Chapter 23: A Miracle

The fever to bury weapons spread through the land like a grassfire. Abish bit her tongue as she watched women catch their husbands’ excitement. It was harder to stay quiet when she heard these same women say that they’d heard Ammon prophesy that Christ Himself would come down to stop the soldiers. What good would it do to rob the false hope these women clung to? The reality would set in soon enough.

Or not so soon. The anticipation of the attack was almost more than Abish could bear. She fought to keep her calm; her very livelihood depended on how competent she seemed to the women she helped. And she worried about Zaria. She was under too much stress for a woman within two months of delivery. It seemed to Abish that Zaria was the only one who harbored her same fears. “Does it seem like we are surrounded by faith, or just fanaticism?” The queen asked Abish very quietly one morning as Abish brushed her hair—a ritual that had been readopted with Abish in the next room.

Abish sighed, “I know. Every other time there has been this kind of fervor, I have felt it down deep, in my heart. This time, there is . . .”

“Just a sickening dread for what lies ahead.”

“Dread alternating with a dead and empty feeling. I feel exactly the same way I did in the days after my father’s death.”

Still the waiting continued. Abish knew the sons of Mosiah had not left the city. Whatever happened, they would witness it, or be a part of it. At least they were not cowards. The brothers often joined Lamoni’s family for their evening meal, as did Abish. She noticed the way Ammon carefully avoided looking at her, even as she was busy avoiding looking at him. She had not yet come around to being sorry for the things she said to him. She began to believe there was another person in her life who would die before she could make amends, but she couldn’t bring herself to unsay what she had said.

Finally word came of a large army amassing just a day or two away. The men were ready, having organized themselves into groups ready to march to the plain just north and east of the great city. They brought few provisions, not knowing how long they’d have need of them. On the day the men began their exodus from the city to the battlefield tomb, Abish could see the subdued looks on the faces of women gathered in the streets, trying to pretend everything was normal, that their farewells were only temporary. Even their zealous faith could not see them easily through the actual goodbye. By then end of the day the whole city was tense with waiting.

Abish walked to the front gate of the palace to lock it. This was a job the guards normally handled, but the city was nearly empty of men that night. She laughed at the futility of locking the gate. If an army poured into town, a simple lock would not keep anybody out. She expected the street to be deserted, but was shocked to Himni there, fully armed.

“Himni?” She called into the darkness, sure that her eyes were deceiving her.

He started, “Abish. You should be inside; this night may not be safe.”

“But you are here.”

“I think that one will not deter an army.” He sounded deeply sorrowful.

“But there is one man willing to try.”

Even in the near-darkness, she could see her hard words pained him. “Please, sister, do not think this way. Every man must do what he feels is best during perilous times.”

“And I suppose that means every woman is left without a choice?”

There was a long pause, and finally, so low she could barely hear him, “When I was reunited with my brother all those years ago, he told me the story of a woman with such faith, that even in slavery, she had chosen to pray every day for the gospel to come to her land. When every other choice had been taken from her, she still chose to believe.”

His words were said with such gentle tenderness they almost reached her heart. Before the emotion could overtake her she said, “I have changed a lot since then.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you aren’t out on the front tonight, either. What of your faith?” Abish felt a sudden desire to goad and hurt him, the way she had Ammon.

He shook his head, “My brothers and I made no covenant. As much as we love your people, we have never forgotten that we are not a part of them.”

“I am not sure Ammon feels that way.”

“He didn’t make the covenant either. And when Lamoni asked Ammon to defend his wife, he didn’t hesitate.” Abish looked puzzled. “I am here tonight and Ammon is at the door to Zaria’s room.” Her eyes grew big and Himni continued, again in that low, soothing tone. “Which I believe is your room too?”

“Yes.” She practically stammered the word. But she would not let his soothing words and calming presence rob her anger. “There are many women in the city this night who do not have such reassurance.”

Himni nodded, “And my prayers are with them. I have done all I can.”

She said nothing more, and left him at the gate, feeling his peculiar eyes burrowing into her back. As she made her way down the corridor to Zaria’s room, she did see Ammon waiting there. She had to speak to him, it was necessary that she pass him before entering. “Hello.” He nodded, curtly, and stood aside for her. She began to enter the room, and then she felt compelled to say, “Thank you, Ammon.”

