(Click Liat’s Quest is set in the years before the shepherd David became king. She and her father live anonymously in a tent on the edge of Kabzeel, which is far south toward the edge of the great wilderness. She hates living there, and hates the thought of marrying anyone there. Her father finds someone for her, she rebels, and things go downhill from there.
As she runs away toward a distant family she’s never seen she finds that she must fulfill the duty of goel, next of kin, avenger of blood in the evil city of Jebus. What she found in the City of Evil no one could have expected.
All the historical details are as accurate as I could make them. People lived exactly as I have portrayed her and her contemporaries. I hate to say more than that and spoil your fun, so here is the first chapter. (The first sequel is out now, available at any bookstore, online, or on Kindle. Mouth of the Lion, by Casey and Sharon Smith.)
Chapter 1
“Hasah!” The young girl whispered. She grasped a handful of her dog’s hair as they lay flat in the tall grass behind the branches of a young cedar. The rough voices of Philistine soldiers drifted up to where they lay concealed. Her companion panted beside her, not understanding the need for silence, but obeying the command. They had hidden from strange men before, and she had managed to impress upon him that she was serious at such times. As the girl eyed the weapons and clothing of the soldiers she guessed that they were returning to Gath, a Philistine garrison half a day’s walk away. They must have commandeered some unfortunate Hebrew’s home last night. As they approached distinct words became distinguishable.
“So anyway, the whore only tried to rob me once. No one tries to rob me twice.”
“Had a brick mason try to cheat me when I was living in Gath. Paid him a visit at night with my friends.”
One of them stumbled over a rock, and kicked it. There were four of them, and Liat really did not want any sort of confrontation. She resisted the temptation to hunker down lower when the gaze of the rear soldier swept the hillside where she lay. Movement would give her away for sure, even if she were trying to hide more effectively.
“Have you seen the new commander’s daughter yet? There’s a prize for you!” The others guffawed, and began to give descriptions of her that Liat had to think were exaggerations. They passed on, and after a long time Liat, daughter of Shemer the shepherd, stood up. Absently she brushed grass and dog hair off her faded maheel.
“Let’s be about our business, BenAvah. We must get there and do our business quickly if we are going to finish it before lord what’s-his-name shows up.” The aniy` she had met yesterday in a fruitless search for barley to glean had told her where to find this farm, apparently the last Hebrew landowner in the area to leave the corners of his field unreaped. Her father said that fewer people every year were keeping Moses’ law.
The aniy` had not known the name of this man, being a homeless wanderer himself, but had given her clear directions. In past years her father had insisted on traveling to farms himself to do the gleaning, but this year she had decided that she wanted to do it. He had still been sleeping when she left that morning; after she did this successfully, from now on he would surely let her do the gleaning. She loved these little adventures when she got them, but they came too rarely to suit her.
Liat and her father had been too busy with Suah’s sheep to get here earlier, so now she would glean what she could from what others had left.
There. Two stately oaks marked the entrance to the large two-story home standing dark in the half-light of early morning. No, there was a light, someone was just lighting a lamp in the lower window. Someone was up. Liat hurried, wanting to get her work over with and leave before anyone came to the fields. What she was doing was legal, but she was an aniy` herself, one of the indigent poor of the land living hand-to-mouth, a fact that she bitterly regretted. The fragile morning light lit the fragrant almond blossoms near the gate with a pink radiance, but she had no eye for them. They belonged to someone else.
“See the house, BenAvah? The sheep behind, the fields around, the barns out back? They don’t know what they have. If you lived there you would be a big, fat, ugly dog. On the other hand, that describes you pretty well, doesn’t it?” BenAvah yipped his agreement, despite the fact that he was neither large nor fat, just an average sized dog with short mottled hair. He seemed to be blessed with an overabundance of enthusiasm for life, making him an apt foil for Liat’s disenchantment with it.
As she passed the home to get to the field, her glance ran over the building in reluctant appreciation of its beauty. Two stories, she noted, and sprawling. There might even be a room for each member of the family, and they probably even had servants. She tried to imagine life in such a home. Servants, to fetch and carry for her. Fine plates, and good cookware. She and her father Shemer lived in a ratty, patched old tent that had seen better days on the edge of town, tending sheep that old Suah did not have the energy to care for any more.
