Song of the Shepherd Woman Read online

  SONG OF THE SHEPHERD WOMAN

  By

  Carlene Havel and Sharon Faucheux

  Copyright©2017 Carlene Havel

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, without the prior written permission of the authors, except for brief quotations in reviews.

  Edited by Lillie Ammann

  Cover design by Genie Henderson.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  Song of the Shepherd Woman

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter One

  “I am searching for Avram of Bethlehem, the son of Abijah. He is said to be a big man, with broad shoulders, and very old. Do you know him?”

  Before answering, the young shepherd stood silently for a moment, moving his hand up and down on his smooth staff. “I know of a herder whose name may be Avram, though most people call him ‘the Lunatic.’”

  “Yes. Yes, that is the one. He is my relative by marriage. Where can I find him?”

  “Must be a different fellow, then. The Lunatic has no family, no one but his wife.” The youth’s eyes did not meet Yakov’s. “Perhaps you should inquire in Bethlehem. If you offer some silver, someone may be able to tell you the whereabouts of your relative.”

  “If I had so much as a single coin to spare I would not be here,” Yakov barked. He tamped down the air in front of him with both hands. “I understand Avram and his brother—my wife’s father—had an argument years ago and never spoke to each other again. It no longer matters who was right and who was wrong.” He lifted the hand of the little girl beside him. “She needs Avram’s help. Please.”

  The shepherd took a long look at the solemn child before gesturing across the lush meadow. “The Lunatic and his crazy wife pasture yonder, over those hills. If I wanted to see him, I would keep walking that way.”

  “We have been wandering around all day. It seems impossible to find anyone out here in open country.”

  “You need not locate the Lunatic. Keep going and he will find you.” The shepherd turned toward his flock and began to play a tune on his pipe.

  Realizing their conversation was finished, Yakov sighed and led the little girl away. It took longer than he expected to reach the first rise. As he and the child climbed toward the crest, he glanced backward left and right across the fields stretching out behind them. He heard birds chirping and the distant bleating of sheep. The notes of a shepherd’s pipe floated lightly on the air. If the weather warmed, this might be a pleasant place for a man who was not exhausted and worried.

  Yakov rubbed his hands together. “It is cold out here. How much longer must I search for this madman?” It was just as well he spoke more to himself than to Channah, since she did not respond. When the climb became noticeably steeper, he lifted his head to judge the distance to the hilltop. An imposing figure stood at the summit, arms folded. Yakov stopped and shielded his eyes from the bright winter sun.

  The old man’s white hair stood away from his head as if trying to escape the fierceness of his weathered face. His voice had a low rumble, like far-away thunder. “Are you lost, friend?”

  Even at the distance of several cart lengths, Yakov felt like the old man’s eyes penetrated him. Concerned he might be in danger, Yakov took a deep breath to steady himself before replying. “I am searching for Avram of Bethlehem, the son of Abijah.”

  “For what purpose?”

  Yakov noted the old man’s impressive weaponry. He had a great iron bow slung over one shoulder, while a thick shepherd’s crook leaned against a rock. A shepherd’s rod was tucked into his belt, and most likely a dagger lurked beneath his tunic.

  “Avram is the kinsman of my wife. I have come to put this child in his care.” Ya
kov nodded toward Channah, who stood with downcast eyes.

  The massive man grabbed his crook and strode nimbly down the hillside. Stopping an arm’s length from Yakov, he took a long look at Channah. “Why?”

  “When I find my wife’s kinsman, I will explain the situation. I hope he will understand and help us.”

  “I am Avram. As you see, I am old. And my wife.” He glanced back at the hilltop. “We cannot care for a child.”

  “Your niece Rebekah was married to my older brother. He died when this girl was still an infant. Out of respect for my brother, I married his widow in order to care for her and her child. A month ago, Rebekah was struck down in the street by a Roman chariot, a big, six-wheeled supply wagon.” Yakov spat on the ground to demonstrate his disdain for the Romans. “She lived only three days more.”

