THE SUMMER DAYS were long and leisurely. Not much was required of Shana, other than the household tasks. Rafael’s father was used to tending their small herd of sheep himself, and as the wool was sold, no further work was involved. This left Shana free to visit her mother and Beth regularly.
One hot afternoon, she chose the route through the village, being shadier than the path across the open field, although it took longer because one could seldom pass a villager without a chat. She ambled along, filled with a languid sense of well-being. Married life was wonderful and had not separated her at all from her sister as she had once feared. Beth’s brief relationship with Rafael when he had turned to her in his hour of need after his initial betrothal to Shana was annulled, had ended when it became evident to Beth that his heart still belonged to Shana. Beth assured Shana that it was easy for her to withdraw because Rafael was never meant for her. It seemed to have left no scars on either of them, but Shana knew it had not been easy for Beth.
Shana found her mother and sister indoors where it was cooler, and the three women spent the afternoon lolling on cushions, lazily enjoying each other’s company. After discussing the village news in detail, they began to reminisce about incidents from their past, laughing at Milcah’s anecdotes of the sisters when they were children.
“I remember little Beth coming to me with my shawl tied onto her head like a veil, dragging on the ground behind her. She announced that she was a 'bwide', and just then, the end of the shawl caught on the door and jerked her off her feet onto her back.”
“Oh, Mama, I wish you wouldn’t always tell that story; it makes me feel silly,” said Beth, flushing self-consciously.
“Nonsense, pet, you were just a sweet little girl playing a make-believe game, but Shana and I almost choked trying not to laugh. You looked so shocked!”
“And what was even funnier,” said Shana, “was that you got all tied up in the cloth, trying to struggle out of it, and screamed with rage, and right then Father came in with Rafael’s father. You were a picture of dignity as you rose up out of the mess and sailed out like a queen.”
“Well, I have a story about you too,” said Beth, cutting into Shana’s laughter, “but I’m saving it for when we next have a whole lot of guests to dinner.”
“Don’t you dare!” said Shana, “Or I’ll tell about the time you planted the beads off your necklace, and watered them too!”
“Oh dear, the sun’s almost down and we haven’t even started preparing dinner,” said Milcah rising. “Isn’t your husband expecting you home, Shana?”
“I suppose so,” Shana sighed, getting up and stretching. She hugged them both and wandered out breezily, smiling to herself as she dawdled across the field. Along the way, she stopped to pick a variety of dry grasses and then paused to enjoy the cool evening breeze and watch the mountain peaks turning mauve-grey beyond the bleached meadows. Dark smudges of forestry crept towards the edge of the village on long shadows, filling the air with the resinous scent of the terebinth. It was a glorious evening, too good to waste indoors.
By the time she got home it was almost dark. Rafael was standing at the door. He was not smiling.
“Where have you been?” he said.
“Just visiting; it got late without us realising. I’m so–”
“Is it too much to expect to have a meal prepared at the end of the day?” he demanded.
Shana stopped in her tracks and looked at him with her mouth hanging open. He had never spoken to her like this before.
He waited, glowering. She went cold. This man was no longer the loving husband who indulged her but wore the angry face of her father, frowning with disapproval and ruling over her like a high-handed despot.
The blood roared in her ears. “Make it yourself!” she snapped. She whirled around and stalked back down the path with an irrational urge to flee as if from danger. “How dare he?” she asked herself angrily. “This is the first time I’ve been late and he can’t even make a small concession. Does he think by marrying me, he can make me his slave?”
She strutted on stiffly with her head down, fists clenched at her sides, and hot emotions churning in her belly. She was heading towards the well but did not want to go there, didn’t really want to go anywhere as long as she could get away from him. She faltered, uncertain of what to do. She could not go back to her mother’s house – Milcah had made it clear before she married Rafael that nothing besides physical abuse would permit her to seek sympathy or shelter at her childhood home.
