she thought it entirely too perfect to be perfect.
Perhaps she should simply raise the question to Abigail sometime and see what the young woman thought. It was, after all, her life. And since Cleopas had left the choice up to her, she was free to present it to her friend if she wished.
But she did not wish, not really. Abigail got so uncomfortable whenever her future marriage was brought up. It would not be a conversation. It would be a conformation of Abigail’s will to Ester’s. So before she brought anything up, Ester would have to know what her own will was.
And Cleopas would not keep her to his demand of one month, she knew. Not if she were truly struggling with the decision. He was a patient man. And he had, at the moment, more pressing concerns. His son.
Jason, in most ways, had calmed all of the fears she had been nurturing over the past ages. He had grown well, had gotten strong, and learned to hold his own in conversation and on the field without resorting to anger. He had gained a modicum of temperance to balance out his confidence and was no longer so judgmental of their people. He had actually expressed joy at being present for the Passover this year, for which she was grateful. It hurt her more than he could know when he rejected her faith, but he was making an effort. She had to credit him for that. And he had been so attentive. Each night he had spent with her and his father, in spite of the friends that she knew were busy roving the town, getting a feel for Jerusalem, settling in and cavorting. He would surely have preferred their company. But he had nonetheless chosen his parents’.
On the other hand, there were moments when she looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. She saw a man she did not know, one leagues removed from the boy she had raised, had agreed to send away. He was a Roman now. She knew that. He was interested in politics and battle and serving Caesar. Not in Israel. Not in Jehovah. Not in being one of God’s chosen. What did it mean, after all, in this world? What was the importance of being chosen when the life one was chosen for was subjection?
But subjection was part of Israel’s history. She knew that. How many times had the Lord pronounced them to be a stiff-necked people? Every gift he offered, they refused. Every time of peace was inevitably followed by war, and it was because they always strayed. Rebelled. Served false gods, worshiped idols, played the harlot. Israel was a nation seemingly incapable of being the steadfast people their God requested, required. It was no wonder he allowed them to fall again and again into despair, preserving only the remnant necessary to restore the faith eventually. The true question was why he had ever chosen them to begin with.
But he had, and she was grateful. She did not pretend to understand the mind of her God. All that mattered was that he accepted her as a child, gave her the commandments and statutes that would allow her to dwell in the bosom of Abraham with her fathers. And he had blessed her with a husband that served with her, a household that was proud to be Hebrew. Even if her son would not claim the heritage, it was his. All he had to do was reach for it. And all she could do was pray that he would.
She realized, after waking from a short nap after she had eaten, that her day was terribly lonely, and terribly quiet without Abigail beside her. But Dinah had needed her help in Passover preparations. Ester would have offered to help them with the cleaning, but she knew her loyal attendant would not allow it.
She smiled. That Abigail did not hesitate to put her foot down in some matters yet would never consider doing so in others never ceased to amuse her. Indeed, the girl would not allow Ester to lift a finger unnecessarily, but when the woman issued forth a command or even a request, she would never disobey. Whether it be one as simple as “Could you get me some water?” or as difficult as, “You must learn to read and
Perhaps she should simply raise the question to Abigail sometime and see what the young woman thought. It was, after all, her life. And since Cleopas had left the choice up to her, she was free to present it to her friend if she wished.
But she did not wish, not really. Abigail got so uncomfortable whenever her future marriage was brought up. It would not be a conversation. It would be a conformation of Abigail’s will to Ester’s. So before she brought anything up, Ester would have to know what her own will was.
And Cleopas would not keep her to his demand of one month, she knew. Not if she were truly struggling with the decision. He was a patient man. And he had, at the moment, more pressing concerns. His son.
Jason, in most ways, had calmed all of the fears she had been nurturing over the past ages. He had grown well, had gotten strong, and learned to hold his own in conversation and on the field without resorting to anger. He had gained a modicum of temperance to balance out his confidence and was no longer so judgmental of their people. He had actually expressed joy at being present for the Passover this year, for which she was grateful. It hurt her more than he could know when he rejected her faith, but he was making an effort. She had to credit him for that. And he had been so attentive. Each night he had spent with her and his father, in spite of the friends that she knew were busy roving the town, getting a feel for Jerusalem, settling in and cavorting. He would surely have preferred their company. But he had nonetheless chosen his parents’.
On the other hand, there were moments when she looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. She saw a man she did not know, one leagues removed from the boy she had raised, had agreed to send away. He was a Roman now. She knew that. He was interested in politics and battle and serving Caesar. Not in Israel. Not in Jehovah. Not in being one of God’s chosen. What did it mean, after all, in this world? What was the importance of being chosen when the life one was chosen for was subjection?
But subjection was part of Israel’s history. She knew that. How many times had the Lord pronounced them to be a stiff-necked people? Every gift he offered, they refused. Every time of peace was inevitably followed by war, and it was because they always strayed. Rebelled. Served false gods, worshiped idols, played the harlot. Israel was a nation seemingly incapable of being the steadfast people their God requested, required. It was no wonder he allowed them to fall again and again into despair, preserving only the remnant necessary to restore the faith eventually. The true question was why he had ever chosen them to begin with.
But he had, and she was grateful. She did not pretend to understand the mind of her God. All that mattered was that he accepted her as a child, gave her the commandments and statutes that would allow her to dwell in the bosom of Abraham with her fathers. And he had blessed her with a husband that served with her, a household that was proud to be Hebrew. Even if her son would not claim the heritage, it was his. All he had to do was reach for it. And all she could do was pray that he would.
She realized, after waking from a short nap after she had eaten, that her day was terribly lonely, and terribly quiet without Abigail beside her. But Dinah had needed her help in Passover preparations. Ester would have offered to help them with the cleaning, but she knew her loyal attendant would not allow it.
She smiled. That Abigail did not hesitate to put her foot down in some matters yet would never consider doing so in others never ceased to amuse her. Indeed, the girl would not allow Ester to lift a finger unnecessarily, but when the woman issued forth a command or even a request, she would never disobey. Whether it be one as simple as “Could you get me some water?” or as difficult as, “You must learn to read and
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