Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155)

  © 2015 by Jill Eileen Smith

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2015

  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—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-2115-5

  Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Scripture quotations labeled ESV are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2007

  Scripture quotations labeled NKJV are from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, Wendy Lawton, Central Valley Office, P.O. Box 1227, Hilmar, CA 95324, wendy@booksandsuch.biz

  “Rahab’s story is one of the most moving redemption accounts in Scripture. The Crimson Cord perfectly captures all the drama of the original, fleshing out the characters with care and thought, and following the biblical account every step of the way. Jill’s thorough research and love for God’s Word are both evident, and her storytelling skills kept me reading late into the night. A beautiful tale, beautifully told!”

  —Liz Curtis Higgs, New York Times bestselling author of Mine Is the Night

  Praise for the Wives of the Patriarchs Series

  Rachel

  “A faithful portrayal of the story of Jacob and his two wives, Rachel will make you feel the agony of two sisters in love with the same man. Jealousy, betrayal, heartache, and deceit cannot prevent the invisible hand of God from leading His people inexorably toward the fulfillment of their destiny. Smith has the knack of making her fiction feel truly authentic to the world of the Bible.”

  —Tessa Afshar, award-winning author of Harvest of Gold

  Rebekah

  “In her second Wives of the Patriarchs book, Smith makes biblical fiction unforgettable and worthy of our attention. This incredible author’s ability to re-create biblical settings and transform dialogue delivers a God-given message that is just as relevant today as it was thousands of years ago.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

  “With attention to detail in every aspect of her writing, Jill makes this story sing with love, human frailty, and triumph. Rebekah is a powerful story that supports the biblical account and proposes a reasoned and moving story of what could have been. Rebekah is biblical storytelling at its finest and is well worth adding to your shelves.”

  —Rel Mollet, Relz Reviews

  Sarai

  “The scriptural account of Abraham and Sarah is not only a testament of God’s faithfulness to His promises, it’s a story of love. Smith skillfully captures both, and the essence of living in Old Testament times, by combining biblical facts with research-based interpretation and her own imagination to create a detailed drama that will leave readers eagerly awaiting the second book in the series.”

  —CBA Retailers+Resources

  “Smith is at her best in handling the triangulated relationship between Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar . . . Smith breathes new imaginative life into a well-known sacred story.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  To M’shiach Adonai, the Lord’s Anointed One, Messiah—my Rock, my Strength, my Redeemer—who redeemed Rahab so we could see a picture of mercy and of grace.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Endorsements

  Dedication

  Part 1

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  Part 2

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  Part 3

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Jill Eileen Smith

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  And Joshua the son of Nun sent two men secretly from Shittim as spies, saying, “Go, view the land, especially Jericho.” And they went and came into the house of a prostitute whose name was Rahab and lodged there . . .

  Before the men lay down, she came up to them on the roof and said to the men, “I know that the LORD has given you the land . . . Now then, please swear to me by the LORD that, as I have dealt kindly with you, you also will deal kindly with my father’s house, and . . . that you will save alive my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them, and deliver our lives from death.”

  Joshua 2:1, 8–9, 12–13 ESV

  1

  JERICHO, 1406 BC

  Rahab draped the pale blue scarf over her head and shivered in the predawn chill. Her two sisters, Cala and Adara, took some convincing, but in the end, they had followed her on the short walk to the city’s public gardens in search of the dead carcasses of the female coccus ilicis, the crimson worms prized for their deep scarlet dyes.

  “You know the king’s servants have probably already stripped the trees bare,” Cala said, resting a protective hand over the growing babe within her. “And Tzadok was not too happy to have me leave him with just a blanket for warmth when I left our bed.”

  Gamal never noticed whether Rahab shared their bed anymore. How quickly his ardor had cooled after the war that left him both injured and a national hero for saving the prince’s life. Yet how could a single battle cause so much change?

  Shame heated her face, and she quickly ducked her head lest Cala notice. Surely she had done something to displease him. Surely her childlessness had forced him to seek lovers in the streets and drink in the taverns at night.

  Your daughter is very beautiful, my lord. The memory of Gamal’s words that day during her fifteenth summer invaded her thoughts. He had accompanied his father to her father’s home to seek her hand in marriage. How tall and proud Gamal had looked, standing like the soldier he was with one hand behind his back, the other resting on his close-cropped dark beard. Dark hair peeked beneath a leather helmet, and a slight smile tipped the corners of a strong, round jaw.

