Rahab, p.1
Rahab, page 1
Rahab:
Hidden Scars
Rebekah Gyger
Copyright © 2023 Rebekah Gyger
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798377116608
Scripture quoted from the New International Version of the Bible
To my grandma, Donna Jean Spurrier, and my grandpa, Ronnie Lee Gyger. Though you could not see this book published, I know you would have both been proud.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Discussion Questions
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Part 1
Chapter 1
Night had fallen. A cool breeze blew through the windows, at last making it livable within the stifling house. But Rahab was too nervous to remain inside, crammed in with the numerous members of her family, as well as their guests. She needed air. She needed to be alone.
Lingering near the back door, she glanced over her shoulder, ensuring neither her ima nor one of her abba's other wives had seen her escape though the outer room. Lamp light flickered from their main living space, seeming to dance over the amphorae of wine that lined the wall near her, waiting to be served to the men inside.
A touch of fear skittered across her nerves. She didn’t want to know what her abba would do if she were caught sneaking out into the night on her own. But she also feared choking on the close air inside. Not when her life was to change drastically due to their guests inside.
When no one’s shadow rose to stop her, she ducked out the door. Bare feet met the still warm ground and she curled her toes, savoring the sensation of heat clashing with the chill.
Moonlight lit Rahab’s path and she ambled to the low wall which divided her family's property from the streets of Jericho. It took no more than twenty strides to cross the length of their yard, but it was land that her abba took pride in.
Most could not claim to own so much of Jericho.
It was this distinction which made her abba worthy of the honored guests they had that night, for such a small plot of ground signaled her family’s wealth and social standing, both lofty enough to allow Abba to associate with the likes of Ariciti and his sons.
And if the gods willed, for Rahab to marry into their family.
Rahab braced her forearms on the top of the wall as a harsh shiver coursed down her spine. Only the month before, she'd sat outside the house while her eldest brother's wife, Shiba, labored inside, birthing the first of her abba's grandchildren. The screaming had made Rahab’s stomach churn until she fell to her knees with tears streaming down her face.
At fifteen, Shiba was only two years older than Rahab herself. And Rahab was more than old enough for a betrothal. For their family to postpone any longer would only bring shame on Abba’s name.
But that didn’t mean she felt any more prepared.
Rahab pressed a fist to her mouth. Why did her stomach have to ache so much? She had seen Ariciti’s son, the one she would eventually call husband. Though not fair of face, his was a countenance she could bear to look upon. Yet those eyebrows... she shut her eyes and took in a deep breath.
Ariciti’s son had large brows, like hairy locusts that wiggled with every facial expression. And that would not be so awful, if... if she at least knew him.
Would he be like her abba? Or could he somehow be worse?
Her jaw throbbed from holding in the sobs that had gathered toward the back of her throat. Why wasn’t it possible to stay home and never marry? She could serve her family, baking the morning bread and washing their bedclothes. And if her brothers’ wives fell ill, she could care for their children.
Why did she have to be sent away? It was better to live with what she knew than—
A sharp whine beyond the wall startled her. She jerked her hand from her face and used the edge of her headscarf to brush away the moisture on her cheek. If anyone found her like this...
Well, it wouldn’t matter since they were marrying her off anyway.
The sound repeated itself as a high-pitched keening. Shoving up on her toes, she hooked her arms across the wall and tugged herself up to peer over the stones. Loose mortar rained down on the other side, inciting the whine to grow louder.
Concern set in, drying her tears. It was obviously an animal of some kind, afraid and likely in pain.
Rahab lowered herself back down and side-stepped to the gate. In the dark, she couldn’t see the latch. Her hand brushed the rough fibers of a rope and she felt around for the knot and then slipped it from the loop that held the gate in place. The wooden door scraped the ground as she pushed it outward.
The animal moved in the shadows of the wall off to her side, its cries having turned to desperate yips. She inched over, her knees bent and her hand outstretched. “Shh,” she whispered. “It will be alright.”
It scrambled backwards. With its head raised, she saw the outline of a long nose and flopped over ears. A new chill swept through her. A wild mutt. Though still a pup, the dog's mother was sure to be nearby.
Abba had warned her about the wild dogs. Every abba did.
Because dogs killed.
Bumps rose on Rahab’s arms. She lowered her voice further. “You're not hurt.” She stepped back, heart racing. “I’m sure your ima will come for you.”
The gate stood open as she had left it, a dark shadow welcoming her to safety. But before she could pass through, a growl sounded from behind. She froze, still crouched. Blood pounded in her ears and her vision swam.
She never should have come outside the gate.
She couldn’t yell for help. The air was locked in her throat and her hands shook as her legs gave way beneath her. There was a vicious snarl and the pup’s answering wail.
Light swept from the house, a bright point in her periphery.