At the edge of the field she stopped. Because she had been distracted she had not noticed, but she had been walking along the field for some ways now. But the landowner had decided to widen the field, so several rows of freshly plowed earth stood between her and the barley. She could go back and walk around, or she could traverse the damp earth lying in her way. “I don’t have time for this. BenAvah, we will get our feet a little muddy today.” She started across, took three steps, and slipped on a rut. Going down on one knee, she managed to keep most of her maheel out of the mud, but its lower half was sodden with damp earth. She made her way to the barley, more and more mud clinging to her feet with every step. Finally she arrived at the standing barley and tried to kick the mud off her feet. Saying a word her father would not approve of, she stamped her feet in a vain effort to clean them off. Finally she gave it up.
The field was wet with dew, but Liat spread her mantle on discarded stalks and began to gather the grain as quickly as she could. She labored quickly, not wanting to meet either this lord or his servants if she could help it. She was anxious to get back to her tent. Poor as it was, at least no one would look down on her there.
Done. Good, she could go home. She stood and stretched her back before lifting her laden mantle to her shoulders, and her eyes met those of a young man who had just arrived at the field. He smiled, and she started to return it when she noticed that there was another man with him. The other man was older, and he was approaching the children of the other aniy` who were busy working. His linen robe in sharp contrast to the dress of the people gathering in the field, he was obviously no servant and no gleaner. She watched as he reached into a bag and gave the children treats. Liat was suddenly aware of her muddy legs and maheel. She brushed the hair back from her face self-consciously and turned to go.
“Come, BenAvah. I have had enough charity today.” Hoisting the mantle full of barley to her shoulder she hurried in the direction of home, trying not to wonder what sort of treats the landowner had been giving away.
Ashamed of her appearance, she walked briskly toward the hill and their tent. She covered the ground with a good pace despite her burden, partly from her anger over her embarrassment, and partly because she walked quickly wherever she went. She was tall, and fair, and strong, bearing a strong resemblance to her dead mother. Her hair was braided and tied back for ease of care, her skin bronzed by the sun. Her maheel was a faded memory of blue, and it had seen better days, but her father Shemer could not afford a new one. She was, she knew, everything that men did not want in a woman. She was too tall, too strong, too poor, and too sunburnt to be attractive to anyone. It didn’t matter. In Shemer’s tent there was no one to criticize her. Well, Shemer did, but not over her appearance.
Breathing lightly, Liat set her burden down and surveyed the countryside for any sign of men. The Philistine soldiers had been a reminder that she must be careful. Liat and her father had been traveling from town to town for many years now, and during that time Shemer had made sure that his family could defend themselves, but such confrontations made her ill. Shemer had never heard about the few times that men had tried to abuse her; she loved to roam the hills, and his fear for her would lead him to forbid her leaving the tent.
Her maheel stuck to her back, wet with sweat from walking briskly in the warm morning sun. Her father’s tent was visible now amidst the scraggly balsams on the next hillside, so after a bit she hoisted the mantle and began to walk again. BehAvah ran ahead, announcing their arrival to anyone who might care to know about it. Having announced them, he raced back to her and rejoiced to see her again.
“What are you going on about? You did nothing to brag about today, you lazy dog. I think I will give you away. Maybe to that mean man who lives on the east side of Kabzeel. That would serve you right, you nasty animal.” BenAvah agreed joyously with her, leaping in circles around her. “He will beat you every night, and feed you bark from trees, you foolish thing.” He ran off to investigate an interesting smell, not very concerned with the threat.
Shemer was seated in the shade of one of the balsams with another man that she recognized from the village. She couldn’t remember his name, but she thought she could name his business with her father.
BenAvah’s joyful celebration at returning home was making conversation impossible, but the visitor was nothing if not determined. In a tone sufficient to disturb any sleeping children in the valley below he declaimed,
“I tell you, Shemer, my son Rekem is smart and strong, and he is attracted to your daughter. We have given him a nice spot for a home, and he is ready to begin building.” He accentuated his points with sharp thrusts of his fists, as though he were striking an invisible opponent. “It has a view of the village and a short walk for water. Your daughter would have access to our vineyard and gardens whenever she likes. With such a woman as your daughter he could raise many fine boys. Think of it, we could be relatives.”
Liat frowned as she approached the men. Probably she should tell BenAvah to be quiet, but if she let him bark perhaps the visitor would tire of the commotion and leave. She bowed her head in greeting to the men in passing and entered the tent.
