Judith Pransky - The Seventh Handmaiden

Judith Pransky

First published in 2020 by Green Bean Books,

c/o Pen & Sword Books Ltd,

47 Church Street, Barnsley, S. Yorkshire, S70 2AS

www.greenbeanbooks.com

Judith Pransky 2020

Peter Wilkinson map Green Bean Books, 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

ISBN 978-1-78438-589-7

eISBN 978-1-78438-590-3

Mobi ISBN 978-1-78438-591-0

Library of Congress Cataloging-in Publication Data available

Dedicated to the teachers who inspired my love of learning and exploring the past; and the students whose comments and questions kept reminding me that there is always more to discover

It took years to write and revise this novel and finally have it win the Association of Jewish Libraries Manuscript Award. This led to its inclusion in the PJ Our Way list and its acceptance by Green Bean Books. Many people were involved, and all of them deserve my heartfelt thanks for reading, commenting, suggesting, guiding, and encouraging:

My extended family, first and foremostespecially my mother-in-law Ruth, whose insightful remarks changed the course of the narrative; and my granddaughter Tzipporah (and friends), whose enthusiasm buoyed my hopes of finding a publisher

Altie Karper, editorial director of Schocken Books, for indispensable advice

Publishing consultants Anne Dubuisson and Paula Breen

Middle school director Chris Farrell and phenomenal teacher Leslie Pugach for invaluable input

Extraordinary school librarian Wendie Sittenfield, who encouraged me to submit the manuscript to the AJL and introduced me to

Adena Potok, whose support and belief in the novel were beyond measure

The AJL team, especially committee chair Aileen Grossberg

The PJ Our Way team, especially director Catriella Freedman

And, of course, publisher Michael Leventhal and his excellent team at Green Bean Books, in particular project manager Jessica Cuthbert-Smith, whose meticulous work and professionalism are much appreciated. Thanks also to Saray Garcia Rua for the captivating artwork that graces the cover of the novel, and to Peter Wilkinson for his clear and precise cartography.

Finally, no words can express my gratitude to my husband for fully supporting this endeavor and all I have ever tried to accomplish.

The woman heard the children before she saw them, and the sound of their carefree laughter clawed at her heart.

Do not look at them , she warned herself, standing in the kitchen vegetable garden. It will only make things worse. Collect the eggplant and carrots you came here for, and take yourself back into the kitchen to prepare the stew for the masters dinner.

But almost as though they were acting on their own, her feet stepped toward the wooden trellis that screened the kitchen from a formal garden. She peered through the trellis and was struck as always by the breathtaking beauty on the other side. The walled garden was truly a paradise. Overhead, a mosaic of green leaves and turquoise sky gleamed like polished tiles on this perfect summer day. Underfoot, white pebbled walkways curled through a carpet of grass and flowers that looked as though it had been patterned on a magic loom.

And there were the young children she had heardtwo girls and two boys. The boys captured her attention first, because they were taller and louder and never seemed to stop moving. In knee-length tunics and close-fitting trousers, they chased each other along the paths, leaped over small shrubs in the grass, and picked up pebbles to aim at the tree trunks. The girls were smaller and stood close together, holding hands, watching the boys with wide eyes. Playful ribbons and matching patterned tunics over colorful pantaloons set off their flawless skin and dark hair and made the girls seem like part of the flowering garden. Their musical voices blended with the cooing of palm doves nesting in the trees.

The woman behind the trellis stared at the entrancing little girls, looking from one to the other and back again. Slowly, her eyes widened with the realization that the girls were so identical that one of them could have been standing next to an image of herself in a mirror.

Two the sametwins , the woman murmured, while I will no longer have even a single child. She will be taken from me and sold to slave dealers! Her mouth contorted in bitterness and pain as tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to turn away but could not. Her gaze was riveted on the girls while she absently twisted the coarse fabric of the large, empty vegetable sack in her hands.

As the woman watched, the boys tired of their running and shouting. They wanted to play a game of hiding and seeking with the girls. The girls shook their heads, but the boys were insistent. While the older boy faced a tree trunk and covered his eyes, the three younger children cast about for hiding places. Giggling, the two girls ran together behind a bush of flaming orange hibiscus, but the younger boy rushed after them, hissing at them to separate before he hurried off to find his own place. The girls smiles faded as, reluctantly, they let go of each others hands and moved apart. Separated, they looked forlorn and vulnerable. While one stayed behind the flowering bush, the other searched for a new hiding place. She ran behind a tree, but the trunk was not thick enough to shield her, so she crouched behind a rose bush, which she realized was not high enough. Then she spied the trellis and rushed toward it, bounding into the vegetable garden just as the watching woman stepped into the shadows behind the open kitchen doorway.

The woman could hear the childs panting and see the tension in the tiny shoulders as the little girl crouched and peered through the trellis. The ribboned dark hair reminded the woman so much of her own daughter that fresh tears filled her eyes.

Why do you torment me? she pleaded silently to the gods, raising one hand to finger an amulet around her neck. Why did you bring this child here to rub salt in my wounds? But her own words struck her. The gods had certainly brought the child there!

Did you bring her to me for a reason? she asked them silently. Dear gods of goodness and lightare you not taunting me, but trying to help somehow? She had prayed so hard and so tearfully for help. All of the ahura knew how much pain she endured. What do you want of me? she implored. Why was this child brought close to me in this garden? Dear ahura , show me the way. Give me a sign.

And then her eyes caught sight of the second little girl on the other side of the trellis. It was a sign! It had to be! Why else would this child have a double, a twin to salve her parents hearts if she were gone? The woman knew she could never leave another parent bereft as she wasempty and grieving. But these parents would still have someone to love, another child to shower with care, if this one were taken.