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Alma the Elder
Alma sat on the pole-platform bed, watching his wife, Maia, plait her hair. She did so expertly, having spent years in captivity as a servant to a Lamanite princess though Maia herself was the widow of a Nephite king.
In the early evening light, Alma still remembered the night he'd been reunited with her in the city of Helam. She'd been abducted along with twenty-four daughters of the Lamanites and had been forced to live under the malicious rule of Amulon. She'd come so close to being forced to marry the vile man. But the Lord had spared her, and only he could have brought Maia back into Alma's life. Each day he thanked the lord for this remarkable woman.
More than twenty years had passed since they'd escaped the traitor Amulon and fled to freedom. After Maia had borne their son, Alma the Younger, on their treacherous flight to Zarahemla, two daughters had followed—Bethany and Dana. They each had their mother's dark gray eyes and copper hair. Then Cephas, the youngest, came, and they named him after Alma's father. The young boy resembled Maia as well. Only Alma the Younger took after alma—and reminded him of his younger days.
In fact, his son reminded Alma too much of himself. Unfortunately. He sighed, exhaustion invading every part of his body.
Maia turned to look at him, as if she could read his thoughts. "Tired?"
Alma nodded as she crossed to him and placed her gentle hand on his shoulder. She rubbed his shoulders for a moment as he stretched his neck forward. She had been so melancholy as of late. He missed her singing, even her humming. The house had seemed so quiet since their son had left on that terrible night months before.
Tt was the next day that Alma noticed his wife had stopped singing to herself as she worked. Her voice had been legendary in her youth—in fact, her singing had earned her the title of queen when King Noah fell in love with the sixteen-year-old beauty and her melodic voice.
Maia's hands pressed a stiff muscle in Alma's neck, and he flinched at the sudden pain. She softened her touch, and he bowed his head as she worked on his neck. There was a time when Alma had closed his heart to this woman. She had married the king on the promise that her parents would be well cared for throughout the rest of their lives. But she had sacrificed everything for them.
King Noah had beaten his young wife into compliance, then when he grew tired of her, he took another woman to wife, adding yet another innocent to his collection of wives and concubines. Alma couldn't remember what number of wife Maia had been, but he'd seen the physical change in her over the months and years as King Noah snuffed out her light from within. And then her infant son had died at birth, and King Noah had threatened to kill her for it.
As one of the king's priests, Alma had risked his life to defend her in court, and it was then that he knew he was in love with the woman—a love that could earn both of them death by fire. He'd buried his heart to preserve them both.
And then everything had changed.
Abinadi came to preach in the city, and Alma's childhood haunted his dreams each night. Abinadi's words echoed that of Alma's father's, and Alma could not forget them.
Alma finally took courage the morning Abinadi was sentenced to death. But by then it was too late. Abinadi died in a wall of flames and smoke, and Alma fled from the city—away from his diabolical life. Away from his king. Away from even Maia.
He only returned to teach in secret and hundreds of believers joined him at the waters of Mormon, then followed him on to the land of Helam. He was unexpectedly reunited with Maia, by then a widow, and they married. When he finally led his people away from the city of Helam and their cruel taskmaster, Amulon, Alma vowed to protect his new wife with his own life—to never allow her to suffer, go hungry, be a slave to anyone, or to cry herself to sleep one more night.
But now their son was gone. Their beloved son—whose heart had turned cold, whose eyes had grown dark, and whose spirit had dimmed.
It was a moment before Alma realized his wife had stopped rubbing his neck and was sitting on the bed next to him. She stared ahead, silent and rigid.
Alma put his arm around her, feeling her soften a little. He kissed the top of her head as she burrowed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Do you think he'll ever return?" Maia whispered.
Alma stroked her arm. "He knows we love him. He'll come back."
She sighed against his chest. "I can't imagine what he must be doing or must be thinking right now. Where is he living? What if he's hungry?"
Alma wrapped both arms around her. "Our son could charm a beggar out of his last morsel. I don't think he'll be hungry."
"But what if he has no place to sleep?" Maia pressed. She leaned back a little and raised her eyes to gaze at him.
