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Terror was etched on her face. Sweat poured from her brow as she ran from the soldier, visions of the bloody massacre of her family giving impetus to her flight. Fire from her burning home eerily illuminated her way through the treacherous darkness. A tree root blending with the shadows trapped her small foot. Stabbing pain coursed through her ankle as it twisted. She rotated her body as she fell and landed with a thump in the dirt. As she stared up into a lecherous grin of pure evil, her hysterical screams rent the night

A soft touch and a cool cloth on her brow pulled Baara from the nightmare.

"Mama," the girl sighed, but when she opened her eyes it was the slight figure of her mistress that bent over her bed and smoothed her tangled hair. Tears ran unheeded down Baara's cheeks. Her large brown eyes fastened fearfully on her mistress's face. Still caught in the throes of the dream, Baara could not control the tremors of her slight frame as she stammered out an apology. "I'm so sorry. I'm trying not to dream. Please don't flog me. Make me sleep alone on the roof until the dreams end so I will not disturb anyone's slumber."

"Salam," Maacah responded, much to Baara's surprise. The greeting, meaning "peace be with you," was spoken to guests entering a home and to friends. To use it in addressing a slave was not anyone's custom, as far as Baara knew, and she certainly had not previously received such a welcome.

"Do not fret child," Maacah continued. "I moved you to this room so you would awaken me and not the servants. The other women in the slave quarters were complaining loudly of their interrupted sleep. Their cruelty was brought to my attention, and I asked Naaman to allow you to be my personal maid. My daughter slept in this room in the family quarters before she married. I have planned for some time to make it into a room for a personal servant but hadn't the heart until now. I know what it is to be alone in a strange land with no one to comfort you. I want to befriend you as no one befriended me when I came to Damascus as a young woman. I imagine you are near the age I was when I was brought here."

Baara searched her mistress'ss face. Her kindness calmed nerves that still jangled from the dream.

"Thank you, mistress. I attained my womanhood only a few moons before I came here. I will try hard to repay your kindness in not beating me or selling me because of my screams in the night. In my dreams, I relive the raid when my parents and brother were killed. I pray to Yahweh to take the dreams away and replace them with pleasant memories. During the day, I can succeed in focusing on good things, but at night...."

"Naaman told me about the raid. We can't erase your suffering, but we won't add to it."

"My suffering could have been worse," Baara said. She struggled to hold back fresh tears, but her wide eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. "It is because of your husband's intervention that I was not violated." She choked out the last word.

As she took a shuddering breath, Maacah interrupted. "There is no need to continue, child."

"But there is," Baara stammered. "I'm indebted to Naaman for saving me from his men. I don't know why he took pity on me. He is different from the others. He protected me as the raiders left my tribal lands and returned to Damascus. He claimed me as a slave, saying you needed a servant. When I saw the women in the slave's quarters, I couldn't understand why he brought me to your home. You have more than enough maidens to do your bidding."

"I think perhaps you reminded Naaman of me when we first met," Maacah replied. "But that explanation can wait for another time. Drink this medicinal drink I mixed for you, child. Perhaps then you can sleep without the disturbance of your nightmare."

Baara gratefully took a deep drink from the proffered glass and laid back on her pillows, while Maacah softly sang a lullaby usually reserved for a small child. The effect of the drink and the melody soon soothed her into a deep sleep.

A shaft of sunlight streaming through a crack in the shutters covering the strange, latticed window awakened Baara. She bolted upright, jumped from her bed, and threw on her clothes. Today was to be her first day serving her new mistress, and now she had slept long past the crow of the rooster.

She had been in Maacah's home for a week and late each night her screams had awakened the other slaves in the woman's quarters on the left side of the back courtyard. Just yesterday, Maacah had summoned her and told her she would be quartered in a room near the one shared by Naaman and Maacah in the front courtyard, the family's private quarters. Baara's room was on the same side of the courtyard as their room. At the end of the courtyard was their oldest son Arisai's room and the room occupied by his children. On the opposite side were rooms occupied by their other son, Sheopho, and his family. When Maacah's only daughter, Shemeath, had wed, Naaman had suggested Maacah convert her room into a quarters for a personal maid. Baara had been assigned the room.

