CHAPTER
Eleven

Four Years Later

Hadassah knelt at Levia’s bedside and placed a cool cloth on her head. The woman moaned but did not open her eyes. Oh Ima, why can you not get well?

Levia had contracted a fever weeks ago, right in the midst of their planning for Mordecai to approach Gad’s father. It was past time for Mordecai to see Hadassah wed, and Gad was a match she readily agreed to. Once the betrothal was sealed and announced to their small Hebrew community, the wedding plans could begin.

But Levia had taken ill before Mordecai could make the visit, and instead of improving, each day she had grown weaker. Though the fever had left, her body did not seem capable of gaining strength.

“Hadassah?” Levia’s voice sounded faint.

Hadassah leaned close. “I’m here, Ima.” She moved the cloth and brushed tendrils of hair from the older woman’s forehead.

Silence fell between them again, and Hadassah studied her ima, searching for signs of slowed breathing. Levia had taken to speaking in single words, calling a name or mumbling something others could not understand. Attempts to pour a little broth into her mouth only worked part of the time.

Please, Levia. Mordecai needs you. I need you.

But she couldn’t say the words aloud. What if Levia’s time on earth was nearing its end? What would Mordecai do without her?

Hadassah dipped the cloth in the tepid water again and placed it over Levia’s forehead. Levia shivered as though the water brought a chill. She blinked and met Hadassah’s worried gaze.

Levia glanced beyond her for a brief moment, then looked again at Hadassah. “Mordecai?”

“He has gone to work at the palace. You have been sleeping so long, and there was nothing he could do here.” Hadassah secretly wondered if Mordecai worked to escape impending loss. Levia had not noticed his absence until now.

“He will be home soon?”

Hadassah’s heart lifted. It was the most Levia had said in weeks.

“Yes, yes. Shall I fetch you some porridge to eat? You need to regain your strength.” Hadassah stood, then grasped Levia’s cool hand.

Levia nodded. “Help me to sit up.”

Hadassah rearranged the pillows behind her, then hurried to retrieve some leftover porridge she’d kept warm in a clay bowl near the oven. Mordecai had built them a new oven when Levia took ill, venting it through an open window in the cooking area.

She returned to Levia’s side, pleased to see her alert and waiting. “You’ve been ill for weeks. This should help.” Hadassah offered her a small piece of bread dipped in the thin barley porridge.

Levia took a bite, then another, but after the third swallow, she stopped. “That’s enough for now.” She offered Hadassah a smile, albeit a sad one.

“A little more later then. Soon you will be on your feet again.” Hadassah would believe for both of them because the alternative was something she could not accept.

“Yes. When Mordecai returns.”

“Shall I fetch him?” She suddenly needed to do something outside of the walls of this house, where she had stayed during Levia’s illness. “Will you be all right without me for a few minutes? It won’t take me long.”

Levia nodded. “Yes. That would be good. I will wait.” This time her smile held warmth.

Bolstered by the assurance that her ima was indeed on the mend, Hadassah donned her scarf and hurried down the cobbled street, past the market square, toward the city gate where Mordecai worked for the king. Even in the king’s absence, there was work to be done, though Hadassah could not imagine what her abba did with his time.

She approached the gate from the city’s interior and asked the guard to allow her to speak with her abba. Moments later, Mordecai hurried down the steps to greet her.

“Is it Levia? Is she . . . ?”

“She is awake and asking for you.” Hadassah beamed, joy filling her. Soon she would be betrothed, once Levia made a full recovery. If it were proper, she would run to Gad’s house and tell him so. But returning home with Mordecai must come first.

Mordecai turned and spoke to one of the guards, then walked with her toward the house. “She is better then.”

“She seems to be. She ate a few bites of bread and porridge. We spoke and she smiled.” Hadassah glanced at this wise man who had been her father for as long as she had known. What thoughts went through his mind? Should she mention the betrothal now that Levia was on the mend?

They turned the corner to their street and hurried along the path to the house. Mordecai burst through the door and rushed to the back room where Levia had lain for weeks. Hadassah remained in the sitting area, allowing him to spend time with his wife alone. The sound of muffled voices drifted to her as she sat, picked up her spindle, and worked the wool into thread.

At last Mordecai joined her. “She sleeps,” he said, looking slightly dazed.

“She is still weak.” Hadassah stopped the spindle and stood. “I drew you away from work too soon. Let me begin the evening meal while you rest.” She hurried to the cooking room and searched the jars for the few remaining vegetables she had picked earlier that week, poured lentils and barley into a pot of bubbling water, and added cumin and salt and rosemary. The bread would not be warm since she had baked it in the morning, but she had spent all of her time caring for Levia. Most nights Mordecai’s daughters-in-law brought them something to eat.

Hadassah finished and took the meal to Mordecai, who had fallen asleep among the cushions. He rarely slept long at night, so she hesitated to wake him.

He saved her the decision by opening his eyes. “You are ready?”

“Yes.”