The expression on his face didn’t change. “I wanted to be out there with my brethren, but many years ago I vowed to Lamoni that I would serve him all the days of my life. Tonight, this is where he sent me.”

“Then I thank you for keeping your commitment.”

“You have Himni to thank.”

“Himni?”

“I believe Lamoni would have had his Nephite brothers at his side, but once Himni gave him this idea, he could not get it out of his head.”

“I am sorry you are here against your will, but I am not sorry you are here.”

“We will see.”

She awoke near dawn to the sound of drums, as relentless and steady as the ones that played while her farther marched to his death. Zaria said quietly before Abish could ask the question, “War drums.” Abish said nothing, just sat and held her friend’s hand, waiting, desperately trying to fight the image of dozens of Lamanite warriors pouring through the garden into these beautiful and vulnerable rooms. Her dream from so many weeks before pounded in her brain with the rythym of the drum beats; the desperation she had carried in her heart for so many weeks began to slowly fill her soul.


In the years after, Abish would never be able to describe that day as any more than a blur. It seemed like she had sat silently for hours, shoulder to shoulder with Zaria and her daughters in the big bedroom. Then, everything happened at once. Ammon burst through the door. The sudden movement caused Sariah to scream and instant panic spread among the children as Abish fully expected the horrors to start.

Ammon’s eyes were wild, but hopeful. He sought out the queen, “The city is not under attack. We have received word from the front that the fighting is over. The enemies have retreated.”

Retreated? Had Christ really come to deliver this people? Abish practically leaped off the bed, as did Zaria and Sariah and Selah. Ammon stopped them at the door. “No. I think it is not good for you to go.”

“There will be wounded; they will need nurses. And Zaria will want to see Lamoni.” Abish insisted.

“It may not be safe.”

Zaria backed away, putting her hand under her belly. “I will stay with the children, but I think Abish should go.”

Ammon’s blue eyes darted between their faces and then he nodded, “Very well.”

Lamoni’s home was in the center of the city and it took her nearly two hours to walk to the plain. As she walked, she saw many trickling into the city. Some were wounded, but she knew if they were walking then they were not in need of immediate attention. As she neared the edge of town, she felt the urgency grow inside of her and her steps became faster and faster until she was practically running to reach the battlefield. Then she halted abruptly when she reached the spot.

The image from her dream flooded her brain for the hundredth time, but it was no dream. The sight before her was sickeningly real. She began running among bodies, looking for someone, anyone that was alive. She saw many women, like herself, but it didn’t seem to Abish they had come to help. They were looking for fallen loved ones. She was puzzled to see some Lamanite soldiers dead among the slaughter of her own people. Had some of the men fought after all? And what could have possibly made the rest of the soldiers retreat? These questions stopped as soon as she found a living man. She knelt at his side and began offering the help she could. She gritted her teeth against the sight of the arrow in his arm and the way his head had been bashed. How could he still be breathing? His eyes were glazed over, and the sticky blood was dried all over his neck and torso. She didn’t even know what to do for such injuries. If he did survive these first few days, he would surely die of a fever. She found a spot where the wound was still oozing blood and she applied pressure to it with one of the rags she had brought. She looked around the field; there was no one to help her.


The first man died in her arms, as did most of the others she found alive. By late afternoon, others had joined her—the sons of Mosiah, the few unwounded men, and women like herself. Some were found alive, but many of them so badly injured that they could only be made as comfortable as possible until their inevitable deaths. Just as dusk settled in, Lamoni’s body was found. The damage was brutal, unspeakable. His sons were slaughtered in a similar fashion—one on his right and one on his left.

Abish held his cold, mutilated, stiff corpse in her arms and wept noisy and bitter tears over the king who had, for a moment, restored hope to her people. She wept for the pain she knew Zaria would feel and for the baby who would never know the valiance of his father. Her tears turned into screaming wails after the manner of the Lamanite women. Abish felt as though she heard the screams from outside, as if someone else was making the sound. The hairs on her arms and neck stood up for the absolute misery in the sound. It was then that someone pried Lamoni’s body from her arms, and carried her to a place where she might rest. She was exhausted and past real awareness.