She spent the day yesterday under the tutelage of her new mistress. She learned that she was to rise early so she could bring water for refreshment to her mistress and help her to don dress for the day and arrange her hair. Naaman would leave the door to the room ajar when he left as a signal that Maacah was ready for Baara's ministrations. She was told that Naaman would rise with the sun, and she should be ready to tend her mistress shortly after sunrise.

Rushing to Maacah's room without looking around, Baara knocked timidly, hoping the kindness of her mistress from the evening before had not been vanquished by daylight. Rather than hearing the expected, "Who?" from inside the room, Baara heard a voice hail her softly from the shadows behind her beyond the cistern in the midst of the courtyard. She turned to see her mistress rise from a bench in the shade of an olive tree. As Baara hurried towards her with yet another apology on her lips, a slight breeze stirred the olive tree sending a shower of small white blossoms onto the girl's head.

Maacah laughed softly and brushed the flowers from Baara's headpiece and tucked a stray strand of wavy, raven-black hair into the side. Internally, Baara chastised herself for allowing a rebellious lock to escape her notice. "If I can't take care of my own hair, she's not going to want me doing hers," she thought.

"I see my favorite shade tree welcomes you with showers of blessing. I trust you slept well after your dream subsided."

Still wary despite the friendly greeting, Baara bowed slightly and replied with downcast eyes, "Yes, mistress. I slept too well and am evidently too late to perform my morning duty. I beg your forgiveness. It will not happen again."

"You are forgiven, child," Maacah responded. "I knew the medicinal draught I gave you should cause you to sleep long past the rising of the sun. There is no harm done. Until your soul is soothed and the nightmares cease, you may need a sleeping draught on occasion. I will leave some medicinal powder in your room to mix with water to help you sleep. On the mornings after you have taken the potion, Naaman will send someone from the slave quarters as was his custom in the past."

"On, no, mistress," Baara dared to say aloud. "That would only cause the other women to despise me more than they do already. I will redouble my prayers to Yahweh to ease my dreams."

"You are on Armenian soil now," Maacah responded. "Perhaps your god is unable to hear your cries. Our family teraphim is housed in the alcove between your room and ours. Since you are now under my protection and living on foreign soil, you are welcome to petition our gods for surcease from your nightmares. They are more likely to grant your request since they are local deities. Would you like for me to introduce you to our gods?"

Baara sought franticly in her mind for a way to decline the offer without offending her mistress or seeming to abhor her hospitality. The desperation must have been reflected in her eyes, for before she could formulate an answer, Maacah continued. "But then, perhaps I rush you. I know how difficult it is to abandon the familiar phrases and acts of worship for unknown, foreign gods. It took me some time to come to terms with Naaman's worship of Rimmon at the temple in Damascus, or to acknowledge the pantheon of gods in his family teraphim. Amorite women do not readily adopt the gods of foreign husbands, as do Armenian women. I suppose you might come from a tribe with similar loyalties. Take your time to adapt to our customs and our deities. In the meantime, I will petition our gods on your behalf."

Relieved not to have to explain her reluctance to petition Maacah's gods, Baara chose not to demure if her mistress wished to speak to her gods on Baara's behalf. She hoped that Yahweh would not hold her accountable for the actions of her mistress. Baara knew Yahweh was a jealous God who permitted worship of none other, but surely He wouldn't expect a lowly slave to influence the actions of her new mistress.

Maacah questioned Baara concerning her education in the domestic arts. She had learned to grind grain, make dough, and perform other chores necessary for the preparation of food. She knew how to cure sheep and goat hides for the making of water bottles or shoes. She had learned to weave cloth, but only from the coarse yarn of the wool of sheep and goats. She had no knowledge of the finer cloths that could be woven from yarn purchased from foreign merchants, such as flax, linen, and silk. She had used only a simple spindle and distaff and until yesterday had never seen a loom.