Time slowed as noises crashed together. Ima called her name as the mother dog howled. A weight smashed into Rahab’s side and pain erupted along her neck. She fell, face grinding into the earth as Ima’s cries faded under the brunt of Rahab’s scream.
***
The right side of Rahab’s face and neck were stiff, bound tight with strips of cloth that were caked in blood and honey. The bandages elicited a bone-deep itch and held a scent both sickly sweet and metallic. But those concerns were trifling compared to the lingering throb of pain and the humiliation of flies descending on her face, both the covered and uncovered places.
One landed near her eye and she flinched, startling it enough that it flew away and then moments later returned. This time, when it sat down on the bandages, she left it there.
“What price will I be able to get for Rahab now?” Abba’s voice carried from the other room, raised without shame for who might hear it. “Ariciti had offered three sheep and seven goats. Seven!” Rahab could picture him waving his arms as he spoke. “Now he wants nothing to do with her for his son.”
“There are men far less proud than Ariciti.” Ima’s voice was low and conciliating, though it carried its own sharp edge. “Men who would be glad to be joined to our family through marriage, no matter the bride.”
Propped on her side, Rahab watched her abba’s shadow move in the doorway. “But at what price?” he repeated.
“Don’t give up hope. And pray to the gods that the damage to her face will not be as bad once the bandages have been removed.”
“Yes,” Abba murmured. “Prayer is all we have. And perhaps...” She imagined him clenching his fists. “No, I will not offer a sacrifice. If she is to be maimed, then she will already have cost me enough.”
Cool tears dripped across Rahab’s nose. She clenched her eyes shut and tipped the uninjured side of her face into the blankets.
***
“Ow!” Rahab flinched away from her Ima’s yanking hands. Her damp bandages still clung to the healing wounds, though she was told the bleeding had stopped. Despite not having seen her reflection, she had already felt the ridges of her wound beneath the bindings with her fingertips.
“Hold still.” Ima’s nails dug into Rahab’s arm, her wrinkled face offering no mercy. “It has been a week. It’s time these came off!”
“But it hurts.”
“You should have thought of that before going where you shouldn’t have.” Ima’s tone hurt more than the rip of the final bandage. “There.” She dropped the linen into a heap with the rest and then wiped her hands on a wet cloth. She motioned with it to a bowl of water near the window. “Now look at yourself.”
Rahab placed her feet on the floor and slowly unfurled from her crouched position. Her legs shook and her stomach churned. Her ima’s expression offered no clue as to what she would see, only a fixed scowl that never left.
The water in the bowl rippled as Rahab knelt over it, allowing her another moment of uncertainty. But as it stilled, her features came into focus. The whole right side of her face, beneath her eye, was red and crisscrossed with both narrow ridges and pitted cuts that branched out onto her neck, like a patch of red vines. A sob hitched in her throat.
This was what she looked like now? Her vision blurred. No wonder Ariciti had refused her betrothal to his son.
Ima spoke from behind her, “Do you see what your foolishness has done?”
“Yes, Ima.” Rahab touched her cheek. It was as though fire spread from that point, but she only pushed harder, letting tears well as she hopelessly wished that she could push the skin back to the way it had been before.
“You could have been a wealthy man’s wife.” Ima’s words were drenched in bitterness. “Of all your abba’s daughters, you would have brought this family the most respect.” She moved closer, so she could see Rahab’s face. “Now look at you.” Her lips pinched together as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you know what Mitelik’s other wives say?”
Rahab’s lip quivered. “No, Ima.”
“They blame this on me for being a poor mother. And now Bitnima will marry Ariciti’s son in your place.”
Rahab tucked her chin to her chest. She knew that the neighbors would soon whisper about their family, the younger sister being married off before the elder. It would make finding a husband for her all the more difficult.
“Do not look away from me.” Ima lashed out, striking Rahab’s damaged cheek so that she cried out. “You have jeopardized both our positions in this family.”
“I know, Ima.” Even after her hand fell away, it was as though Rahab’s face were being pummeled with stone. But what could she do? Her cheek was already ruined and she would have to live the rest of her life with it. “I am sorry.” She covered her face against another blow, her face throbbing and her chest aching from the effort not to cry. “I am so sorry.”
Ima scoffed. “It is too late for that.” And then she left, her departure from the room somehow leaving more condemnation in her wake than her presence had managed.
Chapter 2
6 months later
“Bitnima cannot serve these men.” Zibqet, Abba’s second wife, stood in the yard, arguing with him. Her hands were propped on hips, wide with pregnant girth. “Ariciti will not stand for it. If she’s to marry his son—”
“What do you expect me to do?” Abba brushed by her, the bronze bands at his wrists catching the sunlight.
The sharp glare caught Rahab in the eye and she ducked her head from her place in the window.
“Don’t treat my daughter like a harlot,” Zibqet snapped.
“There is no one else to help serve the meal.”
“Make Sisa’s daughter do it.”
