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Mira hefted the yoke upon her shoulders. Rubiel attached the jars of water to their hooks, the weight boring into her neck. Before Mira headed toward her father, Rubiel dipped a cup into the earthen jar and placed it in her good hand draped over the yoke.
“Here, take this to Father. He is weakening.” Her sister kissed her cheek. “Mira, I hope for your sake you are right, but please, for me, beware your heart.”
Beware her heart? The man may have caused her pulse to beat a little faster, but she did not love him. He was good. Honest. Hardworking, and he cared for her father as a son should. “It is not for my heart, dear sister, but for Father’s that Ari must stay.”
She met her father and Ari as they reached the bottom of the hill. She gave Ari an apologetic look when he took the cup from her hand and pressed it to her father’s lips. Her father labored to control his breathing.
“You should not be here, Abba,” she chastised.
Ari handed the cup back to her and lifted the yoke from her neck.
“You would deny me your beauty, Sh’mira,” her father said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Father, do not think you can charm your way out of this. Does Ima know you have left your bed?” She wrapped her arm around her father’s frail shoulders and ushered him back toward home.
“It was your mother’s idea I get fresh air.”
“I do not think she meant for you to walk so far. Are you trying to meet your death?”
Ari raised a dark, winged brow. He must have gained confidence from their earlier encounter with the guards if he dared chastise her, even if it was a silent one. It had not escaped her notice over the years that this man’s size could probably command an entire army, especially since he easily managed her father. But now, she had no doubt there was much more to him than servanthood. Knew with certainty he could command respect from his enemies with one look.
“Would it be such a bad thing, daughter?”
“Abba,” she cried.
“Adon, you should not speak so carelessly.” Ari’s words were for her father, but his gaze bored into hers. He seemed to will her strength and understanding. “As much as we would all long to pass from this earth and into the great rest of our God, you would be greatly missed.”
“My apologies, Sh’mira. My bones are weary.”
“Soon. Soon, Abba, you will rest.” She patted his arm. Her father longed for an eternal rest, but a selfish desire to cling to him claimed her. Losing him would break her heart.
Her father halted his steps. The dust covering the pathway swirled over his sandaled feet. “First, I must tend to business in town.” He glanced at Ari. “I need the mind of Solomon and the strength of Samson. I need you to attend me, Ari.”
The corners of Ari’s mouth curved upward. “Of course, adon.”
Panic filled her chest, squeezing and tightening. The guards promised to return. Who would protect her? Certainly not Esha. And what if they accosted her father on the road? Would Ari’s lone strength be enough to see her father protected? “You cannot, Abba. Not until you are much improved.” Mira used her eyes to plead with Ari to not placate her father.
“The matter is of importance. It can wait no longer, daughter. Besides, Hebron is a day there, a day back. Not much at all, you will see,” her father replied.
“But...”
Ari’s brow furrowed.
“The queen’s—”
“She is right, adon. You cannot think to leave your family unprotected.”
She silently thanked Ari for not revealing the earlier events to her father. He’d only fret, weakening his health.
“I would send another, but I do not trust...” Her father began to wheeze and cough. She patted him on the back as Ari held on to his arm.
“We will discuss the matter more after you rest,” Ari said, shadows evident in his eyes. Grim lines etched his handsome face. It was as if the yoke he bore for her was not the only burden he carried. For the first time, with her sister’s words fresh in her mind, she wondered about his days before he arrived on her father’s land, lips parched and body battered. Dying.
Footsteps on the path interrupted her musings. Fear pounded in her blood. Had the soldiers returned? She lifted her eyes, shielding them against the sun with her free hand, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Joash.
He ran toward them, his dark curls bouncing just above his shoulders. His tunic danced against his thighs, exposing his scarred knees. The scrapes the only evidence that this young boy, seven summers old, was but a child. Such a shame he did not laugh and play more. He was too serious, much like the man who diligently taught him God’s Law. Ari’s arrival had truly been a gift from God, not just to her father, but as a mentor to their people during a time when the leader of Judah had banned God from the land.
