faster. Had someone heard Eliora and me talking about wild branches? But weren’t we in the tree when she spoke of living in peace in the shadow of cedars? No one could have possibly overheard that conversation so high up in the boughs. “Which tree was he standing beside when he spoke to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Natan responded with a shrug. “The sweet one, I think, with the yellow skin. The Naftali apple.”

  My jaw went slack as a number of things clicked into place, like a key turned in an iron lock.

  Although I’d never seen him in person, it was widely known that Samuel ben Elkanah was a lifelong Nazirite, a result of the vow taken by his mother even before his conception. Elazar had insisted to me last night that Samuel was a prophet of Yahweh, possessing a depth of knowledge that defied explanation, and here was Natan telling me that this stranger had spoken of wild branches and cedar trees in the same place Eliora had made the connections between her adoption and the process of tree grafting.