The Well

by Stephanie Landsem

  “Zevulun planned it all,” Uziel declared. “He tried to convict her with witnesses. When that didn’t work, he was ready to do the bitter water test.”

  Shem’s voice rang through the soft evening. “Yes, he was ready. He found Shaul. Alexandros was happy to help. He must have brought in twenty men from Sebaste. He probably paid them. He is the one who should be stoned!”

  Mara wondered dimly at his anger.

  “He had Jonothon and Shimon on his side,” said Abahu. “And he was ready for anyone who would try to stop them.”

  “She could have just drunk the water,” Shem said. “I told her to do it. It wouldn’t have hurt her. That test is just to scare the guilty.”

  “And it worked,” Uziel sighed. “No, there’s nothing we can do about Zevulun. She admitted her guilt. And we can’t prove that he paid men. It’s over unless we want the village full of Roman soldiers asking questions. That won’t help Nava now.”

  “But we can’t just let Zevulun get away with it. He used the law of Moses for his own revenge. He deserves to be punished!” Shem’s voice rose and fell as he paced around the courtyard.

  The silence stretched out for several long moments. Her mother would not have feared the curse of the bitter water. The new Nava would not deny her guilt, not even to save her life. Not now. Not to men like Zevulun and Shimon.

  “These are people we live with, whom we eat and drink with!” Abahu said suddenly, fiercely. “They worship on the mountain with us, with her . . .” Disbelief echoed in his voice. “How could they do it? I’m ashamed to be living in the same village as those murderers.”

  Mara winced at his last word. She put her hand on her mother’s chest. Nava still breathed. Thank you, Lord.

  Mara rubbed her hands down Nava’s cold arms. She pulled the blanket up around Nava’s shoulders and lay down close beside her, praying that her own warmth and strength would seep into her mother’s weak body.

  She must have slept, for suddenly the house was quiet. Nava’s shallow breath still moved against her body. Sleep had brought a dream, one that she tried to hold, one that teased her with an elusive sense of hope, a deep familiar voice. She tried to call it back, but it drifted away like smoke.

  She opened her eyes but didn’t move. A single lamp burned in the room, sending its golden glow over Mechola—still huddled in the corner, but without Asher. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm. The songs of night birds and insects drifted through the dark window like a mother’s lullaby.

  Gratitude swelled in Mara’s heart, so strong that tears stung her eyes. Thank you for Mechola. For Abahu and Noach. For Shem. They had fought for her and Nava and Asher like a family. Uziel had stood against the village, jeopardizing his livelihood. Enosh and his brothers had risked their lives for Nava. Mara wasn’t alone anymore.

  She heard quick footsteps and closed her eyes. Someone stood in the doorway, breathing softly. She didn’t want to talk to anyone; she didn’t want to cry.

  “Try to sleep,” Mechola whispered.

  “I can’t.” It was Shem’s voice. He sounded tired. “Every time I think of Zevulun . . . I could have helped her more. I should have seen this coming.”

  “You did all you could.”

  “But what can I do now? I need to do something.” Footsteps paced the length of the small room and back again.

  Why did he need to do something? She was grateful for his help. But what more could he do? And why did he think he should?

  “There is nothing to do now,” Mechola answered. “We can only wait. And pray.”

  Mara heard a frustrated snort close by from Shem.

  “Has she—do you think she’ll wake up?” he asked. “Have you ever seen this kind of injury?”

  Mechola sighed, and her slow footsteps scraped across the floor toward Nava and Mara.

  Mara kept her eyes closed.

  “I have seen it once before,” Mechola answered her grandson softly. “A little boy, many years ago.” Her voice dropped even lower. “He had been with Noach, helping watch the sheep. He loved the lambs. He tried to rescue a lamb from a rocky cliff and fell.

  “We tried everything. He never woke up. He lived for almost a week, but we couldn’t get him to drink or eat. He died in your grandfather’s arms. Our only son.”

  Mara opened her eyes a crack. Shem put his arm around his grandmother and pulled her toward him. The old woman wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and gave her grandson a shaky smile. “Don’t tell Mara. She has enough to worry about. We must get Nava to drink, somehow. She has lost a lot of blood. If she doesn’t drink, she will die quickly.”

  Mara squeezed her eyes shut as panic rose in her chest. She wished for sleep to come again. But sleep wouldn’t rescue her from this nightmare. She opened her eyes as Mechola unwound the strips of linen from her mother’s head. Shem was gone.

  “Is there any change?” she asked.

  Mechola felt the swollen wound on Nava’s temple, then shook her head.

  The familiar voice spoke like a whisper in Mara’s mind, the same voice that had come to her in her dream. She remembered it now. She’d heard it before. Her heart sped up, and urgency filled her like a rushing river. He was calling her, she was sure. And she knew what she had to do.