Maacah admitted to a similar upbringing to the one described by Baara.

"I was only exposed to finer cloth and looms after Naaman was promoted in the royal court because of his prowess at war and his loyalty to his King," she said. "When I was a girl, I didn't expect to live with the comforts I have now."

Baara had much to learn in order to take her place in the household, and Maacah provided the needed education.

"Why don't you turn me over to another slave to train?" Baara asked.

"I prefer to stay busy," Maacah said. "And I won't expose you to added cruelty because of your ignorance."

So, Baara's days were spent in the company of her mistress, learning to weave and sew the delicate cloth her mistress preferred over the coarse tunics and dresses Baara wore. As the lessons progressed, Maacah told of her journey to Damascus and the hardships she had endured in her new home. Baara began to understand that her mistress's kindness stemmed from her own past.

Maacah, Baara learned, was an Amorite woman. She grew up to the north in a tribe loyal to King Mari of the Amorites. Her father, Hanan, was a devoted subject of the king who often was called upon to lend his services in battles, particularly those with the invading Israelites. Maacah was his only daughter, born after her mother had birthed five sons. She was the pride of her father and largely spoiled until everything changed in the thirteenth year.

As she told of her past, Maacah transported Baara back in time with her to that fateful day so many years before.

#

Maacah excitedly pulled her headcovering into place over her unruly hair. She had already unbraided her dark, curly hair in preparation for bed when her father, Hanan, summoned her. Her mother, Milcah, told her only that her father wished to speak with her immediately. As she tucked stray bits of hair under the cloth, Maacah speculated as to why her father wanted to see her. Since she had been inducted into adulthood a few months before, she had rarely seen him. Thinking that perhaps he had arranged a betrothal for her, Maacah hurried into the room. She was excited about the prospect of an escape from the drudgery of the household chores, but apprehensive about an unknown future. Anything, she reasoned, would be preferable to the humdrum existence she experienced at home.

When she entered the room, Hanan bid her stop and asked her to turn slowly in front of him. Then turning to Milcah, he spoke as though Maacah were not listening.

"She is comely, but the King will be looking for something that entices his fancy. Since for the presentation she will be unveiled, I want you to have your maid apply a subtle amount of face paint, just enough to enhance her natural beauty. Her deep-set eyes and those prominent cheekbones give her face an air of mystery. Her dark skin has an almost oily sheen. I like that. Her nose is straight, not too large, but prominent enough to add character."

Then walking over to Maacah and lifting a stray curl that had escaped her notice, he added, "See that a few of these curls escape the headpiece. They might engage a man's imagination. Take her to the market on the morrow and buy her one of those foreign dresses, the kind that has a tight girdle just below her bosom. Her frame is small, but she is well proportioned. Such a dress should make that apparent without seeming wanton. Make sure the cloth is the finest. A King will not look twice at a maiden dressed in coarse goat's wool. And let her wear the necklace you wore at our wedding, the one with the jade beads and pendant. The necklace will look good against her skin and she will return it to you later."

As her father spoke, Maacah's skin slowly took on a reddish hue. Although she was dark, embarrassment did accent her skin, making her appear swarthy. Despite her discomfort, Maacah held her tongue, standing demurely as a woman was taught to do. Only in her mind did she berate her father for his callous disregard of her feelings.

Finally, Hanan finished his appraisal and spoke directly to Maacah.

"King Mari has asked that all of the virgins within a day's journey of the city be brought to the palace two days hence. I have heard rumors that he tires of his current wives and is looking to enlarge his harem with a comely maiden. While he already has eight wives, having a daughter who is the ninth would bring honor and prestige to the family. I want you to have the best of everything, Maacah. King Mari can provide for all of your wants better than any other man. When you are presented to the King, smile prettily and peek at him from downcast eyes. You do not want to appear forward, but you want him to see an invitation in those beautiful, black eyes. While I may appear calculating and uncaring, I have only your well being at heart," he concluded. "You may return to the sleeping room."

