Deborah’s neck hurt from sleeping in a tense position. At any moment during the night, she’d fully expected to be awakened with the news that Barak’s family had arrived. But dawn was nearly here. The darkness of her bedchamber had softened to an inky gray, and the first sounds of the birds told her the sun was only an hour from tipping the horizon.
She rubbed the ache in her neck, then cast off her rug. She pulled on her warmest robe and left her bedchamber to start the cooking fire in the kiln. When the men awoke, ready to begin their search, she’d have fresh honey cakes for them.
But first, she’d make sure the courtyard fire had been put out. Soon after Lapi had thanked her again, her brothers had come into the courtyard and put together a plan to keep watch over the fire during the night.
As she stepped into the courtyard, she saw that Lapi was sitting in the same place she’d last seen him the night before. Hadn’t he left? As she approached, she knew he was asleep. His arms were wrapped around his drawn-up knees, and his forehead leaned atop them.
The fire smoked, and although no flames could be seen, most of the wood had been reduced to red coals. The gray of the early morning was softening to violet, and a gentle breeze curled the smoke into the air in a slow dance. If she poured water over the coals, the hiss would surely wake Lapi. Deborah stood for a moment, regarding him, knowing she was watching him in a private moment.
But before she could turn away, he raised his head.
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Lapi rubbed a hand over his face, then blinked his eyes a couple of times. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Deborah stared at him. “You were out here all night?”
Lapi nodded, then he rose to his feet, and Deborah looked away as he stretched his shoulders. She was around men all the time, but every action of Lapi’s drew her attention. Her gaze strayed again. His hair had come out of its leather tie, hanging loose to his shoulders, and she watched him absently push it back.
“I was about to put the fire out,” Deborah said. “I’ll have honey cakes ready soon, so by the time everyone wakes—”
“Deborah.” Lapi cut into her monologue.
She looked up at him because he’d walked over to her side of the fire ring. “I can put the fire out. You don’t need to do everything.”
The deep brown of his eyes was trained on her, and it wasn’t its usual intensity that she had come to expect. This close, she saw a lighter, warmer brown within the deeper color. This close . . . she shouldn’t be standing so close to him because she could smell his scent of earth and sage.
“All right,” she said in a whisper. What was happening to her? Her stomach felt fluttery, and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers along his arm. To hold his hand. To tell him she didn’t like him so worried and tired. But she did none of those things. She moved away, then walked across the courtyard and stepped into the tent.
Lapi said nothing else, but she could feel his gaze on her back.
It didn’t take long to mix up a batch of honey cakes, and moments later, she had them baking in the kiln. She heard the rumbling of the men’s voices as she picked up a wooden bucket, then headed out to the goats’ pen to fetch goat’s milk. She’d start the cheese processing since she hoped they’d have plenty of guests for supper—and she wanted to be able to provide more nourishment than barley and vegetable soup.
When she returned to the cooking room, the honey cakes were golden brown, and she removed them from the kiln. She gathered a bowl of olives and dates, as well as two oranges her father had brought home from the village market a few days ago, a real delicacy.
She carried the dishes out to the main tent area and set them on the low table.
Abner came into the room. “Lapi tells us you’re going to watch the ridge.”
“Yes, I want to help.”
Abner studied her for a moment, and she hoped he wouldn’t tell her no. But then he said, “Our signal is three long whistles. I don’t want you out of sight of the homestead. The animals still need to be watched over.”
Deborah’s heart leapt. She was being allowed to help. “All right.”
“And if we are too far to respond to your whistles, build a fire in the courtyard,” he said. “The smoke will signal that we need to return in all haste.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “If anything happens, give us the signal.”
Deborah frowned. “What else could happen?” When her brother didn’t respond immediately, she said, “Tell me, Abner. I’m not a child.”
He clenched his jaw, then sighed. “When Father went to the village market a few days ago, he overheard more than one tale of a woman who can fight off lions.”
Deborah’s eyes widened. “They mean me?”
Abner nodded. “I don’t know who started the rumor, but it will keep you on the minds of the Canaanites you ran out of our valley.”
Deborah didn’t know what to think, what to say.
“There’s more to that rumor,” her father said, coming into the tent with Chaim. “The story of how you escaped two dozen soldiers and then sent them fleeing in fear for their lives has also spread and grown.”