Inside, she set the heavy burden of barley down with a groan, scanning the tent for the water skin. She did not need to light a lamp, for the tent was made of prepared goat hair that kept weather out while allowing sunlight in. Sparsely furnished as the tent was, it should not be hard to find the waterskin. Ah, it was in Shemer’s corner. The living area, not being encumbered by a superfluous amount of belongings, was neat and clean. In Shemer’s corner lay his lap desk, a simple piece of wood that he used to write on, and several scrolls neatly piled. Taking down sackcloth, she threw it by the tent door. As she took a long drink from the waterskin she tried to catch the drift of the conversation between the two men. She remembered now, it was Heresh. Heresh was still going on about the virtues of his son.
Liat sighed. Again. Of course. Yes, her father had every right to find a husband for her. Yes, it was normal for every girl to want to marry as quickly and as well as she could, in order to leave her parents’ home and create her own. But she had no intention of marrying anyone in this area, for that would mean living the rest of her days in Kabzeel. And, Liat knew this particular man’s son well enough to know that she wanted no part of him.
Grimly, she squared her shoulders and went outside. “Excuse me. Father, the waterskin seems low. Did you take the sheep for their daily walk to the pool?”
Shemer glanced up at her from where he was seated and said, “Why yes, I did. Liat, why don’t you begin to prepare some of that barley for bread? I hope that Heresh will be able to partake with us before he leaves.”
Heresh stood and said, “No, I cannot, Shemer, but thank you for your offer.” Liat had seen a look cross his face at the mention of barley bread, and resented it. Barley was for aniy` and animals; no one ate it if they could get anything else. Heresh said, “Shemer, what do you say?” He did not look at Liat.
Shemer stood also. He was a small, slender man, with silver hair beyond his years. He said, “Friend, I thank you for your offer, and my daughter thanks you. I have seen your son Rekem, and he is indeed a fine young man.” He stopped, searching for words. He went on carefully,
“But, I have to think of my daughter’s wishes in this matter. Marriage will affect the rest of her life, and I would not ask her to enter lightly into such an agreement. And, I have reason to know that my daughter, though a very good person”, and he looked pointedly at Liat, “is a strong woman with opinions of her own. Any man interested in her would do well to get to know her first, or he might be surprised. Raising her without a mother was not wise on my part. She has had no woman to help train her, and the fault is mine.”
Heresh went and stood by his donkey, looking back at them. “Well, Shemer, I hope you know what you are doing. The flower of your daughter’s youth is passing, and the number of men interested in her are going to be fewer as she grows older. I can wait a while to find a wife for my son, but he is becoming anxious to be wed and start a family. I hope you will change your mind. A good firm hand with a woman is usually the answer.” Without acknowledging Liat he mounted his donkey and began the short trip toward the village at the bottom of the hill.
Liat did not appreciate the way he had ignored her during this discussion, and was glad to see him leave. If the father seemed to think so little of women, would his son be better? Her relief at Shemer’s refusal came from more than the knowledge that she would not be married to the son of Heresh, though. Besides her desire to leave this area, Liat loved the forests and hills and the freedom they gave her, something very few women were allowed to experience. She feared that a husband would require her to spend all her time in her home, something she dreaded.
As they watched Heresh ride slowly down the hill, she said, “Help me grind the grain and we can have fresh bread before I take the sheep to water.” Shemer agreed, and together they ground enough for the next couple of days. While she baked the barley and cut some cheese for an unusual noon meal, he spread the rest of the grain out on the sackcloth to let it dry. When the food was ready he went inside to join her for their lunch.
Shemer sat and said, “Father, thank you for the rain and the sun. Thank you for another day of life, another meal from your bounty.”
With a will they began to eat, Liat hungry after her morning trip. After a bit Liat said, “Father.”
He kept chewing. “Hunh?”
“I was reading in the second book of Moses yesterday. Why did Yahweh threaten our people with extinction after Aaron made the golden calf? Did he mean it? Would he really have destroyed them?” When the silence in the tent became too unbearable, she asked her father questions to get him talking. Today, though, his only reply was a grunt. She gave up trying to get him to talk as not worth the effort, and went back to her bread and cheese. He must have something on his mind.
“Liat.”
