The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (42 page)

Starlight danced in the sky overhead, and the fire crackled in Joshua’s courtyard. Caleb and his family, including Othniel and his cousin Aksah, Salmon, Rahab, and Joshua’s family talked among themselves. They had just come together at the end of the Sabbath. In a few weeks they would celebrate the Feast of Ingathering, if the festival was not interrupted by war. Already threats loomed on the horizon, and Joshua had confided to the elders that he had heard rumors of the Amorite kings preparing to war against them.

Salmon glanced across the court, where the women sat talking quietly. No distaff or spindle moved in their nimble fingers. Joshua had made it clear that the Sabbath was a gift from Yahweh to rest, to worship Him alone. From where he sat, it was clear that Rahab was at rest, at peace with herself, with Adonai. He had never seen such a beautiful smile as she
possessed now as she laughed softly at something Aksah said. If Othniel had his wish and married his cousin, perhaps the four of them could remain close friends. They were from the same tribe, after all, so they could live in the same proximity once they secured their land.

“You’re terribly quiet for such a talkative man, Salmon,” Othniel said, laughing. They both knew it was Othniel, and Mishael before him, who spoke many words. “Or are you just taken with watching a particular maiden?” he said, leaning close to Salmon’s ear.

Salmon faced him and lifted a brow. “I could ask you the same thing. Have you spoken yet to Caleb?” he whispered.

Othniel shook his head, but his gaze traveled to Aksah. He barely hid a smile. “Soon, I hope.” He looked again into Salmon’s eyes. “What about you, my friend? Joshua has already given you his blessing.”

Salmon watched Rahab, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He needed to speak to her. But where to start? “I have not spoken to her yet,” he admitted.

“What are you waiting for?” Othniel’s look held challenge. They both knew that war could interrupt any attempt at marriage. And if anything happened to him . . . would she miss him?

“I’m not sure she’ll say yes.”

“Coward.” The word, though said in a lighthearted tone, held too much truth.

Something moved in the shadows, and Salmon straightened, suddenly alert to the sounds of night. Wolves would not come near the fire, but as he looked closer, he saw something small, like a small dog or a large coney, amble into Joshua’s courtyard. It approached Rahab.

Salmon jumped up, whipped the dagger from its leather casing, and squinted to see in the darkness. No, not a dog or unclean rodent, but that silly cat. The animal had jumped onto Rahab’s lap at the same time that Salmon was nearly upon it before he recognized her pet.

She startled. Looked at him strangely. Glanced from his dagger to the animal now cradled in her arms. “Salmon, are you trying to kill my cat?”

He sheathed the blade and sank to the ground near her feet. “My mistake. I thought it was a wild animal.”

Her light laughter lifted his spirits. She stroked the cat’s fur and bent to kiss its head. “Well, he
is
an animal and was probably wild sometime in his life. He has followed me everywhere since before Jericho’s destruction.” She met Salmon’s gaze, her smile soft in the hearth’s glow. But she quickly turned her attention to the cat again and scratched its ears. “What a little shadow you are,” she said to the animal. “You know, when he first showed up, he was so skinny my cook threatened to add him to a stew.” Her smile moved him. She seemed more at peace than he had yet seen her.

Salmon sat closer and lifted a hand toward the animal. It turned, faced Salmon, hair on end, and hissed. He withdrew his hand and moved away.

“My protector,” Rahab said, leaning close to the cat, whispering comforting words in its raised ears. “It’s all right. Salmon is a friend. He didn’t really mean you harm.” The cat slowly settled again on Rahab’s lap.

Salmon rose slowly, taking a step backwards. “Do you suppose this little nemesis will allow me to walk you to your tent?”

Rahab’s large eyes widened at his request, and a soft
blush covered her cheeks. She looked at the cat once more. “What do you think, little friend? Shall we let Salmon take us home?”

A loud purr was the only response, and when Rahab stood with the animal still in her arms, it glowered at Salmon but made no attempt to raise its claws. Wooing Rahab was going to be harder than he expected.

Rahab sat beneath the shade of a terebinth tree the following afternoon, thinking. Salmon had said little on the walk to her tent. Perhaps he feared angering the cat again. But she sensed he had wanted to speak, and felt the sting of disappointment when he bid her good night without more than a blessing on her sleep. Not that it did any good. She had tossed with fitful dreams.

But before dawn at the riverside during her walk with Adonai, peace had returned. Gamal was dead, and she hoped he had found the peace in Sheol he had not seemed capable of finding in life. Grief had come with the news but did not last. She had mourned her family’s move far longer. And Tendaji’s protective loss. She had grieved the loss of her innocence and missed Adara’s and Cala’s closeness. Were they happy in their new home in Egypt? She would never know. The thought made her frown as she worked the flax into a basket.

“Is the work so difficult to bring such a scowl to your beautiful face?” Salmon’s voice came from her right. He thought her beautiful? Her hair was still as short as a man’s, though it remained hidden beneath her scarf. She looked up.

He glanced about him. “I’m not going to be attacked by your little ‘protector,’ am I?” He seemed almost worried if
not for his smile, and he did not have his dagger or sword at the ready.

“He sleeps during the day. I think you are safe.” Rahab’s heart skipped a beat. She drew a breath, then focused again on the basket. “Can I help you?”

He squatted beside her. “That depends,” he said, his voice gentled. “May I sit beside you?”