Bowing slightly, Maacah sucked in a deep breath and spoke hastily as her father turned away, knowing she was being disrespectful for speaking unbidden, "Father, I will do as you request, but might I ask a question?"

Turning back to Maacah, Hanan bid her speak.

"What does the ninth wife of a King do?" Maacah asked. "Do I know the things I need in order to become a part of his household?"

Speaking gruffly, Hanan replied, "That is a topic best addressed by your mother. Go, now."

During the next few days, Maacah learned from her mother more than she wanted to know about pleasing a man. As the reality of what the King would want with a new wife dawned on Maacah, she was overcome with embarrassment. She had no idea how she could look demurely at a man from under lowered lashes after what her mother told her. Just thinking about it made her blush.

Despite her mortification, Maacah was intrigued with the possibility of becoming a part of the King's household. She fantasized about capturing the King's attention and being chosen, but when she tried to imagine life beyond that moment, she could not and so instead focused on the power and riches that would accompany such a choice. She imagined herself clothed in brightly patterned silk attire. She conjured up scenes where maids brought food to her and stayed around to fan her or rearrange her hair or perhaps rub oil into her skin. Nothing in her daydreaming prepared her for the reality when it came.

Maacah stood in a throng of young women ranging in age from 12 to 19. Most were young, though, since girls who reached age 19 without being wed usually had some noticeable physical flaw or were considered mentally unsuitable as a wife. The girls were all nervous, casting sideways glances at one another and smiling or giggling apprehensively. They were taken one at a time into the presence of the King. Some stayed inside while others were brought back out and dismissed. Maacah wondered why several had been detained if the King sought only one wife.

Finally it was Maacah's turn to go inside. She was led to the front of a room where she bowed before the King. He told her to stand and then arose from his throne and approached where she stood. Startled, she momentarily looked directly at him before dropping her eyes demurely. Laughing, the King said, "You needn't be afraid. Contrary to rumor, I do not beat women for appeasing their curiosity."

Uncertain whether to respond, Maacah simply smiled in return, glancing up cautiously. The effect evidently was beguiling.

Sighing, the King turned to his advisers and said, "Put her with the other four and send the rest home. If I were a younger man, I would be tempted to keep this one for myself. But eight wives are more than I can handle. I'm sure the King of Aram will find this one intriguing."

The confused Maacah was led into a room where four other young women were sitting on a bench quietly. After she was ushered in, the man who brought her stood guard near the door. Turning to the nearest girl, Maacah whispered, "Do you know our fate? King Mari said something about the King of Aram."

"Then you know more than we do," the girl whispered back. "We haven't been told anything - by the King or anyone else. You must be 'special,'" the girl finished.

Just then a woman entered the room. She told the girls she was Chloe and was the slave in charge of their care. She informed them they would be traveling shortly to Aram where they would be given as a present to the King, who had pledged to ally with King Mari in battle against the invading Israelites. They would be slaves in the King's court unless they were lucky enough to catch his eye and be put into his harem.

From that moment, Maacah's life became one of abject misery. The other four girls ostracized her because King Mari had divulged information to her that he had not told them. Chloe spent the few days while they remained in the city teaching them proper court decorum for maids. She was polite but distant and did nothing to stop the others from treating Maacah harshly. At night, Maacah cried herself to sleep.

Three days after she was chosen, Chloe came to Maacah.

"Your mother wishes to speak with you before you leave. You are to talk with her for only a moment."

Sobbing Maacah fell into her mother's arms. After holding her close for a moment, Milcah held her at arm's length. Her eyes were clouded with sadness.

