The woman’s attention shifted with the sound of the wailing baby, and Deborah took a few steps forward. Even if the woman was an excellent knife thrower, Deborah would be ready to dodge.
Although Deborah couldn’t see who occupied the camp behind the woman, the coincidence was too great for this woman to be none other than Barak’s wife.
“Evie?” Deborah asked.
The woman’s mouth fell open, and confusion marked her face.
“I’m Deborah, daughter of Tobiah,” she said. “Are you Barak’s wife?”
The woman gave a slow nod, and her shoulders relaxed, but she still gripped the knife. She was a small, slight woman.
Deborah took another step forward, holding up her hands. “I’m here to help. Lapi arrived last night, and we are all looking for you.” She glanced toward the camp behind the woman. “Have you had trouble?”
“Yes,” Evie said in a half whisper. “Barak is very . . . ill.” Tears spilled upon her cheeks. “And his father is crippled. We saw . . . soldiers . . .” Her voice drifted off.
Deborah was afraid the poor woman would collapse where she stood. “We live in the valley on the other side of that ridge. I’ll check on Barak now and then bring help.”
Evie nodded, her strength seeming to have left her body. Deborah walked toward the woman and took her arm to aid her return to the camp.
Beyond a makeshift lean-to, Deborah caught sight of a small cart and a donkey tied to it. A young boy, who couldn’t be more than four or five, sat inside the lean-to, holding the crying baby.
“Why don’t you collect the baby,” Deborah said, “and I’ll check on your husband.”
Evie reached for the baby, and the crying quieted. The young boy scurried away from Deborah as she stooped to step inside the half-tent. The wind battled against the tent walls, and she knew the full force of the storm would soon blow the thing apart.
It took Deborah’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness, and she discovered an older man watching her.
“This is Deborah, daughter of Tobiah,” Evie said to the man. “She says Lapi is at her homestead, and they can get Barak there.”
The man’s lined face softened in relief. “I am Barak’s father, Abinoam. Barak is ill with fever.”
Deborah swallowed at the sight of the inert form lying on the other side of Abinoam. She crept forward and knelt by Barak’s side. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a healthy, vibrant man. A strong warrior and expert horseman. The Barak before her was pale, his lips chapped, and his breathing almost nonexistent.
Deborah glanced at his bandaged hand and knew the stink she was smelling must be from putrefying flesh. She placed a hand on Barak’s forehead and found it hot and moist.
Evie joined her at Barak’s side. “When he could no longer walk beside the cart, I knew we had to stop. It was impossible for one donkey to pull both Barak and me, even with our son walking alongside the cart.”
Abinoam spoke next. “We spotted some soldiers, and we didn’t know if they were on a patrol or looking for a fight. It was my idea to release the horse and send it the opposite way. To distract them.”
Evie patted the man’s hand. “It was a good idea and likely deterred them from finding us.”
Thunder rumbled overhead, sounding closer than before, and the baby whimpered.
Deborah rose to her feet. “I will fetch the others. Our homestead is above the western ridge. Not too far.” She wondered if it would be possible to transport this whole family, especially Barak, before the storm was fully upon them.
When she stepped out of the lean-to, she feared the thing would blow over before she got help. But she couldn’t very well get anyone in the family to the homestead before she alerted the other men.
Deborah pushed through the wind, gripping the mantle against her neck so it didn’t blow away. She moved as fast as she could up the ridge, gasping for breath as she reached the top. A quick look behind her revealed that the dark clouds had multiplied at least three times. The first drops of rain hit her face as she turned toward the homestead. She took another moment to give the three-whistle signal again, then she started to run, ignoring the burning in her calves and thighs.
She almost sank to the ground in relief when she saw two horses heading toward the homestead until they spotted her; then Abner and Lapi changed direction and came galloping toward her. They reined in their horses in front of her, and she told them all she’d found out about Barak.
“He’s ill?” Lapi asked.
“With fever,” she called over the wind. Her mantle slid from her head and whipped away.
“I will hunt down Father and Chaim and lead them to the camp so we can get everyone out,” Abner said. “Lapi, you go see what you can do now.”
Lapi nodded, his expression grim. His gaze cut to Deborah, and he held out his hand. “Come with me.”
It wasn’t prudent, she thought, because if she rode with Lapi, that was one less spot upon his horse. She could always walk back to the homestead, storm or no storm.
Without waiting for Abner’s approval, she slipped off her bow and arrow set and put them by the courtyard wall. She grasped Lapi’s outstretched hand, and he pulled her onto the horse, in front of him. The thunder boomed, jolting Deborah’s heart, or perhaps it was Lapi’s touch as he wrapped his left arm around her waist and snapped the reins with his right hand.
