In Naaman's House
9781465666697
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“I like not the maiden, Caleb. No good will come of taking in this daughter of strange people.” “Thy words belie thy kind heart, Sarah. Thou wert willing to take under our care the child of my kinsman, even though estranged from his father’s house by his marriage. I fear, however,” and the man’s voice was troubled, “that we shall not be able to make her happy.” “Make her happy!” broke in the woman’s indignant tones. “I fear that she will not be able to make herself useful. She hath not so far.” Then, more gently, “Yet is she welcome to all we can do for her now that she hath no kin save us, but I am fearful because her mother was of the natives of Canaan so that she hath not been instructed in the way of Jehovah. If she should have a wrong influence over our little Miriam!” The woman in the doorway glanced over her shoulder at the scene within the dwelling where an animated conversation was in progress. “Awake, Judith. I myself have awaked early. See, the door hath been opened and the fresh morning breezes blow sweet after the night-time when no air cometh in at all. Father hath almost finished leading out the animals. Did they bother thee last night with their stamping? Peradventure some wild animal was prowling about outside. Is it not a fine arrangement to have the mangers built between their part of the house and ours? And is it not comforting to know that at night and on stormy days they are safe under the same roof with us? Art thou still asleep?” An older maiden sprang to her feet. “Who could sleep through thy chatter, Miriam? Thou makest more noise than the oxen and the asses and the cow and the calf all put together.” But a smile tempered the severity of the speech. The younger and smaller maid laughed delightedly and stooping to the floor began to fold the thickly padded rug or quilt on which she had slept, depositing it in a nook in the wall apparently built for the purpose and keeping up a steady stream of talk designed to be informing to the new arrival. “If our olive trees have a good crop this year, we are going to have curtains to hide the beds. Last year father built this wooden floor to raise our living room above the ground where the animals stay. It is cleaner and dryer now and ants and mice do not trouble us so much. Thinkest thou not we have a splendid home?” Judith’s somewhat cool response caused Miriam to look at her in hurt surprise. The mother flashed a reassuring smile from her seat in the doorway, though never ceasing for a moment her skillful manipulation of a large sieve. It was tossed and shaken and every few minutes tilted sideways to allow a tiny shower of straws and dust to fall upon the ground. While Miriam took up the beds Judith was required to assist her aunt in grinding the newly sieved grain. With a steady, monotonous motion they worked the wooden handle of the mill back and forth, back and forth, never hastening but never stopping until at last the sound of the grinding became lower and lower and finally ceased, the whole grains of wheat having been crushed into a coarse powder between the upper and lower stones of the mill. It did not take long for this to be made up into dough, patted into small, flat cakes, and baked quickly in the out-of-doors oven made of heated stones. By ten o’clock, as was usual in the Land of Israel, the morning repast was ready: hot bread, fresh milk, and to-day there were young onions dipped in salt. Had this been winter instead of spring, there might have been a handful of raisins or a few olives or the bread might possibly have been dipped in grape-syrup. This meal was always relished, however, for no other would be cooked until sunset. By the time it was finished the morning mists had rolled away, the sun had dried up the heavy dews of the night before, and the distant fields were calling to the husbandmen.