"Your father only discovered after the selection was made, and you were sequestered away that you were be given as a present to the King of Aram as part of a treaty. We grieve, daughter, but it would be treason to protest your inclusion. Carry our love in your heart."

She clasped Maacah once more to her bosom and then turned and walked away.

"I love you too, Mama," Maacah called.

Without an opportunity to bid the rest of her family farewell or to prepare for life in another culture, Maacah was loaded into a caravan headed for Damascus.

When the caravan arrived, the city was riotous with celebration. The forces of the king, led by a young warrior named Naaman, had just returned from a successful conquest. The King of Aram invited the entourage from King Mari to join him and his court at a banquet to honor the returning victors.

By the time they reached Damascus, Maacah and the other four girls had made peace, of a sort. Maacah was no longer tormented, but was basically ignored by the others. She was glad to be left alone. The day before the caravan entered Damascus, they stopped and Chloe provided a place where the girls could bathe and adorn themselves in the finery they had worn to meet King Mari. Feeling sorry for Maacah, Chloe took extra time with her hair, weaving in a strand of pearls and some green ribbons that matched her jade jewelry.

Chloe whispered to her as she worked, "You are a beautiful young woman. You will be presented to the King without veil or headpiece. Hold your head high and look joyful. If you must, think of a special, exciting time in your past. You outshine the others by far; that is why they treat you badly. They are jealous. If you are to flourish in this new land, you must come to terms with your lot in life. Allow yourself to enjoy the banquet, smile, laugh, do everything you can to please the king. Your future lies in his hands, but you can influence that future if you so choose. If you allow your smile to reach your eyes, believe me, no man can resist you."

Maacah determined to do as Chloe suggested. Yet, when they entered the city and she saw the people dancing in the streets while wine flowed freely, she was overcome with misgivings. When she and the other four young women were led into the banquet, she held her head high as instructed, but could think of nothing that would bring a smile to her face.

As she and the others stood to the side, awaiting their presentation, Maacah let her eyes roam over the crowd. One young man caught her eye. He was obviously the center of attention, but his demeanor appeared humble, not arrogant like so many of those in the court. He appeared to thank the slaves who waited on him, making them smile. He was about average height, but that was the only thing average about him, Maacah thought. He had a square, well-muscled frame. As he spoke, he gestured excitedly with a pair of large hands. His nose stood straight, between a set of dark, amused eyes. He had a firm chin that was divided by a deep cleft. When he threw his head back in laugher, she noticed that dimples danced on each cheek. Intrigued by the picture he made, a smile lit her face as she watched.

"I see something here in Damascus has caught the attention of one of the Amorite maidens," the King said to the envoy. "When she smiles, that one is a beauty."

Then calling for quiet from the crowd, he stood and said, "The Amorite King has sent me gifts for agreeing to unite with him in battle against the Israelites. One of his gifts is these five comely maidens," he said gesturing to where the girls stood. "Since we are here to celebrate the victory and particularly the prowess of young Naaman, I wish to share this gift with him. Come here, Naaman, and take your pick of these lovely young women."

At that, the laughing young man Maacah had been watching stood and made his way to the King. "Your generosity astounds me," Naaman stated. "But, Your Majesty knows I am not yet wed. What would I do with such a comely young woman? Perhaps there is some other gift you could allow me to share."

"Nonsense," the King replied. "If you do not know what to do with a comely young slave, then you have been away at war far too long! Even a single man has needs a female slave can meet," the King said with a wink. "Why, I'm sure these girls have been trained to launder a man's clothing and serve his food."

Taking a tray from the table, the King motioned to Maacah. "Come here young lady." Holding out the tray laden with grapes and other fine fruits, the King instructed, "Show this young hero the fine art of feeding grapes to an honored victor."

As the tale-tell swarthy hue crept up her neck and face, Maacah took a cluster of grapes and offered one to the embarrassed hero. Naaman allowed her to feed him a grape and then said to the King, "Thank you for your generosity. I will accept the services of this young Amorite woman."

