In the meanwhile an event occurred which, at least temporarily, banished the subject from Miriam’s mind. Rachel became legally Benjamin’s wife. With all the lavish display and elaborate ceremony of the East they were married. That is to say, the bridegroom walked three times around the bride ere he lifted the detachable portion of the heavy “veil” (really a thick garment enveloping her from head to foot) and threw it over his shoulder as a token that he accepted the government of this woman. In so doing the bride’s blushing face was exposed to the fond gaze of her husband and the curious looks of their assembled friends.
Following this the guests broke into song, accompanying themselves with timbrels, tabrets, cymbals, and the clapping of hands. There was no priest, no religious observance, nothing but this public demonstration, but it was considered sufficient and binding. The “sweet singer” now came forward. As a matter of fact, he did not “sing” as we understand the term, but recited in a monotonous, sing-song voice, composing his production as he went along. First he recounted the charms of the bride, calling attention to her physical beauty with such detail and fulsome praise that Rachel, with burning cheeks, kept her eyes cast down, ashamed to look anyone in the face. Then he told of her modesty, her amiability, her industry, her frugality, and a host of other virtues, real and imaginary.
After the bride’s personality had been dissected, so to speak, the sweet singer turned to the bridegroom and did the same for him, to Benjamin’s great disgust and Isaac’s would-be-concealed amusement. The principals having been disposed of, the indefatigable singer turned his attention to each of the guests in turn, reciting their eminent history and complimenting their virtues at as great length as the singer’s knowledge extended or his imagination could, at a moment’s notice, supply. For a whole week the celebration lasted. The street of the merchants of Israel rejoiced loudly and there were flowing wines (at Isaac’s expense) and much gluttony and revelry.
The happy occasion ended with a night-time procession through the streets of Damascus, accompanied once more by the usual music of timbrels, tabrets, cymbals[2] and the clapping of hands; the usual lamps and torches carried by each individual to light the dark streets and add to the festive appearance; the usual waiting crowds to shower congratulations and good wishes upon the happy couple. The route should have been from the home of the bride to that of the bridegroom. In this case it was from the abode of Amos, in a long and circuitous march, back to it again. Miriam, sole representative of the bridegroom’s family, at the head of the chosen maidens, escorted Rachel to the bridal chamber. This happened to be the guest room on the roof, which had been decked with flowers and rendered sweet with perfumes.
By this act public notice was served that the bride had been willingly received into the heart and home of her husband. Shortly thereafter, the bridegroom was left at the door of the dwelling by Isaac, heading the young men, and the public expressions of felicity were now complete. The next day came the leave-taking. Rebekah and her friend wept copiously. Milcah smiled upon Rachel with the most perfect cordiality and approval. Rachel herself and Miriam were both very misty-eyed as they bade each other farewell. Isaac and Benjamin held a brief but earnest conversation in which all traces of former misunderstandings seemed completely obliterated, and Amos lifted his hands and voice in blessing as the newly married pair mounted patient asses and started alone into the hills of Syria to set up that most important of all sanctuaries, a home.
CHAPTER XIV
DECISION
Two years went by and Miriam passed her twelfth birthday. Thereafter she was no longer known as “the little maid” save as a title of affection still retained by her mistress, Milcah, and Isaac, but referred to in terms which meant “a young woman.” Insensibly her manners grew quieter. No longer did she impulsively speak her mind to Adah, nor bound unexpectedly into Milcah’s arms, nor indulge in the old, familiar caresses where Isaac was concerned, although she could not have explained these changes any more than she could have given a reason for being taller and prettier, as she was told she was. Day by day she was becoming gently reserved and charmingly shy and elusively sweet as maidens are wont to be.
Two more years went by and spring came again, the fourth since Miriam had come to Syria and the third since she had first urged the visit of her master to Israel. More and more had she become a necessary part of the great household which had at first been indifferent. Her time was now spent largely in the apartments of her mistress, or in attendance upon that lady when she overlooked the affairs of the house or rode in her chariot. A few times had she visited the House of Rimmon, the sun-god of the Syrians, but because it distressed her this was not always required. On several occasions had she been to the palace and, with Milcah, quite often saw the tradespeople and helped make selections of merchandise for her mistress.
Yet these years, so eventful to Miriam, had brought little change to the House of Naaman save, if possible, to deepen its gloom. Adah had grown more languid, more petulant, more sad. The little maid had not taught her how to be happy as she had so cheerfully promised. Naaman, still demonstrating the futility of one remedy after another, was plainly growing worse. Each winter the rains had washed out the roads and made traveling as far as Israel an utter impossibility. Each spring, when the dry season set in once more, Miriam had entreated her mistress, appealed to Isaac and been disappointed afresh at the rejection of her plan. Still she hoped and grew patient.