The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (28 page)

“You are too hard on yourself.” Adara stepped closer and touched her arm. “If Israel’s God found you worthy to save and spared our lives for no reason other than we are your family, then that says more about you than us.” A solemn expression came over her youthful face. “I believe in their
God, Rahab, even if Father does not. No matter what our men want to do, I want to obey the God of Israel along with you.” She squeezed Rahab’s arm in a possessive, sisterly gesture.

Rahab blinked back the sudden threat of tears and pulled Adara into her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear. “If it comes to that, I would be glad to have you near—to rock your babies on my knee.”

“And I will attend to yours as well,” Adara insisted. “Do not fear, Rahab. Someone will marry you and love you for yourself. They will not use you as Dabir did.”

Or Gamal. Or Prince Nahid. Or countless other men. What she wouldn’t give for someone to love her for her.

But even Salmon could not be what she wanted. Of that she was certain. She had lived too long and seen too much to think that any man could give her that kind of unconditional, forgiving love.

“I will be content if you are happy,” she told Adara. She slipped her arm through her sister’s, and together they walked back to the bickering of her father’s camp.

24

R
ahab and her sisters walked to the Jordan to draw water a week after the burning of Jericho. She had heard nothing more from Salmon or Mishael or Joshua—only the constant arguments of the men in her father’s household. The river was not as high as it had been, allowing them to hear the voices of the women of Israel as they approached.

“Don’t look at them,” Cala said, shifting away from the chatter of the older women who bent near the river to wash their clothes. “They always scowl at us as though we have no right to be here.”

Rahab glanced at the Hebrew women, caught the curious looks of some, the obvious disdain of others. She met Cala’s gaze and nodded. “Let’s move farther downstream.”

Adara swung a clay jug to her shoulder and straightened her back, walking with a purposeful, graceful swing of her hips, her chin tipped upward.

Rahab laughed softly, then leaned closer to her younger sister. “You’re going to make them like us less than they do.”

“That’s just the problem,” Cala said, kneeling to fill her jar at the water’s edge. “They will never accept us. You have heard what the men are saying. How can we ask them to submit to some barbaric practice to stay with a people who despise us?”

“I don’t think they despise us.” Rahab looked toward the women again, their heads huddled close as if they gossiped. “They don’t know us.”

“They don’t want to know us.” Cala stood, lifting the heavy jug to her head and balancing it with one practiced hand.

They walked back the way they had come toward their small makeshift camp. At least the cat had stayed. She noticed him sleeping in a patch of sunlight just outside her tent. How long before he ran off?

“Father is thinking of leaving soon.”

Rahab stopped at Cala’s words, the weight of her own jug suddenly heavy on her head.

“How soon?” She wasn’t surprised. But somehow she had hoped . . .

“Tonight. Or tomorrow. I’m not sure. But they will leave when the sons of Israel are sleeping, lest they try to stop us.” Cala looked at Rahab, her dark eyes narrowed. “You won’t tell them, will you?”

Rahab shook her head. “Why would I do that? You are my family. But I will miss you.”

Adara turned, her eyes wide. “You would not join us?”

Rahab studied them both, two sisters dear to her heart. How could she bear to have them leave her? “I cannot leave.”

“Why not?”

“I promised my allegiance to Israel’s God.”

“So serve Him in another place. Why stay here with people
you don’t know?” Adara’s voice rose in pitch, clearly agitated. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“Why go to another place where we know no one? At least here we know Salmon and Mishael and Joshua. And their God spared us. Where would we go that could possibly be any better?” Rahab set the cold jar on the ground at her feet, and her sisters did the same. “Their God is giving them the whole land of Canaan. All the kings fear them. Where does Father think to go that will be any safer than we are here?” She couldn’t believe they had kept this decision from her.

“Father wants to head to Egypt.” Cala lowered her gaze as if suddenly fascinated with her sandaled feet.

Rahab glanced from Cala to Adara. “I suppose Tzadok supports this.”

Cala nodded.

“Will you stay with me?” She faced Adara. “Or has Father insisted you join them?”

Color flushed Adara’s face. She glanced beyond Rahab. “I would stay with you. I would marry an Israelite. But Father will hear none of it.” Moisture touched her lashes, and she held Rahab’s gaze.

“Mishael would have asked for you, I think.” Though Rahab only said so on instinct, based on all she had known of men.

“And I would have accepted.” Adara looked briefly away, then stepped closer and fell into Rahab’s arms. “Oh Rahab. Can’t you convince Father to let me stay with you? Can we ask Joshua to arrange a marriage before Father leaves? We are Israel’s captives, after all, aren’t we? We can’t just walk away.”

Rahab patted her sister’s back. “We are captives in a sense, but not in the normal way, since it was our lives for theirs.
And Joshua isn’t likely to try to take power from Father. He is your protector.”

“Then he is your protector too. You must come with us.” This from Cala, surprising Rahab with the strength of her words.

Rahab slowly shook her head. “Father gave up protecting me a long time ago.” She looked toward the Israelite camp and back toward the river, where she caught a glimpse of one of the women watching them. Was she being a fool to want to stay? Would such women ever accept her? And how could she stay without her sisters?

“Can you at least talk to him? He listened to you once before. Maybe he will listen again. Maybe Joshua could make him listen.” Adara’s tone grew desperate, her feelings for Mishael only too evident in her bright gaze.

