Chapter 1
Ephraim has taken a second wife. It happened two days ago without warning: a whole procession burst into the outer courtyard, ululating so loud that the hens erupted in chaos too. I had remained rooted to the spot in my one small room, reaching my hand down to my stomach, grateful I was not yet showing.
During the weeklong festivities, I remain in my room, listless, listening as the world unravels around me.
I know why all of this has happened. I have of my own free will married a Samaritan, and I have taken pleasure in the act.
I bite my lower lip and hold back tears, but they come anyway. Curse me, I think, even as I have just prayed for forgiveness. But it doesn’t matter. Tears stream down my face: I will get forgiveness, perhaps, but first will come the punishment.
I think of what to do. I have heard of methods: poisons, sharp objects, certain herbs. But could I go through with it? Our people have always known, since before the fluttering in one’s stomach, that the being inside is truly alive.
No, I cannot.
And yet the thought remains.
From outside, I can hear the celebrations, the joyous sound of laughter as it ripples down from the hill where they’re all gathered.
They say it is love - that is what Rebekah says at least. She may only wish to hurt me by saying this, but I can’t help repeating the words in my head.
Love, I think. What would I know of that?
After our marriage, Ephraim had taken me quickly, without caresses and with a certain roughness that I had not expected from a man of such wealth and charm.
Immediately afterward, while the pain was still with me, while my mouth was still open with shock, he had rolled over onto his back, and then, in some sudden show of tenderness, had turned back to me, tracing his finger down my hairline.
I had closed my eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears.
Perhaps that - my coldness, my sorrow - is what had driven him to this.
Or perhaps it had been, as Rebekah had said, love.
And if so, good riddance.
Except for this.
And everything else. And the fact he had been my husband. And the fact I had hoped, yes, hoped.
For Ephraim is a stunning man, by all accounts. Although he is rich he has no extra stomach and is built like an Ox with a face determined and set. He is the shrewdest of businessmen in all of Samaria, and I am sure that had something to do with the success of his negotiations for me, a Jewess from the priestly tribe of Levi.
Perhaps Mother is still getting her punishment from them. Perhaps they’ve stoned her already on trumped-up charges for some or other petty misdeed. Or perhaps she is living well, keeping Ephraim's few remaining pieces of silver underneath her new feather mattress.
She has yet to visit, and I am not sure when I will tell her of my pregnancy.
Or if I ever will.
I shut my eyes again, against the tears and the sound of celebration outside. He is permitted to take another wife: in fact, he is even encouraged to do so. Ephraim is a prosperous man, and there is no greater blessing than children.
But why was I not enough for him?
The question is stupid, and yet it spills out of me, working its way up from my depths. If God could answer this, then perhaps I could have peace. What is it that he found wanting? What is it precisely?
