As the months passed, Haman became angry and occasionally abusive. He spent more time in the city, and she never knew when he would return home. She heard he was seen with one of the city’s prostitutes and drank a great deal. Each time he returned, it was an ordeal for the family.
As Marah cleaned the chicken pen, she found herself glancing at the gate from time to time, starting at any sound. This time her fears were realized as Haman strode into the courtyard. He was drunk. He grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the gate. The grip of his hand bruised the skin on her wrists.
“Haman, you are hurting me!”
“Who is the other man? Tell me!” He struck her across the face.
“Haman, there is no one. You know there is no one.”
“You lie to me? I will have his name. There are ways to make sure you confess!” He began to drag her toward the gate of the courtyard.
Elon had risen as quickly as he could and tried to stop Haman. “She is a good daughter, Haman, there is no truth to this. Let her go.” He put a restraining hand on Haman’s arm and was pushed away roughly.
“Elon! Father. Haman, you have hurt him. He is an old man. Please, do not do this.”
She glanced back to see Elon leaning on his cane. “I am all right, Daughter,” he called after them. “I am all right.”
Marah’s face was hot with shame as Haman ruthlessly dragged her through the streets toward the Bit Allah. He was taking her to the synagogue? God be praised, Caleb would not be there but would be in Shiva’s shop at this time. What was Haman going to do? She struggled to walk as fast as Haman so she would not fall. Then she realized. He was taking her to the high priest! Surely he would believe that she was innocent. He knew what was going on in Shechem. Wouldn’t he know of Haman? Keeping her eyes down on the street, she could not look up and see the neighbors watching. All the commotion had caused heads to turn their way.
Haman entered the synagogue, and when a servant of the high priest came to inquire what they wanted, Haman flung Marah to the ground in front of him. “She is defiled. She has lain with another man and will not confess her crime,” he spat angrily, his words slurring.
The servant looked at Marah with contempt. “I will call the high priest at once.” He hurried away.
Marah wept with anguish. “Haman, how could you do this to me? You know there has been no one else. Please, take me home.”
“Beg, yes, beg me. You care not for me … and there is another man. He is dead, yet you cling to him still. You give me nothing, do you hear? Nothing!” He swayed slightly and glared at her.
The high priest appeared and stood before them. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Marah. She had been working in the chicken pen for some time when Haman had come upon her suddenly and there was a smudge of dirt on her face. Her hands were dirty and she wore only the tunic she worked in. She hung her head. She was as a street woman in his eyes.
“You have brought the offering?”
Haman reached into his girdle and produced a small bag of barley meal which he handed to the priest. The servant took the offering and handed the priest a pitcher of holy water. He also handed the priest a small bowl of dust from the floor of the synagogue. The high priest mixed the dust with the holy water. Then he reached out and pulled her mantle back from her head. Marah trembled with fear.
“Hold out your hands,” he commanded her. She trembled as she held them out. He put the barley meal offering in her hands.
“If no man has lain with you, and if you have not gone aside to uncleanness with another instead of your husband, be you free from this bitter water that causes the curse: But if you have gone aside to another instead of your husband, and if you are defiled, and some man has lain with you beside your husband; then the Lord make you a curse and an oath among your people, when the Lord makes your thigh to rot and your belly to swell; and this water that causes the curse shall go into your bowels and make your belly to swell and your thigh to rot. You are to say amen.”
“Amen … ,” Marah whispered, her face burning with shame.
The servant brought out a book and the priest wrote down the curses and sprinkled the holy water mixed with the dust. Then he put the cup to Marah’s lips. “Drink,” he commanded, and trembling still, she obeyed. Haman looked on smugly, keeping his role of righteous indignation.
The priest took the barley meal out of Marah’s hands and poured it upon the altar where it burned. He turned back to them. “It is done. God will judge according to her sin or,” and he looked Marah over again, “her innocence.”
Haman did not need to drag her anymore. When the high priest and the servant had gone, he pushed her aside and swaggered out of the courtyard of the temple as though she did not exist. Marah stood bewildered for a moment looking after him. Anger began to burn in her breast. How dare he do this to me, she fumed. He punishes me for loving Jesse? She understood the curse. She was innocent. Slowly she walked out of the courtyard. She would show him she was innocent. The God Who Sees knew. She would not fear the curse of the bitter water. When nothing happened to her, all would know she had done nothing wrong. She covered her head with her mantle and walked with her head high.
Hannah listened in unbelief, her eyes wide with astonishment. Then astonishment turned to fury. “He did this to you? Knowing you are innocent? May God strike him down for the terrible thing he has done.”
“He was drunk, Hannah. I cannot be to him what he wants.” Marah put her face in her hands. “I still love Jesse. Oh Hannah, I will love him always.”
“ ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, I will repay.’ Haman will pay for his actions, Marah, God will see to that.” She gave Marah a bowl of water to wash her face and embraced her gently.
“I must go, Hannah. Elon may have been hurt. I … I just needed to come here first.”
“I know. Go now, see to Elon.”
Marah hurried through the streets to her home. She knew Hannah would vindicate her if the women began to speak against her. The neighborhood was quiet. There was no one about. For once she was grateful for the heat of the day and the time of rest when shops were closed.
Elon sat quietly in the shade, leaning against the house. His countenance lifted at the sight of her. “You are not hurt, Daughter?”
“No. And you … are you all right?”
“I only feel badly that I was no help to you.” He looked down at the ground. “I am a useless old man, Daughter, of no help to anyone.”
Marah knelt by his side and put her arms around his thin shoulders. “You are worth everything to me, Father Elon. You cheer me when the evenings are long. Your company means much to me in these times. Caleb and I love you dearly.”
He patted her arm, somewhat mollified. “What is to become of this household, Daughter. Why would Haman do such a thing? Where did he take you?”
Marah hung her head and quietly told her father-in-law of the incident in the synagogue.
Elon was enraged. “He did that to you, child? My nephew has behaved badly.” He patted her arm again. “You shall not fear the curse, Daughter.”
“I don’t. The God Who Sees knows that I am innocent.” She looked toward the gate. “I fear Haman more. I do not know what he will do next. I fear for all of us.” She shook her head as she thought of Caleb when he found out what Haman had done.