the servant to refill his cup and bid Hushai goodnight, his heart lighter than it had been in months.
7
Bathsheba stood in the cooking room as servants moved around her, cleaning the remnants of the morning meal to begin preparations for the New Moon feast later that evening. Despite Uriah’s absence, Bathsheba made certain the laws, purifications, sacrifices, and festivals were kept, knowing her husband would request an update and an accounting when he returned. She had already sent the invitations to her grandfather, Aunt Talia, Chava and her husband Matthias, and Rei and his new wife Jarah. All had agreed to join her for the feast that followed the sacrifices at Gibeon. The journey to the high place and back would take time, and she was restless to be off.
Yearning for her family tugged at her. Chava had been absent from their weekly visits at the marketplace, still sick with her second pregnancy, but it was not Chava’s face she missed. If Bathsheba was honest with herself, it was a glimpse of the king she longed for most. Her pulse quickened at the thought, bringing with it a troubling sense of guilt.
She moved from the cooking area toward the front of the house, pausing at her room to snatch her cloak and head scarf. Loneliness was the only explanation for the way her mind kept replaying their conversation of months before. If Uriah had never gone to battle, she would not have been on the roof at that moment or even spoken one word to the king. That her gaze had traveled nearly every day since to the spot where he’d stood was a testament to the fact that she missed her husband. Would the war never end?
She forced her mind back to examining the servants’ handiwork as she carried her cloak and scarf to the sitting room. The door to the courtyard stood ajar, letting the warm breeze filter through the house. Summer’s heat had grown oppressive in the past month, but shutting up the house was no better than letting the warmth seep inside. Bathsheba hated the closed-in feeling.
In the courtyard, a middle-aged female servant stood beating dust from a rug with a heavy wooden paddle. Tirzah lifted her head from where she stood polishing tables and lamps.
“Gather your cloak and come with me.” Bathsheba pulled her sandals from a basket by the door and sat on a low couch to tie them in place.
Tirzah tucked the linen dust cloth into her belt and hurried to her quarters. She returned as Bathsheba finished tying her other sandal.
“Leaving so soon, my lady?” Anittas’s frame blocked her path to the courtyard, his thick arms folded over his sturdy chest. Her constant protector, Uriah had urged Anittas to keep her safe.
“I promised my aunt I would stop by and spend some time with her before we head to Gibeon.”
“The master would have a servant accompany you.” He moved aside, but as she took a step forward, he followed her.
She stopped, turning to face him. “Tirzah is servant enough. I will be fine, Anittas.”
“Yes, mistress. Perhaps Shimron should go with you.”
“My cousin Rei will go with us to Gibeon. You have nothing to fear.” Uriah’s insistence that a male servant always accompany her had grown annoying. She covered her face well enough, and there was nothing about her dress to reveal what she looked like. In this Uriah was too much like her father, never giving her space to breathe, always hovering as though he feared someone would snatch her from beneath his watch or she would fly away like a bird. Ridiculous!
But Anittas would never agree with her assessment. She sighed, pulled the scarf over her head and across her face, and met the servant’s concerned gaze. “We will be well. Don’t worry so.” She patted his arm, trying to appear grateful for his fatherly concern, but was smothered by his guardedness. “My grandfather wouldn’t let anything happen to me, and he will also be joining us.”
Anittas nodded, apparently appeased. She stepped into the courtyard, Tirzah
7
Bathsheba stood in the cooking room as servants moved around her, cleaning the remnants of the morning meal to begin preparations for the New Moon feast later that evening. Despite Uriah’s absence, Bathsheba made certain the laws, purifications, sacrifices, and festivals were kept, knowing her husband would request an update and an accounting when he returned. She had already sent the invitations to her grandfather, Aunt Talia, Chava and her husband Matthias, and Rei and his new wife Jarah. All had agreed to join her for the feast that followed the sacrifices at Gibeon. The journey to the high place and back would take time, and she was restless to be off.
Yearning for her family tugged at her. Chava had been absent from their weekly visits at the marketplace, still sick with her second pregnancy, but it was not Chava’s face she missed. If Bathsheba was honest with herself, it was a glimpse of the king she longed for most. Her pulse quickened at the thought, bringing with it a troubling sense of guilt.
She moved from the cooking area toward the front of the house, pausing at her room to snatch her cloak and head scarf. Loneliness was the only explanation for the way her mind kept replaying their conversation of months before. If Uriah had never gone to battle, she would not have been on the roof at that moment or even spoken one word to the king. That her gaze had traveled nearly every day since to the spot where he’d stood was a testament to the fact that she missed her husband. Would the war never end?
She forced her mind back to examining the servants’ handiwork as she carried her cloak and scarf to the sitting room. The door to the courtyard stood ajar, letting the warm breeze filter through the house. Summer’s heat had grown oppressive in the past month, but shutting up the house was no better than letting the warmth seep inside. Bathsheba hated the closed-in feeling.
In the courtyard, a middle-aged female servant stood beating dust from a rug with a heavy wooden paddle. Tirzah lifted her head from where she stood polishing tables and lamps.
“Gather your cloak and come with me.” Bathsheba pulled her sandals from a basket by the door and sat on a low couch to tie them in place.
Tirzah tucked the linen dust cloth into her belt and hurried to her quarters. She returned as Bathsheba finished tying her other sandal.
“Leaving so soon, my lady?” Anittas’s frame blocked her path to the courtyard, his thick arms folded over his sturdy chest. Her constant protector, Uriah had urged Anittas to keep her safe.
“I promised my aunt I would stop by and spend some time with her before we head to Gibeon.”
“The master would have a servant accompany you.” He moved aside, but as she took a step forward, he followed her.
She stopped, turning to face him. “Tirzah is servant enough. I will be fine, Anittas.”
“Yes, mistress. Perhaps Shimron should go with you.”
“My cousin Rei will go with us to Gibeon. You have nothing to fear.” Uriah’s insistence that a male servant always accompany her had grown annoying. She covered her face well enough, and there was nothing about her dress to reveal what she looked like. In this Uriah was too much like her father, never giving her space to breathe, always hovering as though he feared someone would snatch her from beneath his watch or she would fly away like a bird. Ridiculous!
But Anittas would never agree with her assessment. She sighed, pulled the scarf over her head and across her face, and met the servant’s concerned gaze. “We will be well. Don’t worry so.” She patted his arm, trying to appear grateful for his fatherly concern, but was smothered by his guardedness. “My grandfather wouldn’t let anything happen to me, and he will also be joining us.”
Anittas nodded, apparently appeased. She stepped into the courtyard, Tirzah
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