28

Deborah stood again at the edge on Mount Tabor, shading her eyes against the last bits of color that filled the sky before the world became engulfed in blackness. Surely Israel had seen a great victory here. Surely they had. But the troops had yet to return. Barak was still out there searching for Sisera, and her sons, her husband, were with him.

Please, Adonai, keep them safe. Why had Lappidoth seemed so insistent, so willing to fight? He was a farmer, a scribe. Could he even wield a bow or a sword?

“I did not realize a war could take so long.” She startled at the sound of Talya’s voice, her nerves frayed, her trust waning.

“Men grow weary in battle. They must stop to rest now and then.” Please, Adonai, let that be the only reason they grow weary. From fighting. Not from burying our dead.

“You are worried.” Talya nodded in the direction of the valley. “Do you think Sisera lies among the horde of men down there?”

Deborah’s gaze swept the area once more, then she shook her head. “If Sisera had been slain there, the men would have sent someone to tell us. No. I think he ran when he saw the battle turn against him.” She wrapped both arms about her waist and shivered. The uncertainty of waiting mingled with the surety of God’s words to her. He had never let her down in the past. She had no reason to doubt Him now.

“The commanders of Israel offered themselves willingly among the people,” she said, noting Talya’s furrowed brow. “They had no shields or spears to guard them, only simple weapons of the shepherd or farmer.” She saw Lappidoth’s sure stride in her mind’s eye. “And yet they came at our summons. They obeyed the Lord.” She moved her arm in an arc over the swollen, bloody land, willing herself to believe her husband had been just as strong as the rest of the shepherds and farmers among them. “Look what God has done for us.”

Talya followed where Deborah pointed, but Deborah did not miss the hint of sadness shadowing her gaze. “I could have helped them.”

“You are more help to me here.” Though she knew her reasons for wanting Talya near were protective motherly instincts mingled with fear.

“Abba seemed to think so.”

Deborah looked from the valley to Talya, awed yet again that her father had stood up to the girl, had commanded her out of harm’s way for Deborah’s sake. I love you, Deborah.

Guilt filled her. Why hadn’t she repeated the words back to him that night? What if she lost him and he never returned—like her father and brothers that long-ago day?

Her stomach tightened in that dread feeling between fear and terror, and she felt suddenly faint. Her knees weakened. Blood drained from her face.

“Ima, are you all right?” Talya gripped her arm, holding her steady.

“I . . . yes, I think so.” Awake, Deborah, awake! She must pull herself out of this longing stupor. Lappidoth, Elior, and Lavi would surely come away unharmed, while the kings of Canaan, the rulers and leaders of their enemies, would rue the day they exalted themselves against the people whom Adonai Elohim had chosen.

“I still hope it is I who kills Sisera,” Talya said, dragging Deborah’s thoughts from her musings. “If he comes up this mount, I shall not hesitate.” She held her bow in one fist and clutched it to her side.

“I am certain you will.” Deborah touched her daughter’s cheek, suddenly grateful for this child’s obedience to her father. She could have defied him as she had defied Barak. “But I am glad you are here.”

She turned away from the ridge to spend another night with only her daughter on the mountain’s heights. Talya’s quiet footfalls touched the earth as they walked side by side. Deborah entered the tent and Talya followed, but she did not remove her robe or weapons. She paced the floor as Deborah pulled nuts and dates from a sack and poured watered wine into cups.

“Sit, my daughter. There is no reason to stand at the ready all night.” She held the cup out to Talya, waiting.

Talya took it at last and sat cross-legged on the ground. “Why do some men exasperate us so?”

Deborah sat on the floor and parceled out the nuts and dates. “Do you speak of your father or some other man?” How ironic to have such a conversation when war raged around them.

“Barak exasperates me more than Abba does. Despite his nod of approval for my skill, I could tell he was not pleased with me. I cannot say a right thing to him, Ima. He feels the need to either reprove me or command me. He does not speak to me as an equal.”

