Five years later
The first bright rays of the sun streaked across the sky, turning the thin layer of high clouds a delicate pink. Miriam paused along the stone path leading to the well as she surveyed the rugged hills on the eastern horizon. The clouds reminded her of the tails of horses running in the wind. In spite of the colorful sky, she was certain there would be no rain today; the clouds were too high and wispy.
Just as she’d done nearly every morning for the past ten years, she lowered the bucket into the black hole until she heard the familiar splash. After waiting a moment for it to fill with water, she raised the bucket, hand over hand, and set it on the edge of the well. She watched as water ran down the sides and coated the rocks with a thin layer of moisture.
The cool morning air felt luscious on her face, and she sat down next to the bucket, not caring that little rivulets of water would eventually find their way to the gray fabric of her robe. The sun painted the sky with its colors, and the air was so still not even the spiderweb in the bush beside her fluttered. Everything was peaceful, and she reveled in it. This was her favorite time of day—time for herself, time to reflect, but most importantly, a time to thank Jehovah for the miracles and blessings in her life.
In the five years since Gideon had been gored and Elisha had invoked the powers of heaven to heal him, not a single morning or evening passed that she didn’t pause to give thanks to God for sparing her husband’s life. And this day would be no different. Folding her hands in her lap, she bowed her head and said words that came from the very deepest reaches of her heart. They were simple words of gratitude and thanks. Always first was to thank Him for restoring Gideon’s life, followed by thanks for her children. And somewhere in her words was the ever-present plea for protection and safety.
Lost in her devotion, she didn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind her. Seeing her head bowed and hands folded, Gideon stopped a short distance away and stood motionless, not wanting to disturb her. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of the faith and strength of his wife. Protective and ferocious as a lioness when someone challenged her family, she was the essence of charity and kindness to those in need of help. It was an odd combination that made her ideally suited to life on the fringes of the Jewish frontier.
Miriam raised her head and took a deep breath of the sweet-smelling morning air.
“Good morning,” Gideon said as he stepped to her, placed his hand on her shoulder, and kissed her lightly on top of her head.
Miriam reached up, took his hand in hers, and kissed it. “Good morning to you,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Too well, I’m afraid. I don’t think I heard a sound once my head hit the pillow.”
“I’d say that’s true,” she said with a smile. “And judging from how loudly you snored, I don’t think you could have heard a pack of wolves if they had been howling outside our door.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Oh, I nudged you—several times. And each time you rumbled about and immediately began snoring again.”
“Sorry,” he said, genuinely chagrined.
“I’m used to it. But one of these days, I’m going to send you to sleep with the sheep. No wolf or lion would dare come near with all the noise you make.”
Gideon sat down beside her. “I think you should take a nap today to make up for all the lost sleep I caused.”
“Oh, you do, do you? And who’s going to wash your filthy robe and cook your meals and take care of our children while I’m napping? You?” she said teasingly.
“The children are old enough to take care of themselves, the dirt on my robe will be there tomorrow, and we can eat some goat cheese with the bread that you baked yesterday. See, it’s easy; you can take a nap.”
Miriam gave him a gentle shove. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She paused. “Gideon,” she said with a sudden seriousness, “will you tell me something honestly?”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“No, but sometimes you don’t always tell me the whole truth either,” she replied.
Gideon smiled at the remark. “What do you want to know?” he asked, inclining his head slightly toward his wife.
“What do you hear of the armies of Syria?”
The question caught him off guard, and he cautiously asked, “What do you mean?”
Miriam turned to face him and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Yesterday at the market, I stopped to buy figs from Hulda.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows at the mention of Edrei’s biggest rumor monger, but he said nothing.
“She said some of the other women have been told by their husbands about problems with Syria.”
“What kind of problems?” Gideon asked without emotion.
“Not invasions but little skirmishes, instances where soldiers raid a house on the outskirts of a village and then disappear.”
Gideon looked at Miriam and knew what was troubling her. Probably no one lived further on the outskirts of Edrei than they did, and Edrei was on the extreme edge of the Syrian and Jewish border. They were the most remote of the remote, and she knew it.
As they sat with the morning sun warming their backs, Gideon debated what to say. Should he tell her he knew all about the attacks and try to pacify her by telling her the stories were overblown? Or should he tell how he had bought three new steel bows and placed them strategically around the house and outbuildings? Would she like to know that he’d been making dozens of arrow shafts from the straight wood of the cedar trees surrounding their home and that he had traded some grain to the metalsmith in Edrei for bronze arrow tips and that he’d gathered chicken feathers for the fletching? And how would she react if she knew that, for weeks, he’d been teaching kindhearted Hanan, the boy who wouldn’t kill a scorpion, how to shoot a bow with the thought that he might one day have to kill a man? And that while Caleb lacked the strength to draw the bows, he was becoming deadly accurate with a sling and had amassed a large supply of smooth, almost perfectly round stones.