  An old woman topped the hill and came to stand to the side of Avram. A noticeable scar ran from her left cheek and down the side of her neck. Yakov stopped speaking, expecting an introduction or some explanation for the woman’s appearance. When the silence continued unbroken, he went on with his story. “It is all my wife—that is, my first wife Adah—and I can do to see after our seven children and my father.” He inclined his head toward Channah. “I must find someone else to raise Rebekah’s daughter.”

  Avram narrowed his eyes. “Find another relative. Yael and I have our hands full managing our herd.”

  “You are a shepherd?” Yakov asked, pretending this was new information. “A child could be useful to you. This one is sturdy and very obedient. She can fetch and carry, and I am certain she could learn to do chores to help with your sheep. She will be old enough to become a wife in a few years. Please, there is no one else willing to take her off my hands.”

  Something between a wail and a sob escaped from the child. Yakov slapped at the back of her head. “Stop that,” he demanded.

  Without warning, the woman uttered an inhuman growl and lunged toward Yakov with a short-bladed knife in her hand.

  “No, Yael, no,” Avram shouted. He wrapped his arms around the woman, barely preventing her from slashing Yakov’s throat.

  Yakov jumped backward, stumbling to a sitting position on the uneven ground. “What is wrong with her?”

  Avram held the woman close to him. “Everything is all right,” he said tenderly. “I will not let this man hurt the little girl.” He gradually loosened his grip, at last releasing the woman. “You must forgive my wife. She is very protective of children.”

  “Protective?” Yakov stood and brushed debris from his tunic. “That is a considerable understatement. I could have been killed.”

  “Indeed,” Avram agreed. “But you were not.”

  Yael glared at Yakov for a long moment before sheathing her knife and going to kneel in front of Channah. She hugged the child and brushed away her tears. When Avram touched his wife’s shoulder, she glanced up at him and nodded.

  Turning toward Yakov, Avram sighed. “Where are her belongings?”

  “She has none.” Yakov patted his clothing as if to confirm everything remained intact. “It is settled, then.” He turned and began his departure, quickly putting as much distance as possible between himself and the threesome on the hilltop. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving his brother’s only child with a lunatic and a mad woman, but what choice was there?

  Chapter Two

  “How old are you, Channah?” Avram leaned against a large stone near Yael.

  “Five, sir. Almost six.”

  “You may call me Uncle Avram. Or Uncle if you prefer something shorter.” He put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “This is your Aunt Yael. I suspect she would like to be addressed as Auntie. Shall we go back to our sheep now, wife?” Avram turned toward the hilltop, but stopped at Yael’s tug on his tunic. “What do you want?”

  Yael pointed a bony finger at Channah’s bare feet.

  With a grunt, Avram hoisted the girl onto his back. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he instructed, pulling her hands across his massive shoulders.

  Channah welcomed the relief of being carried. She was accustomed to going without sandals on city streets, but walking through the rocky countryside all morning had left her feet bruised and tender. When the cold wind struck their faces at the crest of the hill, Yael removed her smelly coat and tucked it around Channah before walking ahead. No longer shivering, Channah’s uncertainty gave way to fatigue. She rested against Avram’s thick neck and fell asleep.

  At dusk, Channah stood watching Avram guide the sheep inside a low rock fence. After the last ewe scurried into the enclosure, the old shepherd rolled a large, heavy stone into the gap where the sheep had entered. “We often sleep in the pastures when the weather warms,” he explained. “During the winter, the animals need the cave’s shelter. Come, let us see if Yael has something for us to eat. Are you hungry?”

  Channah nodded affirmatively. She had not eaten since leaving Yakov’s cousin’s house early that morning, but she was afraid to show too much enthusiasm. She remembered Yakov’s instructions to eat as little as possible and to make herself useful in her new home. She glanced around before following Avram to the tent. Could this remote place ever feel like home?

  The flat earth inside the fence formed a large semicircle around a steep outcropping of gray stone. A dark tent stood near one side of an arched opening in the rocky wall. Channah had heard stories of her ancestors dwelling in caves and tents, but she was surprised to find anyone still living in such primitive conditions.

  “Sheep are easily frightened. Always move slowly and speak quietly around them,” Avram advised. “Stay close to Yael or me for the time being. In a few days, the herd will become accustomed to your presence, and then they will understand you mean them no harm.”