The next thing she remembered was waking up in a makeshift tent to a terrible smell. It had been a warm night and the bodies had already begun to rot. The ache in her head pounded until she thought she’d go blind from the pain, but she staggered from the tent anyway. There was a terrible buzz in her ears as she stepped into the bright sunlight. She took a large dipper from the fresh water in the bucket at the entrance to the tent, hoping the moisture would alleviate her terrible headache and make the buzzing go aways. The water helped to soothe the ache in her head slightly, but the buzz became sharper. Then she realized something.

The buzz was not in her head at all, but surrounding her. Flies. Tens of thousands of them swarming down on warm, stinking corpses. The carrion birds swept from the forest, more efficient at getting rid of bodies than the few healthy humans walking among the dead. Abish finished her drink and walked dazedly toward the scene of destruction. The scope of the work to be done nearly overwhelmed her, but the self-discipline wrought over years of doing her duty moved her feet forward into the carnage.

As the days wore on, she realized that the men she saw were not the worst. Many young boys, hardly more than children had followed their fathers. In addition, there was the occasional body of a woman or a young girl—families who had joined their fathers to witness the miracle first hand. The miracle that didn’t happen. Abish hoped the soldiers who had killed them were in too much a frenzy of slaughter to notice these women and girls so that death came suddenly for them too.

Abish flapped her arms and screamed angrily at the hideous bald vulture which hovered just a few feet from where she was tending her latest young victim. For two days she’d been out in the muck and the mire; for two three days this young boy had been practically buried in bodies and blood and flies. She felt sick as she looked as his delirious and yet dear young face. She knew that in not too many months, this young man would celebrate his tenth birthday, if he lived that long. She knew because the boy in her arms was the first baby she had delivered on her own. The body she’d pushed aside when she heard his feeble cries was was Ham’s. Perhaps his father’s last act had been to throw his wounded body on top of his first-born son in the hope of saving his life. Abish cradled Omri’s head with one arm while she threw rocks at the vulture with another. Ham would get a proper burial if she could do anything about it.

Within minutes, she knew her rock throwing was futile, the vulture had gone for reinforcements. Besides, her sudden movements seemed to upset young Omri who was delirious with pain. With what seemed to be the last of her strength she heaved him out from under a second man who lay across his legs. He screamed with pain and then fell limp against her as Abish saw the source of his pain was a crushed leg. The child’s brow was feverish and sticky with sweat. With unseeing eyes, he whimpered for his mother while Abish sang the remembered strains from an old lullaby her friend had often sung to her little charges. The music seemed to relax him slightly and she sang what she knew over and over again while the vultures swarmed around her and began to pick at Ham’s body.

Abish held him close, the tears that never dried in this place oozed out from her eyelids and down her filthy cheeks. She hefted the large boy into her arms, carrying him clumsily to the makeshift hut where the living waited for a slow death. Her legs nearly buckled under his weight; exhaustion and anger had made her weak. Women and men dying for what they believed in was one thing, but how could Omri with his tender years understand the sacrifice he was making? Yet here he was writhing in agony from the splintered bones sticking through the skin in his lower leg, and probably wounds she couldn’t see. He didn’t seem to recognize her face, though she had often visited in his home. His delirium made him oblivious to everything but pain. What would she tell Sasha? She thought of the tiny bag she wore at her waist where she only had a pitifully small dosage of herbs to give him. He would need much more if he was to rest. In a flash, she could see the rest of his short life—he would likely die of infection if the loss of blood didn’t get him first. She fought the memory of the precious, triumphant moment of his birth and the way his mother laughed for joy when he was laid in her arms.

They had begun burying the dead in a massive grave just outside town. Would Sasha ever hold her miracle baby in her arms again? Would she see Ham’s body before it too was pushed into the pile as some wild animal without any proper ceremony or prayer? Or before the vultures picked his bones clean? Her head whirled with her own sense of delirium as the smell threatened to overwhelm her again. Her sense of loss for the little forgotten boy in her arms was sharp as the loss of their king.

She hadn’t slept since the night after the massacre, had it been two or three days before? The exhaustion in her arms was heavy and her head was muddled. She’d been wearing the same dress for days and it was covered with blood and dirt. The heat was nearly unbearable and she felt the sweat trickle down her neck and breasts even though it was still a couple of hours until midday. She fought the screaming wails that threatened to escape. Such a noise would help no one in this place even if it would make her feel better for a moment.