He took the bread and stew from her hands, blessed it, and offered some to her. They ate in silence. At last Hadassah set some of the softest pieces of bread aside, dipped them in the stew, and stood. “I will take this to Levia. Perhaps she has awakened.”

Mordecai set his food aside and shook his head. He stood and took the food from her hands. “I will do it.”

Hadassah complied but still followed him into the room.

“Levia? We have brought your favorite lentil stew.” Mordecai spoke as if to a small child. Did he think his wife could not understand his normal tone?

Hadassah came around the other side of the bed and noted the shadow over Levia’s face. Dusk had fallen, so she lit the lamp.

“Levia?” Mordecai called again, louder this time.

Hadassah joined him and held the lamp near Levia’s face.

Mordecai sucked in a breath, the food slipping from his hands. Hadassah felt her face pale at the gray pallor of Levia’s skin.

Mordecai leaned over his wife to listen for breath. He took her hand, but it remained limp in his. “She’s cold,” he said, his words lifeless. He touched his wife’s face but drew back.

“Is she . . . gone?” Hadassah knew the answer, but she could not believe that Levia had been here only moments ago, eating and speaking with them, and then suddenly had gone to Sheol.

Mordecai released Levia’s hand and sank to his knees at her side, his voice a loud cry. He rocked back and forth and laid his head beside Levia’s body, weeping.

Hadassah’s tears came freely, but she could not keen as others did who mourned their dead. She set the lamp in the niche in the wall and backed out of the room. She must tell Mordecai’s sons, and the women must prepare the body for burial. This much she knew. And she could manage to do what she knew.

The trip to the burial cave was long, as Mordecai did not wish to bury his dead within the walls of a foreign city. Never mind that they could not travel to Israel. The caves outside of Susa would do. Levia would rest with Hadassah’s parents and grandparents, who had come into captivity more than seventy years before.

Hadassah stood beside her friend Jola, silent tears streaming down her face. Mordecai, his head covered in ashes and his robe torn, stumbled as he walked behind his sons, who carried the bier with Levia’s body wrapped in linens.

“I must go to him,” Hadassah said, glancing at Jola, then inclined her head toward Mordecai.

Jola nodded and followed. They came alongside Mordecai, and Hadassah grasped his arm. Mordecai gripped her hand and gave her a grateful look. He had wept in the privacy of their home, but here he staggered like a drunken man, his cheeks stained, his voice silent.

“It will be all right, Abba.” Hadassah bent close to whisper the words. By his look she knew he did not believe her.

The cave drew near, and Hadassah’s cousins set the body on the ground before they heaved the stone from the entrance. Fresh tears filled Hadassah’s eyes as they carried Levia’s lifeless body to rest inside. Mordecai broke free of Hadassah’s grip and followed his sons into the cave. Bitter wails echoed from inside the walls.

Hadassah stood, unable to move. Jola slipped her arm around Hadassah’s waist. Behind them the small Hebrew community wept. Was Gad among the mourners? But now was not the time to think about weddings or betrothals. Not until the time of mourning had passed.

Many moments later, Mordecai and his sons emerged from the cave. Mordecai looked out over the crowd, squinting against the sun’s setting glare. “Levia was a good woman.” His voice broke, and his Adam’s apple moved hard in his attempt to swallow. “She did much to help our community, and no better wife or mother exists in all Israel or Persia.” He paused, and though Hadassah thought the praise too much considering the other women in the crowd, she knew no one would fault him for saying such things on this day.

“We must never forget her,” he said. “May God receive her spirit.”

Hadassah’s cousins moved the huge boulder in place, the squeal of stone on stone drowning out Mordecai’s quiet weeping.

Hadassah again went to his side and helped him turn to walk back to the city. She glanced at the group of men and women, spotting Gad with his parents. A troubled look on his face made Hadassah blink. Was he sharing her grief? Or was there some other cause for his concern?

She briefly searched for some sign of acknowledgment of her in his obviously distracted look, but finding none, she turned back to Mordecai and focused on each step in front of her. If Levia were here she would ask her why a man might avoid meeting a woman’s gaze or seem preoccupied with something other than the loss to their community, to her family. His future betrothed’s family.

Had Levia’s death created a change in plans for Gad and his family? Could not Mordecai seek a future for her without Levia’s help? He would not keep Hadassah with him indefinitely. Her thoughts whirled, and guilt filled her for thinking about herself when she was still mourning the loss of her adopted ima. Yet a part of her worried. Nothing had gone right since talk of the betrothal began. Levia had taken ill soon after they’d begun their discussion of marriage.

Were Gad’s parents superstitious enough to think Levia’s death was a curse on Mordecai’s family? Nothing had yet been sealed between them. Hadassah wasn’t officially promised to him. So there was no reason they would think such thoughts.

How foolish you are, Hadassah, she chided herself. She trudged slowly beside Mordecai through the gates of Susa, which shut behind them just as the sun set. There was a time for everything, and this was the time to mourn. Not to worry about a future she could not control.