Over the next few days, Sallu would have brief moments of clarity, but mostly he remained in a feverish delirium. Now that I knew he was loved, I determined that his only possible salvation was to find Myra and bring her to Hebron.

When I broached the subject with Naomi and Alian, they looked at me like I was daft. They enumerated all of the reasons why such a task was ill-advised. Stubborn to a fault, I informed them that I intended to undertake the journey alone.

"Can't you see he is dying," I pled my voice filled with anguish. "Naomi's potions and poultices are doing no good. Listen to his breathing. The death rattle has commenced. His mental torment adds to his physical malaise. He will die like his cousin, alone amongst strangers, unless Myra brings him hope."

For some reason, this impassioned outburst swayed Alian.

"Very well, Salome," he said with a sigh. "I see that logic will not influence you. Unless I lock you in your room and tie you down, I am sure you will sneak away in the dark of night. This time you might not be as fortunate as when you last undertook such a journey alone. You could be attacked by thieves, if wild animals don't stalk you first. Let me talk to Magog. He is planning a trip to Zorah. I assume that is the place to seek this Myra, since it was Samson's hometown, and Sallu is his cousin."

As it turned out, Magog was planning to leave for Zorah two days hence. He informed Alian that he would probably be in the city for several days and would not cut his trip short for my "foolish errand." But he would allow me to ride along and afford me protection to and from Hebron. With this I was content.

I packed lightly, but gratefully took the dried provisions Naomi pressed on me. I was glad of her assurance that she would pray for Yahweh to guide my search. Once it was decided I would go, she seemed to have accepted my need to seek Myra without question.

Alian, on the other hand, was silent and withdrawn. His eyes had taken on a haunted look. He seemed to be watching me intensely and speculatively whenever I glanced his way.  I knew he had arranged my passage despite grave reservations. I imagined he probably would have undertaken the journey himself had he felt free to leave Naomi. I was glad his loyalty kept him at home. I did not want him to ask any pointed questions, as he was wont to do.

A hint of dawn brushed the horizon with a faint light as I joined Magog's caravan. I would walk in the dust beside a line of asses loaded with merchandize to be delivered to Zorah. Alian had strapped a small tent to a beast of burden so I would have a place to stay while Magog did business. Other than the tent, my small pack and my water skin, I had only a letter and a small amount of money strapped to my chest under my garments.

The night before our departure, Alian had brought me a small leather scroll, wound tightly and sealed with his signet ring. He told me it was a letter of introduction I could give the cloth merchant. I was touched that he would attach his seal, and thus his reputation, to such a document, despite his misgivings about the undertaking. I tried to express my gratitude, but he cut me short with a brusque, "I can't have you appear the fool."

And so I began my journey to Samson's city with mixed emotions. I felt excitement at the prospect of seeing Samson's hometown. Hope added fuel to the fire of excitement, hope that Myra would not forget her vow to Sallu and would welcome my suggestion that she come to Hebron. Fear, though, acted as a damper, keeping the raging emotions in check. After all, I was essentially bearding the lion in his den by going to Zorah. But no one knew who I really was, I assured myself. Another emotional component was hard to catalog. It was a sort of anticipation that I might diminish my guilt by doing this thing for Samson's nephew. Perhaps I could earn my name somehow by undertaking what everyone else considered a fool's mission. My debt would be lessened somehow; Samson's faith in me less misplaced; Sallu's conviction that Delilah's love was Samson's balm less chilling. All of this though, was tinged with apprehension. Somehow Alian's silence made me more nervous than my fear.

After two days of travel, we arrived outside the city of Zorah. We set up camp some distance from the city. Magog felt he heightened his bartering chances if he enticed the merchants to come to him, rather than arriving in the city burdened with wares to sell. He told me that I was on my own. He did not want to hinder his negotiations with the presence of a woman, no matter how comely.

I was glad to be left to my own devices. I had never much cared for Magog. I simply could not escape the memory of his voice telling Alian that if he were Samson's kin, he would hunt me down and exact revenge. Besides, I thought my chances would be better among the women at the well than in the city with the merchants.

Bright and early the next morning, I set off for the well with a jar perched on my head and my nearly empty water skin looped over my shoulder. Resting the jar on the ground near my feet, I stood near the well as the dawn broke, hoping to hear Myra's name when the women came to replenish their daily water supply.

A river of women flowed out of the city, their heads erect, balancing jars that bobbed towards me in the early morning light like a line of fishing buoys dancing on the waves, their colors and designs signaling ownership. Rather than the soft lapping of waves, the murmur of this river was a trill of voice interwoven with soft laughter.

As the stream surged toward me, I shrank back, not wanting to get caught in the current – just another colorful bauble, one with the tide. Rather, I chose to remain a passive observer, like a bird poised on a limb watching the water for its unwary prey. Even with my heightened senses, I despaired of completing my mission as myriad voices vied for my attention. I felt like a fisherman trying to catch minnows with an ocean net.

Amongst the babble I heard Rhoda, Sarah, Tamar, Miriam, Dinah, Leah . . . The names crashed against my straining ears like waves on the sand, but not a whisper of Myra. The stream of women slowed to a trickle. I was about to abandon my post in favor of the market, wandering through the stalls as a finicky shopper, secretly in search of a cloth merchant with a daughter named Myra. As I turned toward Zorah, I heard a snide voice say, "So, Myra, any word from the absent betrothed? How long do you plan to wait and mope anyway?"

The voice belonged to a statuesque woman with eyes as sharp as her tongue and a nose that looked like it belonged on a bird of prey. She was addressing a slight young woman with sad eyes, whose dejected stance was immediately straightened as though someone had dashed cold water in her face.

