To Dwell among Cedars by Connilyn Cossette

Author:Connilyn Cossette
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biblical Fiction;FIC042090;FIC042110;FIC042030
ISBN: 9781493428090
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2020-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Two

Ronen

Trying to ignore how stiff my fingers were, I shifted my weight as I crouched in the wet brush and tugged my woolen mantle closer around my body. I breathed out slowly, listening for the scuffle of footsteps, the rasp of a body moving through the woods, or even just a change in the air.

“See anything?” Machlon whispered near my shoulder.

“No,” I replied, keeping my voice low as well.

“They have to be here somewhere,” he mumbled. “They said they’d meet us here when the moon was high.”

While Machlon and I ate with Eliora’s family, Osher and Shelah had been scouting the area, trying to pinpoint exactly how many guards were positioned around the top of the mountain and where they were stationed.

Since Tuviyah and the other musicians would assume Machlon and I had been invited to stay the night with Elazar’s family after the meal, we took advantage of the freedom it gave us to do some exploration of our own after we left. So far we’d seen four armed Levite guards, men who were surprisingly alert as they paced back and forth in the moonlight, eyes roving the trees. As I’d noticed during the wedding celebration, there were no torches lit to mark the resting place of the sacred vessel, but if the guards were here, then it could not be too far away; within a thousand cubits, I ventured to guess.

Nothing more than a few night birds trading stories and the whisper of the frigid breeze in the trees broke the silence around us. Perhaps Osher and Shelah had returned to camp after all, leaving the two of us here in the woods, waiting for no one.

I began to get drowsy, my belly overly full from the feast Elazar’s wife and daughters prepared. I had to admit that the two old weavers had been correct to say that the fruits and vegetables harvested from Eliora’s garden were second to none—the flavors richer and deeper, or sweeter and more delicate, than I’d ever tasted before. I’d been helpless against Yoela’s continued insistence that I pile more food into my bowl, especially when every bite I scooped into my mouth seemed more delicious than the last.

Although Eliora’s mother in no way resembled my own—her diminutive size and overabundance of black curls the opposite of my mother’s willowy build and sleek brown hair—they were both generous in their affection for their families, and I could not help but be assailed by memories of my ima as I watched Yoela interact with her youngest children. They adored her, ever clamoring for her attention and never being turned away. Even when she was deep in conversation with one of the other women, she was stroking one of their heads with gentle fingers, or tugging one onto her lap, or pulling another tight to her side.

It had been nearly nine years since I’d seen my mother, and I could still feel the distinct sensation of her lips pressed to my forehead, as if the last kiss she gave me before her new husband drove away was permanently tattooed onto my skin.

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