Page 80 of The Guardian's Promise

“I do not wish to distress you further, Sh’mira, yet I can see it does you no good to remain idle. Perhaps if you understood the fullness—”

“The fullness of what?” Ari had entered their family under the guise of a bond servant. Had there been more to his deception?

“Abba gave Ariel all that was promised under the law when he freed him.”

“This is not unusual.”

“No, it is not, Sh’mira,” Ruby agreed as she wrapped her foot in a clean cloth. “Yet, Ari did not take one kernel. He did not take one grape, nor a seed. He took nothing.”

Mira smiled, even as she felt tears prick the corner of her eyes. “Ari is an honorable man. He would not take what he felt did not belong to him.”

“It was his right by the law.” Ruby tied the length of linen in a knot and sat back on her heels. She pressed her palms against her thighs and looked directly at Mira. “That is not all. I heard Abba say he offered you as Ari’s bride.”

Mira’s breath caught in her throat as the fullness of Ruby’s words slapped her in the face. Her gaze fell to the brightly woven mat surrounding her, reminding her of the veil Ari’s mother had draped over her head, the very veil Ari had worn around his neck when he had returned her to her father’s house. She bit down on her lip to keep it from quivering.

“Abba had contracts drawn the day before the attack upon our people, yet your Ari did not accept them. He did not even mention them before he left for Jerusalem.”

Silent tears slid from the corners of her eyes.

“I will leave you to your grief, Sh’mira.” Ruby rose to her feet. “On the morrow you will shore up your courage, and you will begin to pull your weight again. It is not fair to Ima.”

Guilt at her selfishness piled on her like stones. If Ari had not accepted her father’s offer it was akin to rejection. He did not want her for a wife, more pointedly he did not love her as she had loved him. Perhaps Ruby had been right. Perhaps, Ari did look at her as nothing more than a farmer’s daughter.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The yoke dug into her nape as she carried the empty water jars to the well. The slowness in her gait had nothing to do with the bandages wrapped around her healing feet. She had hoped the pain in her soul would ease with each passing day. But not even the antics of her young cousins brought her happiness.

Kneading dough in preparation for challah, a task that had always brought her joy, left her with a hollowness that threatened to bury her in the depths of despair. It had been a simple household pleasure she’d hoped to perform for Ari. And now that, too, was gone.

The worst of it had been her lack of desire to play the lyre. Although it soothed her father, helping him find his rest at night, she couldn’t do it. Not when she’d miss Ari’s rich baritone singing along.

The pale stones of the well came into sight, and a small tear slipped from her eye. The last time she’d been here, it had been over spilled oil. It had been the beginning of her realization of who the real Ari was. The beginning of the end of their contact, even if it had meant nothing to him.

She lifted the yoke from her neck and laid it within the branches. The dark earthenware jars swung back and forth like pendulums, reminding her of the color of Ari’s eyes. She slumped onto the stone bench. Shore up your courage. Ruby’s words pounded in her thoughts, just as flashes of Ari bombarded her. Even now, her soul ached from the loss of the tender promises in his eyes.

Why had he lied? Yet, she knew he would never lie. He had not spoken vows. Had not signed the contracts. Had never said that he loved her. And she had never said she loved him, either. Her stubborn pride had kept her from saying what was in her heart, and now she would never see him again.

The pounding of feet upon the pathway broke through her pity. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Rising, she turned the wheel to draw up water.

“Mira, Mira, your father begs you to come quickly,” one of her young cousins called, the urgency in his voice set her heart with fear. She turned, releasing the wheel. The bucket dropped into the darkened sheath.

“What is it, Yousef? Has something happened?”

The boy bent at the waist heaving for air. Mira approached him and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “You must tell me, is all well?”

“Oh, all is well. It is wondrously so.” He straightened, and took a few slow deep breaths. “We have visitors.”

“Visitors?” she asked, peering into the boy’s brown eyes. Surely, he had been mistaken. Other than their closest neighbors, which her cousin would have announced, visitors did not come to her father’s house. The terrain, as magnificent as any, was too harsh.

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