She forced her bleary eyes to focus as she stopped to rest. She gingerly lay Omri on the ground, not sure if she’d have the energy to pick him back up. She scanned the battlefield and could see the sons of Mosiah and their companions circulating in twos, offering blessings and words of comfort. Comfort! Abish nearly choked on the thought. How was there any measure of comfort in this? She felt a bitterness she had never known before swell like gall in her throat until she thought she would wretch. All of those years of prayers and faith—now, to end like this! Where was the joy her people had known just the year previous? Was this what their God had led them to? In that moment, as never before, Abish doubted. She doubted every word she’d ever heard about the God of the Nephites; mostly she doubted any spiritual feeling she’d ever had. How could a merciful god have stood by while this happened? How could there be any beneficent god in a place like this?

Still, she knew that as long as she had strength to stand she would do what she could for the injured. Himni had tried to speak to her once yesterday, but she had rudely brushed him aside. Tears smarted in her eyes as she thought of the hurt and confusion evident in his strong features. She needed to get some water—to get off the blood-stained battlefield that was rank with death. She signaled to someone to help her carry Omri to the makeshift hospital. At least there was water there and a measure of shelter from the harshest sun.

The sight of the dead was almost better than the living. The smell wasn’t quite as strong here, but the sounds were horrible. Abish found a bucket of water and drained a large dipperful. She looked up and across the tent to see Zaria. Her eyes widened in shock and her slow movements suddenly became quick. “Your majesty, what are you doing here?”

Zaria’s smile was wan. “I came to help.”

Abish took her arm and led her to a place to sit. “But you need help.”

Her face was pale and waxy from heat and swelling. She eased carefully onto the overturned crate. Abish noted her swollen ankes with a scowl as the queen said, “I couldn’t sit idly by while all this was going on.” She gestured weakly around her.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.”

“Did you walk?” Zaria nodded slowly, braving her midwife’s displeasure. Abish was stern, “The best thing for this kingdom right now is the delivery of a healthy baby. What good can you possibly do here?”

“Giving hope.” Zaria said softly, “You must admit that it could have been much worse.”
Abish’s eyes narrowed and she knew her face was hard. She bit back asking Zaria if she had seen what had been done to her husband and stepsons and just gave a bark of a laugh. “You are going home right now. This baby will be more than a month early if it comes now--too soon under these conditions. You cannot deliver a baby in this filth.”

Zaria could see Abish’s logic and nodded slowly again. She agreed to sit while someone was found to transport her back to the palace. Abish saw Aaron just then, carrying a wounded man into the shelter and looking for a place, any place to lay him. “Aaron!” Abish called to him.

He looked up abruptly as she lifted her skirt over bodies to make her way to him. “The queen needs to get home”

“Zaria is here?”

The concern on his face was immediate and Abish hoped that he’d agree to spare the men to take arrange a litter for her. “Yes. She walked here yesterday. I am worried the baby will come early, and this is a bad place for a delivery.”

“I will arrange transport for her myself.”

“Quickly,” in her urgency she was snappish.

Aaron nodded and left the tent as quickly as he found a place for the girl he’d brought inside. Abish tended both the girl and the queen, noting that the queen’s color wasn’t much better than the child’s.

Minutes later, she was gratified to see Aaron return with a group of men and a carrier on which to transport the queen. As they came closer, however, she noted that several of the men were Lamanite soldiers. She was in complete shock. She had seen these men around, but had not questioned their presence—it was too much to think about. One of the injured men she tended told her the soldiers turned on each other when the rearguard realized what was happening up at the front. Another injured man told her that many of the soldiers had thrown down their weapons in penitence. She had turned a deaf ear, thinking they were only the raving deliriums of dying men; but now, right before her, was Aaron with a group of them.

She confronted him, “These men cannot transport our queen to the palace.”

Aaron tried to be soothing, but he was not as good at it as Himni. Aaron was used to being in charge, “Now, Abish, I know how you must be feeling.”

“You have no idea what I am feeling. How can you trust these men to escort our queen when you see all this?” This time she didn’t care if she sounded shrewish.

