This Scarlet Cord by Joan Wolf

who . . .
    His mind shied away from the thought. He and Rahab could never marry. She was a Canaanite. Her religion was anathema to Elohim and His people.
    Sala had heard how Moses had treated his own men when he discovered they had participated in the rites of Baal and had relations with the women of Moab. Moses had commanded that every one of the guilty Israelite males, his own people, should be executed. The sentence had been carried out immediately.
    Nahshon himself had approved of this punishment when the men of Ramac were discussing it at their weekly gathering. Sala’s father was the acknowledged leader of the gathering, and all the others had agreed with his condemnation of any Israelite man who would do such a filthy thing.
    What would his father say if Sala told him he would like to marry Rahab?
    Sala shuddered. He was mad to even entertain the thought of marriage to a Canaanite. She stood for everything he was against. Her beauty was a temptation he had to resist.
    But . . . it was not just her looks that attracted him. It was her spirit. There were beautiful girls in Ramac, but none of them had the joy of life that Rahab had. None of them made him feel he wanted to spend his life with them. In contrast to her, they were dull, dull, dull.
    While he had been standing in front of the inn meditating, the street had been waking up. Shops were opening their front doors and women were carrying water jars to fill at the spring. The smell of bread baking drifted to his nose. His father would be wondering where he was.
    Feeling no better for this extended talk with himself, Sala went slowly back into the inn.

    Mepu and Shemu were also early risers. They washed their faces and hands in the kitchen basin and went outdoors to buy some bread from the bake shop at the end of the street. There was no courtyard at the back of this tiny house, only the city wall, and Kata had refused to try to bake in the miniscule kitchen. In consequence they had become regular customers at the bake shop.
    There were a few people before them, and they waited patiently, wearing their shawls against the cool morning air. The day of the festival of the New Year, when the hours of light equaled the hours of darkness, was quickly approaching, and the weather was warming. The flax had already been harvested and soon the barley crop would be ready. The winter rains were gone and the heat of summer had not yet set in. It was the best time of the year.
    “It is a shame to be cooped up in a city on such a day as this,” Shemu murmured to his father.
    “I know. But it will be worth it if we can get Rahab settled.”
    “Another good thing has come out of our visit. We found out about those greedy nobles trying to sell our crops out from under us,” Shemu said.
    Mepu nodded, looked around at the other customers, then gestured for Shemu to hold his tongue. His son nodded.
    They bought bread and nut cakes and took them back to the house. There was a small room just inside the front door that served as the family gathering place, and Mepu put the basket of breads down on the single low table. The seating in the room consisted of cushions on the floor, and the two men each lowered themselves with the ease of long practice to a cross-legged position.
    Mepu said, “I have been thinking. I do not like it that those two Israelites are here in Jericho. The boy was glib enough about their business scheme, but the more I think about it the more I do not like them being here.”
    Shemu, who was waiting for his father to take the first bite of food, replied, “I thought their reason for coming sounded plausible enough. It was our own scheme, remember, and it was a good one.”
    Mepu took a bite of nut bread and chewed reflectively. “It might be plausible, but it still makes me uneasy. There is an Israelite army less than twenty miles away, and we all know what they have done to the kingdoms south of us. No one has been able to stand against them. And now they are