“How can anyone know what I did?” she asked. “Was it the elders?”
“The elders or the soldiers themselves,” her father said. “We don’t exactly know, but what you did has become its own legend. The elders want to pay a visit in the next few days to discuss with you exactly what happened. They are fearing that other people might come to the village, intent on seeing the lioness-woman herself.”
Chaim laughed. “Fearing? You mean the elders are anticipating. They think trade will increase, and they’ll be able to meet their tax obligations to the Canaanites.”
Deborah sank onto a nearby cushion. She didn’t want any attention. She didn’t want her life disturbed.
“Whatever the case, Deborah, your name is being heralded in many circles,” her father said, crossing to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but the elders might request your presence at the next village festival to tell the tale yourself.”
Deborah tried to let the information sink in. She liked her quiet life here in this valley, upon her homestead, with her family. “I’d rather not go to the festival, and I’d rather not become a storyteller.”
Her brothers and father exchanged glances.
Deborah straightened. “What?”
“Whether you go to the festival or not,” her father said, “interest in your story will continue to grow. The Israelites across the nation are desperate for a story of hope. Which is your story.”
“It will also draw the attention of the Canaanites,” Lapi said, coming into the room.
Deborah looked over at him. He stood in a wide stance, his arms folded.
“True,” her father said in a humbled voice.
“Do you think that’s wise, then,” Lapi continued, “to have her act as a traveling storyteller?”
Chaim stepped toward Lapi. “Father was only suggesting that she share the story at the festival and—”
“I heard the suggestion,” Lapi cut in, his voice tense. “And it puts Deborah in a dangerous situation.”
Deborah went still. Lapi was outright arguing with her brother and father—interfering in their family business. What was going on?
Her father stepped between the two men and rested a hand on Lapi’s shoulder. “Now, my friend, no one here wants to bring any harm to Deborah.”
Lapi didn’t relax, and neither did Chaim.
“Why are you so concerned, Lapi?” Chaim ground out in a tone Deborah rarely heard from her easygoing brother. “Don’t you have your own family to worry about?”
No one in the room moved or spoke.
Lapi merely held Chaim’s gaze, not backing down and not apologizing.
Then Chaim looked over at Deborah, and in his eyes, she saw that he was about to guess why Lapi might be protective of her. Deborah felt lightheaded at the idea of Chaim finding out that Lapi had proposed marriage.
Before her brother could speak, her father said, “We should prepare to start our search.” He turned to Deborah. “We’ll be at the stables.”
Deborah nodded, unsure of what to say, if anything. Her father and brother left, and Lapi turned to follow them, except he paused by the tent door, looking back.
For an instant, she thought he might say something, but in the next moment, he disappeared outside.
Deborah exhaled. What had just happened? What was Lapi thinking, interfering in the business of her family? She glanced about the room, trying to refocus her thoughts. The food on the table had remained untouched. Were they really going to leave with no sustenance? She hurried to the cooking room and wrapped the honey cakes in separate squares of cloth.
She left the tent again, and this time, she headed directly for the stables. Abner had joined the other men with the horses. They’d tied waterskins to the horses, which told Deborah they were prepared to be gone all day, if necessary.
“Wait,” she said, approaching the men. “Take these cakes with you.” She handed the first one to her father, then the next to Abner.
When she reached Chaim, she avoided his gaze, because she didn’t want to see the suspicion or knowledge in his eyes. It was hard enough to keep the secret of Lapi’s proposal, so if one of her brothers suspected, it would all be brought to light. She didn’t know what her father’s reaction would be—he’d probably send Lapi away. And Deborah would never see him again.
Lapi was next, and by the time she reached him, he’d mounted his great beast of a horse. She held up the wrapped honey cake, and his fingers brushed hers as he took it from her hand. Deborah was aware that Chaim was watching them closely, so she stepped back quickly and turned to her father.
“I will be along the ridge,” she told him, “awaiting any signal that might come.”
Her father nodded and thanked her before he mounted his own horse.
Deborah walked toward the courtyard as the men set off, each in the direction they’d already discussed the night before. She paused by the low stone wall. She needed to resupply her arrows, then bring her own sustenance to the ridge. But for the moment, she watched Lapi as he guided his horse up the hill that led away from their homestead.
