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Authors: Diana Wallis Taylor

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BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel

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Shimei caught Zibeon’s eye and, with a murmured “Welcome,” melted into the crowd.

With many toasts, the wine flowed freely. Marah viewed Zibeon’s drinking with alarm. Hannah tried to tempt him with more food to balance the wine. Dear Hannah. In all the celebration it was good to have one friend, at least, who knew how she really felt.

Finally the guests began to depart and her attendants came to escort Marah to the bridal chamber. As they passed Reba, Marah paused and they looked at one another. Reba’s face was a mask in the candlelight. She did not move to join them. Reba opened her mouth to speak, apparently thought better of it, and remained silent. For a brief moment, Marah thought she saw compassion on Reba’s face, and then Reba glanced briefly at Zibeon out of the corner of her eye and her face hardened. Regret perhaps? It was only fleeting, but Marah felt Reba would have exchanged places with her if she could. The moment passed, and with a brief nod to Marah, Reba turned away.

Stifling the fear that pounded in her throat, Marah moved woodenly toward the bridal chamber. She scarcely heard the forced cheerfulness of her companions. The embroidered wedding dress was carefully removed and she was seated on the bridal couch, clothed only in a simple shift. The girls laid the veil and garland aside with her dress. Timnah and Atarah murmured good wishes and stood awkwardly watching her. Marah knew no one wanted to be in her place tonight. They too had watched the groom as he partook of the wine and pounded his great fist on the table. Atarah and Timnah remained speechless. With a few words, Hannah excused them, and the attendants awkwardly left the room, whispering among themselves.

Hannah put her hand on Marah’s shoulder and she covered the hand with her own. There was no need for words. They had already shared all that could be said many times in the last few months.

“I must go.”

“Hannah . . .”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just thank you, for everything.”

“I will pray for you, and for Zibeon.” There was nothing more to do now.

Marah felt somehow abandoned.

Hannah turned to the closed door and, as if Zibeon could hear her warning, shook her fist and spoke vehemently. “If you do nothing else worthy of this child, be kind tonight!” Then, with a sigh, and one last glance back at Marah, she left the room.

Marah sat with her thoughts tumbling about her. Surely the wedding guests who still remained could hear the pounding of her heart. She gazed at the small high window. A thought passed briefly that she could climb out the window and run. But where would she go? Hannah was right. There was no place to go, nowhere to run. Then she thought of her dream. It had come again last night and thinking of it calmed her. Who was the man in the dream? Would she ever know? She sighed. Her life was as God willed. She must not question His designs.

With a start she heard the latch on the door lift. It swung open forcefully and Zibeon stood in the doorway.

PART II

Zibeon

M
arah kneaded the bread slowly and glanced from time to time at the clay oven to check the fire that was beginning to burn down as it heated the oven for baking. Athaliah was at the marketplace to buy vegetables. It was pleasant to enjoy the peace of the morning since she didn’t have to face Zibeon until late afternoon when he closed the shop. She moved her shoulders to stretch and put a hand in the small of her back. The child within her grew large as she neared her sixth month. Her belly was stretching, and as women do, she moved her hand back and forth across the taut skin. As the babe moved to her touch, she smiled.

In spite of her own barrenness, Hannah was happy for her.

“God smiles upon you, Marah. He has given you a child quickly to please your husband and make your way easier.”

Marah sighed. At least the pain of that first week with Zibeon was behind her, and being practical in nature, she had accepted her lot in life. Sometimes, though, when she thought of that first night with Zibeon, she shuddered. The smell of the wine, his eager hands, and the pain within her that rolled and ebbed, the cries in the darkness that seemed to come from beyond herself. Mercifully she had fainted. She had awakened in the wee hours of the morning, her mouth dry. Zibeon was asleep beside her, snoring noisily. Slowly, biting her lip at the jabs of pain, she had made her way to the corner of the room where a large jar of water had been placed. She drank greedily from the dipper, looking back toward Zibeon lest she make a noise that would awaken him. In the dimness of the room, she glanced down and saw shadows on her shift. As she touched one, she stifled a cry. It was dried blood. She dipped water into a small clay basin and washed herself as well as she could. Standing quietly in the darkness, she bowed her head. She was a wife now and there were duties she must bear. No one had told her what to expect. Reba would not, and Hannah must have thought Reba had borne the task, for she had not brought up the subject. Was it this way with all women, Marah wondered. Had it been this way for her own mother? Suddenly, without warning, a longing for her mother swept over her. Tears stung her eyes, but she straightened herself, willing the tears back to the depths from which they came. Her mother was gone and she herself was no longer a child. She was now Zibeon’s wife and she must work hard to please him. Quietly she crept back to the bed and lay down beside Zibeon. She was so weary. Zibeon still slept soundly, and in spite of her fear, she fell asleep again.

When Marah awoke, it was with a start. Zibeon was gone. Why had he not awakened her? Her mother-in-law must think her a lazy wife not to be up before her husband and about her tasks. Feeling stronger, she got up, and looked toward the water jar. The basin of water in which she had washed herself had been emptied. For a moment she felt a rush of gratefulness toward Athaliah. Perhaps she was not all she seemed. Marah washed her face quickly in fresh water and dropped a clean garment over her head, winding the woven belt around her waist.

As Marah entered the main room of the house, she found Athaliah busily sweeping.