It hurt him more to see her pain than it did to think of his son's disobedience. Anger burned someplace deep inside as he thought of their son hurting Maia by his careless actions.
If only his son weren't so stubborn, so set on having things proved to him. Faith wasn't like that, and neither was the Lord. Following the commandments brought blessings, which reinforced the faith. His son claimed he'd done everything right for long enough—but that he still felt no confirmation, no answers.
"You claim to have heard the Lord's voice. Why haven't I?" His son asked. "I've been a scribe in the temple for three years—I've read every word of every so-called prophet. They were no different than I, no better than I, yet why does the Lord choose to speak to them?"
It was the same argument every day. There was nothing he could do to prove the Lord's existence. Understanding and realization came by faith, not by proof.
"Faith is believing in what you can't see or hear," Alma had explained as patiently as he could. The girls had long been in bed, and Maia had retreated when the argument began. This was no new argument, and Maia knew this had to be dealt with between father and son.
His son had folded his arms, his eyes dull with disbelief. "You use the Church to control the people."
"No," Alma said. "Belonging to the Church is the Lord's way. The right way."
"You mean your way. King Mosiah's way."
Alma couldn't explain it, but he just never had enough patience when his son argued this way. His anger never stayed buried for long when his son spoke like that. "You blaspheme against the very God who delivered your mother from the grasp of evil men! You blaspheme against the hand of God that preserved our lives so you and your sisters and brother could enjoy a life free from oppression and servitude."
His son had smiled at that—but it was a cruel smile. "You call living in this house, following your rules, working at your precious temple, a life free of oppression? I say you traded one oppressive life for another!"
Alma was on his feet now, his face hot with his frustration. He stood face to face with his son, who now exceeded him in height and strength.
"You think this is oppression? You have no idea . . . You claim to have read the accounts of our people—yet you are like a spoiled child who won't share one piece of sugarcane out of a pile with his sister. You've never known hunger, nor thirst, nor nakedness. You've never had to pray over a sick wife or watch a friend being attacked by the brutal Lamanites. You've never watched a true prophet of God being beaten with flaming sticks until his clothing caught fire and his flesh was consumed in a hellish inferno."
"Enough!" his son had shouted. "Save your ranting for your Sabbath congregation. Save your fear and damnation for them. The king has given you too much power to wield over the people—just because I don't want to worship as you do doesn't mean that I am wrong. I will no longer listen to you—Wo unto me who does not listen to the almighty high priest." He spread his hands wide and looked up at the roof. "May the Lord strike me dead if I am wrong!" He waited a breath, then threw a triumphant look at the man he was named for. "Nothing."
"Son," Alma pled in a hoarse voice. "If you would only ask the Lord for yourself, like Nephi of old. His brothers, Laman and Lemuel, refused to find out for themselves, and their hearts were forever—"
"Hardened. And they never forgave their brother for stealing them from their homeland. I know the story. You'll never let me forget their wickedness." His eyes bored into his father's. "And I'm sure Nephi never tired of putting them in their places as well. He told them they were selfish for wanting to return and claim their inheritance for their wives and children. No wonder their hearts were hard. I wonder if Nephi ever apologized for taking away his brothers' birthright."
Alma stared at him, stunned.
His son turned away and grabbed a robe that hung by the door. "I guess we'll never know—it doesn't say in all those records at the temple." He glanced over his shoulder, his face red with fierce determination. "I'm resigning my position as a scribe. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone who doesn't ask questions." He tugged the door open, then said without looking at Alma, "Tell Mother good-bye."
"I thought he'd be back after he calmed down. He always came back before," Alma whispered.
Maia's arms tightened around him. "If only I had intervened that night."
"No," Alma said. "He was too angry—more so than I'd ever seen before. He seemed determined to trip me up—find something to accuse me of. If he would have turned his verbal assault on you, there's no telling what action I might have taken against my own son."
Maia shuddered, and Alma pulled her closer. "We should be leaving soon. The girls will be waiting, and Lael is probably already here to watch after Cephas."