“I will not leave Queen Zaria alone; I will go too.” This placated Abish somewhat, but still she hesitated. He continued, “In truth, there is no one else to spare. These men must do the job or Zaria must stay here.”

That settled it, but Abish still felt deep misgiving as she saw the queen settled into her litter. She kissed her cheek and promised to come as soon as she could. Abish gave last minute instructions to Aaron about carrying the litter as carefully as possible with a minimum of jarring.

She tried to banish her friend’s condition from her thoughts and turn back to the task at hand. There were other women helping in the tent, so she decided to return to the battlefield. It was beoming increasingly unlikely that any more live bodies would be found, but the men who were working would certainly need water.

She picked up a large jug and took it to the well where she filled it as full as she could. She balanced it on her head, and took a deep breath to prepare herself again for the terrible sights and smells. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and suddenly heard a voice at her elbow. “Abish, you are needed.”

She opened her eyes and turned slowly to see Omner at her right. Although Aaron had organized the efforts of the last few days, and Ammon and Himni had given blessings of comfort and healing to mourners and survivors, it was Omner she had seen most often out here moving bodies and digging graves. He said, “Let others tend to the sick; I need your help elsewhere.”

“And what special skills do I have that would pull me away from this?” She didn’t even try to keep the edge out of her voice. Still, she placed her water carefully on the ground and began to follow him back into the city. The walked for several minutes and passed the hospital. He led her further into town than she had been for several days to the site of a large outdoor pavilion where a market was held during harvest season. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the crowd gathered. Who were all these people?

He said, “You speak several Lamanite dialects, don’t you?”

“Some.”

“We need an interpreter. For the soldiers.”

Abish looked at him sharply. “What soldiers?”

“Those who have stayed behind after their captain ordered a retreat.”

“Prisoners?” Abish asked with a measure of excitement. Perhaps there would be retribution.

He shook his head. “Converts.”

Abish stopped short. Omner turned to look at her. She had never before noticed how intense and serious his eyes were. They bored straight into hers, but she took a deep gulp and said, “No, no. I thought it was a rumor.”

“You have seen these men out working yourself. It is not a rumor. It is a miracle.”

“A miracle?” Her voice was hard. “A miracle? How can you drag God into any part of this mess? Less than a ten minute walk from here there are women and children, dying from grotesque wounds because of these men. You want me to help them?”

“God does not judge men for things they do not understand.”

“The Lamanites may not live by the Nephite laws of right and wrong, but these men were taught to fight armies, not children. They knew better.”

“These men followed their commanders into battle without clear information. The ones here are responsible for the stop to the destruction. It would have been worse without them. Every one of these men defied orders to turn on their fellow soldiers when they saw what was happening. The other Lamanites fled because of these men. Now they want to learn the gospel; they want to learn what it is that makes a man so brave that he will face an awful death without even a sword to defend himself.”

“I’d like to make it known that I was never that crazy about the leave-your-swords-at-home battle plan.”

“God didn’t want us to fight a war. He wanted our numbers to grow.”

Abish’s anger, so close to the surface these days, came out in hot and angry tears. She shouted, “Yesterday I held a little girl in my arms while she died, her skull smashed from the blow of soldier’s club. God wanted our numbers to grow? Where is the husband she should have had? Who are the righteous children she will raise up? Nothing God could do now will undo the horror committed here.”

Omner’s own eyes filled with tears. She saw that he too had a great compassion for the people, and she knew her bitterness was pushing her to edge of irrationality. He reached his hand out and touched her arm. “Perhaps God will do the impossible. Maybe you will see a miracle this day.”

She stared at his intense gaze while something deep inside of her stirred; she was angered by the ember of testimony Omner’s words kindled. Bereft of real belief, she felt herself nod anyway as she whispered. “I will follow you.”

He smiled slightly and his own tears spilled over. “Dear Abish, where will any of us be if your faith falters?” He led her, subdued, toward the teeming pavilion.

Her first impression was that there were hundreds of men. The stench near the pavilion was very real, yet she was grateful for the smell of living bodies instead of dead or dying ones. Omner briefed Abish over the din.

“These men have been organized according to what language they speak. They are being taught the gospel in shifts.”

“Shifts?”

