The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (38 page)

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almon tugged at his turban and shook the dust from it away from the fire Othniel had built at the mouth of a small cave. They had been walking with one lone donkey carrying their gear for days, and now camped on the outskirts of Damascus.

“I will be glad when this mission is over,” Salmon said, sinking to his knees before the fire. “I must admit, I have asked myself many times why I suggested such a thing.” He reached in his pack for a handful of dried beans and set them to soak over the flames. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Othniel pulled a different pot of heated water from the fire and mixed it with crushed ginger. “It’s no trouble. Better than sitting around the camp waiting for the next war.” He offered a cup of the brew to Salmon, who gratefully took it. “Besides, I would do the same thing for the woman I loved.”

Salmon glanced at his new friend. “I don’t love her. I’m just doing this to give her peace.”

“That so?” Othniel grinned.

“Yes.” Salmon stirred the beans, wishing now he had opted for the familiar flatbread and cheese.

“Your silence tells me otherwise.” Othniel chuckled as Mishael used to do, garnering Salmon’s glare.

“And what woman is it you love who would send you off to follow your own foolishness?” He smiled at Othniel’s blush. “Someone I might know?”

Othniel sat cross-legged and sipped his cup. “Probably. She’s a cousin, the daughter of my uncle Caleb.”

“Which one?” Caleb had had several daughters during his long years on earth, though most were already wed.

“Aksah. She is the youngest and should soon be betrothed.” Othniel stared into the distance, his jaw tight.

Salmon blew on the steam from his cup. Their fathers, as all men and women from that unfaithful generation, had died before they crossed the Jordan. Othniel had no one to intercede for him with his uncle, who was one of only two aged men left among them—Joshua being the other. “Have you spoken to Caleb or Joshua about this?”

“Not yet.” He shrugged. “Uncle Caleb does not know that I love her.”

“And you are afraid to tell him.”

Othniel lifted a brow as though considering the thought. “Not afraid.” He met Salmon’s gaze. “Aksah is the most beautiful of women. I am not sure she would have me.”

“What say would she have in it? You should speak to your uncle.” Salmon stirred the boiling beans, then tossed in a handful of cumin and raisins. They had not taken the time to snare a bird or small animal, so their meals were mostly cheese and dried fruit and bread without yeast. The beans he had noticed only today. Rahab must have tucked them into
his pack. Thoughts of her gave a kick to his heart. Aksah could not possibly be as beautiful as Rahab, and yet Rahab, in her unique situation, had a choice. She could refuse to marry him and leave Israel.

The thought troubled him. Truth be told, he had started to pray every day that they would not find Gamal. But guilt always accompanied that prayer.

Othniel lifted his chin, his grin mischievous as Mishael’s used to be. “I will admit this to you, my friend, but you must promise to keep it to yourself. I would not want to be forced to kill you.”

Salmon heard the humor in his tone. “Who says you would succeed?” He laughed outright. “So tell me already.”

Othniel gave a half shrug. “Aksah does not know that I care for her. She probably sees me as a pest or a brother more than a husband to obey.”

“So perhaps you need to do something to change her mind. Prove your worth and earn her respect.” Salmon dipped leftover flatbread into the simple stew.

“Is that what this is for you? To earn Rahab’s respect?” Othniel swallowed a large mouthful and they both chewed in silence.

“I told you already. I want to give her peace. Other than that, I don’t know why I’m doing this. Perhaps I want an excuse to get out of the marriage Joshua seems to want to push me into.” Admitting his thoughts only added to his guilt. “Perhaps something will present itself and you will have your answer with Aksah,” Salmon said, needing to turn the conversation away from his own troubling predicament.

“Yes, if my uncle doesn’t betroth her to someone else before I return.” He clenched a fist, then released it. “But I cannot
control these things, so there is no sense growing angry or bitter without cause. I would imagine even in this I must place my trust in Adonai’s grace.”

Salmon nodded. Grace was something he would have to offer to Rahab if indeed he married her. He shook his head, his confusion mounting, one moment wanting her, the next not sure he was capable of such mercy.

“Now, after traveling this far,” he said at last, “I truly hope our trip is worth the trouble. But if I find the man, I honestly don’t know what I will do with him.”

“Perhaps you should hear his side of the story. To prove she has spoken the truth.”

“Would God have spared her if she had lied?” Surely not. Not after what he had seen happen to Achan and his family. Even a heathen would not get far lying to God Almighty.

Rahab ran her fingers along the first soft growth of new hair on her scalp but refused to examine her appearance in the bronze mirror Eliana had given her. Perhaps her avoidance was vain, but she had spent too many years in front of the glass, trying to make herself beautiful for unworthy men.

Her thoughts turned to Salmon’s God—her God now—as she drew a plain linen scarf over her head and tucked it securely under her chin, pinning it lest it come loose and expose her. Two weeks had already passed since Salmon left for Syria, and she had submitted her life, her choices, even her future to Yahweh. Already she felt a new connection to her Maker. The brink of dawn each morning had drawn her to the river, not only to gather water before the other women could join her, but to pray. Alone, she felt the pain of her past
slowly melting away, as though the sound of the river were washing her clean.

She petted the cat, hefted the jar in her hands, and lifted the tent flap, greeted by the soft gray light that preceded the sunrise. Her feet felt the cold tickle of dew as she made her way barefoot through the camp, down the well-worn path toward the Jordan.

