Even in the glow of the moon at one o’clock in the morning, the house looked just as they’d left it. In fact, they’d left in such a hurry that the kitchen light was still on and the window left open, curtains billowing in and out against the screen with each gust of desert breeze. Miriam released her seatbelt and opened the door of the Suburban with a sigh of relief. Nothing had ever looked so good.
Growing up Amish had left its mark. She still longed for that community of solid standing homes that grew the old fashioned way – procreation. No one ever just moved into an Amish neighborhood, because no one ever moved out…except for a few kids on Rumspringa who got into trouble with the law or decided living the English life was more exciting. Change was something she’d had to learn. Being the mother of the Chosen One had catapulted them into a universe of change.
She grabbed an armful of items and hurried indoors while the men prepared to unload the trailer. She’d tried to reason with her husband that he could do it later in the light of day, but his Amish roots ran deep as well – a stubborn streak as inbred as a mule’s kick.
“Mom,” Jael called as Miriam opened the front door. She turned and looked back. Jael was bent over the backseat, struggling to lift out the cooler. The cooler popped loose and she jerked backwards, stumbling to keep it in her arms. Water sloshed out the edge of the lid when she tilted it too far. “Crap!”
“Jael! What have I told you about saying that word? It’s not very lady-like.”
Her daughter trudged up the stairs. “I’m carrying twenty pounds of melted ice with cans of pop rolling around in there.” She paused and fluttered her eyelashes, then said in her best British accent, “If I were a true lady I wouldn’t be forced to fetch and carry like a lowly servant.”
Miriam held the screen door wide, then followed Jael to the kitchen where she plopped the cooler on the floor, sloshing water again. Her daughter straightened and puffed out an exaggerated sigh.
“It’s good to be home,” she said, and immediately opened the refrigerator door. “I’m starved.”
“Honey, it’s the middle of the night. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning.” She pried her fingers away from the door but not quick enough. Jael already had an apple in hand and took a big bite.
“But I’m starving,” she said, chewing around her words. “It’s been hours since we ate. And you know Dad will want me to go out and help unload.”
Miriam shook her head and threw up her hands. “Fine. Today’s Sunday anyway. No school. Have at it. I’m going to bed.”
She could feel Jael’s eyes boring into her back as she walked away. Her daughter probably thought she was losing it, but she really just needed some time alone. Being in close quarters in the Suburban for hours on end had definitely given her a new appreciation for wide-open spaces and especially the comfort of her home.
After putting clean sheets on the bed, she relaxed against the pillows and picked up her Bible. Sometimes reading a passage before falling asleep gave her mind clarity and helped her relax. She opened to the book of Psalms first and read a couple of comforting poems written by King David, but as though her fingers were on autopilot, she thumbed back to the book of Judges, chapter five.
Most blessed of women be Jael,
the wife of Heber the Kenite,
most blessed of tent-dwelling women.
He asked for water, and she gave him milk;
in a bowl fit for nobles she brought him
curdled milk.
Her hand reached for the tent peg,
her right hand for the workman’s hammer.
She struck Sisera, she crushed his head,
she shattered and pierced his temple.
At her feet he sank,
he fell; there he lay.
At her feet he sank, he fell;
where he sank, there he fell – dead.
She closed the well-worn leather cover and placed the book back on her bedside table. After shutting off the lamp she snuggled deeper under the blankets and closed her eyes. But the image of Jael raising a hammer to crush a man’s skull was burned into her mind’s eye. It didn’t matter that her Jael was not the Jael of the Bible. She was the newest weapon forged against the creatures of the night, and would indeed be asked to do things that made Miriam cringe with dread. She once thought it was a wonderful blessing to be the mother of the Chosen, but now…she did what she’d done for the past six months or more. She closed her eyes and prayed.
“Lord, please take this calling from Jael and hand it to another more suited. If it be your will, spare my daughter from this bloody future. She’s only a girl…Thy will be done.”
But she knew that God’s will seldom coincided with a mother’s heart.