19

Deborah returned late from judging the people a few weeks later to find Lappidoth in the sitting room with Talya. She paused in the arch of the door, listening.

“I don’t want her here, Abba.” Talya glanced toward the side room where Yiskah had been staying. “She doesn’t belong with us.”

Lappidoth nodded as though he would appease the girl, causing the familiar frustration to rise within Deborah’s chest. “Your mother thinks she does, Talya.”

“Must everything always be as my mother wants it to be?” Talya’s anger caused Deborah to take a step back. The sound of the grindstone in the courtyard nearly drowned out this conversation, and suddenly Deborah wished she had not heard as much as she had.

“Your mother hears the voice of God, my daughter. We must listen to her.” Lappidoth’s voice held the slightest hint of doubt, despite his words.

“She does not always hear His voice. And if Shet will not have his own wife, why is she allowed to stay in this village? Send her away. Let the Kenites have her.”

“Talya, Talya, why does this upset you so? Yiskah is no trouble to us here.” Lappidoth’s tone had shifted to the one that always gave in to Talya’s wishes.

“Abba, please,” Talya said. “Just looking at her reminds me of the woods, of the man who attacked me . . .” Her voice trailed off. Deborah glanced into the room but could not read the expression in Talya’s eyes.

“Yiskah is no threat to you, my daughter.” But Lappidoth had stood and wrapped Talya in his arms, patting her back as he did when she was troubled, ever since the first time she had run to him from Deborah’s sharp commands.

Why could he never back her up, take a stand against this girl?

“If it worries you that much, I will speak with your mother.”

Of course he would. Deborah clenched her jaw.

“Even she admits she is wrong sometimes, Abba.” Talya’s voice carried a thread of emotion, but Deborah could not tell whether the emotions were true or manipulative.

“She does hear God’s voice though, my daughter. We cannot discount that.” Was that a lack of conviction in his tone? Surely she heard it this time.

She turned and went around the back of the house to the small room where Lappidoth had so often taken the time to teach her to read and write. Away from the strife she would surely create should she enter their sitting room.

She sank onto the wooden stool and rested her elbows on the bench. Where was the man who had convinced her this was the path she should take? Where was the man who had urged the men of the village to follow her lead? Had his daughter reduced him to doubt even in the wife he claimed to love? Her heart twisted with an almost physical pain. She had worked so hard to care for this man. But ever since Talya’s birth . . .

She leaned forward, careful not to brush against his stylus and carving tools that lay neatly to the side. Stacks of clay pieces stood on a shelf beside the table against one wall. Light angled inward, the setting sun’s glow sending the world its last bit of warmth.

Oh Adonai, what am I to do?

A shadow fell across the door. Deborah glanced up to find Lappidoth looking down at her.

She searched his face but could find no words.

“Deborah.” His voice sounded strained, as though he too were at a loss of what to say. Had their marriage come to this?

“Perhaps you are right,” she said at last. “Talya too. I don’t always hear from God. I have not heard from Him in too long, and I do not have what it takes to be your deliverer. So that doubt you have in me is well placed.”

He stared at her as though he thought her foolish. “Deborah,” he said again, stepping into the room. He came to kneel at her side and placed his large hand over hers. “I do not doubt you.”

“Your tone said otherwise.”

“My tone?”

“When you spoke to Talya. You always take her side, and your tone mimicked her doubt.” She pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms.

He leaned back and looked at her, his eyes squinting in the dim light, a frown creasing his brow. “If you heard doubt in my tone, you did not hear correctly.”

“I know what I heard.”

“And now you can assume my motives? You did not hear the entire conversation, my love.”

“So what else did you talk about? Are you going to cast Yiskah out because Talya is too immature to accept her?”

He shook his head, the frown deepening. “How you twist things.”

Anger flared, and she abruptly stood. “You said you would speak to me. What else could that possibly mean other than you hope to convince me to give in to our daughter?”

He drew himself up to his full height. “I said I would talk with you to appease her. She is distraught over many things. Yiskah is only one of them.”

Deborah drew a breath. “A daughter should not share her troubles with her father but with her mother.”

“Not when her mother makes her feel as though she does not listen.”

“I listen.”

“Of course you do, my love.”

“Don’t.”

He tilted his head and looked at her strangely. “Don’t . . . what?”

“Don’t call me ‘my love’ as though you can make everything right with a few words.”