“When a man exasperates you, perhaps it is because he brings out both the best and worst in you. That can be a good thing, Talya. It makes you weed out the things that need to change and keep the things that don’t.” Deborah chewed on a date, her thoughts carrying to her own marriage, wondering how she could possibly change things with Lappidoth at this late hour of their lives. He had proven his love for her—more often than she had realized—but how was she to prove her love for him? She did love him. The thought turned over in her mind. It was not a perfect love, but surely the spark of it nestled within her.

“Your thoughts are far away, Ima.” Talya reached for a handful of nuts but did not eat. “I know we do not always get along . . .”

Deborah shook her head. “It is not that.” She looked into Talya’s innocent eyes. She could not share that she had not loved Talya’s father when they wed. That she still struggled to respect the man. “I fear I am not a very good judge of relationships, my daughter. It is easy to judge cases of the law for people I do not know. It is far harder to judge my own heart or to advise the people I love the most.” She sighed, knowing in her heart that she had much to ponder before this war was over.

“I think you do an admirable job of showing the people you love the best way to live.” Talya lifted her chin and smiled. “Do not fret so, Ima. When the war is over, much will change. Sisera’s hold over our nation has changed us all, and not for the good.”

“And yet there is much good,” Deborah said, realizing it was true. “Men have come willingly to fight. God has sent even the stars and rains to aid our victory. We have much in which to rejoice.”

“Then we should set to doing so, to welcome our men home.” Talya chomped on the almonds in her hand.

“A victory song,” Deborah said. In neighboring kingdoms it was customary for the women to welcome the returning warriors with songs of victory. Even Moses and his sister Miriam had sung a song of praise to Adonai after He got them safely across the Red Sea. Surely Sisera’s defeat deserved such a song.

Once she was certain Sisera was truly dead.

“You should write the song even before we hear the news, Ima.” Talya’s comment caused Deborah to meet her gaze. “It shows our faith in Adonai, that He will do this.”

Of course it did. When had her daughter grown such faith?

“You are right, Talya. He will do this. For our God is true.” Deborah rose to search for a small stick to write in the dirt the song that only God knew if she would ever get the chance to sing.

Jael shivered and pulled her cloak tighter at the neck. Despite the men’s efforts in removing Sisera’s body and destroying by fire everything that he had come into contact with, the air still carried the pungent odors of smoke, of death. She swayed, her heart beating sluggish strokes.

“It’s all right, Ima.” Ghalib’s arm came around her, and she fell into his strength. When had this boy become so much a man? “I’m proud of you,” he whispered against her ear.

She nodded, unable to speak. A lump formed in her throat, and she feared she would break down in front of her men and weep. She glanced up, catching Heber watching her. Ghalib released his hold as Heber opened his arms wide. She stumbled toward him, grateful for his strong embrace. He said nothing as he rubbed her back. She breathed in the smell of him and fought the urge to give in to emotion. She gulped on a sob, then another.

“It’s all right, Jael. It’s over.” Heber’s quiet words were a soothing balm.

She hiccuped another sob. “I can’t enter that tent again,” she said against his thick chest.

He continued to draw awkward circles along her back, then patted her head, her hair. “We will burn it as well and make you another.”

Jael blinked hard against the threat of more tears. “I will have no place to sleep, to work, and such a thing would be too costly.”

“You will stay in my tent. The cost is minimal.” He said nothing more, and she knew by his deep sigh that he would hear no argument. He turned to the guards and commanded Jael’s tent to be disassembled and taken outside the camp and burned.

The women seemed to awaken from a stupor once the offending tent was gone.

“Come, let us fix something to eat,” Raja said, aiming a look Nadia’s way.

Nadia complied without comment, and Daniyah moved to help them. “Where will I sleep?” Daniyah said loud enough for Jael to hear.

