Chapter Ten

If this is your first time reading with us, go to the archives at right, click the second arrow and the title Chapter One will drop down. Double click on that chapter and read it first, then proceed with the remainder of the book in order by clicking down the arrows.

Empty Home; Empty Heart

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Today if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” Psalm 95:7

Still shaken, Atarah’s mother opened the door of her bedchambers and walked immediately to the fireplace where she could stroke the mane of the wooden lion’s head. The carving was the last thing inside this house Atarah would ever touch and placing her own fingers on the face somehow made Mother feel closer to her daughter.

Her knees suddenly weak, Mother walked over to her bed. Borrowing strength from the tall mahogany bedpost, she held on with one hand and slid into a sitting position by the red velvet brocade drape.

She stared at the reflection of the woman in the mirror on the wall opposite her. She appeared as feeble now as she’d felt strong moments earlier when she stood in front of the slaves, commanding their respect. No. Demanding respect and obedience. Every slave had complied. Every single one. Even Dagaar. She marveled at the power she’d wielded for the first time in her life.

And the last time. With Nympha’s screams the slaves had scattered, deserting her like buzzards leaving a bloody carcass at the approach of hyenas. The vengeful glare Dagaar shot her direction chilled her. When Ishan returned home and Dagaar informed him she had helped their daughter escape she would pay a heavy price.

A small mirthless laugh at life’s penchant to shift so quickly escaped her lips. She idly noted the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes deepen. Her gaze roamed the room taking in ivory chairs, carved wood and opulent paintings. The luxury surrounding her no longer meant anything. She’d lost everything today. The baby. Atarah. Even Ishan.

Walking closer to the mirror she leaned forward studying flaccid skin and drooping jowls. How had she become that pale old woman? She placed the tips of her fingers on the cheekbones beside each ear and lifted. Years melted away. Present time faded and she was beautiful once again.

Desired.

She closed her eyes, drifting back to the night she made her choice. Once again she lounged on a large boulder at the edge of the garden, lovely Elika again. Her skin stretched smooth and taut over a shapely figure clothed in gauzy blue. The heady fragrance of lavender and honeysuckle teased her senses under a black sky twinkling with millions of stars. Every man present longed to possess her, and she reveled in the attention. Was that what had changed her? Had pride cause her downfall?

Or did the music vibrating through the breeze turn her into a different person? She remembered the excitement of dancing, twirling around and around, head back, arms overhead spiraling through the rows of lavender. That night marked the release of new cravings that led her thoughts astray.

Elika concentrated, straining to bring back events dimmed by time. She had stayed after the musicians left and music floated down the hillside as faint as the kiss of a butterfly’s wing. Only a few young people lounged on benches. She lingered at the edge of the garden mesmerized by turtles meandering through the rows of lavender with candles flickering on their shells.

The evening waned. The time to go home came and went and she knew she should leave. She knew. But she didn’t. Some wild thing had arisen inside her. Captured her. Elika remained while the young people preparing to worship shed their garments under the spreading trees. When crickets stopped chirping and the dashing Ishan slipped an arm around her waist, a welcome foil for the evening chill, she left willingly with him.

Until that night, Elika had worshipped no god but the One True God.

A few days later when young Noah pleaded with her to repent and return to God, she refused. She responded to the grief on her slave’s face with guilty defensiveness. Anger flared, she lifted her chin arrogantly and hardness crept into her soul.  

Years afterward Noah repeated his plea, assuring her God would forgive and welcome her back. But by then it was too late. Her friend’s goodness kept him from understanding the terrible things she’d done and the impossibility of his request. She couldn’t bring herself to confess the guilt that weighed her down even though she knew confession stood as a prerequisite for forgiveness.

 God would never forgive her. Never.

She could never forgive herself.