She pushed past him and stomped off. How foolish she was to think he would follow as he always did, but when she reached her palm tree and looked back, she felt a kick in her middle that he had not done so. Had she pushed him too far?

Oh Adonai, what have I done? Lately it seemed she could do nothing as well as she wished, and Yiskah had added more strain between her family members than already existed. And yet Deborah felt at a loss as to what to do with the girl.

She sank to the ground and pulled her knees beneath her skirt, her back against the tree’s bark. Eyes closed, she longed for escape. Suddenly she was no longer sitting beneath the palm tree but standing on a ridge of Mount Tabor, looking down at the Jezreel Valley. Barak stood beside her and Sisera’s chariots gathered below. Ten thousand men of Ephraim and other tribes stood at her back, armed, ready. Clouds billowed overhead and thunder clapped, jolting her. Lightning flashed straight at Sisera, whose body disappeared from where he stood in his chariot.

Deborah blinked and the vision faded.

Shaken, she looked about her, saw Lappidoth standing within arm’s length, his wide eyes telling her he had witnessed something she did not.

He came to her, and she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up. “The fire swirled about you again,” he said, his voice wavering in awe. “What did you see?”

She swallowed, met his piercing gaze. “I saw war. It is time to send for Barak.”

Barak pulled an arrow from its quiver and aimed at the target in the field just outside of his village. Keshet had already beaten him in a practice round where they attempted to shoot broken pottery that rested atop the stump of a felled tree. He could not afford to let the man gloat, nor win again next time. Barak glanced at his friend, who was returning with more pieces of pottery that had been thrown outside the village wall. Some created a sharp detour to anyone trying to scale the walls, but these few pieces for practice with the bow and sling would not be missed.

“Think you’ll beat me next time?” Keshet said, laughing. “You know I’m a better shot than you are, so why fight it?” He stood at Barak’s side and watched him. Barak ignored him as he sighted another arrow and let it fly.

The pottery shattered and Barak whooped. “Ha! Top that if you can.” He slapped Keshet on the back, surprised to find himself capable of laughter. He reached for the water flask and drank deeply, wiping the droplets from his beard. “Any news from the message we sent to Ephraim?”

Keshet shook his head. “None yet.”

Barak had sent a runner to some of the cities in neighboring tribes, hoping more men would join him. But so far there had been no response.

“Hopefully soon,” Keshet said as he walked to the tree stump and added more pottery pieces.

Barak followed his friend to retrieve his arrows from where they had landed. The sound of running feet made him turn. One of his men, with two young men at his heels, raced toward him.

“Barak,” the man called. “A messenger from Deborah has come.”

The first man came into view and Barak recognized him as one of Deborah’s sons. He strode closer. “Lavi? Is it you?”

The man nodded. “Yes, my lord. It is I, Lavi, son of Lappidoth.” He put both hands on his knees and drew a breath as though he had run the whole way.

Barak glanced at the other man but didn’t recognize him. “Your servant?” he asked.

“A cousin from the village,” he said, straightening. “We did not think it wise to travel alone.”

“Not in times like these. No. Now tell me, what is wrong? Why have you come?” Barak stiffened, half afraid of the man’s news, half anxious to hear it.

“My mother bids you come at once,” Lavi said. “It is time for war.”

Deborah walked from the palm tree toward the city gates. Please, Adonai, let them make haste. And let Barak listen to her. But of course he would. Why did she suddenly feel so uncertain? She had commanded men and women to obey the law for years. But Barak, the man who had rejected her daughter, she held with different regard. Respect, perhaps? Something she struggled to muster for her own husband. Would she feel differently if Lappidoth were a warrior like Barak?

The thought settled within her as though God had spoken it aloud. She had been trying to force Lappidoth to carry the mind and attitude of a warrior, a stronger man like his sons Lavi and Elior had become. But he would not change. She had always known her attempts were futile. And now was not the time to think on it.

Nor was it the time to worry. Lavi and Barak could be another day in coming, and wasting time watching for them was also futile. She must prepare her girls for what was to come.

Talya met her as she crossed the threshold to their sitting room. “You are early,” she said, taking Deborah’s cloak from her. “You are exhausted, Ima. Come and rest.”

Deborah looked at her sharply. After that last overheard conversation, she did not thoroughly trust this child. It was unlike her to be so caring or to notice Deborah’s needs. “I am fine.”

Talya ignored Deborah’s comment, another sign of her strange behavior. “Come, Ima, sit.” She retrieved a cup of water and handed it to Deborah.

