3

Mahlah unfurled her head covering and placed the edge over her father’s face. She lengthened the rest of the cloth, so it covered most of her father’s tortured body. She was careful not to touch him barehanded, lest she be deemed unclean. Her sisters needed her inside the camp, not ostracized outside the tents. Her tears dripped onto her patterned veil. Moses still wandered among her people with his bronze serpent giving life to those near death. To those who wanted to live. Her father had chosen to die.

Beyond the linen fence, stitched bright and bold, a cloud covered the roof of the Tabernacle. God’s presence was through the gate. Yards away. In a haze of fiery white wisps.

“Why God? Why did my father not seek you?” She talked to the cloud as though expecting an answer.

A woman stumbled over a nearby corpse, spilling water onto Zelophehad’s feet. The stranger’s eyes became wide as plums.

“Forgive me,” the woman said.

Mahlah almost burst forth in a crazed laugh. Not because of whimsy, but because the life she knew hours ago had ended. She glimpsed the puddle of water at her father’s feet. God had provided cleansing water. Of course, He had. When had God not provided for His people? Hadn’t she and Tirzah collected God’s bread this morn?

Needless. Her father’s death was needless. And careless. Her father had left a seventeen-year-old girl to fend for the future of his children.

“Shalom.” The woman hesitated, hefting her jar on her hip.

“Yes, of course, peace,” Mahlah mumbled.

Resting on her side not far from her father, Mahlah wrestled with thoughts of what was and what could have been. “God what am I going to do? My sisters are waiting in a tent for their father to come home. What shall I tell them? Shall I hide the truth?” She closed her eyes as her right pupil threatened a twitch.

“Mahlah.”

The soft rasp of her name startled her.

She opened her eyes.

Reuben’s handsome face beheld her with concern. Had she fallen asleep? Her father’s stiff form lay beside her in the dirt. His death hadn’t been a dream. His death had been a nightmare. Still was.

Around her, only a few bodies and mourners remained near the Tabernacle. Men from the tribes of Issachar and Zebulun unstaked their tents. Ramskins lilted or lay flush with the ground.

She swept her tongue along her teeth, hoping to moisten her mouth. Her gums tasted like flax.

“Reuben.” Her voice cracked as if she still slumbered. “What is happening? I must see to my father’s burial.”

“The elders of Manasseh will see to our fallen. The cloud has lifted from our meeting place. We must be ready to travel.”

Reuben cast a glance at her father’s corpse as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m sorry about your father. I wish I would have done more to ease his sorrow.”

“You were getting over your own sorrows.” She, too, had to overcome the grief of watching the man she loved wed another and begin a family. That was in the past. She had to remain in the present. “My sisters.” Her chest constricted. “I have to tell them about our father.”

“They are unharmed and unbitten because of your wisdom.” Reuben bent low. “Go to them, and know the elders of our clan will watch over you. I am here for you as well.”

Was he? What time did he have for five girls? She would take care of her sisters. Hadn’t she overseen them since her mother’s death? She had done what her mother had asked of her. She had vowed to watch over her sisters. Always.

She clasped her hands together and squeezed. The slight ache in her joints helped her focus on her new reality.

“My sisters and I are grateful, but you have responsibilities to your parents and this tribe, not to mention, Jonah. He needs a father. My father’s burdens are on my shoulders now.”

Rising by her own might, she turned toward home. Why linger by the husk of Zelophehad? Nothing could be done to help her father now. He had abandoned her and his other daughters.

“Wait.” Reuben stomped after her. He came alongside, matching her stride for stride. “The leaders of our tribe will take care of you and your sisters.”

Where were her father’s relatives when she was the one receiving his wrath? Why didn’t they try to intervene and keep him from storming Moses’ tent? She didn’t need their oversight. She had been doing fine on her own, until today.

“Do not worry.” She kept her tone civil, but it was not kind. “I’ve had years to learn what a man does.” And does not do. “I can raise a tent and lower one.”

Reuben shook his head. “There’s more.”