Rahab held Adara close, then released her and lifted the jar once more. “Azad heard the requirements the same as we did for pledging allegiance to Israel. Our men are appalled at such a request.” She understood why, though she could hardly explain it to her virgin sister.

“But why?” Adara asked, clearly troubled. “How is that any worse than having your head shaved?”

Rahab released a heavy sigh, groping for the right words. “It brings only emotional pain to shave a woman’s head,” she said slowly. “For a man, it brings physical weakness, pain, and a blow to his pride. Trust me, dear one, it is much worse.”

“Tzadok said he heard tell of Israel’s ancestors killing a whole city of men who’d agreed to be circumcised. Once they succumbed, while they were still weak, Israel attacked them. Tzadok—he doesn’t trust them.” Cala lifted her chin
in a sudden show of pride in her husband’s decision. “After hearing that tale, I don’t either.”

Silence followed the remark, and Rahab glanced at Adara, wondering how strong her feelings for Mishael would prove to be. She didn’t really know the man. Though she said she believed in Israel’s God, she was so young and impressionable. It was too much to ask her to choose between her whole family and Rahab.

“It sounds like you are already convinced then.” Rahab looked at Cala, who gave a slight nod.

“If Father leaves, I will not put up a fight.”

Adara squirmed under Rahab’s gaze. “Will you?” Rahab asked.

Adara walked slowly, saying nothing at first. “I don’t want to.” She blinked back tears. “It would be perfect if you would just come with us.”

How oblivious her sister was to anything but her own thoughts, her own pain. “I could say the same to all of you. Just stay. It would be safer here.” Did they have any idea how hard it would be to travel the mountains and wilderness to get to Egypt? “Don’t you remember what the Egyptians did to Israel? And what their God did to the Egyptians?”

Adara stared at Rahab, but Cala just shrugged. “We weren’t there. These are stories of old. Many things could have changed in the telling over the years.”

“For a God who just recently parted the Jordan as He did the Red Sea and who just saved us from a city He let Israel destroy, I cannot help but wonder why you think the past tales are not as real. Besides, why believe one tale and not another? You seem quick to accept Israel’s treachery toward the circumcised, yet don’t believe the stories of Egypt’s en
slaving them or of the plagues?” Were her sisters really that naive?

“All I know is that Father and Tzadok and our brothers don’t like it here. If they go, we have no choice but to go with them.” They stopped near their tents, each setting their jugs in small depressions in the ground. “We should bake the flatbread for travel. Tzadok said to be ready at a moment’s notice.”

Rahab nodded, then embraced each sister. “I hope you will say goodbye before you leave.” She swallowed, emotion threatening.

Adara clung to her. “Please speak to Father for me.”

Rahab kissed her forehead. “I will try, dear one. But I seriously doubt there is anything I can do.”

Salmon dug his staff into the earth, keeping to the sides of the road where the moonlight flickered beyond them, casting both himself and Mishael in darkness. The town of Ai lay just beyond the next ridge, but they would wait until daylight to enter with the rest of the merchants, as they had done in Jericho.

“Let’s not make the mistake of staying too long this time.” Mishael sank onto the ground in front of a shallow cave tucked into the hill overlooking the city. “We can’t be sure of finding a friendly prostitute again.” He chuckled, but Salmon merely nodded.

“Or a friendly merchant, for that matter.” He did not meet his friend’s gaze but rather closed his eyes and leaned against the cave wall, pretending to want sleep.

“You can’t possibly be tired already.” Mishael picked up
a flint knife and piece of wood he had found along the path and began to shave the edges.

“I don’t feel much like talking, is all.” The truth was he could not shake the image of Rahab from his thoughts. What was to become of her? It troubled him that he cared even a little. How many men had known her? What had led her into such a vile life?

Mishael whistled a soft tune, breaking his attention. He opened his eyes, caught the laughter in his friend’s gaze. “Don’t feel like talking? Or can’t stop thinking about a certain beautiful captive?”

“She’s not a captive. She saved our lives, so we saved hers.”

“The people treat her like one. My sister tells me that whenever Rahab and her sisters come to the river for water, the women of Israel stare at them, gossiping and scowling.” He flicked a piece of wood from his robe.

“So tell your sister to befriend them. Why allow her to put up with that?” Heat crawled up the back of Salmon’s neck at the thought of what he would like to say to some of those women.

“I have little control over my sister’s words and you know it. What woman in Israel ever keeps her tongue silent when she is among the gossips? If my sister befriended Rahab, what do you think will happen to her? She will be shunned.”

“And yet you would marry Rahab’s younger sister Adara. You are fickle in your convictions, my friend.” Salmon shoved aside his irritation.

“You are an enigma to me, Salmon. First you say, ‘Who could ever marry a prostitute?’ Then you tell me I should make my sister befriend one.” His brows narrowed as his
scrutiny grew. “Look me in the eye and tell me you do not care for Rahab.”

Salmon met Mishael’s gaze, but he could not hold it.

“I knew it.” Mishael’s laughter was too self-satisfying.

“I do not care for Rahab.” Salmon forced the words through suddenly dry lips.

Mishael’s laughter stopped. Silence followed as they looked at each other. At last Mishael shrugged, as though through with the conversation. “Your loss, my friend.”

Salmon looked away. “I’d like to see you marry someone who has known more men than she can count.”

Mishael tucked the flint knife into the pouch at his side and stretched out on the ground, hands behind his head. “Perhaps I will.” He rolled over, his back to Salmon, the conversation clearly at an end.