Maia nodded against his chest. "I don't want to face a crowd of people tonight. I couldn't eat a thing. Maybe I'll just stay here with my mother. "
Alma drew back and cupped her chin, seeing that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She'd had no appetite since their son's departure. Alma knew she felt the same as he—sick with worry. "We'll stay together, and if you need to depart early, let me know. I hope to ask King Mosiah if any of his sons have mentioned seeing Alma."
Maia's expression brightened. "He was such good friends with Ammon and Aaron. Maybe they can find out where he's living."
Alma stood from the bed, pulling up Maia by the hand. Looking into her sad eyes, he wished he could clear away the pain for her. He knew it would be hard for her to be around a family who was celebrating a betrothal—it was something that he and Maia had hoped for their own son. But over the years, he'd refused to consider any of the eligible women his parents had suggested.
"If only it were our son," Maia said as if she were reading Alma's thoughts.
"If only he weren't so stubborn, it might well be."
She touched his arm and leaned against him. "I think he's had his heart set on someone for a long time."
"Who?"
"The king's daughter."
Alma exhaled, considering the likelihood of Cassia and his son getting married. He'd watched her grow up, and she and her brothers had been playmates with his son throughout their youth. He shook his head. "The king would never allow it."
"That's what I assumed," Maia said in a soft voice. "and I think our son knew it as well." She turned from him and grabbed her cloak from a peg on the wall. "King Mosiah has always seemed to frown on our son."
"What do you mean?" Alma asked.
"He holds him to a higher standard—even more so than his own sons," she said, her voice surprisingly harsh.
Alma waited for her to turn around. "Our son should be held to a higher standard. He's been taught correct principles all his life."
"I know," Maia said, with a sigh of frustration. "But the king should expect his own sons to behave just as much as he expects ours to."
"I didn't realize—"
"It's probably something only a mother notices. I just have the feeling the king blames our son for any mishaps committed by his sons, as if ours has been the bad influence, and his have no willpower of their own."
Alma ran a hand through his hair. Maia might be right, but it was difficult for him to look at the king that way. He knew the man as a thoughtful and careful leader. In fact, Mosiah often came to Alma for advice, especially on spiritual matters. It was hard to imagine the king holding a grudge without having said anything over the years.
Feeling disheartened once again, Alma followed his wife from their bedchamber. There was no defense he or his wife could come up with for their son now anyway. He'd left the family and his position as a temple scribe. Mosiah knew about it right away, and he'd probably guessed the reason. Everyone, including Alma, had hoped his son would outgrow his wild youth, but it hadn't happened. He'd gone from a mischievous and wildly popular young man to closing himself off from the family, his mentors, and things of the Spirit.
His son's whole demeanor had changed, Alma realized. The light-heartedness had changed to bitterness.
Dana and Bethany rushed into the room, arguing over a scarf, nearly bumping into Alma.
"Mother," Dana said, "Bethany promised I could wear it this time."
Lael, Maia's mother, was close behind, her hands outstretched as if she'd given up. Maia cast a stern look at Bethany. "Did you promise your sister?"
Bethany's eyes shifted, giving just enough evidence needed by her mother. Reluctantly, she handed over the scarf to Dana, who promptly smiled and ran to the front door.
Maia kissed her mother. "Thank you for coming."
Lael's wrinkled face shifted into a smile. Cephas came from out of the cooking room, a honeyed treat in his hand and a grin on his face. "We'll have a wonderful time together, won't we Cephas?"
The boy nodded, his mouth full.
Maia kissed Cephas's sticky cheek. "Behave yourself for Grandmama."
Once outside, Maia linked an arm through Bethany's as the family made the short walk to the palace. "She always gets her way," Bethany grumbled. "Just because she's the youngest."
"Next week we can visit Cassia and have her teach us how to weave that pattern. I think Helam's wife taught it to her."
Bethany's countenance immediately lightened. "Raquel? All right." Within a few minutes, she'd joined her sister, and the two of them talked excitedly about the banquet.
Alma moved to his wife's side and took her hand. If only every complaint in their family were so easily solved. He pictured Alma as a youth and wished he could return to those seemingly carefree days. Parenting had seemed much easier then.
Maia's fingers pressed against his, and he squeezed back. "Are you ready for this?" she asked in a quiet voice as they neared the palace.