It was impossible to hide Uzzi’s skill with a bow; he practiced constantly and was always bringing home a roe deer or chucker he had killed. But would she find comfort knowing he could now outshoot Gideon? Just last week his son laughed when Gideon couldn’t kill a darting rabbit at fifteen paces, and to prove he was a better shot, Uzzi waited until the rabbit was almost thirty paces away before he said, “I’ll shoot him through the eye,” and then did exactly that. Should he tell her that he had purchased a sword made of Damascus steel for Uzzi and that the boy could swing it with deadly force?
Finally he said, “Miriam, I’ve heard the stories. What can I tell you that will lessen your anxiety?”
Miriam quickly replied, “That we’re moving to Jerusalem!”
The statement hit Gideon like a bucket of cold water. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Are you that frightened?”
Miriam turned her face from him and looked pensively down the valley toward Edrei. Letting out a slight sigh, she said, “Gideon, I nearly lost you once, and the thought almost made me want to die. I couldn’t bear to lose you or the children.” Waving her arm in a sweeping gesture, she said, “None of this—everything we’ve worked for—is worth what you and the children are to me. I’ve been wondering if we should leave here now before . . .” she hesitated, “before . . . anything happens.”
An avalanche of thoughts swept through Gideon’s mind. In the ten years they had lived in Edrei, their few sheep and goats had grown into a herd of more than a hundred. The two acres they had first planted and harvested had expanded to more than twenty acres. The house had been enlarged and furniture added. But more than all those things, their home had become a retreat for the prophet of God. Two or three times each year, the prophet came and stayed with them, sometimes for only a day but often for a week or more. His presence blessed their home and their lives in ways they could never count. It was not the idle rumors that floated about the marketplace that caused Gideon to prepare for possible Syrian attacks; it was the endless warnings Elisha gave to the people of the Northern Kingdoms. A hundred times Gideon had heard the man of God warn, “Repent or be destroyed.” On those sacred occasions when Elisha came to their home, his very presence seemed to make the powers of heaven settle over them like a warm blanket. But there was another, deeper concern that entered Gideon’s mind, and that was for Gili.
Gideon had watched his delicate little daughter grow from a child with innocent faith to a ten-year-old maiden whose faith knew no bounds, and he was certain it was because of her relationship with the prophet. There was a bond between the two that was deep and abiding. While the rest of them might tire of his teaching, Gili could and would sit at his feet for hours as he explained the things of God. She would ask questions and ponder his answers. For her, a move to Jerusalem or any of the cities in the south would mean severing ties with Elisha, and that would be heart-wrenchingly difficult. Gideon knew the reason he was still alive was because of her unquestioning faith in Elisha.
“If we move, what becomes of Gili and her relationship with Elisha?” Gideon asked.
Miriam brushed her hand through her hair. “It will be hard for her in the beginning, but she’ll adjust.”
Gideon folded his arms across his chest, looking out at the fields of wheat and the sheep grazing among the cedar trees. After a long silence, he looked at Miriam. “What if we don’t decide now? We can wait until harvest and see how things are. If there continues to be unrest with Syria, then we’ll leave. Will that be soon enough?”
Miriam mentally ticked off the three months before harvest time, and a sense of foreboding settled on her. “Can we leave sooner?”
“We can leave tomorrow if we want, but I’d prefer staying until harvest. That would give us more money. It would make more sense.”
Miriam slowly shook her head as the oppressive feeling thickened about her. “I think we should leave sooner.”
Gideon began thinking about the money they would lose by abandoning their wheat crop. He thought about the sheep and goat herds and knew it made more sense to sell them to people in Edrei rather than herd them to a new city. But doing so at this time of the year meant lower prices. He turned and studied Miriam’s dark eyes and the stress lines in her face. Weighing it all in his mind, he licked his lips and said firmly, “Let’s wait until harvest.” And then in a gentler tone, he added, “I promise I’ll be even more vigilant to the rumors about Syria. If at any time it seems that we might be attacked, we’ll leave immediately.”
Miriam slowly rose from the well and placed a large clay pot next to the full bucket of water. Lifting the bucket she dumped the water into the pot, spilling as much as made it into the pot. Turning to Gideon she said ominously, “I hope that’s not too late.” Then cradling the pot in her arms, she marched to the house without waiting for a response.