17

Micaiah pressed the basket against Adah’s back as she guided the mule eastward, out of the city, through the valley, and in the direction of Hebron. Zipporah did not reveal Othniel’s final destination, or if he would complete his journey in one day or many. Adah prayed he would stop in the border city before leaving the land promised to their forefathers.

She clenched the reins and did not flinch at the slight burn beneath her bandaged hand. How could Othniel’s father agree to years of servitude for his son? If Othniel had shared his plight, she would have petitioned the rulers for a lighter tax burden. Why did men have to be so proud?

“Look for any lone travelers,” she said to Micaiah. Lord, help me find my friend.

While the mule clopped onward, she willed Othniel to appear. He had to be found. She scanned the people on the road, searching for the confident, easy gait she had grown accustomed to having at her side.

Micaiah tapped her shoulder. “We should rest the animal.” He pointed toward an oak tree off in the distance.

The shade beckoned, but a delay was her enemy. Although, if the mule pulled up lame they would never catch Othniel.

“Let’s go a little farther before we rest.” She prodded the mule onward and surveyed the road ahead.

Tugging on her garment, Micaiah said, “But the shade is here.”

Her muscles wound tight like yarn on a spindle. He’s young and weary. She blew out a breath. “Hold on and we’ll trot over.”

As they drew closer to the oak’s drape of limbs and the shadowed ground beneath, a form camouflaged by the sprawling roots came into view.

“It’s my brother.” Micaiah wiggled like an unearthed worm. “Hurry!”

She kicked the mule and dipped under a low-lying branch, all the while her heart sped faster and faster. Could it be? Spying the form, her spirit soared. She knew that slumped head with its dark, unruly curls. If only she was lying beside him, feeling the tickle of his breath and the brush of his body.

Dismounting in an instant, she grabbed the basket from Micaiah and left him sitting high on top of the mule.

“Othniel.” His name caught in her breaths. She knelt beside his bared calves, her knees skidding on the packed soil. “Wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open.

She patted the side of his face. The bliss of finding her friend waned when she observed the haggard circles camped under his eyes. “You are weak. I have worked you too hard.”

“You, no.” He sat forward as if called to attention. “Telem, maybe.” He tucked a wayward ringlet under her head covering.

Even though his touch was but a wisp of a caress, it awakened all of her senses.

“I would say I am dreaming, but I remember scouting this tree for a short nap.” His eyes held that hint of tease that she loved. “What are you doing so far from the city? You should not be here.” He glanced about as if soldiers lay in wait.

“Of course I should.” How could he think of her safety when he was the one sent from his home? She unfolded the cloth surrounding the bread. “I promised you something to eat. You rushed off without even saying farewell.” She swallowed hard and tried to hide the hurt cinching her throat. Shaking her head, she said, “Now I am traipsing the desert to be true to my word.”

He beheld her as if he truly thought she was a vision. “I know you too well.” He stroked the weave of her basket, but the palm of his hand caressed her knee. “You would not be satisfied with my leaving.”

Handing him a piece of bread, she said, “Then come back to me. I will do more. I should have done more. My father can persuade Rephaiah to lower your taxes.”

“My father will not accept food from Shallum’s table, nor a plea for leniency.” He bit off a piece of bread. “What would happen the next time the taxes were due? Is my family to receive pity from another ruler?”

Micaiah approached slowly, as though he expected a reprimand from his brother.

Othniel reached out and waved him forward. “I should gift you silver, my brother, for protecting Adah. Come out of the sun and eat with us.”

“You are not angry?” Micaiah focused his attention on an uncovered sweet cake.

“Of course not.” Othniel finished the last of his bread. “Now I can thank you for doing my chores. By next year, you will be as tall as me.”

“No.” Micaiah shook his head. His dusty cheeks curved into a grin. “By the next moon.”

A bold laugh burst forth from Othniel’s chest. If only she could join in, but the thought of his absence was like a stone wedged against her heart. Her friend rose and hugged his younger brother, sending the boy off to the mule to fetch the larger waterskin.

“When will you return?” Her words were but a wisp. She shifted her weight onto her hip. Comfort would not stop the panic seizing her lungs.

Hands on hips, Othniel watched his brother untie the skin. “Six years. Micaiah may be betrothed by the time I return.”

Six! The tide behind her eyes threatened to come to shore and stay. She was glad he did not turn around to bear witness to her grief. Why couldn’t Othniel’s family have bartered for one or two years of servitude?