“Yes?” Shemer appeared nervous, she thought.
“Liat, this tent is not the place for you. You do need a husband and a family.”
Her face set. “I will not leave you alone up here. I will not discuss it.” Finished with her meal, she moved over to the corner where they kept odds and ends for various maintenance needs. Carefully she cut a long strip of leather from a cured goatskin to replace the strap on her sandal, trying to judge the amount needed accurately.
“It is not up to you. I have been thinking about what is best for you, and I must act accordingly. I love you too much, Liat, for you to sit up here with me all your life. You will wed.”
Liat glanced at him sharply. Shemer never talked about his feelings. What was he leading up to? As she laced the strap into her sandal she tried to keep her tone light. “Of course, some day, but not right now. None of the sheep in that village are right for me. My place is with you and the sheep up here.”
There was a long pause, and then Shemer said, “I have agreed to a betrothal covenant for you.”
Shocked, she raised her eyes and stared fiercely. “What?”
“I have chosen a husband for you in Kabzeel. I have done very well for you, if I do say so myself. I did not have the heart to tell Heresh while he was here, but he will know soon enough. You will marry the son of Armon.” He studied his last bite of cheese.
Relief flooded into her. She had heard of Armon somewhere. Her memory was that his son had only thirteen summers behind him, while she already had seventeen. Surely she would be able to talk her father out of such a match. She finished with the sandal, put it on, and began making a wick for their lamp, twisting strands of goat hair.
Shemer said, “So, let’s hear it. What do you think of my match for you? You may have heard that the family of Armon is not poor.”
Liat almost snorted. Not poor? Though she had never met them, or seen their home, she had heard that they were wealthy. What was Shemer thinking? Such families did not marry their sons to girls like her. She did not say this, but instead said, “I think he is somewhat young for me. That is acceptable, though. I will be glad to wait for him… for several years. I told you, I will not leave you alone up here.”
Shemer said quietly, “It was not Armon’s younger son I was thinking of. He has an older son as well, just returned from his apprenticeship in Naphtali. He has been learning the craft of woodworking. He has twenty three summers.”
As if from a distance she heard her voice say, “Tell me, have you at least met him?” She wanted to add but did not, “Does he drool?” A wealthy man who could find no one but the daughter of a poor aniy` to marry must be a prize indeed. She shuddered.
“I am sure that if he is the son of Armon, he is a good man.”
In desperation she objected, “But why should any father promise his son to me, the daughter of a shepherd? Someone he does not know?”
“Several reasons. First, Armon knows that I have taught you the Law. He has searched for a wife for his son who would revere Moses’ law, and found no one suitable until he heard of you. Liat, I have spent a lot of time during the last three months in Kabzeel, getting to know the people so that I might make this choice well. Much of that time I have spent with him. I wish I had met him earlier, he is a good man.”
She looked away from him as he said, “Armon is respected throughout the area for being a man of strength and honor. I could not hope to again find such a good family for you to join. I am sure Jehoiada will be someone you can like.”
Shemer cleared his throat. “Liat, I will be all right. Life must go on for all of us. You will come and visit me, and we will still enjoy talking about the Law. Some day you will bring me a grandchild that I can train in the words of Moses.”
“I will not leave you up here alone!” She threw the wick into the corner of the tent.
“Liat, you know that I will not live in the town…”
“Why not? Why must we always live on the side of a hill? Why must we move every year or two, from place to place like clanless vagabonds?” Her resentment came boiling to the surface. “Why don’t we live with our clan like every other family in Israel? Father, we have moved so often that I have no friends! I have never had any friends! Do not ask me to live forever with a man in loneliness! I couldn’t… bear it.” She began to sob, her ordinarily tough demeanor shaken by the prospect of marrying here in Kabzeel.
Shemer’s voice softened. “Liat, you cannot live all your life here with me. Your betrothal is this afternoon, and the wedding is in three weeks. They are good people. I have given my word, and I will not take it back.”
“This afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“But what am I supposed to wear?” Liat held out the front of her maheel to him in mute dismay. Though some of the mire had been brushed off by walking in the field grass on the way home, it still showed the dirt from where she had fallen.
“If you like, run to the creek and wash it before we leave. Take a bath, and wash your hair, and make yourself beautiful. But do not,” he touched her shoulder lightly, “do not embarrass me by running away.”
