Desired: The Untold Story of Samson and Delilah (Lost Loves of the Bible) by Ginger Garrett

something else to focus on.
    His mother took the crock first, dipping her hands in and then wiping them on the linen. She passed the crock to me as I turned to receive it, her piercing eyes accusing me of some unknown crime as my hands touched hers. I passed the crock right over to Samson. Dirty man that he was, he laid his hands over mine as I held out the crock to him, not releasing me, as together we set the crock on the table before him. When it sat there, he slid his hands off mine, slowly, his fingertips stroking the back of my hands. I clenched my teeth together, with my eyes narrowing and my nostrils flaring up.
    Furious that he touched me so boldly, I jerked my hands free and tucked them under the table. My thighs went weak and hot as I stared at his face, which was already filled with stifled amusement.
    He knew the effect he had on me, and he held me in no respect. I balled my left hand into a fist, and when he leaned over to dip his hands in the crock, I turned my body toward him as if to speak, landing a hard punch right in his stomach. He coughed, nearly knocking the crock over.
    Astra gave me a stern look of rebuke, which I returned viciously. She had thrown a stick at this man’s head. He wanted compensation, all right—wanted me to pay with a little fleshly affection. If he thought I would receive his advances with anything other than disgust, then he knew nothing about Philistine women and our opinion of the Hebrews.
    Samson’s father washed his hands next and then spoke to my mother.
    “You are a kind and noble woman to accommodate us. Please, now, allow me to give thanks.”
    Mother nodded to acknowledge his offer of thanks, the wonderful praise she was due, but he bowed his head and lifted his hands, as did Samson and his mother.
    “Almighty God, who looks upon His people with favor, thank You for this meal.”
    At that, he ate with vigor, as did Samson and his mother. My family and I were slower to reach for a plate or bowl. Had this man really just thanked his god for this meal, when it was plain that my mother and sister and I had prepared it? What had his god done? Where had his god been when I was oiling the table and trimming the wicks?
    Mother sliced the roast into small slices to be eaten by hand. She served herself then passed the plate to Samson’s mother, who held up a hand.
    “What animal is this?”
    “Pig,” my mother replied. “Seasoned with vinegar and scallions. That is what gives it that beautiful dark crust.”
    Samson’s mother looked pointedly at Samson and her husband, a sour purse sealing up her mouth. She turned back to my mother.
    “Pigs are unclean. We do not eat them. It displeases our God.”
    “Didn’t your god make them?” Astra asked. Her smile was too sweet. It hid something.
    “Of course He did,” Samson’s mother replied.
    “Then why did He make them taste so good?” Astra asked.
    Samson laughed, but his mother stopped that with one look before training a cold, sharp gaze on my little sister. I curled my hands into fists once more. Rugs or not, no one was going to scold my little sister right in front of me, in my own home, even if she was trouble.
    Samson rested a hot palm on my thigh.
    Samson’s father stood up then and bowed to my mother and father. “We should go. It is harvest time, after all.”
    Samson’s mother rose. “At harvest time, my people work. We do not entertain. Only fools would waste this season.” She glared at her son.
    Mother stood very quickly—happy, no doubt, to see them gone. Astra and I stood as well. Samson’s mother made a move toward me.
    I thought she wanted to say good-bye, but instead, she plunged her fingers into my ribs. I squealed in shock, jumping back, but she clucked her teeth at me and kept searching. She ran her fingers along each rib’s indentation, and then grabbed the sides of my hips, patting them firmly, as if testing them. Taking hold of them, she spun me around and dug her fingers along my spine