Abigail's Story by Ann Burton Read Free Book Online

see her face, and she mine.
    What will you do, Father’s Delight? How will you keep them whole and safe?
    I cannot do anything, I told her. I am only a woman.
    Only a woman. She seized the last remaining intact pot and crushed it between her hands. White smoke enveloped her, and once more I heard Shomer’s daughter say, Devash is Noisan’s only daughter, and she shall bring land and many sheep to her husband.
    I woke up with a cry, but I was not on my sleeping mat. I was at the center of the house, standing in front of my father’s wheel. On the stone lay my striped head cloth, the one I never wore to market.
    The head cloth of a young, unmarried betulah.
    The m’khashepah’s voice echoed inside my head. When you doubt, go back to the wheel. Turn the wheel.
    I picked up my head cloth and held it in my hands. Now that I understood what could be made, I but had to find the courage to gather what was needed, and steadiness to shape it.
    Taking care to keep my steps silent, I went to my parents’ room.

CHAPTER
5
    I t was no more proper for an unmarried woman to travel alone between towns than it was for her to sell at market, but there were ways around such restrictions. Amri traveled to Maon every week to barter for goods with the trader caravans, and I knew the next morning was his day to go.
    Just before dawn I slipped out of the house and met Amri outside his small dwelling on the edge of the quarter, where he was hitching his mule to his cart.
    â€œAbigail.” He seemed startled by my sudden appearance, until he saw the two-handled water jar at my hip. “I did not expect delivery today.” His head went down and then up. “Why are you dressed like that?”
    Beneath my mantle I wore my mother’s best samla. Made of closely woven soft ivory wool with vivid blue and green stripes, it was the finest garment Chemda had ever worn, and smelled only faintly of the cedar chips she had sprinkled in its folds to repelinsects. I had never dared to touch it before; last night I had boldly stolen it from my parents’ room while they slept.
    â€œI have a favor to ask, Amri.”
    I thought of telling him that a sick friend had summoned me to Maon, but I was dressed too finely. I also needed the spice merchant to help me find Nabal once we arrived. In the end, it was simplest to tell him the truth, so I did.
    â€œI would be in your debt,” I added after relating the details of Rivai’s debt and my solution. “If you will do this for me, anything I have to give is yours.”
    â€œI have enough pots, thank you, and your idiot brother should be whipped,” Amri snapped.
    â€œAbigail?”
    I saw Rivai walking toward us and wanted to groan. “Brother, you should be home, sleeping.”
    My brother looked even worse than he had last night, his nose and mouth swollen and his eyes shot with tiny red veins. He moved carefully, too, as one did with an uncertain head or belly.
    â€œI heard you leave.” He looked from me to Amri and frowned. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œI have asked Amri to take me with him to trade with the caravans,” I told him. “I shall return this afternoon. Go home; Mother will be waking soon.”
    â€œYou have no pottery with you,” Rivai said. “Why are you wearing . . .” His expression darkened. “No, Abigail. I cannot permit you to do this.”
    â€œI was wrong.” Amri folded his arms. “Your brother has some sense in his head.”
    â€œI mean what I say, Sister,” Rivai said. “Our father will never allow it.”
    â€œI have done nothing yet,” I reminded him, “nor is it likely I shall. But I must try.”
    â€œChild, how can you mean to throw yourself onto the mercy of a stranger, one who may be a cheat and a swindler?” Amri regarded my brother. “This ungrateful whelp is not worth it.”
    â€œHe speaks the truth,”