The front entrance was surrounded by flaming torches in the near dark, making the palace look even more regal. Though Mosiah and his family lived simply, the palace was still an impressive sight. Two guards acknowledged them and stepped aside so the family could enter. "The banquet is in the back courtyard," one guard said. The second guard escorted them.
Laughter and animated conversation reached into the gleaming halls as Alma passed through them with his family. The palace was beautiful, and having his wife and daughters by his side should have fulfilled Alma. But his oldest son had left a hole that seemed to grow deeper each day.
The pressure of his wife's hand increased as they stepped outside into the colorful courtyard.
* * *
Cassia
The music from the flutes in the garden courtyard seemed to float through the whole palace. When Cassia came into view of the back entrance, she realized she was one of the last to arrive, made more apparent when an expression of relief covered the queen's face. Cassia's mother and father stood at the gate of the garden courtyard, speaking with Alma the Elder and his wife.
Cassia immediately stiffened. Had someone seen her talking to Alma that morning? Cassia stepped into the garden, and her mother rushed over to her.
"Why are you so late?"
Cassia smoothed her braids, looking anywhere but at her mother, although she could feel her mother scanning her features. "You look beautiful, dear. Ilana has been waiting to introduce you to her brother."
Cassia nodded, though first she wanted to know what Alma's parents had been discussing with hers. The bites on her arms were still itching, a constant reminder of Alma. "Has Maia received news of her son?"
A flash of surprise crossed her mother's face, but she recovered quickly. "No, they've asked to speak to your brothers about it, but your father's worried that it will make Alma retreat even further."
Relief spread through Cassia. So they hadn't been discussing her and the bees, and it seemed they didn't know about Alma's sudden appearance. As her mother led her gently by the arm to where Ilana stood, Cassia glanced over at Alma's parents again. The concern on Maia's and Alma's faces made Cassia wonder if she should confess that she'd seen him this afternoon. No, she thought, they'll learn plenty from Aaron and Ammon, even more than I know about Alma.
"Cassia, this is my brother, Nehem," Ilana said.
Cassia focused her gaze on the man standing before her. He was about her height, and stocky—his build reminded her of her brother Ammon, yet without the definition. But Nehem probably didn't spend all of his time sparring, hunting, or building weapons like her brother did.
Nehem bowed, straightened, and grinned. His dark hair was cropped short, and he wore a necklace of quetzal feathers. He wore a single ring on his finger, and his feathered cape was of high quality. And he had a nice smile. His lively eyes held hers, as if he found something amusing.
"Welcome," Cassia said, matching his smile. "I hope you'll enjoy your evening."
"I'm enjoying it very much now," he said, smoothing the feathers against his neck. "Especially now that I've met the beautiful sister I've heard so much about."
"Oh, Nehem," Ilana said. She shook her head at Cassia. "He can be so comical."
Cassia laughed, then keeping up the pretense said, "Well, thank you very much, sir. It's a privilege to meet Ilana's fine brother."
"Call me Nehem, please," he said with an overemphasized wink. "All right, then," Cassia said, looking from Nehem to Ilana. "Have you tried the cacao drink? I tested it this afternoon, and I must say, it's delicious. I even added a few extra spices that will surprise you. You also might try the avocado paste; it's excellent with the roasted turkey."
Nehem raised both of his brows. "A woman who knows her food and drink. How refreshing." He held out his arm. "Lead the way. I'll eat whatever you recommend."
"Nehem!" Ilana said with mock horror. But Cassia saw her sister- in-law flush with pleasure. She must have a wonderful relationship with her brother.
Cassia stepped to Nehem's side and took his arm. She wanted to laugh at his silliness, but instead she kept a demure expression as she led him to the low tables bursting with food. "You must try the baked squash—I asked the cooks to glaze it with honey. Also the fried chili and mushroom mixture goes nicely with the maize cakes. The cooks dice the vegetables and simmer them together so their flavors blend."
"I wouldn't think a king's daughter would spend much time in the cooking rooms," Nehem said.
His question might have sounded demeaning to another girl, but Cassia heard admiration in his voice. "I don't think my parents know how much time I spend in there," she said. "but I do have plenty of free time, and that's how I usually choose to spend it."