He stood. “I have already watered the sheep. I am only waiting for you to prepare yourself, and then we will leave.” He went outside, and she collapsed on the floor in a heap.
here to edit.
As she runs away toward a distant family she’s never seen she finds that she must fulfill the duty of goel, next of kin, avenger of blood in the evil city of Jebus. What she found in the City of Evil no one could have expected.
All the historical details are as accurate as I could make them. People lived exactly as I have portrayed her and her contemporaries. I hate to say more than that and spoil your fun, so here is the first chapter. (The first sequel is out now, available at any bookstore, online, or on Kindle. Mouth of the Lion, by Casey and Sharon Smith.)
Chapter 1
“Hasah!” The young girl whispered. She grasped a handful of her dog’s hair as they lay flat in the tall grass behind the branches of a young cedar. The rough voices of Philistine soldiers drifted up to where they lay concealed. Her companion panted beside her, not understanding the need for silence, but obeying the command. They had hidden from strange men before, and she had managed to impress upon him that she was serious at such times. As the girl eyed the weapons and clothing of the soldiers she guessed that they were returning to Gath, a Philistine garrison half a day’s walk away. They must have commandeered some unfortunate Hebrew’s home last night. As they approached distinct words became distinguishable.
“So anyway, the whore only tried to rob me once. No one tries to rob me twice.”
“Had a brick mason try to cheat me when I was living in Gath. Paid him a visit at night with my friends.”
One of them stumbled over a rock, and kicked it. There were four of them, and Liat really did not want any sort of confrontation. She resisted the temptation to hunker down lower when the gaze of the rear soldier swept the hillside where she lay. Movement would give her away for sure, even if she were trying to hide more effectively.
“Have you seen the new commander’s daughter yet? There’s a prize for you!” The others guffawed, and began to give descriptions of her that Liat had to think were exaggerations. They passed on, and after a long time Liat, daughter of Shemer the shepherd, stood up. Absently she brushed grass and dog hair off her faded maheel.
“Let’s be about our business, BenAvah. We must get there and do our business quickly if we are going to finish it before lord what’s-his-name shows up.” The aniy` she had met yesterday in a fruitless search for barley to glean had told her where to find this farm, apparently the last Hebrew landowner in the area to leave the corners of his field unreaped. Her father said that fewer people every year were keeping Moses’ law.
The aniy` had not known the name of this man, being a homeless wanderer himself, but had given her clear directions. In past years her father had insisted on traveling to farms himself to do the gleaning, but this year she had decided that she wanted to do it. He had still been sleeping when she left that morning; after she did this successfully, from now on he would surely let her do the gleaning. She loved these little adventures when she got them, but they came too rarely to suit her.
Liat and her father had been too busy with Suah’s sheep to get here earlier, so now she would glean what she could from what others had left.
There. Two stately oaks marked the entrance to the large two-story home standing dark in the half-light of early morning. No, there was a light, someone was just lighting a lamp in the lower window. Someone was up. Liat hurried, wanting to get her work over with and leave before anyone came to the fields. What she was doing was legal, but she was an aniy` herself, one of the indigent poor of the land living hand-to-mouth, a fact that she bitterly regretted. The fragile morning light lit the fragrant almond blossoms near the gate with a pink radiance, but she had no eye for them. They belonged to someone else.
“See the house, BenAvah? The sheep behind, the fields around, the barns out back? They don’t know what they have. If you lived there you would be a big, fat, ugly dog. On the other hand, that describes you pretty well, doesn’t it?” BenAvah yipped his agreement, despite the fact that he was neither large nor fat, just an average sized dog with short mottled hair. He seemed to be blessed with an overabundance of enthusiasm for life, making him an apt foil for Liat’s disenchantment with it.
As she passed the home to get to the field, her glance ran over the building in reluctant appreciation of its beauty. Two stories, she noted, and sprawling. There might even be a room for each member of the family, and they probably even had servants. She tried to imagine life in such a home. Servants, to fetch and carry for her. Fine plates, and good cookware. She and her father Shemer lived in a ratty, patched old tent that had seen better days on the edge of town, tending sheep that old Suah did not have the energy to care for any more.
