work.â I placed a hand on my brotherâs arm. âPromise you will do this, and help our dear neighbor in all things.â
âI swear I shall.â
âI love you, Brother. Never forget that.â I pressed my lips to his cheek and went in. My father was watching Cetura and Chemda preparing the evening meal, but there was a terrible defeat in his eyes when he glanced at me.
âYou return to Maon tomorrow, then?â he asked, as if he had never forbidden me to do so. âWe shall come with you.â
âNo, Father.â I could not tell him my husband was too cheap to provide a wedding feast. âThe trip would be too much for Mother. Nabal sends me to the hill country directly, to look after his herds.â I could not think about any of that now. âI do not know when I shall see you again. Likely not until after I return for shearing time.â
âMy daughter.â My fatherâs throat worked around the harsh rasp of his voice. âHow can I permit you to do this? How will we go on without you?â
âGo as I shall, Father.â I went to him and kissed his forehead. âWith love in your heart.â
Â
Amri took me back to the house of Nabal the next day. Nothing had changed, and no one came to greet us. The steward admitted us and told us that the master was still in his private chamber.
âHe stays in the baths until noon each day, perhaps a little later,â the servant said.
I had never known anyone to take a full bath every day. My mother and I visited the public baths once each week but otherwise washed from a basin at home.
âNot this day,â Amri snapped. âWake him and tell him his bride is here.â
âWe will wait in the courtyard,â I told the steward in a gentler voice. I wanted to see the garden, anyway.
We were brought to the center of the house, where the beds of rich soil, carefully tended, grew a bewildering variety of flowers. One small corner seemed neglected, however, and I went to investigate.
Absently I bent to tug at a melon vine, withered and dying. âThese might have been saved,â I said, fingering the tiny, neglected fruit.
âYou would save everything,â Amri said, his voice harsh, âbut you cannot. I knew that witch in the market cursed you. She was the one to bring this misfortune into your life.â
I glanced up at him. âHow can a husband be a misfortune?â
âThis man will be no husband to you.â He drew me up and clasped my hands in a painful grip. âHeed me now, daughter of Oren. Herdsmen are nomads; they go wherever the flocks take them. They live in tents and have ways strange to you. Learn them. Their women will not be like you, and they will be suspicious of you. Befriend them.â
The ferocity of his words startled me. âI shall try, Amri.â
âAdonai yireh, but this is a bitter thing.â He closed his eyes for a moment. âWhere you go, you will have no friends or family to protect you.â He looked at me now with the same, angry resentment the mâkhashepah had shown me. âIn all things, protect yourself. Save yourself.â
The steward appeared before I could reply. He looked even more sullen and resentful. âMaster Nabal will receive you now.â
As before, we were brought to Nabalâs great room. The air smelled of exotic spices, but none I recognized. Two male servants stood fanning Nabal with wide palm fronds. Another, older woman sat at his feet, into which she was rubbing oil.
My husband-to-be was naked to the waist and holding a round object with a handle in front of his mouth. He grimaced at the object and then applied a small, frayed-ended twig to his teeth.
Amri cleared his throat.
Nabal looked over the edge of the strange thing he was holding. âWhy do you come here so early? Cannot this thing be done at night, when there is no sun to pierce my eyeballs or make me sweat?â
I did
Morten Storm, Paul Cruickshank, Tim Lister