“Mother-in-law, forgive me. I did not mean to oversleep. What can I do to help?”

The old woman looked at her a moment with her bright eyes. “Zibeon has had his breakfast and gone to the shop. You will do the washing and see that the water jars are kept full. I will see what other tasks you are capable of. I trust Reba trained you well in the matters of a household.”

“Yes,” Marah answered quietly. What good would it do to tell Athaliah that she had been doing most of the tasks of their household since she was ten.

The day passed quickly with Athaliah assigning many jobs. She followed Marah around and watched everything she did.

“Have you checked each garment carefully that it is clean?” Athaliah asked needlessly. “You must hang the garments so . . .”

Each task was carefully scrutinized. It would be hard to please Athaliah. Marah bore the comments in silence. Perhaps it was difficult to have another woman come into a household. Even though Athaliah wanted a wife for Zibeon, she had cared for him for so long it was probably hard to yield to another woman.
I must let her see that I know my place
, thought Marah.
Surely in time I will gain respect in the eyes of my mother-in-law.

Now the morning sun rose higher and already she felt the warmth on her back. The chickens scratched about the yard and the goat was loudly proclaiming her need to be milked, for they had sold the kid. Dibri, the young son of a neighbor, had come and collected the sheep to take to the shepherd. Marah looked around her. She had a home, a husband, a family, and soon, a babe of her own. Her life could be worse, she reasoned to herself. Tomorrow would be the Sabbath, and Zibeon would go with the other men to the temple to pray. Since no work could be done, she would have a day to herself.

It was getting more difficult to kneel down at the stream and wash the clothes. The day before, as she worked on the cloth, Marah looked up and smiled as she saw Hannah put her basket down.

“You are well? The child grows.”

“I am well, Hannah, but I feel like a great cow!”

Hannah laughed and set about her own washing. “Your friend Atarah marries soon. It may be a race to see which comes sooner, the babe or the wedding.”

Marah laughed aloud with an exaggerated shrug.

“Zibeon is treating you well?” Hannah did not look up, but though the question was casual, Marah heard her concern.

“He is pleased about the child. He does not seem like such an angry man.” Marah paused, reflecting. “I was so afraid of him, Hannah. And those first few weeks I did not know how to behave. He was so unpredictable. Yet now,” she murmured thoughtfully, “he does not seem like such a bad man. Perhaps it is as you said that day on the way back from Jacob’s well. Perhaps he needed a wife to make his life easier.”

Hannah nodded. The two women talked as they worked, sharing the latest gossip, and finally parted to their respective homes. As Marah carried the basket of clothes, she noted that the afternoon shadows were beginning to stretch over the yard. Zibeon would be returning from the shop soon. She remembered that first day when she had braced herself to face Zibeon’s return. When he came, he strode boldly into the house and sat down by the small fire. Marah and Athaliah moved swiftly to set his dinner in front of him. He did not greet his mother or Marah but lustily consumed his food. From time to time he watched her. It was as if he were waiting for something.

At last Marah had taken a deep breath and blurted, “Your day went well, Husband?”

Zibeon paused and appeared to be surprised. Then he let out a great bellow of laughter.

“That is good, Wife. Yes, I had a fine day.” His eyes narrowed and he looked at Athaliah. “She is adequate in her duties?”

Athaliah had been hovering over him. “She will learn.”

“Mmmmm,” Zibeon murmured. Then he looked at Athaliah again. “Shimei has not returned?” he growled.

“No, my son,” she answered quickly. “It could be that the skins you sent him for took longer—”

“You make excuses for him?” Zibeon bellowed and both women trembled.

Zibeon leaned back on his elbow and belched. “Eat, old woman. I have had my fill.” As Marah hesitated, he indicated her with a wave of his hand. “You also, Wife. You will need your strength,” and he grinned. He unplugged the wineskin and took a great gulp.

“Did Reba leave with the caravan, my son?”

“Yes, Zohar the silversmith saw them leave at first light. Good riddance to that one!”

He spat. For once Marah could agree with him.

She waited, almost holding her breath as she helped Athaliah clean up the remnants of the meal. As Athaliah turned to her pallet at last, Zibeon picked up the small lamp.

“Come, wife,” he ordered.

Marah bowed her head and followed her husband from the room.

M
arah stretched her shoulders again in the warmth of the morning sun and resumed kneading the bread. She continued to ponder the events of the last few months. When the pain of that first week had passed, she felt she would survive. Athaliah watched her every move. When the time of women came to her that first month, Athaliah had sighed loudly, shaking her head. When the second month passed and Athaliah did not see her washing her women’s rags, she began to watch Marah’s every movement.

One particular night Marah wrestled with the nausea that came and went. Marah turned from Zibeon, feeling she was about to retch. It angered Zibeon, for he had raised his arm as if to strike her.

“I am that repulsive to you?” he roared.

“Forgive me, Husband,” Marah cried in desperation, “I am with child.” She covered her face with her arms to ward off the blow. She hunched herself on the pallet and made herself small, feeling wretched.

Zibeon’s reaction had been instantaneous. His hand stopped in midair as he stared at her.

“You are ill due to carrying a child? You are sure of this?”

“Yes, my lord. I am sure.” She had passed her second month.

BOOK: Journey to the Well: A Novel

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