“Yes. We rotate them through every few hours—this is only a part of the men right now. The rest are working in other parts of the city and out on the battlefield. Helping the women nurse the sick. Digging graves. Replanting crops. We told them if they wanted to stay, they had to help.” As they walked and talked, Omner pointed things out and explained the logistics. Omner is the hands. Despite her anger, she couldn’t help but admire Omner’s efficiency.

“Now why am I here?”

“I need a translator. They are doing well enough at helping, but I’m unable to teach the gospel to some of them.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best one to be preaching right now.”

He smiled sideways at Abish, looking for a moment like all of his brothers at once, “You just interpret, I’ll preach.”

She spent the day at his side, knowing the work she was doing was fanning the flames of the testimony she had believed dead just hours before. On some level she knew that this small light in her heart would be enough to see her through another walk to the hospital or the battlefield.

As dusk approached, Abish and Omner paused for a few minutes to eat some bread. It wasn’t much, but Abish devoured it hungrily, suddenly realizing that she had no idea when she had last eaten. Seeing Omner standing slightly apart for a moment, two men approached him, eager to have more of their questions answered. Their language was one Omner understood and Abish allowed her attention to wander from their earnest conversation. The room seemed to spin as she stood still, deep tiredness stealing over her so quickly that she thought she might fall right where she was.

That is when she saw him.

He stood several feet away, leaned against the wall, his arms heavily tattooed with the marks of bravery in the Lamanite army. His jaw was hard and his body lean; he had undoubtedly been a soldier for a very long time. But it was the eyes the drew Abish in.

Eyes exactly like her fathers.

Eyes exactly like Abish’ own.

She interrupted Omner without realizing what she was doing, “Do you know that man over there?”

There must have been something in Abish’s tone that said how important is answer was because he abandoned his conversation in-mid sentence, his eyes following Abish’s finger.

Omner shrugged, “I spoke to him earlier. From Helam I think.”

“Do yo know his name?”

“No.” But then he turned to the soldiers still standing with them and asked the same question.

To which one of them responded, “Yes. Leonti is his name.”

The eyes. The name. All the same. “What is it Abish?” Omner’s question broke her inense concentration.

“I think that man is my brother that I’ve not seen in nearly fifteen years.”

She walked away from Omner, her half-eaten bread thrust into his hand. Her hunger mattered little now. Only finding out if this miracle was for her too. She approached him timidly, unsure what to say, but almost certain that a confused look of recognition passed through his features as he looked at her.

“Do I know you?” His speech was heavily accented, but the language spoken in Helam.

Abish replied in the language of their childhood, “Was your father called Armac?”

This time the recognition was founded on something and he peered closely before whispering, “Abish?”

“Leonti?”

And then suddenly the two siblings were crying and hugging and laughing as tumbled bits of their stories all came out at once. But they had hardly spoken when a child’s voice called out, “Abish! The queen!”

Abish whirled from her brother to see a young child of just eight or nine years old calling her name. Abish didn’t know the girl. “I am Abish. Is something wrong with the queen?”

The child was breathless and sweating. “I was sent; she did not make it to the palace before her labors began. She is staying with a family in the city. You must come now.”

“Of course.”

Abish took just a moment to look back at her brother who smiled lightly, “When I last I saw you, you were but a child. And now it seems that you are the queen’s most important friend. You have much to tell me.”

Abish smiled in return, “There is time; I will come back.”

Leonti nodded, “I will be here. There is no where else for me to be.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheeks while she held his arms, the solid feel of family in her hands was almost more than she could bear and her eyes watered. As she turned back to follow the child she prayed that God had still another miracle to perform this day. Zaria’s ordeal was far from over.

For some time she ran through the streets with the girl and darkness began to settle in the city. Abish was fearful they would not find the house in time. With nothing more than a child to lead her, the anxiety she felt intensified.

The little girl stopped abruptly at a well, “I must drink,” she said. Abish nodded, waiting her turn at the dipper as the girl drew water. She was panting heavily and the exhaustion she had fought for days began to sink in; the bread she had forgotten to eat suddenly seemed like a feast. Her legs felt like lead and she hoped they were close. After she drank, the girl said in a steady voice, “Do not worry, sister, God is guiding us. He knows that our people are in desperate need of something wonderful. This boy-child will come to take his father’s place.”