As she watched him, her heart felt both light and heavy. Light that perhaps he did truly care about her, and heavy that he was a man she could never marry. And if, by some miracle, her father did allow her to marry Lapi, what would her life be like? Lapi had no parents and no permanent home. He traveled like a nomad, moving every few weeks to a new training assignment. What would he expect in a wife? For her to live by herself at the edge of a village? To live with Barak and his wife?
The wind gusted about her, cool and scented with wildflowers. She smoothed her hair back and plaited it as Lapi continued on his way, pausing to scan the ever-lightening landscape as the sun’s rays chased away the dawn’s violet sky.
Lapi had a stubborn personality. He was a fierce man. He was a loyal man. A protector. And he made Deborah’s heart race despite her reluctance to admit it. Was it possible for her own heart to betray her?
She turned from her watch post and made her final preparations. The sheep would have to spend the day at the homestead while she kept watch from the ridge. She replenished the arrows she’d had to leave behind near the snake nest the day before. She’d eventually recover them. She wrapped up her own honey cake, then added some olives as well. Grabbing a mantle from her bedchamber, she tied it about her hair to ward off the sun from her face.
Soon, she was on her way, bow and arrows slung over one shoulder and a waterskin slung over the other. She tried to think of what Barak and his family were doing right now. Had they traveled during the heat of the day, or were they traveling at night? Had they been delayed by soldiers or something else, like illness? Perhaps Barak’s injured hand had festered into a terrible disease. She’d heard of men dying from severe wounds.
She hoped for Lapi’s sake that his cousin would be found soon, healthy and safe. As she walked toward the ridge, she whispered a prayer, and the words caught in the wind. Oh, Lord, my God. Glory is Thy name. If it be Thy will, grant us the blessing of finding Barak today. Protect his family and bring him to us safely.
Deborah reached the ridge. Out here, the wind was stronger, and it pulled strands of hair from its plait. She retied the mantle about her head so the strands of her hair wouldn’t blow so much, then scanned the valley from her perch. The early-morning light didn’t show any groups of travelers, and beyond the valley, a bank of clouds had moved in.
She watched the muted gray clouds for a moment and hoped it didn’t signal rain. As much as rain was always welcome, today the storm would complicate their search. Wadis of rushing water could form in an instant, making travel dangerous for everyone.
Deborah walked from one end of the ridge to the other, keeping her eyes trained on the valley below. At one point, she thought she saw a trail of smoke, but it was quite a ways out and not in an area where people traveled or camped. In the next moment, the smoke had disappeared, and she decided she’d imagined it.
She continued to walk and pace, alternating between watching the valley and the darkening clouds. The wind grew fierce and much colder, so she scrambled down the ridge a few paces. She should have brought a thicker cloak. She hunched against one of the boulders to take some shelter while still watching.
Then she saw another line of smoke. It disappeared almost as soon as it had appeared. But it was in the same spot as before. Across the stream, past the location of the Canaanite soldier camp, beyond a grove of scrubby bushes.
She started down the ridge, keeping her eyes on the spot. The smoke was gone, but Deborah had seen it enough times to know she should investigate. She halted, debating what to do. Certainly, the wind was too strong, and the men were too far away to hear her whistle, but she’d have to do it anyway, just in case.
So she scrambled to the top of the ridge again and released three long whistles. She could only hope that her hunch about the smoke proved to the right. She didn’t want to completely abandon the homestead, but what if the smoke was a signal of some sort? What if Barak was in trouble?
Once Deborah reached the base of the hill, she began to run, which proved difficult. The ground was rocky, and the wind seemed determined to slow her down and steal her breath. No more plumes of smoke appeared, but she continued toward the location where she’d seen it rise. The clouds overhead had grown darker and grayer—nearly black now.
Thunder cracked overhead, and Deborah flinched, then ran faster. If anything, she might have to take shelter in a thicket. Her thighs soon burned with the effort of running, and her chest heaved with labored breathing, but she pressed on.
Finally, she reached the bushes where she’d seen the smoke, and she slowed her step. There was no sign or scent of smoke, but when she cleared the thicket, it was plain she’d just arrived at a camping spot.
And not five paces from Deborah, a woman crouched behind a tree, a knife in her hand. Deborah guessed her to be about five years older than she. Nothing in the woman’s eyes or body frightened Deborah. First, she was an Israelite, and second, a baby had started crying.