Judah glanced at Hirah, then searched for Er, who had again disappeared from his sight. “Er!” he called, his voice rising. He strained to see, catching a glimpse of him too close to one of the camels. He stalked off and reached his son before the camel driver noticed him. He grabbed the boy’s arm. “You are going to get hurt standing too close to these beasts! What’s the matter with you? Stay with me or you will not come with me again.”
Er squirmed and complained as Judah dragged him back to Hirah.
“You think this child is ready for betrothal?” Judah scoffed. “You were betrothed young and broke the contract. This boy is nowhere near ready to present to some father as a potential husband to his daughter.” Judah released Er and commanded him to sit in the dirt and not move.
With a deep scowl at Judah, Er silently obeyed.
Hirah laughed softly and patted Judah’s shoulder. “And fortunate for you, Kaella was free to marry you, my friend.” He glanced at Er. “You make a good point, but these things are done this way in our land all the time. You could do worse if you wait. I know of a man with three daughters who might be willing to settle things early.”
Judah glanced beyond Hirah and noticed a group of boys who had been at Hirah’s house on that awful feast day. He touched Er’s shoulder. “You may go, but do not stray from that group. And come when I call you!” Er jumped up and ran off while Judah turned his attention back to his friend. “And who is this man?”
“Nadeem. You remember him from our last feast to Molech.” Hirah spoke as though the incident with Nadeem’s only son should not bother the man or his family. As if Nadeem would be ready to part with another member of his family, even if it was only a daughter.
Judah opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. He had never been able to stop the memories, first seeing Nadeem place his son on brazen arms leading to the hunger of the flames below, then hearing Joseph’s pleas for help from the pit.
He shook himself. He needed to leave this caravan of Ishmaelites. The whole place was going to drive him mad!
“You are unusually pensive today, my friend.” Hirah ran a hand over the markings of a decorative jar, one of the many wares set out for purchase. “Let me set up a meeting with Nadeem. He has a daughter near Er’s age. She is quite comely for a child.”
Judah stroked his beard. He glanced again at Er, who was fully engaged in a game of throwing stones in an attempt to hit a tree. A copse of trees edged the area, and children often played beneath the branches.
“He is too young, but if we set a wedding for seven years from now, he will be ready. But not with Nadeem’s family. I will not give my son to the daughter of a man who would kill his only son.”
Hirah tilted his head and gave Judah a curious look. “My friend, nearly every man in Canaan has offered a son or daughter to Molech. You will not find one with daughters who has not.”
“Then I will look elsewhere.” He set his jaw as the caravan master approached.
“There is one I can think of,” Hirah said. “Let me talk to him. He has many daughters.”
Judah nodded. Recognition hit him the closer the Ishmaelite came. He was the man who had purchased Joseph. Judah’s stomach clenched as though a fist had dealt him a hard blow.
“How may I help you?” the man said as he stopped and faced Judah and Hirah.
“I have changed my mind,” Judah said, walking quickly toward Er. He should not have come. The market in town carried enough items. He had no need of balm or spices or pottery or anything else these men carried. For all they carried were memories he could not escape no matter what he did.
He called Er, who surprised him by coming at his first request. Perhaps the boy was ready to betroth to a young girl, as long as the marriage came seven years from now. But Judah wondered if even seven years was enough time to help his spoiled son mature into the man Judah hoped he would be. A man better than he was.
EGYPT
Joseph stood near the bronze fire pit that sat in front of one of Potiphar’s columns, warming his hands. The air held a slight chill as the sun set, and he drew in a breath, relieved that this long, busy day was at an end. Potiphar was gone again, this time to the southern part of Egypt, due to some concern over thieves.
Joseph glanced about and noted guards posted along various pillars that bordered a grand open space. Sleeping rooms, cooking rooms, weaving rooms where the female slaves created the garments for the household, and visiting areas all opened toward this main portico.
The house was more like a small city, for Potiphar did not even bother to purchase his pottery but had a place far from the house where he employed potters to make whatever was needed. Cooks and bakers and wine tasters made Potiphar seem nearly as wealthy as Pharaoh Amenemhat III himself. Yet Joseph could tell from his limited walks through the city that the king’s palace far outshone any other house.
He moved from the open fire and headed toward his rooms. The weavers’ shuttles were silent now, and all of the servants had returned to their sleeping quarters away from the house. He passed Aneksi’s rooms, thankfully some distance from his, and breathed a relieved sigh that the door was shut.
As he rounded a bend in the hall to his room, however, he heard laughter coming from her rooms. His curiosity was piqued as he wondered which slave she had seduced this time, but he pushed the thought out of his mind, until her door opened just as he was about to open his.
He turned back and walked stealthily along the smooth floors. He glimpsed Hamid hurriedly retreating along the wide hall, past the guards and down the steps to his rooms away from the palace.
Joseph stood watching, a feeling of sorrow overtaking him. He knew Hamid spent time with Aneksi but had never caught him leaving her rooms. Should he report this to Potiphar?
He whirled about, returned swiftly to his chamber, and shut the door. A servant greeted him, and for a moment Joseph wondered why the man stood there with his nightclothes over one arm. Nothing was right about this night. Nothing was right about anything in this place. He was not supposed to be here. Why, Adonai? But he had asked that question without response for too long.
“My lord, is everything all right?” the servant asked him.
Joseph mentally shook himself. “Everything is fine,” he said, offering the servant a smile. “But if you do not mind, tonight I would like to dress myself.”
The servant nodded, though he seemed disappointed. “Yes, my lord.” He laid Joseph’s garments on the bed, bowed low, then discreetly left the room. Joseph had eaten no dinner, and food was laid out on a table in one corner of the room. He looked at it as though it were some foreign thing. When had he grown accustomed to the foods of Egypt? He missed the taste of roasted lamb in a lentil stew. He missed the flatbread made by his sister’s hands.
He sat on the edge of the bed and untied his sandals. He trusted Hamid, but now he wondered if he’d been a fool to do so. Potiphar didn’t seem to care whom Aneksi spent time with, so was it really his place to tell the man that his third-in-command was bedding his wife? Potiphar likely already knew in any case.
Joseph removed his cloak and hung it on a peg, then draped his tunic over another and slipped into his nightclothes. Stretching out on the bed, he placed his hands behind his head and stared at the same spot in the ceiling that reminded him faintly of the stars he loved.