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Song of the Shepherd Woman

By Carlene Havel, Sharon Faucheux

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Chapter One
“I am searching for Avram of Bethlehem, the son of Abijah. He is said to be a big man, with broad shoulders, and very old. Do you know him?”
Before answering, the young shepherd stood silently for a moment, moving his hand up and down on his smooth staff. “I know of a herder whose name may be Avram, though most people call him ‘the Lunatic.’”
“Yes. Yes, that is the one. He is my relative by marriage. Where can I find him?”
“Must be a different fellow, then. The Lunatic has no family, no one but his wife.” The youth’s eyes did not meet Yakov’s. “Perhaps you should inquire in Bethlehem. If you offer some silver, someone may be able to tell you the whereabouts of your relative.”
“If I had so much as a single coin to spare I would not be here,” Yakov barked. He tamped down the air in front of him with both hands. “I understand Avram and his brother—my wife’s father—had an argument years ago and never spoke to each other again. It no longer matters who was right and who was wrong.” He lifted the hand of the little girl beside him. “She needs Avram’s help. Please.”
The shepherd took a long look at the solemn child before gesturing across the lush meadow. “The Lunatic and his crazy wife pasture yonder, over those hills. If I wanted to see him, I would keep walking that way.”
“We have been wandering around all day. It seems impossible to find anyone out here in open country.”
“You need not locate the Lunatic. Keep going and he will find you.” The shepherd turned toward his flock and began to play a tune on his pipe.
Realizing their conversation was finished, Yakov sighed and led the little girl away. It took longer than he expected to reach the first rise. As he and the child climbed toward the crest, he glanced backward left and right across the fields stretching out behind them. He heard birds chirping and the distant bleating of sheep. The notes of a shepherd’s pipe floated lightly on the air. If the weather warmed, this might be a pleasant place for a man who was not exhausted and worried.
Yakov rubbed his hands together. “It is cold out here. How much longer must I search for this madman?” It was just as well he spoke more to himself than to Channah, since she did not respond. When the climb became noticeably steeper, he lifted his head to judge the distance to the hilltop. An imposing figure stood at the summit, arms folded. Yakov stopped and shielded his eyes from the bright winter sun.
The old man’s white hair stood away from his head as if trying to escape the fierceness of his weathered face. His voice had a low rumble, like far-away thunder. “Are you lost, friend?”
Even at the distance of several cart lengths, Yakov felt like the old man’s eyes penetrated him. Concerned he might be in danger, Yakov took a deep breath to steady himself before replying. “I am searching for Avram of Bethlehem, the son of Abijah.”
“For what purpose?”
Yakov noted the old man’s impressive weaponry. He had a great iron bow slung over one shoulder, while a thick shepherd’s crook leaned against a rock. A shepherd’s rod was tucked into his belt, and most likely a dagger lurked beneath his tunic.
“Avram is the kinsman of my wife. I have come to put this child in his care.” Yakov nodded toward Channah, who stood with downcast eyes.
The massive man grabbed his crook and strode nimbly down the hillside. Stopping an arm’s length from Yakov, he took a long look at Channah. “Why?”
“When I find my wife’s kinsman, I will explain the situation. I hope he will understand and help us.”
“I am Avram. As you see, I am old. And my wife.” He glanced back at the hilltop. “We cannot care for a child.”
“Your niece Rebekah was married to my older brother. He died when this girl was still an infant. Out of respect for my brother, I married his widow in order to care for her and her child. A month ago, Rebekah was struck down in the street by a Roman chariot, a big, six-wheeled supply wagon.” Yakov spat on the ground to demonstrate his disdain for the Romans. “She lived only three days more.”
An old woman topped the hill and came to stand to the side of Avram. A noticeable scar ran from her left cheek and down the side of her neck. Yakov stopped speaking, expecting an introduction or some explanation for the woman’s appearance. When the silence continued unbroken, he went on with his story. “It is all my wife—that is, my first wife Adah—and I can do to see after our seven children and my father.” He inclined his head toward Channah. “I must find someone else to raise Rebekah’s daughter.”
Avram narrowed his eyes. “Find another relative. Yael and I have our hands full managing our herd.”
“You are a shepherd?” Yakov asked, pretending this was new information. “A child could be useful to you. This one is sturdy and very obedient. She can fetch and carry, and I am certain she could learn to do chores to help with your sheep. She will be old enough to become a wife in a few years. Please, there is no one else willing to take her off my hands.”
Something between a wail and a sob escaped from the child. Yakov slapped at the back of her head. “Stop that,” he demanded.
Without warning, the woman uttered an inhuman growl and lunged toward Yakov with a short-bladed knife in her hand.
“No, Yael, no,” Avram shouted. He wrapped his arms around the woman, barely preventing her from slashing Yakov’s throat.
Yakov jumped backward, stumbling to a sitting position on the uneven ground. “What is wrong with her?”
Avram held the woman close to him. “Everything is all right,” he said tenderly. “I will not let this man hurt the little girl.” He gradually loosened his grip, at last releasing the woman. “You must forgive my wife. She is very protective of children.”
“Protective?” Yakov stood and brushed debris from his tunic. “That is a considerable understatement. I could have been killed.”
“Indeed,” Avram agreed. “But you were not.”
Yael glared at Yakov for a long moment before sheathing her knife and going to kneel in front of Channah. She hugged the child and brushed away her tears. When Avram touched his wife’s shoulder, she glanced up at him and nodded.
Turning toward Yakov, Avram sighed. “Where are her belongings?”
“She has none.” Yakov patted his clothing as if to confirm everything remained intact. “It is settled, then.” He turned and began his departure, quickly putting as much distance as possible between himself and the threesome on the hilltop. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving his brother’s only child with a lunatic and a mad woman, but what choice was there?

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