While everyone in the room laughed and clapped, Naaman made his way back to his seat, accompanied by the no longer smiling Maacah. She assumed he had chosen her because she was the one the King had called over to feed him. Until much later, she had no idea that Naaman had noticed her standing with the others and been captivated by her smile, before the King chose to offer him her services.

At the time, Naaman was betrothed to the daughter of a distant relative, and the wedding was in the planning stages. Hearing of Naaman's supposed public taking of another woman before the wedding was consummated, the father of the intended bride broke off the betrothal. Naaman's protest that he had taken the girl only as a slave and a favor to the king made no impression on the irate father. When Naaman's father attempted to reason with his cousin, his explanations were rebuffed, and the bride price refused. In a rage, the young Naaman vented his anger in the presence of Maacah, who was serving him.

"You may have been a gift of the King," Naaman cried out, "but I have paid a high price for your services. Go! Launder my battle tunic. If you cost me a wife, the least you can do is keep my belongings in order."

Maacah left and went to the slave quarters. She got a tub and a scrub board and retreated to the shade of a sycamore tree. While she scrubbed the dirty tunic, her tears mingled with the filthy water. In her mind, she railed against her young owner.

"I didn't ask for this any more than you did," she lectured. "Stop being so full of yourself and think about others for a change. How do you think I feel? I was ripped from a loving home and hauled to a strange land. I have worked hard trying to please you. I can't help it if I look like a temptress and your future father-in-law thought you were too hot blooded to resist my wiles."

As she scrubbed and vented, Maacah's anger grew and her tears flowed heavily. When Naaman walked up behind her and said, "I am sorry, Maacah, for my selfish tirade," she jumped guiltily, wondering if she had spoken aloud.

He walked in front of her, reached out a hand and tilted her face upwards so she was looking directly at him. Taking a cloth from his pocket, he dried her tears, saying softly. "I know you are not at fault here. You have done nothing but my bidding. I'm sorry if I hurt you. You are such a pretty and trusting little thing. I must be a brute to make you cry so. I can't take my words back, but know it was my anger speaking. I did not mean the words I uttered."

Over the next weeks and months, Maacah continued to serve Naaman his meals and take care of his clothing. He found her presence soothing and would often seek her out to talk about his problems at court. As the relationship continued, Naaman found himself attracted to the peaceful maiden who was such a good listener. He would find himself standing in the shadows listening to her sing the melodious songs of her childhood. He eventually coaxed her to tell him of her homeland and customs.

While all of this transpired, Naaman's father had engaged the services of a matchmaker to find his son a suitable bride. Much to his chagrin, Naaman refused all of the young women suggested by the matchmaker, telling his father that he wished to wed the young Amorite woman who had been the gift of the king. When his father opposed the union, Naaman requested the King grant him permission to marry Maacah. When the King agreed, Naaman's father reluctantly added his blessing to the union, but throughout her married life, Maacah had been tolerated, at best, by her in-laws.

As was the custom, she and Naaman lived in his father's home outside the gates of Damascus for many years. But as Naaman's prominence in the king's army grew, he was expected to leave his tribal home and move into the city. For Maacah, it was a relief when she and Naaman moved into their own family dwelling inside the city walls and away from Naaman's disapproving family. During her years as Naaman's wife, Maacah had loved her husband devoutly. Because of his kindness and love, she had chosen to adopt his gods, even though her relationship with his family was strained. The two were blessed with two sons and a daughter on whom Maacah lavished the love she had hoped to share with Naaman's extended family.

Now that her daughter, Maacah's only close female confidant, had moved into her new husband's home, Maacah was experiencing once again the loneliness that had been her lot on her arrival in Aram.

When Naaman was gone for long hours during the day, Maacah filled her time with the training of Baara, the young maiden whose plight had touched a deep wound in her soul. As they spent time together, the two bonded and Maacah, although a mistress, became more like a replacement mother to the traumatized young girl.