Deborah sipped, then set the cup aside. “What do you want, Talya? I will not argue with you or appease you as your father does.”

Talya’s dark eyes grew wide, but a moment later understanding dawned. “You heard me speak with Abba.”

Deborah nodded. “I heard enough. But we have no time to discuss this now. War is coming.” She met Talya’s gaze, not truly surprised when the girl seemed to have already heard this information.

“Lavi went to fetch Barak,” Talya said. “When you did not send a simple messenger but your own son, I knew.” She sat beside her mother. “I want to go to war with them.” She held up a hand as though staving off Deborah’s protest. “You know I can handle a bow as easily as any man. I can help. I can kill Sisera.”

Deborah released a deep sigh, studying her only daughter. “I take it you already tried and failed to convince your father. Or do you plan to seek him next when I refuse you?” How harsh she sounded. “War is no place for a woman.”

Talya clasped her hands in her lap, but she did not pout as she might have done a few months or even a few days before. Barak was coming. Perhaps that was the reason for the change in the girl.

“Barak would not wish you to be part of a war camp. Surely you do not think you will impress him with military prowess.”

Talya shook her head, but when she looked into Deborah’s eyes, her gaze held a fierce light. “Ima.” She paused as if searching for the exact words. “When I found Yiskah worshiping Asherah, I knew why she did so.”

Deborah waited, lifting a brow. “What does that have to do with war?”

“Everything,” Talya said, glancing about the room.

Deborah followed her gaze. There was no sign of Yiskah. “She has gone to the fields with your father. To work in Lavi’s place,” Deborah said.

Talya nodded.

“So tell me what is going through that head of yours.” Her heart beat steady, if not anxiously.

Talya retrieved more water and drank, leaving the flask between them. “Canaanites worship Anat and Asherah. Asherah is a goddess of fertility. Yiskah had no child, so it made sense to her to pray for one.” Talya paused. “But Anat is also Canaan’s god and a goddess of war. And when I smashed Asherah’s image, I wanted desperately to destroy both Anat and Asherah—utterly.” Her eyes blazed as though she saw a vision of herself doing that very thing.

Did she?

“You think you can destroy Canaan’s gods by killing Sisera or his men?” How innocent her daughter’s thoughts, but Deborah did not say so. “However God destroys Sisera matters little. Our men can accomplish as much without you.” She would not, could not, allow Talya to consider her desire even one moment longer. “You and I will be staying right here with the rest of the women. They need us to keep them safe while the men fight the battle.”

“Ima,” Talya said, her voice holding the slightest hint of impatience, “Anat and Asherah are goddesses. What better person to destroy a female god than a woman?”

Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “One does not destroy a goddess by killing evil men. The object worshiped will be found by others sometime in the future.”

Talya paced the room, fully spirited now. “Yes, but do you not remember the gods of Egypt? Did not Adonai Elohim destroy them all to show His power over them?” She stopped, facing Deborah.

Deborah released a soft breath. Adonai did have power over evil, even through one as weak as a woman. Hadn’t He been using her to give His word to Israel’s leaders all these years? Surely if He could use one such as she, He could do as Talya suggested.

But in the next moment she recoiled at the thought of that woman being her daughter. She stood and faced Talya, arms crossed. Then slowly the anger she’d been carrying toward the girl dissipated. How could a mother remain angry at her own child? She opened her arms, drawing Talya to her. “You are wise, my girl,” she said, holding Talya close.

“Then you will let me fight, Ima?” Talya pulled back so that Deborah held her at arm’s length. “If Lavi goes, he will watch over me.”

Deborah shook her head, fighting the onset of a sudden headache, and a sinking realization that life was about to change utterly. “I cannot.” She released Talya and turned. “Please, Talya, I cannot lose you. And though I know you are strong and capable, I cannot send one woman into a camp with ten thousand men!”

Silence fell between them. Deborah expected Talya to stomp off, but instead she felt the girl’s arms come around her from behind. “It’s all right, Ima. If you do not have approval from God, I will not disobey you.”

Deborah turned. Her tears fell as she cupped Talya’s cheeks. She swiped them away.

“I want to help, Ima. I want to help Barak and you. But I won’t fight you anymore.”

Deborah pulled Talya close once more and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, daughter. I do not have approval from God to let you go.”

But where Talya was concerned, she later realized, she was not so sure that she could hear God apart from her own choices.