The horse bolted, spurred by Lapi’s command and another peal of thunder.
Deborah grasped the horse’s mane, not wanting to rely wholly on Lapi to hold her upright. Still, his torso acted as a solid anchor. Deborah felt bad that her hair was likely whipping against his face as they rode, and she tried to tuck it into her tunic neckline but to no avail.
The journey to the camp was much faster on horseback, even though they had to take a diagonal path down the ridge so the horse would have surer footing with two people on its back. When they reached the bottom of the ridge and Deborah pointed out the direction of the camp, Lapi asked, “How did you find them?”
“I saw smoke,” she said, although she didn’t remember seeing a cooking fire when she’d encountered Evie.
Lapi didn’t comment, but his hold tightened around her waist as the rain increased. The drops stung in sharp pricks against her face as the horse moved faster.
“I don’t see anything,” Lapi said, his voice rumbling next to her ear.
She fought back a warm shiver. “There.” She pointed ahead. “Past the thicket.”
Lapi slowed the horse, and after a moment, he said, “Ah. How did you see this from the ridge?”
“It was the smoke.”
“There’s no fire pit or kiln.” Lapi reined the horse to a stop and slid off.
The warmth that had surrounded Deborah immediately dissipated. He reached toward her, offering his hand again. She clutched at his hand as she slid off the horse. Her tunic was nearly soaked now, and Lapi didn’t fare much better. She might have laughed about it had his expression not been one of worry for his cousin.
After making sure she was steady on her feet and the slippery ground, he released her hand and called out, “Hello? Evie? Uncle Abinoam?”
Evie appeared at the edge of the lean-to, and it looked as though she was crying, but it was hard to tell in the driving rain that separated them. “Oh, Lapi. You’ve come!” The emotion in Evie’s voice made Deborah feel emotional as well.
Lapi took the remaining strides to the lean-to and grasped Evie’s arms. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she said. “Barak is very ill. He won’t even open his eyes.”
Deborah followed the two of them and took in the scene. One of the tent walls sagged with the weight of wind and rain, and she didn’t think it would hold much longer. The young boy sat on Abinoam’s lap. Miraculously, the baby slept, wrapped in a small rug, beneath the driest part of the shelter.
Lapi immediately crossed to Barak and touched his forehead and face. “When was the last time he drank water?” he asked.
“We can’t get him to swallow anything,” Abinoam said in a low tone.
The little boy in his arms turned to his grandfather and wrapped his thin arms about Abinoam’s neck.
Lapi looked at Deborah as if she had the answer, and instinctively Deborah said, “Let’s try to get him to drink while we wait for the others to arrive.” She tugged off the waterskin she had slung over her shoulder, then knelt on the opposite side of Barak, opposite from where Lapi was kneeling.
She tilted the waterskin toward Barak’s mouth as Lapi lifted his cousin’s head and pressed on his chin to open his mouth.
Barak’s mouth opened, and Deborah poured in a small measure of water.
It ran out over his cheeks and down to his neck.
“Barak,” Lapi said, keeping his cousin’s head lifted. “It’s Lapi. You need to swallow some water.” He nodded to Deborah.
They started all over again. Still, Barak didn’t swallow.
A gust of wind rocked the lean-to, and the tilting wall came all the way down.
The baby woke and started to cry. The little boy buried his face against Abinoam’s chest. There wasn’t much protection for anyone from the wind and rain now.
Deborah reached over Barak and rested her hand on Lapi’s arm. “Take Evie and the children back to the homestead. I’ll stay here with Barak and his father.” The wind caught her words.
“Are you sure?” Lapi said.
“Yes. Go.”
Lapi rose and, with a few short commands, had Evie and the two children moving toward his horse. The little boy started to cry, along with the baby, but soon everyone would be warm and dry.
Deborah turned to Barak. There was no way to prevent his feet from getting wet, but perhaps it would reduce his fever. This gave her an idea, and she removed the rug over Barak. She hoped to cool him down using the natural elements of the weather, and she rolled up the rug to keep it dry so they could use it to transport him later.
She opened his outer robe, then took the waterskin and dribbled water along his neck, then patted it on his face.
“Let me help.” Abinoam moved to join her. Together they tried to get Barak to rouse and drink. This time, some of the water stayed in his mouth, and miraculously, he swallowed.
“Praise the Lord,” Abinoam said, triumph in his voice.