For years it had been Abish’s fondest wish to be surrounded by faith; now, on the day when she most wanted to escape it, she could not. Abish smiled slightly, disbelieving, “Are you a prophet?”

The girl laughed, her great brown eyes dancing, “No. But Aaron is the Lord’s messenger. I have brought you his message.”

Without expecting it, Abish felt a great surge of energy grow inside. “We must run then; the queen needs us.”

Within minutes they arrived at the home Zaria had been taken to. The energy Abish had felt at the well did not leave and she was able to get the household quickly organized. There was a mother and two older daughters in the house—their father had died, along with an older brother. Although she said little, Abish suspected the oldest daughter had lost a sweetheart as well. Despite their loss, the women were eager to help. Abish knew that staying busy would help them to put aside difficult memories, if only for a night, so she put each of them to work. Aaron sent the soldiers back to their camp, but he stayed to give Zaria a blessing and keep vigil. The weak glow in her heart grew stronger as she heard Aaron’s blessing. For the first time in days, Abish found herself on her knees during that long night, pleading with the Lord to overlook her lack of faith and bless Zaria for her sacrifice of this week.

It had been many, many years since Zaria’s last baby and her body acted as though this was the first time. The labor was slow and difficult. But in the early dawn, a very tiny baby boy drew his first breaths. When he was cleaned and handed to his mother, Abish sank to the floor, exhausted and hungry. She fell into a deep sleep.


She dreamed of weddings: hundreds of Ammonite women paraded past her dressed splendidly to meet their bridegrooms, all of whom seemed to be Lamanite soldiers. Her brother included. The women were of all ages, and Abish recognized many of them. The procession was glorious and there was talking and laughter and joy. As she looked closer, she realized that most of the women were holding babies—all boys.

When Abish awoke she was disoriented. It took her a moment to get her bearings. She was in the palace, in her very own bedroom. For several seconds she looked at the ceiling wondering if the events of recent days had merely been a dream. Then she heard a baby cry. A young baby, almost like a cat. Zaria’s baby. She also realized that her clothes were filthy and stinking. The emptiness in her stomach made her ache and the horrors she’d seen suddenly rushed back.

She sat up slowly, trying to clear her head of sleep and wondering how long she had slept. How long since she had collapsed on the floor of the room where the baby was born? And who had brought her here? The baby’s cries subsided almost as soon as they had begun; undoubtedly, a nurse had been found.

Abish knew she still had many responsibilities. She knew that she should get something quick to eat and go straight back to work, but she also knew that more than anything in the world, at that moment, she wanted a bath. Casting aside everything that told her the extravagance was too much, she headed to the kitchen to draw and heat the water herself.

By the time she sunk into her half full, tepid tub, she was shaking from the effort of hauling the water from the kitchen, but she relaxed almost immediately, savoring the delicious feel of the water working at the grime pasted to her skin. Even in her weakness, she scrubbed and scrubbed until the water was dark and her skin was nearly red. She hugged the thick towel around herself as she came out of the tub, consciously grateful that her body was still her own and that she was alive. A glimmer of peace seeped into her soul and though she knew many more tears would be shed before she felt healed, maybe she would be happy again.

Willing herself to get dressed and begin a new day, Abish went in search of the queen. Zaria greeted her warmly, but stayed in bed. “How are you my friend?”

“Hungry.”

Zaria laughed lightly, but the laughter did not touch her eyes. “I’m sure. Little Lamoni was born early yesterday morning. You have slept more than a full day.”

“And how is baby?”

“Hungry.”

It was Abish’s turn to laugh, and it felt good. A baby born early sometimes failed to thrive because it was so exhausting to eat. They would fall asleep every time they tried. Hungry was a good sign. It meant that he would fight. All of this flashed through Abish’s mind as she excused herself to find some food. As she walked into the main room she thought of the laughter she had just shared with her friend. It was the first time in weeks that it had been true laughter, momentary joy with no trace of bitterness or sarcasm. The conversion of thousands of soldiers, being reunited with her brother and Zaria’s healthy baby were all momentous and wonderful events. But maybe the real miracle was the change she felt at that moment in her heart. If her heart could heal, maybe the others could too. She stopped abruptly in the hallway to take a moment to thank her Father in Heaven for the birth of Lamoni’s son.