  Her heart had beat faster at the sound of his deep yet gentle voice, and though she hid in the shadows in the connect
ing room, she heard every word of the exchange, the bartering. Gamal’s father had the prescribed bride-price, and Gamal, a soldier in the king’s guard, earned a good living. Rahab would be well cared for in her new home.

  How short-lived that promise.

  The familiar twinge of envy filled her in one glance at Cala’s protruding middle. In five years of marriage she had not produced a son for Gamal, or even a daughter, though a daughter would not have pleased him. Perhaps she should be searching for mandrakes or performing fertility rites at the temple to procure a child instead of searching for worms that might bring her profit to feed her husband’s gaming habit. A child would remove the sting of her shame and give her someone to love. A child might cause Gamal to look on her with favor again.

  “Your thoughts are very far away, my sister,” Cala said, drawing up beside her as they walked along the mud-brick streets now where palm trees lined the boulevard. “I know that look.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and they both glanced Adara’s way.

  Rahab shook her head. “It is nothing.” Though in truth it was everything. She could not create a child any more than she could find the elusive mandrakes. And she was not about to offer sacrifices or prostitute herself to the temple on the whims of false hope.

  “Has Gamal hurt you again?” Cala rested a hand on her arm, forcing Rahab to stop and meet her gaze. Cala knew the truth of his hidden abuse, something Rahab could not tell her mother or father or brothers.

  Rahab looked beyond her sister, feeling the sudden touch of the morning breeze like a forgiving kiss. She drew in a slow breath, strangely strengthened. She glanced once more at Adara, then leaned close to Cala. “He is always angry,” she said quickly. “The prince’s edict arrived yesterday afternoon. They want an accounting by week’s end and Gamal is not ready.” She walked on, remembering the panic in his eyes. “Scarlet linens bring a high price in the markets.” She had to find a way to repay Gamal’s debt, to earn his respect. She glanced at Cala. “I have to try.”

  Rahab looked at Adara, whose young eyes were wide with curiosity. “Have to try what?” Adara asked.

  “I have to try to find these worms so I can create scarlet threads and sell them to feed my family.” She smiled at Adara, on the cusp of womanhood, still innocent and carefree and irresponsible. Something Rahab had not felt since the day Gamal returned from war, three years before, but wanted desperately to preserve in her baby sister for as long as she could.

  “That’s not all that you told Cala. What does the prince want with Gamal?” Adara’s thin brows narrowed, and her lip jutted in her typical pout. “I’m not naive, you know.”

  You are far more naive than you realize, dear sister. “I know you aren’t, my sweet, but I don’t have time to explain it all right now. Please. I need your help to find these worms. Their carcasses will be white and we will have to scrape them off the trees.”

  Adara’s shoulders drooped, but she turned her attention to the nearest tree, her whole energy caught up in the hunt as though they were searching for buried treasure.

  Which they were. Rahab moved deeper into the grove and slowly scanned the trunk of an oak tree. If only there were a god of worms, she would pray to him or her and offer a sacrifice of the few hoarded pieces of bronze and silver she kept hidden in a jar in their bedchamber. Precious metals she had earned from her weaving but that would not even come close to paying off Gamal’s debt.

  She had to find enough worms to make the prized red dye and make it in abundance.

  She could not even consider another option.

  Rahab shuddered, feeling the weight of Gamal’s cursing the following evening. “What good are you to me if you cannot produce even the smallest lump of silver?” He tossed both hands above his head in a frustrated gesture. “A wife that cannot produce heirs could at least find some way to increase her husband’s fortunes. You are a worthless whore!”

  She ducked her head, waiting for the blow that did not come, yet his words did not miss their mark. How swift his barbs—sharp daggers to her soul. She heard his pacing limp thump against the woven mats she had lovingly made to keep the floor packed and smooth. They had once lived in a house in the wealthier section of town, with a large private courtyard in a home of stone floors and many rooms. One they shared with his family.

  But the king had greatly rewarded Gamal for his action in battle, for the day he had thrown himself in front of the prince and taken the arrow that should have ended the prince’s life. Gamal had used some of that reward to rent a house closer to the main thoroughfare. A smaller dwelling, but one Rahab had taken great joy in making their own. One free of his mother’s nagging tongue.

  “My luck is changing tonight, Rahab. I’m this close to winning”—he pinched his fingers together to emphasize his point—“but I need silver to put in the pot.” His voice had softened as if he had suddenly forgotten his tirade. Did he think she could so easily sweep aside his accusing words to give him what he wanted?

