Free Journey to the Well: A Novel by Diana Wallis Taylor

every task, even after all these months, but Marah brushed them off. In spite of herself she had become fond of the old woman.
    Athaliah patted Marah’s belly. “The child grows.”
    “Yes, Mother-in-law, he grows.” She knew that to mention any other gender in the house caused severe displeasure.
    Observing her strange new family, it was obvious that Zibeon was his mother’s favorite. Athaliah adored him and in spite of his manner toward her, doted on his every wish. As far as Marah could see, he never seemed to return the affection. He treated Athaliah like a servant and seemed to enjoy seeing her hop to do his bidding.
    Once Marah had asked about Athaliah’s husband and saw the old woman’s face soften. Zibeon must have been the first child of their marriage.
    “So strong was my husband. Zibeon is just like him. He was a beautiful boy and the delight of our hearts. Zibeon worked in the sandal shop with my husband and learned the trade from the time he was a young boy.” Athaliah studied her hands, lost in thought.
    “What happened to your husband?” Marah ventured, sensing that Athaliah was in a talkative mood.
    “He died of a fever when Zibeon was thirteen. Shimei was six months in my womb. When he died I nearly lost Shimei.” She paused, her face grown hard again. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had.”
    “Was he a difficult birth?” Marah prodded, her curiosity aroused.
    “Two days the pains lasted and he was jaundiced when he was finally born. He was pale and sickly from the first. His constant crying nearly drove Zibeon and me mad. God willed his birth, but I do not see the purpose of it.”
    Marah began to see Zibeon in a different light. A young boy, grieving for his father and forced to take over his father’s business and do a man’s work to support his mother and baby brother. With her husband gone and Shimei fraying her nerves with his crying, Athaliah had turned to Zibeon, focusing all her love and attention on her firstborn. She had spoiled Zibeon outrageously and now paid the penalty for her attention. Yet Athaliah didn’t seem to notice.
    In her eyes he could do no wrong. There was much about this family she wanted to know.
    When Zibeon returned home that evening, he noticed something in Marah’s demeanor toward him and seemed to watch her curiously. Then he did something out of character.
    “Wife, join me at my dinner.”
    Marah looked at Athaliah, but Zibeon ignored his mother and patted the cushion next to him. Clearly Athaliah was not included. Marah lowered herself carefully. Zibeon picked up a piece of cheese and ate it slowly, watching her speculatively from hooded eyes.
    “So ... my little bird is no longer afraid of the snare?” he asked softly.
    Marah’s eyes grew wide. It was true. She did not fear him as before, yet something told her to be cautious. “I seek only to please you, my husband.”
    “Please me?” Zibeon growled. “My mother seeks to please me, my brother seeks to please me . . . and my little Marah, what would you know of what pleases me, hmmm?” His face was close to hers and he had taken her arm, gripping it tightly. She did not flinch, but bravely looked back at him. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. After a long moment, he released her arm.
    “You have spirit, Wife. I like that.” He brought his face close to hers again. “My little mouse gets bolder.” He chuckled to himself.
    Athaliah watched furtively from across the room. She did not hear his last words.
    That night, Marah lay awake on their pallet listening to Zibeon’s heavy breathing as he slept. He had turned to her that night, but there was something different about his love-making—he seemed almost gentle. Was it because of the child? He had put his great hand on her belly and felt the child move. It seemed to please him. Marah sighed. A strange man, her husband. Why did he seem pleased that she did not fear him as before? He was a man of many moods and his temper was