There was her friend Kyla, but she would feel very foolish having to explain why she had run out on Rafael. Kyla thought the world of him and Shana could just hear her saying, “Don’t be ridiculous. He is only grouchy because he’s hungry.”
She turned off the path and sat down on a rock where she could not be seen. She stayed there in the dark for a long time, seething inwardly, while the horrid concoction of fear, anger and guilt, topped with self-righteous pride, boiled inside her. She knew the Master was with her in Spirit, but because she could not see him, it was easy to ignore him. Perhaps he would take pity on her and make her husband see how much he had upset her. Eventually, she realised shakily that she would have to turn back home. But she would make her husband suffer so that he never treated her like that again.
Rafael was sitting in the armchair, stony-faced, staring at the lamp flame. The remains of yesterday’s bread, from which he had made himself something to eat, lay on the table. Shana walked past him into the bedchamber and pulled the curtain closed behind her. She flung herself down on the bed, curled up into a tight ball and began to sniff noisily into her hands.
Rafael spoke from the other room, “Shana, come and sit down here and let’s talk about this.” She ignored him and continued to sniff pitifully, wishing he would come to her, but he did not. She could see him through the curtain, still in the chair waiting for her. If only he would come and take her in his arms and tell her he was sorry, she would forgive him, and everything would be alright. She so much wanted him to love her again, but he didn’t care. He cared only about his stomach and having things done exactly when and how he wanted them.
He did not come. She started to feel hungry. She knew perfectly well that this was a huge, childish over-reaction, out of all proportion to the incident that provoked it, but felt completely entangled in a web of emotions. Finally, she began to pray.
Immediately a quiet question rose in her spirit, “Shana, do you feel he is rejecting you? Is that why you are so upset by his reasonable rebuke?”
She recognised the Master’s voice and pondered the idea for a while, allowing herself to see what he was showing her. Was she misinterpreting her husband’s mild displeasure as her father’s hateful disgust? It still hurt to remember how she had recoiled in shame and fear when her father raged at her for mistakes made in innocence, afraid, not only of his anger but of her own overwhelming desire to retaliate and scream in his face how much she hated him. Yet it was not really him she hated, so much as his power over her and her own helplessness.
The storm within her subsided and she lay miserably for a while, ashamed of her immaturity. Eventually she got up and went to sit on the stool next to Rafael. Before she could say she was sorry, he spoke. “I’m sorry I was harsh. I was concerned about you.”
“I’m sorry too,” she said meekly. “Mama, Beth and I got into the habit of not keeping to routines after Father died. He was always so demanding about dinner being on time that I suppose we all wanted to discard the rule when it was no longer necessary.”
“Come here,” he said, patting his knee. She climbed onto his lap and pressed her nose into the warm place between his neck and shoulder, feeling his pulse against her cheek. As a little girl, she had longed to snuggle into her father’s arms like this, but he had pushed her away roughly. When she grew older, she shrank even from his brief hugs of greeting or farewell, hating the unclean smell of his flesh. But Rafael had a pleasant manly smell that she loved.
She leant against him, breathing in his closeness and letting the tides of peace wash over her, humbly aware of how undeserving she was of such blessing. How different her story would have been had she not met the Rabbi Yeshua. What she had really deserved was–
Suddenly the entire memory unravelled in a high-speed succession of scenes: the shock of being discovered with Haziel and dragged before the Rabbi for judgement, standing terrified before her accusers, facing death by stoning for her adulterous crime; the overwhelming grace he extended to her at the moment of her greatest degradation, when his love and forgiveness touched her soul. But afterwards, the shattering loss of Rafael’s trust and devotion. And then pregnancy, the final blow!
Yet God had worked out everything for good by providing Haziel’s barren wife, Judith, with the child she longed for and restoring all Shana had lost. Her only regret was the sacrifice Beth had made for her sake by giving up her own chance of marriage. But the Lord would surely bless her too.