"The servants must really appreciate your help."
Cassia pulled a face. "They are more my friends than servants."
"But of course," Nehem said with a generous smile.
Cassia could see the similarity between Nehem and his sister—both were so agreeable.
Nehem folded his arms, his gaze completely focused on Cassia. She felt her skin grow a bit warm with all of the attention. She wondered if he told every girl he met she was beautiful. "Tell me about your friends, then."
It was Cassia's turn to be surprised. No one had ever taken so much interest in how she spent her time. She told him about the ladies in the cooking room and their families. "Shuah is very good with herbs. She's teaching me about all the different spices. The men usually collect the honey, but they've let me watch a few times." She nearly clapped her hand over her mouth, then remembered that no one knew about the bee attack.
"What else do you like to do?" Nehem asked, his warm eyes intent on her face.
Cassia shrugged. "I suppose embroidery is all right. It just takes so long to get one design ready. When you cook, you can have a delicious meal within hours."
Nehem laughed and brushed her arm with his hand. "I can see why Ilana likes you so much. She has been talking about you ever since I arrived."
"Oh? Not about her betrothed?"
"Perhaps a little about Aaron," Nehem said in a sly voice.
Cassia surprised herself by laughing aloud. She quieted quickly,not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. She glanced around at the milling guests, but no one seemed to be watching them. Turning her attention back to Nehem, she said, "Tell me, what do you do with your days?"
His eyes lit with amusement, and he offered her another bow. "So inquisitive," he murmured. "I spend my days sitting on various councils throughout the city. Rather tedious compared to your activities, I must say."
She cocked her head. "Which councils?"
Nehem tapped a finger to his chin, exaggerating the time it took him to respond. "Nothing very interesting. Just the tax collecting council."
"You can't be very popular then," Cassia said.
"I get a lot of closed doors in my face. And a few curses."
She laughed.
Nehem laughed with her, his hand touching her arm again. "Someone has to be the enforcer." he lifted a shoulder. "I'd do anything to help your father, no matter how unpleasant."
His gaze was so endearing that Cassia felt a flutter in her chest. Before she could analyze it, he continued, "Another council I sit on is made up of men trying to establish peace between the unbelievers and the members of the Church."
"Oh. That sounds very interesting, and . . . challenging."
"Yes and yes," Nehem said, his eyes bright. "It's a problem that seems to have no solution as of yet. Many of the unbelievers choose to ignore the king's edict of peace. They can be a stubborn lot. We've created a guard that visits the leaders of each community and surrounding villages to explain the laws as established by the king. But the visits don't always run smoothly, so the members of the council sometimes have to get more involved."
Cassia nodded. "you must know my brothers quite well, then."
"Oh yes, Ammon and Aaron are on that particular council as well." He continued to explain one of their latest policies, but Cassia could only be distracted for so long, no matter how lively Nehem seemed to make his council work.
Her gaze kept straying to Alma's parents. For the most part it appeared that they were enjoying themselves. They moved from person to person, greeting and entering into brief conversations. From time to time, someone would pull Alma aside and ask a more serious question—she could tell by the man's furrowed brow and concentrated expression. As the high priest over all of Zarahemla, he was often in demand as much as the king himself.
Ilana and Aaron eventually drifted together. Cassia couldn't help but smile when she watched the two of them together. She could tell that they were maintaining formality in public, but there was a tangible tenderness between the two of them. A burst of laughter erupted through the gathering. Ammon's laugh was unmistakable, and Cassia turned to see what was happening.
Ammon stood with Alma the Younger's sisters, helping them catch fireflies. Cassia was about to cross to them and introduce Nehem when the shell trumpet sounded. The opening socializing was over. Time for formalities.
As everyone quieted to listen, Nehem leaned over and whispered, "I thought if Aaron was a brute around women, I'd steal my sister back. But even if he was, I think she'd stay just because of you."
Cassia felt her face go red. "You are too comical!"
He chuckled quietly.
Mosiah began his welcoming speech, and Cassia looked over to where her father stood, flanked by all four of her brothers. Ammon and Aaron were staring at her, and neither of them looked pleased to see Nehem at her side.