At the edge of the field she stopped. Because she had been distracted she had not noticed, but she had been walking along the field for some ways now. But the landowner had decided to widen the field, so several rows of freshly plowed earth stood between her and the barley. She could go back and walk around, or she could traverse the damp earth lying in her way. “I don’t have time for this. BenAvah, we will get our feet a little muddy today.” She started across, took three steps, and slipped on a rut. Going down on one knee, she managed to keep most of her maheel out of the mud, but its lower half was sodden with damp earth. She made her way to the barley, more and more mud clinging to her feet with every step. Finally she arrived at the standing barley and tried to kick the mud off her feet. Saying a word her father would not approve of, she stamped her feet in a vain effort to clean them off. Finally she gave it up.
The field was wet with dew, but Liat spread her mantle on discarded stalks and began to gather the grain as quickly as she could. She labored quickly, not wanting to meet either this lord or his servants if she could help it. She was anxious to get back to her tent. Poor as it was, at least no one would look down on her there.
Done. Good, she could go home. She stood and stretched her back before lifting her laden mantle to her shoulders, and her eyes met those of a young man who had just arrived at the field. He smiled, and she started to return it when she noticed that there was another man with him. The other man was older, and he was approaching the children of the other aniy` who were busy working. His linen robe in sharp contrast to the dress of the people gathering in the field, he was obviously no servant and no gleaner. She watched as he reached into a bag and gave the children treats. Liat was suddenly aware of her muddy legs and maheel. She brushed the hair back from her face self-consciously and turned to go.
“Come, BenAvah. I have had enough charity today.” Hoisting the mantle full of barley to her shoulder she hurried in the direction of home, trying not to wonder what sort of treats the landowner had been giving away.
Ashamed of her appearance, she walked briskly toward the hill and their tent. She covered the ground with a good pace despite her burden, partly from her anger over her embarrassment, and partly because she walked quickly wherever she went. She was tall, and fair, and strong, bearing a strong resemblance to her dead mother. Her hair was braided and tied back for ease of care, her skin bronzed by the sun. Her maheel was a faded memory of blue, and it had seen better days, but her father Shemer could not afford a new one. She was, she knew, everything that men did not want in a woman. She was too tall, too strong, too poor, and too sunburnt to be attractive to anyone. It didn’t matter. In Shemer’s tent there was no one to criticize her. Well, Shemer did, but not over her appearance.
Breathing lightly, Liat set her burden down and surveyed the countryside for any sign of men. The Philistine soldiers had been a reminder that she must be careful. Liat and her father had been traveling from town to town for many years now, and during that time Shemer had made sure that his family could defend themselves, but such confrontations made her ill. Shemer had never heard about the few times that men had tried to abuse her; she loved to roam the hills, and his fear for her would lead him to forbid her leaving the tent.
Her maheel stuck to her back, wet with sweat from walking briskly in the warm morning sun. Her father’s tent was visible now amidst the scraggly balsams on the next hillside, so after a bit she hoisted the mantle and began to walk again. BehAvah ran ahead, announcing their arrival to anyone who might care to know about it. Having announced them, he raced back to her and rejoiced to see her again.
“What are you going on about? You did nothing to brag about today, you lazy dog. I think I will give you away. Maybe to that mean man who lives on the east side of Kabzeel. That would serve you right, you nasty animal.” BenAvah agreed joyously with her, leaping in circles around her. “He will beat you every night, and feed you bark from trees, you foolish thing.” He ran off to investigate an interesting smell, not very concerned with the threat.
Shemer was seated in the shade of one of the balsams with another man that she recognized from the village. She couldn’t remember his name, but she thought she could name his business with her father.
BenAvah’s joyful celebration at returning home was making conversation impossible, but the visitor was nothing if not determined. In a tone sufficient to disturb any sleeping children in the valley below he declaimed,
“I tell you, Shemer, my son Rekem is smart and strong, and he is attracted to your daughter. We have given him a nice spot for a home, and he is ready to begin building.” He accentuated his points with sharp thrusts of his fists, as though he were striking an invisible opponent. “It has a view of the village and a short walk for water. Your daughter would have access to our vineyard and gardens whenever she likes. With such a woman as your daughter he could raise many fine boys. Think of it, we could be relatives.”
Liat frowned as she approached the men. Probably she should tell BenAvah to be quiet, but if she let him bark perhaps the visitor would tire of the commotion and leave. She bowed her head in greeting to the men in passing and entered the tent.