Barak didn’t open his eyes, but Deborah felt her own heart soar at their achievement. As the rain continued to fall and the wind whipped through the shelter, Deborah felt none of the cold. The warm feeling of accomplishment made her forget that she was in the middle of a storm, her clothing soaked through.
“Thank you,” Abinoam said over the sound of the wind. “Thank you for finding us and then bringing Lapi.”
Deborah looked into the man’s grateful eyes. His appearance was an older version of Barak; she could see that now.
“How did you find us?” he asked.
“The smoke from your cooking fire,” Deborah said. “I saw it briefly, and when I saw it again, I decided to investigate.”
The man’s brow creased. “We didn’t have a cooking fire. Evie was afraid it might draw the attention of the Canaanite soldiers.”
Deborah let the information sink in. Surely she’d seen the smoke. She’d seen it more than once. Perhaps Abinoam hadn’t known that Evie had been cooking something? Otherwise, what had drawn Deborah directly to this location?
Before she could come up with a reply, she heard Abner’s voice, then Chaim’s. A thrill ran through her. Help was here. Her brothers would transport Barak to their home.
Abner stepped inside first, his gaze connecting with hers, then shifting to Abinoam and finally to Barak. “Lapi sent us.”
“We got him to swallow some water,” Deborah said in a trembling voice. She didn’t know why she felt like she was about to cry. Her father and Chaim came into view. Both of them checked on Barak, and then Abner and Chaim lifted him between them. They carried him to the cart and loaded him on top of the wet bundles. Then they covered him with the rug Deborah had rolled up.
Chaim hitched two of the horses to the now-heavier cart, and her father helped Abinoam climb atop a horse so he could ride as well. Deborah insisted that she lead the donkey while the men watched over the cart and Barak.
The rain was merciless now, and the dark clouds had completely blocked out all semblance of daylight. The horses were jittery in the midst of the swirling storm, and they had to take the long way to avoid the steepest parts of the ridge.
Finally, they reached the homestead, where Evie and her children were now warm and dry. Evie had even begun to prepare soup for everyone, and her baby, who Deborah learned was named Hannah, was sound asleep in Deborah’s chamber.
It was just as well. Deborah didn’t imagine herself resting anytime soon, despite having slept little the night before. What mattered was restoring Barak to health. She changed out of her wet clothing quickly, then pulled on a dry tunic. She ignored the wet tresses of her hair since it would have to dry before she plaited it.
She left the sleeping babe in her chamber and found that the men had taken Barak to her father’s chamber. She watched from the entrance of the room. Barak was paler than Deborah remembered him being. His breathing was still labored, and she didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.
Her brothers and Lapi had gathered around him, and Lapi had set about changing the bandaging on Barak’s injured hand after her father had come in with hot water.
When Lapi removed the whole of the bandage, he cursed under his breath as he examined Barak’s swollen hand. “Is there a healer in your village?”
The thunder crackled as if in response.
“Yes, but this weather will make travel there and back difficult,” her father said.
Her brothers didn’t speak for a moment, and the dull sound of the rain sent a chill along Deborah’s skin. How many more risks would be taken today?
“I’ll go fetch the healer,” Abner said. “I’ll take two horses so returning will be that much faster.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Lapi said.
Abner gave a single nod, then left the room. No one argued his mission, but Deborah knew that even if her brother returned swiftly with the village healer, it might be too late for Barak.
She couldn’t be in this room any longer. She couldn’t watch as Lapi attended to the festering wound. She couldn’t gaze upon Barak’s pale, still face. So she left the bedchamber and went to her own for a few moments to compose herself. She sat quietly on the end of her mat, near the sleeping baby.
Deborah’s heart ached at the thought of this young child growing up without a father. Was death to visit their valley tonight? All because a good man tried to protect his sister from a terrible fate? No. Deborah couldn’t believe it. Yet, what could she do?
She moved to her knees and clasped her hands together, then bowed her head. She’d had many prayers answered in her lifetime, and she couldn’t deny that she had blessings to be grateful for.
Once again, she closed her eyes, and prayed. Oh, Lord, my God. Great is Thy glory. Wise are Thy ways. Pour down Thy blessings upon our friend Barak. He is a father and a husband, a son, and a friend. His life still holds much value, especially to his loved ones and the Israelite people.
Deborah paused, listening. The surrounding tent walls were quiet, and she could only imagine Evie finishing supper preparations. Lapi cleaning his cousin’s wound. The other men quietly discussing what must be done. Abner racing the horses across the rain-swept valley toward the healer’s home.
Oh, Lord, my God, Deborah began again, tears pricking her eyes. She would pray as long as it took, as long as it was needed. Barak could not die today.