"He is grieving," Myra shot back, her eyes suddenly filled with a dangerous fire. "But that is not something you would understand, having never loved anyone but yourself."

As the first woman stepped away from the well, she threw her head back in derisive laughter. Before she could say something else hurtful, I quickly stepped forward.

"Excuse me," I said quietly to Myra. "I am a weary traveler and need to fill my jar and water skin, but I am afraid I have no bucket with which to draw water."

"See, even foreigners know a soft touch when they see it," the woman called over her shoulder as she headed for the city gates.

Myra fastened her eyes on me, the flame quickly doused once again by sadness.

"I would be glad to draw some water for you," she said, dropping her bucket into the well and beginning to pull it back up.
Not knowing how to broach the subject with Myra, I asked her, "Is your father a merchant in the city?"

"How can you tell?" she asked quizzically, looking down at her nondescript dress, certainly not the attire expected of a wealthy merchant's daughter.

"I can't," I admitted. "I have come to Zorah seeking a Myra who is a merchant's daughter. Before I tell you of my errand, I want to make certain you meet the qualifications."

"Qualifications?" she echoed. "Are there others? Besides being a merchant's daughter?"

"Just one," I answered bluntly, unsure how to ease into the topic. "She must be betrothed to a man named Sallu."

Dropping the full bucket back into the well with a clunk, Myra gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widened and grew round, and all color vanished from her countenance.

"Has he found a new love so quickly?" she asked, the sheen of unshed tears giving an unhealthy brightness to her eyes as she quickly scanned my comely face and figure.

I hastily assured her that her conclusion was erroneous, and then suggested she sit before she fainted. Once I had her positioned so that she was leaning against the well, I squatted in front of her and told her Sallu's story. I left out no details, even though I knew they would create mental anguish. In my heart, I knew that Myra needed to know everything before she undertook the journey. I did not want any nasty surprises upon her arrival. Also, I calculated that knowing Sallu's life hung in the balance would give impetus to her request to go to Hebron, and that she would brook no interference by a concerned parent.

Jumping to her feet, she demanded, "Why are we wasting precious moments here at the well? You must come with me now to talk to my father. We need to be ready to travel by the morrow."

Grabbing Myra's arm, I explained to her that such haste was unnecessary since Magog would not be returning to Hebron for several days. Still, she insisted that we hurry into the marketplace to speak with her father.

Leaving our water jars at the well, Myra hustled me into the city. We dodged mules loaded with goods, criers hawking wares, and women armed with baskets. We fled past stacks of vegetables, booths crammed with pottery, and bright swatches of cloth temptingly displayed. Both of us ignored the smiling faces and pointed stares of men more interested in our passage than in the wares. Eventually we hurried toward Myra's father, standing in the street enjoying a lively discussion with a group of merchants.

Seeing his daughter rushing through the market, he quickly left the group, his face a thundercloud. In a clipped tone, he demanded, "Come into the back of the shop!"

Once we were safely out of sight, he challenged, "What are you doing flaunting yourself in public? And who is this woman?" His eyes raked over me accusingly, as though I were some wanton hussy holding his innocent daughter under a wicked spell.

Lowering her eyes like an obedient daughter, Myra spilled out the tale of my undertaking, stumbling over the words in her haste and garbling the account horribly. While she spoke, I slipped my arm inside my tunic and slid Alian's missive from its safe hiding place. As her tirade wound to a halt, I requested permission to be heard in the meekest voice I could manage. When her father fixed his hawk-like stare on me, I shakily held out the tanned scroll, bidding him read it before we spoke further.

Without realizing it, both Myra and I held our breaths while her father read the epistle. When he finally looked up, his demeanor was no longer so fierce, and we released the pent up air in a soft simultaneous sigh.

"This letter says you are traveling with the merchant Magog," he said. "I know him from previous transactions. It tells Sallu's story more succinctly than my daughter. I will discuss this with Magog. Then Myra and I will confer with her brothers and mother. We will get word to you tomorrow about our decision. I thank you on Myra's behalf for helping to nurse her betrothed. This is a very serious situation. I would be justified in breaking the betrothal contract. We have many things to weigh," he concluded heavily, giving his daughter a sad look.

Realizing any attempt on my part to add information would be considered disrespectful and might jeopardize any possibility of Myra being granted permission, I bowed properly and said, "Thank you, kind sir. I will await word in Magog's camp."

With a heavy heart, I made my way out of the marketplace. Stopping at the well, I filled my containers using Myra's abandoned bucket. I feared that Myra's family would never allow her to make the journey to Hebron. He father's countenance as he looked at his daughter had held pity, but I had no doubt that he would oppose her request. As I walked back to the camp, without thinking I began to talk to Yahweh as I had heard Naomi do so often, like He was a friend who was willing to listen.

"Why?" I questioned. "Why let me come here and find her so easily if her father intends to simply dissolve the contract? Can't you do something? Naomi says you are the God of the universe. Samson said your overriding characteristic is love. You found me in the desert and brought me to Naomi. You sent Sallu to us to nurse. Surely you must have guided Myra to the well today. What now?" I concluded.

Even as I asked what, I felt as though a presence hovered. With a start I realized that I actually believed what I said. This Yahweh was involved somehow in the situation. Both Sallu and I were where we were because He wanted us there. I had no greater understanding than when I cried why, but somehow the question was less pressing. If Yahweh was involved in the circumstances then I would have to trust His love to resolve the situation. I still did not know the why or the what, but somehow I was at peace.