“Where will you serve?” Jerusalem was the only answer that would settle her stomach.

“I go to Hebron and in a few days, to Kadesh-Barnea.”

“Say it isn’t so.” She sprang to her feet. “One more step and you will be in Egypt.” How could his father even consider such an arrangement? “The people to the south do not serve our God.”

Othniel’s stare became as unyielding as baked clay. “I only pray to the One True God.” Adah beheld Othniel and his faith radiated from his stare. “I will mumble my prayers in my heart if need be. My family’s honor is at stake. We must hold onto the land that has been passed down through generations. I do not intend to abandon my God.”

Where was God? Why did He abandon Othniel? And why did God withhold the rain? Couldn’t He see how His people suffered?

The clatter of wooden cups and the trudge of Micaiah’s sandals interrupted her troubled thoughts. Kneeling to pour drinks, the boy eyed the basket of food.

“Have a raisin cake.” Othniel offered his brother the largest treat. “I only need a half. My path is away from the city. You may have to fight our enemies.”

Even under the shade of the grand oak, heat swept through Adah’s being. “What can I do?”

With a slight shake of his head, Othniel licked his lips and sipped the water his brother had brought.

She shifted closer and stood by his side. Othniel was present for the moment, and she would bathe in this cool shade with him now. “Tell me. I will petition even Nehemiah. Surely the governor could lower the burden on your family.”

“And what of all the others struggling under the weight of the king’s taxes? Can all the hardship be removed? My brothers must provide for their wives and Micaiah is too young to send away. I must serve so our land is secure.” He swallowed the last of his drink and brushed his fingertips over her sleeve. “It is too late. You must carry on and build the wall. Honor your father’s name as I honor my father’s wishes. Be that brave and courageous woman who saved my vineyard.”

His caress of her chin was but a brush of a breeze, but it thundered to her toes. Grasping his hand, she held it between them as if they were bound together. What would she do without Othniel’s encouragement? Her chest pulled tighter than the leather atop a drum. “But you will be back.” Her throat ached with every word spoken. “You cannot stay in a foreign land with foreign women.”

“Tomorrow is not for certain, but I will always remember traipsing through the countryside with you.” He lifted her necklace and fingered the beads. “You are my shining chrysolite gem, and I am your sandalwood.”

“Don’t say such a thing. You mean more to me than a thousand gems.” She squeezed his clasped hand. “God will protect you, and you shall return to Jerusalem. To me.”

“My future is not my own, I—”

“Are there more raisin cakes?” Micaiah asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.

She shook her head and gave a quivering smile. “I have some in Jerusalem.”

Othniel slipped away and wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Take care of Adah and get her home safely.” He scrubbed a hand over the boy’s head wrap.

Adah turned away from the young boy’s frantic embrace of his brother. Biting her tongue, she tried to keep the threads of her composure tightly knotted.

On the road, a caravan approached. The camels trudged in the direction Othniel headed. Her friend would travel safer with families around.

She picked up the cloth with the uneaten bread inside. Oh how she wished she could place a feast in his basket. Instead, she removed a pouch of cinnamon from her belt and added it. Not only would it flavor his bread, but just maybe it would remind him of her.

“You must take this food.” She concentrated on her friend’s need for nourishment and not on Micaiah’s ruddy face. Her hands shook as she fumbled the flap of Othniel’s satchel. “I made this for you.”

Looking up as he helped her place the bread in his leather pack, their gazes met and lingered. How could she have been so short of sight? All the time they had spent together crossing streams and groves in search of new blooms and new scents, her greatest find was standing right in front of her.

“You are my fragrant flower,” he whispered.

“I will wait for you.” Her reasoning rushed forth in a desperate plea. “I will talk with my father…”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “And your father will not allow it. Not with all the uncertainty. What can I offer a ruler’s daughter?”

“Everything.” A tear branded her cheek. “We must believe God will act.”

“You must believe. Finish the wall, so one day if I return I can tell anyone who will listen how we stacked those stones.” With a quick glance toward the caravan, he kissed her forehead. “Shalom.”

Before she could reply, he sprinted southward, joining the procession of wagons, animals, and travelers.

Adah gripped her empty basket and squeezed her eyes shut, branding the caress of his lips into her memory. Never once did Othniel turn around. And never once did she try and stop him.