“You will stay with us,” Nadia told her, taking the girl’s arm. The three of them moved to work in front of Raja’s tent, while Fareed and Mahir approached their father.

“We want to go with Barak,” Fareed said.

Jael pulled away from Heber’s embrace to face her sons. Ghalib had joined them now, his dark eyes bright, anxious.

“Fareed is right,” Mahir said. “We have not finished what we started. It would be wrong to let Barak and his men continue without us.”

“We are not cowards.” This from Ghalib, who stood tall as though he had suddenly grown another hand span.

“Of course you are not cowards.” Heber’s words were measured as he looked from one son to another. He placed an arm around Jael’s shoulders. She was not used to such open affection from the man, but she sensed he needed to prove she still breathed—especially after what he had witnessed in her tent. “But Barak gave his orders to meet him in three days. We will take your mother and sisters with us. Do you not think your mother deserves to be protected now, after all she has done for us, for Israel?” His tone held a sharp edge, and Jael looked into his face, searching his expression.

She courted a soft smile. “Thank you, my lord. I am honored to go with you all to celebrate Israel’s victory on Mount Tabor.” She looked at her sons. “Perhaps instead of disobeying Barak’s orders, you could send messengers throughout the nearby cities to join in the celebration as well. Word will spread quickly now that Sisera is dead. All Israel should come and join in this victory.” She glanced at Heber for his approval, pleased with his nod and the slight lifting of the corners of his mouth.

“Can we send a message as far south as the Negev, Father?” Ghalib held his father’s gaze, his look pleading. “Could we not at least let Uncle Alim know the land has been rid of the threat to us all?”

“And get word to a certain cousin?” Jael asked, though she wondered if Talya had replaced Parisa in Ghalib’s thoughts.

Ghalib shrugged. “It would not hurt to try to make amends.”

“Ever the peacemaker, my son?” Heber’s voice held a hint of iron, and he stiffened beside her. “You know we cannot go back there.”

Ghalib did not waver. “I did not ask that, Father. I only wish . . .” He did not finish his thought but turned away instead. He walked off alone, leaving Mahir and Fareed still standing there.

“The boy does not understand,” Heber said, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the trees.

“He is a boy no longer, Father,” Fareed said. “Forgive me, but I think Ghalib is right.”

Jael looked in the direction her youngest son had gone. “Your father tried to make amends.” She looked at her two oldest sons. “Your uncle would have none of it.”

Heber gently tightened his grip on her arm. “Alim is the one who turned a peaceful confrontation into a war of words.” Hurt laced his tone. “I should not have fought his rule. Our leaving jeopardized your safety.”

“You did all you could, Father,” Mahir said. “We do not blame you.”

“Alim believes I am responsible for some vast crime against him. All because I favored the decent treatment of his slave.”

“Ghalib did not understand the implications,” Fareed said. “If we had been able to bring our cousin with us for him to wife, he would not be so anxious to return.”

“Ghalib longs for peace, with or without Parisa. Could we not at least send a servant with word of the victory?” Jael studied her men, her heart aching with the loss of family. “I understand we cannot hope to mend the estrangement, but could we not make one last attempt to show kindness before they hear it from another?”

Heber looked at her then at their sons, sorrow in his gaze, saying nothing. At last he nodded. “It would not hurt to send a servant. But do not expect a response. I will not have my family raise their hopes only to see my brother dash them once more.” He gave her a knowing look. “Do not even think of sending for Parisa. Not unless Alim changes his thinking.”

Jael smiled into his eyes, knowing the blow to his pride such words evoked. In time, he would change his thinking about Parisa if she had any hand in it—if Ghalib was still interested. But not today.

Today she needed rest. And time.

Sisera is dead.

And in time her family would be whole again, with or without a reconnection with Alim. And who knew but that the God of Israel might not even heal that as well?

Despite Heber’s failures to make amends in the past, there was still the hope for second chances. She had to believe that. Love for family just didn’t dissipate, despite anger’s force.