Inside, she set the heavy burden of barley down with a groan, scanning the tent for the water skin. She did not need to light a lamp, for the tent was made of prepared goat hair that kept weather out while allowing sunlight in. Sparsely furnished as the tent was, it should not be hard to find the waterskin. Ah, it was in Shemer’s corner. The living area, not being encumbered by a superfluous amount of belongings, was neat and clean. In Shemer’s corner lay his lap desk, a simple piece of wood that he used to write on, and several scrolls neatly piled. Taking down sackcloth, she threw it by the tent door. As she took a long drink from the waterskin she tried to catch the drift of the conversation between the two men. She remembered now, it was Heresh. Heresh was still going on about the virtues of his son.
Liat sighed. Again. Of course. Yes, her father had every right to find a husband for her. Yes, it was normal for every girl to want to marry as quickly and as well as she could, in order to leave her parents’ home and create her own. But she had no intention of marrying anyone in this area, for that would mean living the rest of her days in Kabzeel. And, Liat knew this particular man’s son well enough to know that she wanted no part of him.
Grimly, she squared her shoulders and went outside. “Excuse me. Father, the waterskin seems low. Did you take the sheep for their daily walk to the pool?”
Shemer glanced up at her from where he was seated and said, “Why yes, I did. Liat, why don’t you begin to prepare some of that barley for bread? I hope that Heresh will be able to partake with us before he leaves.”
Heresh stood and said, “No, I cannot, Shemer, but thank you for your offer.” Liat had seen a look cross his face at the mention of barley bread, and resented it. Barley was for aniy` and animals; no one ate it if they could get anything else. Heresh said, “Shemer, what do you say?” He did not look at Liat.
Shemer stood also. He was a small, slender man, with silver hair beyond his years. He said, “Friend, I thank you for your offer, and my daughter thanks you. I have seen your son Rekem, and he is indeed a fine young man.” He stopped, searching for words. He went on carefully,
“But, I have to think of my daughter’s wishes in this matter. Marriage will affect the rest of her life, and I would not ask her to enter lightly into such an agreement. And, I have reason to know that my daughter, though a very good person”, and he looked pointedly at Liat, “is a strong woman with opinions of her own. Any man interested in her would do well to get to know her first, or he might be surprised. Raising her without a mother was not wise on my part. She has had no woman to help train her, and the fault is mine.”
Heresh went and stood by his donkey, looking back at them. “Well, Shemer, I hope you know what you are doing. The flower of your daughter’s youth is passing, and the number of men interested in her are going to be fewer as she grows older. I can wait a while to find a wife for my son, but he is becoming anxious to be wed and start a family. I hope you will change your mind. A good firm hand with a woman is usually the answer.” Without acknowledging Liat he mounted his donkey and began the short trip toward the village at the bottom of the hill.
Liat did not appreciate the way he had ignored her during this discussion, and was glad to see him leave. If the father seemed to think so little of women, would his son be better? Her relief at Shemer’s refusal came from more than the knowledge that she would not be married to the son of Heresh, though. Besides her desire to leave this area, Liat loved the forests and hills and the freedom they gave her, something very few women were allowed to experience. She feared that a husband would require her to spend all her time in her home, something she dreaded.
As they watched Heresh ride slowly down the hill, she said, “Help me grind the grain and we can have fresh bread before I take the sheep to water.” Shemer agreed, and together they ground enough for the next couple of days. While she baked the barley and cut some cheese for an unusual noon meal, he spread the rest of the grain out on the sackcloth to let it dry. When the food was ready he went inside to join her for their lunch.
Shemer sat and said, “Father, thank you for the rain and the sun. Thank you for another day of life, another meal from your bounty.”
With a will they began to eat, Liat hungry after her morning trip. After a bit Liat said, “Father.”
He kept chewing. “Hunh?”
“I was reading in the second book of Moses yesterday. Why did Yahweh threaten our people with extinction after Aaron made the golden calf? Did he mean it? Would he really have destroyed them?” When the silence in the tent became too unbearable, she asked her father questions to get him talking. Today, though, his only reply was a grunt. She gave up trying to get him to talk as not worth the effort, and went back to her bread and cheese. He must have something on his mind.
“Liat.”
“Yes?” Shemer appeared nervous, she thought.
“Liat, this tent is not the place for you. You do need a husband and a family.”
