The Dovekeepers
Page 112

My mother let out a sob upon hearing the news. She knew the Sabbath was often spoken of as a bride, for it was the seventh day of creation, and most beautiful of all. The bride in question was my sister, who had only just become a woman. She had married without my mother’s knowledge or permission.
“There was nothing you could have done,” Yael offered. “They were wed this morning.”
Tamar was murmuring an apology for the manner in which her people had disrespected us. Because we had no man of our family, Abba had given his approval with the grace of God. My mother was no longer listening. She had rushed to the cabinet where she stored talismans and herbs, desperate for a spell that would set things right. The oil of the lily, that holy, precious scent, spilled upon the altar as she did so. For an instant it seemed that we had returned to the fields of Moab, and it was summer, and every flower was red. I saw that my mother was crying. That alone was terrifying. I could not recall seeing her weep before, not even on the night when the robbers came to our tent, when she changed my name and thereby changed my fate.
I wished I were still a boy, gone to raid caravans alongside the men, sent with the warriors to search for provisions, leaving heartbreak such as this for the women to deal with. I stood there mutely, unable to cope with my mother’s grief. It was Yael who went to embrace her. Anyone might have imagined she was the daughter and I was no more than a guest, too awkward to do any more than watch as my mother mourned my sister’s rash decision.
“It’s done,” Yael soothed. “She belongs to them.”
My mother shook her head, indignant. Her black hair spilled down her back.
“You know as well as I do. What’s done can be undone.”
My mother hurriedly left our chamber. I clasped Yael’s arm when she went to follow. For once, I would be my mother’s daughter.
“Nahara is my sister,” I said coldly. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Yael gazed at me, surprised, then backed away. “Of course.”
I chased my mother across the plaza, my heart hitting against my chest. I heard the clatter of her footfalls on the stones. She was quick, but I caught up with her at the edge of the orchard. Our breath rasped as we stood there. The wind had returned. It shook branches and threw up dust devils. The time of the blue light was over and darkness began to spiral down. My mother was not surprised to see me. She knew my sister belonged to me.
“She’ll come back to us,” I said.
My mother shook her head. “Her father sent this as a punishment to me. This is how he seeks his vengeance.”
I didn’t believe that the man who had taught me all I knew would be so cruel.
“He wouldn’t do such a thing,” I ventured, my bitterness at how we had betrayed him rising with the gusts of the Ruach Kadim. “Unlike you, his love was true.”
My mother glared. She wound her cloak more closely around herself. “If it’s not a man who is responsible, then it is God’s will. If that is so, we cannot unwrite what is meant to be. So pray that it was her father’s curse.”
Beyond the field, there was a lamp burning on the Essenes’ rough-hewn table, illuminating the ragtag group that had gathered for their shared evening meal. Instead of the scrolls that were usually rolled out for the men to work upon, we spied a marriage feast of dates and wine, curds and sycamore figs. A tent had been set over the table as protection against the whirling dust.
My mother’s gaze was fixed on the leader of the Essene people.
“We’ll see if this is God’s hand at work or simply the greed of men,” she told me. “If they knew who her father was, they wouldn’t even consider her to be of our faith.”
She made her way toward Abba, the holy man who could no longer walk. Even nonbelievers bowed down to him to honor his great age and his favor from the Almighty, but my mother was not there to offer her respect. I noticed she had something in her hand, clutched tightly in her fist. The Essene men had taken note as well, and they stood blocking my mother, to prevent her from causing Abba any harm. I thought of how she had gone alone to the Iron Mountain, waiting for the doves. I understood why the women in Moab had been too frightened to look at her. As I had been on the shore of the Salt Sea, I found I was afraid of her as well.
“Elohim will protect me,” Abba assured his followers.
“Will he?” My mother raised her eyes to Abba. Her head was uncovered and she seemed dangerous. “All I want is my daughter.”
It was not a weapon my mother possessed but a handful of salt. And yet perhaps it was more fatal than a dagger, for it contained a curse she meant to set upon these people, a way to enclose evil so it could do her no harm.