She met his gaze but a moment and nodded. “Of course. If you wish.”

She sensed him studying her, and she could not keep her concentration. She set the basket aside. “That is,” she said, “you may state what you need, but you are distracting me from my work.”

His smile was slow and held the slightest hint of amusement. “Am I now?” He settled on the ground more comfortably. “Distracting you?”

His steady look did strange things to her insides. Her stomach did a little flip. She swallowed. “From my work.”

“I see.” He paused. “Only your work?”

She stared at him, saw the intense interest in his eyes. “Yes.” She glanced away, betrayed by the heat filling her face. How was it possible this man could make her blush? She was acting like a new bride—with feelings she should not feel.

Except . . . Yahweh
had
washed her clean. She knew it deep within her. At least in His eyes, she was not what she used to be.

“Unfortunate,” Salmon said, his brows drawn in a mild frown. “Which goes to show that I am a terrible judge of character.” He studied her.

“Are you?”

He nodded. “I will tell you a story if you will spare the time.”

She could only nod in return. His kindness warmed her.

“You see,” he began, “I once met this woman, and she proved to be kind and giving. She risked her life for mine, and even bargained for her family to be free when she was only a sword’s breadth away from death.” He looked at her, and she could not pull away from the earnest gaze. “This woman was beautiful and remarkable and had more faith than I had seen in anyone around me, except Moses and Joshua and Caleb. I had never met a woman like her in all of Israel.”

She held too tightly to her breath, but she could not speak. He reached for her hand and turned it palm up in his larger one. “But I disdained this woman despite her character, because of her profession. In the eyes of my God, she was a sinner.”

His Adam’s apple moved in his neck, and she knew the words were hard to form on his tongue.

“The problem was,” he continued at last, “I did not see that my pride and judgment of her were sinful too. If my God found her faithful and saved her, forgave her past, why couldn’t I?”

Silence fell between them.

“Whatever happened to this woman?” she asked, no longer able to accept the silence, sensing his need for her to say something.

He looked into her eyes, and it felt as though he had touched her. Not in a physical way, but with warmth to her heart. “She changed. But more importantly, I changed,” he said. “I realized that we are all sinners in our God’s eyes. But we are saved by faith in Him, in His ability to save us, and by faith we obey His Word as Moses taught us, and as our forefathers did.”

“I’m happy for you and this woman, whoever she is,” she said, pulling her hand from his grasp. “Our God is mighty to save.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. She took a breath and released it. “So what will you do? Is this woman a friend of yours now?”

Salmon’s smile was serious. “I am hoping to make her much more than a friend, though a friend is a good place to start.”

Rahab’s heartbeat quickened. She dare not look at him, and yet, she could not stop herself. “Much more than a friend?”

He nodded, then shifted so that he sat closer. “Rahab?”

“Yes, my lord?”

He extended his hand palm up. “Will you be my wife?”

She studied the hairs on his arms and hands. Beautiful, calloused, yet gentle hands. Her stomach did another flip as a thousand thoughts flitted through her mind. But none caught hold. None condemned her, and she found she no longer wanted to remain alone. She lifted her own calloused hand and placed it in his. Met his ardent gaze.

“Salmon, nothing would please me more.”

The week passed too quickly once Rahab went through the ritual purification with Eliana’s help. She stood shaking before the bronze mirror in Eliana’s tent, not wanting to pull the scarf from her head. “There is nothing to comb, Eliana. No hair to put up for Salmon to undo.”

She cringed, not wanting to look, as Eliana gently lifted the veil from her head. A soft sigh from Eliana’s lips made Rahab glance in the bronze looking glass. The reflection that stared
back at her barely resembled the Rahab she once knew. Soft hairs had grown in thick atop her head, brushed the tops of her ears, and covered the base of her neck.

“You will be the envy of every woman in Israel who wishes she did not have a heavy head of hair to wash each week.” Eliana picked up a shell comb and fluffed the edges of Rahab’s freshly washed hair. “Enjoy it so short. You will never have it so easy to care for again.”

Rahab studied her reflection. The short hair made her look younger than her twenty-one years. She toyed with a slight smile. “Do you think Salmon will think me pretty?”

Eliana came from behind to face her. “I think the man is completely smitten with you and has been since the moment he met you.”

Rahab looked at her short, unpainted nails. “I fairly doubt that.” But she could not deny the hope that followed Eliana’s statement.

“Come,” Eliana said, ignoring her comment. “It is time for Joshua to bless your union.” She stepped back as Rahab placed the veil over her head and covered half of her face with it. Her heart raced as she moved out of Eliana’s tent to the smaller huppa set up in the court area in front of Joshua’s tent.

A crowd had gathered, seemingly the entire tribe of Judah. Music drew her under the canopy, and the women joined hands and circled their tent. Salmon stood looking at her, dressed in princely garb, his striped robe rivaling anything she had seen Prince Nahid or Dabir wear.

She swallowed, wishing away such a disturbing memory, silently praying Adonai would keep her mind clear of every man but Salmon. Her knees weakened as he stepped closer and placed the corner of his robe across her shoulders.

Joshua spoke words of blessing she barely heard, and the women took up dancing and singing again. Salmon wove his fingers through hers and leaned close to her ear. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I hope you will not find me wanting.”

Rahab felt her cheeks blaze beneath the veil. “I hope you will not think I shall compare you to . . . well, I wouldn’t think of . . . that is . . .”