She stopped abruptly at the sound of men’s voices and the clop of donkeys’ hooves coming her direction. A copse of trees hid her from their immediate view, but she could not cross the road without being noticed. Who were they? Joshua would want to know of strangers passing near their camp.

She whirled about and ran back the way she had come. Most of the camp still lay abed, so her movements went unhindered by women or children blocking the road. She came to Joshua’s tent but stopped, uncertain. She couldn’t just enter his tent uninvited, a woman alone. Was Eliana with him? She hurried around to the side of the tent where the girls slept and entered without knocking. To her great relief, she found Eliana slowly rising from her pallet.

“Eliana,” Rahab whispered, not wanting to wake her daughters. “You must come at once.”

She saw the alarm lighten Eliana’s dark eyes but did not bother to give an explanation. She ducked from the tent and waited a moment for Eliana to join her.

“What’s happened? Is it Joshua?”

Rahab touched Eliana’s shoulder and shook her head, sorry she had caused her friend to fear. “No, nothing like that. But I need to warn him that men from a distance are headed to our camp. I heard them talking on my way to the
river. I did not get a glimpse of them, so I do not know if they come in peace.”

“Praise Adonai that you are an early riser.” Eliana gripped Rahab’s arm and tugged her outside Joshua’s tent. “Wait here.”

Rahab nodded, half amused by the comment that she was an early riser, considering that she used to spend most of the daylight hours in bed. But now she longed for the day’s newness, when God felt nearest.

Eliana popped her head through the tent’s opening. “Come quickly.”

Rahab hurried inside the dark interior. Eliana had taken time to light only one lamp. Joshua emerged looking haggard and worn, rubbing a hand over his disheveled hair.

“Rahab, my daughter. What can I do for you?” He motioned for her to sit, but she remained standing.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I come in haste. As I walked to the river to draw water at dawn, I heard men and the hooves of donkeys coming toward our camp. Their accents sounded as though they had come from a distance, but I did not see them, so I could not tell. They could also be neighbors just passing by, but I thought you should know.”

Joshua’s eyes lost the look of weariness. “Thank you, Rahab. Go with Eliana and prepare the morning meal. I will see to the men.” He spoke to a servant boy, sending him to call the elders to his tent.

Rahab went to do Joshua’s bidding. Before the bread finished baking on the stones, a crowd of elders had assembled, arriving about the same moment as the foreign men and donkeys entered the camp.

Rahab peered around the corner of the cooking area, fi
nally catching a glimpse of the men she had heard. Their clothes, sacks, and wineskins were worn and mended, and their sandals had patches holding them together. How far had they come?

Joshua emerged, surrounded by the elders.

One of the scraggly men stepped forward. “We have come from a distant country and ask that you make a treaty with us.”

Silence followed the remark, but a moment later the elders leaned close to one another and whispered among themselves. At last one of them spoke. “How do we know you have come from a far country? Perhaps you live near us. How then can we make a treaty with you?”

The spokesman looked at Joshua, with only a glance at the speaking elder. “We are your servants.”

Joshua stroked his beard, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to read their thoughts. “Who are you and where do you come from?”

The spokesman cleared his throat, reached for a limp, cracked skin that held only a few drops of water, then shook his head as though pained by his poverty. “Your servants have come from a very distant country because we have heard of the fame of the Lord your God—of all that He did in Egypt, and all that He did to the two kings of the Amorites east of the Jordan. Our elders and all those living in our country said to us, ‘Take provisions for your journey. Go and meet them and say to them, “We are your servants. Make a treaty with us.”’ So we set out and have come to make peace with you.”

He pulled a loaf of moldy bread from another sack and held it toward Joshua. “This bread of ours was warm when we packed it at home on the day we left to come to you. But
now see how dry and moldy it is. And these wineskins that we filled were new, but see how cracked they are. And our clothes and sandals are worn out by the very long journey.”

Rahab felt Eliana’s silent presence beside her as she watched. Several of the elders stepped forward, and one of them took the bread, turning it over in his hands. Another lifted the wineskin and examined the cracks. Both turned and nodded at Joshua.

“We will make a treaty of peace with you,” Joshua said. “When we wipe out the nations that surround us as the Lord our God has commanded us to do, we will not strike you down to kill you but will let you live.”

“May the Lord honor our treaty,” said the man who had done most of the speaking. The others spoke their agreement.

“Come, partake of some bread and figs before you return home,” Joshua said.

Rahab and Eliana hurried from the place where they watched and enlisted the help of Joshua’s daughters and the elders’ wives to gather enough food to feed their visitors along with their own men.

Rahab listened to the chatter as she served them and caught the glimpses of amusement in some of their visitors’ gazes. Did they think this celebration humorous, or were they merely happy to finally eat a full meal?

A sense of apprehension filled her as she heard the slight change in tone or accent of one or more of the men. Why had these men not named the country from which they came? Which distant country? And why did the elders, did Joshua, not ask the Lord’s guidance before they spoke the promise of peace?

The thoughts troubled her until the last donkey and man left Gilgal.

Salmon slung his pack over the donkey’s side and secured it with leather strings. He patted the animal’s neck and spoke softly to it. “Now the fun begins,” he said.