Of which she was well-aware. But at this moment, her loyalty rested with a promise she had made to a dying mother. A promise that she and her sisters would prosper together in the new land. A promise her father had abandoned in choosing death.

“I’m not afraid of my responsibilities, Reuben. I’m the firstborn of my father, and I’ve worked hard to make this clan proud of our name.”

The concern in his gaze clawed at a tiny piece of her heart. She craved a companion as rugged and caring as Reuben, but she would never confess that need. For it was wise to keep that secret hidden away among so many land-hungry kin.

“My family will assist you. We can join our tents.” Reuben meant well, but she could never accept his offer while her lungs held breath. “My sister is comforting yours.”

“They know?” Mahlah almost choked on her words. With one last glance at her father’s body, she darted like a skylark toward home, leaping over anything in her path. Holding her sheathed knife to her hip, she calculated each step and turn toward her tent.

Reuben was ignorant if he thought his sister was a help. Basemath was…was…Forgive, my thoughts, Lord.

Reuben’s sister saw to her own needs before she saw to the needs of others. How different she and Reuben were, yet they came from the same mother and father. And their father, Nemuel, knew how to wield his power in the tribe and in the camp.

Storming down the path through the tents of her clansmen, Mahlah hurried to aid her sisters. “God of Abraham, may the elders of Manasseh and my father’s kin find me worthy to lead.” How could they be blind to her skills in managing his household?

Clinks of hammers on tent pegs rung in her ears. A donkey brayed, protesting his new load. Curses bellowed from near her tent.

She passed Reuben’s dwelling. But where was hers? Half taken down, the ramskin walls lay folded in the dirt.

Milcah sat cross-legged by a standing wall, head in her hands. The drape of her dark-brown hair blocked the view of her face.

Basemath swung a satchel at Tirzah. “Stop this insult at once.”

Arm over her head, Tirzah readied to hurl something from her fist.

More than likely, it was a rock. And more than likely, it was headed Basemath’s direction.

“Listen to me for once.” Hoglah attempted to keep their little sister from scoring a victory.

Mahlah strode between her sisters and Basemath. “What is going on here? My family is in mourning and our home is a mess.” She made sure the rumble of her question reached the next path.

“She.” Basemath pointed at a scowling-faced Tirzah. “She attacked me.”

“For no reason?”

With Basemath, there was always a reason.

“That is unlikely,” Mahlah said.

“Hah! I came to give comfort at my brother’s urging, and this is what I receive.” Basemath held out her arm and displayed scarlet marks.

“Comfort?” Chin up, Milcah cast an accusatory stare at their cousin. “You told us we were going to be your servants.”

Mahlah fisted her hands. She couldn’t let abuse go unpunished, but the daughters of Zelophehad would not be serving anyone. Least of all their haughty neighbor, Basemath.

“Do something, Mahlah. Or I will report this to my father.” Hands on hips, Basemath kicked a rock at Tirzah.

Had stones already been thrown? Would Basemath twist this altercation into an insult of Nemuel’s authority? Or Reuben’s?

The clunks of mallets pulsed through Mahlah’s temples. A wave, hot and heavy, rolled from her stomach to her scalp. She whipped around.

“Stop taking down my tent.” She marched to where her clansmen worked. “Go back to your homes. Can we not have one moment to grieve?”

Wide-eyed, one of the laborers dropped his mallet. “We have orders.”

“And I am ordering you to leave.” Her voice broke. “Please.”

At that moment, the crack of a whip struck near the tent. Mahlah jumped. She placed a hand on her chest to keep her heart from bursting through her tunic.

Whip aimed high, there stood Noah. Cheeks scarlet, brown eyes bearing down on the workers, her squinty-eyed intensity almost scared Mahlah.

“You heard my sister. We will pack our own tent.” Noah’s beauty turned rabid.

Tools dropped to the ground. Men fled. Basemath cowered.

Tirzah danced in a circle. Her tear-stained cheeks plumped from her grin.

Mahlah embraced their shepherdess. “Shalom, Noah. To think I was worried about you handling a few snakes.”