  Inside the tent, Channah accepted the portion of bread and cheese Yael offered. She drank her weak wine and ate silently while taking in her surroundings. Sheepskins covered the floor of the tent, with a great pile of them stacked at the far end of the rectangular living space. The only furniture was a low shelf occupied by mismatched dishes and pots. A single oil lamp on a stand cast a dim circle of light around the brass serving tray located in the center of the tent.

  As the night deepened, Channah was apprehensive about being alone with Avram and Yael. She remembered hearing her Uncle Yakov say Avram did not know the difference between real and imaginary events. Women in the family occasionally whispered Yael murdered a man. A little girl could have her throat slit and her body hidden in one of the countless caves scattered among the hills around Bethlehem. No one would ever know. Perhaps if she made herself useful, she could survive.

  As soon as Avram finished his food, Channah sprang up to return his pottery bowl to the shelf. When Yael rose to put away her own dish, she gently caressed the side of Channah’s face as they passed by each other. This simple act of kindness reminded Channah of her mother, and she could not prevent a single tear from rolling down her cheek. She bent her head, trying with all her might to keep the trickle from becoming a waterfall. How many times had Yakov warned her to be cheerful in whatever place he found for her to live?

  A high, keening wail split the air as Yael crumpled into a ball and began to shake with sobs. Avram sighed, lifted the flap of the tent, and quietly slipped outside, leaving the two weeping females alone with each other. Channah released many days of sorrow into her tears. Obeying an impulse she neither understood nor questioned, she crept to Yael’s side and snuggled against her aunt. Channah noticed for the first time that Yael’s arms were scarred with the remains of what looked like many long, deep cuts.

  “It will be all right, Auntie,” Channah whispered. “I will work hard and eat very little.”

  Yael lifted her head and moaned. In one swift movement, she grabbed Channah and pulled her close. Yael rocked back and forth, cuddling Channah in her strong grip. The woman’s tears continued to flow, but the racking sobs subsided. After what seemed a long time, Yael smoothed Channah’s hair and kissed her
on the forehead.

  Eventually, Yael lifted Channah from her lap. The old woman went to the side shelf and beckoned to Channah with her hand. Yael pointed to a stack of date cakes inside a crock. Then she removed a flat rock from an iron pot buried up to its lip in the earth. She scooped out a handful of dried lentils and let them fall back. She spread her hands toward the shelf, where other jars, pots, and crocks sat in haphazard rows.

  “Are you showing me you have plenty of food?” Channah was relieved when her aunt nodded affirmatively and smiled. Not knowing what else to do, she kissed Yael’s hand.

  Together they made Channah a bed of fleece, with Channah following her aunt’s nods and hand gestures. When they were done, Yael topped the pallet with a coverlet of finely woven wool. Then she began to stitch pieces of leather, occasionally holding up her work to measure it against the sole of Channah’s foot. A pair of boots, similar to those Avram and Yael wore, soon took shape.

  Channah sat hugging her knees to her chest, watching her aunt sew and wondering what lay ahead of her with these peculiar people.

  Chapter Three

  The first light of dawn streamed into the tent when Avram threw back the doorway flap and boomed, “Good morning. The sun is rising, and so must we.”

  Channah rubbed her eyes and slipped from the snuggly warmth of her bed. She pulled on the new boots, wiggling her toes in their soft fleece. Remembering her promise to be helpful, Channah hurried to her aunt’s side and did her best to assist in serving dates, almonds, and cheese for the morning meal.

  “No more bread?” Avram spat a date pit into his bowl. He shrugged with his eyebrows when Yael’s shake of her head answered his question.

  Yael’s hand motions mystified Channah. Her aunt held her hands parallel to the ground and waved them back and forth. Then she held up seven fingers.

  Avram nodded and murmured, “Ah, you may be right, Yael. I think today is the Sabbath.” He inclined his head toward Channah and asked between bites, “Did you keep holy days in your father’s house?”

  “We did not go to the well or to the market on the seventh day,” she answered.

  “Was that the only difference between the Sabbath and the rest of the week?”