  She straightened, drawing on courage she thought she had lost. “The games are slanted against you, Gamal. Wouldn’t it be better to wait just awhile? Give me time. I can give you more if you can just be patient.”

  The blow came too fast for her to duck this time. Tears stung her eyes, matching the sharp sting against her cheek.

  “Don’t tell me to be patient. I have given you years!” She knew in an instant they were no longer talking about silver but sons. Did he not consider the fact that if he spent more time with her instead of the foreign women he had come to favor, she might at last produce a child? But of course, the fault was hers alone. Always hers.

  She flinched as his hand drew close again, and he fingered a lock of her hair as if turning a new thought over in his mind. “There is a way you could repay me.” He let the comment hang in the air between them until she slowly, fearfully met his level gaze.

  She swallowed, recognizing the scheming gleam in his eyes. There was always some new plan, some way he devised for her to please him, though none ever did. Did he want her to visit the temples as she had considered the previous morning?

  Horror filled her, and she wanted to pull away from him, to curl into a corner and hide like a young girl again in her father’s house. Shaking overtook her, and she clasped her hands to her arms, trying to still the sudden cold.

  “I’ve had men ask after you,” he said after too many breaths. His dark eyes searched hers.

  She stared at him wide-eyed but could not find her voice.

  He shook his head and gave a brittle laugh. “Of course, I tell them where they can take their suggestions.” He lifted her chin with two fingers, possessive. “I need you to be quicker with the cloth, or find some other way to get me gold.”

  So now it was gold he wanted? I am doing all that I can. “Yes, my lord.”

  “It’s the only way we can get out from under our debt,” he said as though trying to convince her.

  Your debt. How he loved to include her in his foolish choices. And yet . . . if she had been all she should have been as wife to him, would he have needed to pursue women or drink or games to find relief from the pain she caused? The question haunted her, as it did every time he left the house at night, leaving her alone. Every time she crawled into their bed without his company. Every time he looked at her with disdain.

  She blinked, hating the tears that threatened. One moment she wanted to fall at his feet and weep, begging him to forgive her. But sometimes in the next breath, sudden violent emotions would overtake her. If she had dared, she would flail her arms against his proud chest and scream in his face.

  Why can’t you return to work as a guard? Why can’t you be kind like my father and brothers, like normal men? The words barely held on the tip of her tongue, but to say them would incur an even fiercer wrath. Surely his former commander, Dabir, now the king’s advisor, would allow him to work in one of the positions that required less marching. He could guard the king’s prisoners or sit at the gate, inspecting the mercha
nts as they entered.

  But Gamal had allowed the king’s praise and his forthcoming gift to make him lazy, and he had wasted all he had been given until he was the one indebted to the king rather than the king indebted to him.

  She jumped at the jarring sound of the door slamming, caught off guard that Gamal would leave without another word to her. She shook herself from her conflicted thoughts. How she hated that man! And yet how much she longed to please him.

  She touched her cheek, briefly wondering if it had started to purple. Her brothers would kill him if they knew what he did to her.

  But she could not allow his blood on their hands, despite what he was. He was still her husband.

  A sigh escaped as she walked to the door to secure the latch.

  Rahab stared into the flickering lamp some time later, too weary to rise. She had been up well before dawn and had worked at combing the flax to prepare for dyeing ever since Gamal had left, and now wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and succumb to blessed sleep. Her paltry efforts would not bring silver to Gamal’s pockets any sooner for her late hours, but somehow keeping her hands busy helped stop her mind from racing through all manner of future fears.

  She startled at a light rap at the outer door. Surely her nerves were overly heightened. She stilled, listening. Probably a wandering drunk tapping on the posts of her gate as he passed.

  The knock came again, louder, incessant, and Rahab felt a sense of dread. Dare she answer with Gamal still out? What if it was someone from the gaming house come to tell her that Gamal had been hurt in a fight, or worse . . .

  She would not let her thoughts trail there.

  But the knock continued, refusing to be ignored. She rose slowly and crept to the inner door, peering into the gathering dusk. Moonlight streamed into her courtyard, illuminating two men. On closer inspection, she noted the king’s insignia on the guard’s helmet and breastplate. She hesitated, trying to make out the face of the other man, when he raised a fist to knock once more.

  Dabir? Gamal’s former commander still held sway over the troops, but he had risen in power to advise both Prince Nahid and the king. What was he doing at her door in the dark of night?