Rahab perked up. She leaned over the windowsill, eager for his answer. It had been six months since she last stepped outside the house, and just as long since she had seen anyone other than those who lived within its walls.
She finally caught a glimpse of them near the corner of the house as her abba said, “I will not have her embarrass me.”
Rahab’s heart fell.
“And how long before you find a way to make her useful?”
“Until I find her a husband.”
“And when will that be?” Zibqet grabbed hold of Abba’s arm. “The longer you keep Rahab hidden away, the more people will gossip about her.”
“And?”
“And then no one will offer a bride-price.”
Rahab winced. Once a relief, the thought that no one might ask for her hand had turned into her greatest fear. With her face deformed, no one could look her in the eye and other than Shiba, all of her brothers’ wives mocked her. The home she had thought a haven was now her prison.
“Fine.” Abba shook off Zibqet’s hold. “I will have Rahab serve the meal in place of Bitnima. But you will make sure that when she isn’t working, she is well out of sight.”
A squeal threatened to burst forth. Zibqet had done it.
Pulling from the window, Rahab turned to the room which she shared with her sisters as well as Abba’s wives. The space was dim, but she quickly lit a lamp. She would need to make sure her scars were hidden. To do that, she would need to borrow one of her ima’s headscarves.
“What are you doing?”
Rahab paused in rifling through the basket of Ima’s things. Shiba stood in the doorway, her infant son, Duni, on her hip. Her long black hair was tucked out of sight and her features scrunched as she shifted the boy’s weight.
“I heard Abba say I could help tonight.” Rahab squeezed her hand into a fist, waiting for Shiba’s response.
“Oh.” Shiba frowned. “Is that such a good idea?”
Her chest squeezed tighter than her hand. “You don’t think I should be seen.”
Shiba’s eyes widened. “That isn’t it.” She strode into the room and lowered Duni to the nearest bed, where he sat up, rocking himself. “I just want to make sure you want to be seen.”
Rahab tipped her face forward. It wasn’t that she wanted to be seen, but that she needed to connect with other people. She needed a chance to find out if everyone would treat her the way her family did, or if they might overlook her imperfection. Shuffling her feet, she nodded.
“Alright then.” Shiba reached out and lifted one of Ima’s scarves. “I’ll help you.”
***
A little face powder from Shiba’s chest and a thick scarf of Ima’s covered most of Rahab’s scars, as well as the lower part of her face. The fabric felt stifling and moist from her breath, and the scarf’s edge drooped over her eyes. But Abba’s slight nod of acceptance was worth it.
Now he sat on the floor with one of his friends, Hamelkit, from the merchants’ street, feasting on the evening meal in a haze of incense that burned in the corner of the room. Rahab’s four brothers sat with them, along with Hamelkit’s son, Jilsen.
Robust, with broad shoulders, Jilsen was a fine specimen of a man. Her hand shook as she held a platter out to him, waiting for him to notice the fresh figs. Her brother, Idrikan spoke to him, hands waving and drawing their guest’s attention, gracing her with a view of Jilsen’s profile and strong nose.
The plate grew heavy as she lingered and the small fruits tumbled to one side. A gasp escaped her lips and she reached out with her other hand to steady it.
Jilsen turned to her.
He met her gaze and stared. Her cheeks heated under the scarf and she glanced away. “For you?” She held the plate out farther.
He didn’t answer, and for a moment she feared she had offended him. But then he took the platter and balanced it in his own grasp so that it hovered over his knee. “Thank you.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Come, Rahab.” Idrikan motioned to her. “Do not stand so. There is other work to do.”
Chagrin passed through her. She spared a glance in Abba’s direction, but he seemed not to notice. Engaged with Hamelkit, the two men were oblivious to everything else in the room. Two of Rahab’s other brothers were also bent in deep discussion, the bowl of hummus at their feet nearly empty.
She bobbed her head to Idrikan, accepting his rebuke. Quickly skirting the room, she moved to fill her abba’s cup.
How could she have let herself linger with Jilsen? He had yet to see her face, but if he had, he wouldn’t wish to speak with her. This dinner was not meant for her abba to speak of another betrothal, only for him to enjoy time with friends. She could not make the mistake of embarrassing him. Not now.
Passing into the outer room, she carried with her the empty bowls she had gathered. Here, the woman and children sat at one end of the room to partake of their own meal. Zibqet remained separate, refilling dishes Rahab would have to set in the main room. When Rahab entered, the woman offered her a brief look. “How is it out there?”
“Abba and his friend are eating well.”
“Have your brothers behaved themselves?”
“N’em.” Rahab watched as Zibqet spooned hummus into one of the dishes. “Hamelkit’s son and Idrikan seem to like each other’s company.” Or at least Idrikan did. He had spoken intently throughout dinner so far, filling the silence Jilsen left.
Was the man simply withdrawn? Or had her brother overstepped his bounds and forced a conversation where there was none?