Her face set. “I will not leave you alone up here. I will not discuss it.” Finished with her meal, she moved over to the corner where they kept odds and ends for various maintenance needs. Carefully she cut a long strip of leather from a cured goatskin to replace the strap on her sandal, trying to judge the amount needed accurately.
“It is not up to you. I have been thinking about what is best for you, and I must act accordingly. I love you too much, Liat, for you to sit up here with me all your life. You will wed.”
Liat glanced at him sharply. Shemer never talked about his feelings. What was he leading up to? As she laced the strap into her sandal she tried to keep her tone light. “Of course, some day, but not right now. None of the sheep in that village are right for me. My place is with you and the sheep up here.”
There was a long pause, and then Shemer said, “I have agreed to a betrothal covenant for you.”
Shocked, she raised her eyes and stared fiercely. “What?”
“I have chosen a husband for you in Kabzeel. I have done very well for you, if I do say so myself. I did not have the heart to tell Heresh while he was here, but he will know soon enough. You will marry the son of Armon.” He studied his last bite of cheese.
Relief flooded into her. She had heard of Armon somewhere. Her memory was that his son had only thirteen summers behind him, while she already had seventeen. Surely she would be able to talk her father out of such a match. She finished with the sandal, put it on, and began making a wick for their lamp, twisting strands of goat hair.
Shemer said, “So, let’s hear it. What do you think of my match for you? You may have heard that the family of Armon is not poor.”
Liat almost snorted. Not poor? Though she had never met them, or seen their home, she had heard that they were wealthy. What was Shemer thinking? Such families did not marry their sons to girls like her. She did not say this, but instead said, “I think he is somewhat young for me. That is acceptable, though. I will be glad to wait for him… for several years. I told you, I will not leave you alone up here.”
Shemer said quietly, “It was not Armon’s younger son I was thinking of. He has an older son as well, just returned from his apprenticeship in Naphtali. He has been learning the craft of woodworking. He has twenty three summers.”
As if from a distance she heard her voice say, “Tell me, have you at least met him?” She wanted to add but did not, “Does he drool?” A wealthy man who could find no one but the daughter of a poor aniy` to marry must be a prize indeed. She shuddered.
“I am sure that if he is the son of Armon, he is a good man.”
In desperation she objected, “But why should any father promise his son to me, the daughter of a shepherd? Someone he does not know?”
“Several reasons. First, Armon knows that I have taught you the Law. He has searched for a wife for his son who would revere Moses’ law, and found no one suitable until he heard of you. Liat, I have spent a lot of time during the last three months in Kabzeel, getting to know the people so that I might make this choice well. Much of that time I have spent with him. I wish I had met him earlier, he is a good man.”
She looked away from him as he said, “Armon is respected throughout the area for being a man of strength and honor. I could not hope to again find such a good family for you to join. I am sure Jehoiada will be someone you can like.”
Shemer cleared his throat. “Liat, I will be all right. Life must go on for all of us. You will come and visit me, and we will still enjoy talking about the Law. Some day you will bring me a grandchild that I can train in the words of Moses.”
“I will not leave you up here alone!” She threw the wick into the corner of the tent.
“Liat, you know that I will not live in the town…”
“Why not? Why must we always live on the side of a hill? Why must we move every year or two, from place to place like clanless vagabonds?” Her resentment came boiling to the surface. “Why don’t we live with our clan like every other family in Israel? Father, we have moved so often that I have no friends! I have never had any friends! Do not ask me to live forever with a man in loneliness! I couldn’t… bear it.” She began to sob, her ordinarily tough demeanor shaken by the prospect of marrying here in Kabzeel.
Shemer’s voice softened. “Liat, you cannot live all your life here with me. Your betrothal is this afternoon, and the wedding is in three weeks. They are good people. I have given my word, and I will not take it back.”
“This afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“But what am I supposed to wear?” Liat held out the front of her maheel to him in mute dismay. Though some of the mire had been brushed off by walking in the field grass on the way home, it still showed the dirt from where she had fallen.
“If you like, run to the creek and wash it before we leave. Take a bath, and wash your hair, and make yourself beautiful. But do not,” he touched her shoulder lightly, “do not embarrass me by running away.”
He stood. “I have already watered the sheep. I am only waiting for you to prepare yourself, and then we will leave.” He went outside, and she collapsed on the floor in a heap.
here to edit.