  She pushed herself up and scooted close to Nava’s head. “How long does she have?” she asked. “Please. Tell me the truth.”

  Mechola’s busy hands stilled. “She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s already weak. Three—perhaps four—days.”

  Mara stroked her mother’s hair and kissed her battered face. “I am going to get help.” She stood up.

  “Where? Who can help?” Mechola put her hand gently on Mara’s arm.

  “I will go to Jesus. If he can’t help her, no one can.”

  Mechola’s face creased in thought but she showed no surprise. “To Jesus,” she said. “Yes. But Mara, you cannot go. If they find out, you’ll be—”

  “I know. But I have to take that chance.”

  Mechola shook her head. “No, my dear. It’s too much of a risk. Let’s send Uziel or even Shem.”

  “No, it must be me. Don’t you see? They don’t believe in him. They don’t believe he is the Taheb.” Mara took a deep breath. “I heard his voice—just now—in my dream. He called me, not them.”

  Mechola didn’t scoff but moved her warm hands to Mara’s shoulders. “My dear, do you even know where to go? Jesus could be anywhere by now. He’s been gone for three days.”

  “His disciples said that they were going to Nazareth, to his mother. I will go north, to Galilee, then follow the road to Nazareth. Someone will know where he is.”

  “Maybe you should wait . . . ask Uziel?” Mechola said hesitantly.

  “He’ll forbid it.” Mara threw on her cloak. “No one needs to know.”

  “Mara, wait. Just a minute.” Mechola hurried out the door and came back a few moments later with a water skin, a round of bread, and a pair of sturdy sandals. The sandals were too big, but Mara buckled them on. Even her toughened feet wouldn’t do well on roads full of sharp rocks.

  Mechola filled the water skin from the jar near the door. She tucked it into Mara’s belt and smoothed her cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

  Was this what it was like to have a grandmother? Mara slipped her arms around Mechola’s waist and hugged her close. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

  Mechola squeezed her back. “What way will you leave the village?”

  “I’ll go through the olive grove, then on to Sebaste by the road.” After that, she didn’t know how to get to Galilee. But she would find a way. She stepped toward the dark doorway. “Pray that I find the Taheb.” She looked once more at her mother. “And please take good care of her,” she whispered.

  Chapter 19

  Mara hesitated in the olive grove as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The stars were a milky ribbon in the sky. Their brilliance seemed to light the way north over the rise of M
ount Ebal, the mountain of curses. The moon shone full and bright enough to turn the trees to silver and cast their bent shadows on the hillside.

  Would she ever see Sychar again? And if she did, what would she come home to? She crossed her arms over her heart. It thumped like an animal caught in a trap. If the people of Sychar found out that she’d left—and traveled alone to find a man—they would accuse her of impurity. And they would find out. Every man in town will despise me, even Jobab. She had no choice—her mother’s life in exchange for the only thing she ever wanted, a husband and family of her own.

  Again she heard the voice, calling her name. Was it real or the memory of her dream? No matter, she would follow it. She set her eyes on Mount Ebal and took a deep breath. Lord, help me find your Anointed One, the Taheb.

  She walked quickly, her feet remembering the path through the familiar olive grove. She would find him. He would save her mother.

  Heavy footsteps pounded behind her. Her legs trembled, and she swallowed hard as she stopped and turned toward the sound. How would she explain herself to Uziel? How could she make him understand?

  The shape that came out of the darkness was taller, thinner. The voice was one she had heard before in the darkness of this same grove.

  “Wait, Mara!” Shem stopped a few strides from her, breathing hard. “You cannot do this.”

  “What? It is the only thing I can do.” Why is he here? She turned away. She’d run if he tried to stop her. But how far would she get?

  Shem grabbed her arm. “Mara, stop and listen to reason!”

  She tried to pull away, but his fingers clamped tighter. Her heart hammered in her chest. He was too strong. “Why are you here? Did Mechola tell you to . . . ?”

  “Yes, she did. Someone needed to stop you. You could be killed!”

  “This isn’t your problem. You aren’t even from Sychar. Please.” She glanced down at his hand, still holding her arm, and swallowed. “I’m begging you, Shem. Please. Let me go.”

  • • •

  Mara’s plea tore at Shem’s heart. She was wrong. This was his problem. Her tears reflecting in the silver moonlight were his fault. If anyone deserved to die for their sins, it was him, not her mother.

  But this idea of hers was madness. How could she go all the way to Nazareth alone? Shem tried to make his voice calm. “Mara. Do you even know where you are going? It is too dangerous for a girl. You are a target for jackals—animal and human.”

  She didn’t look afraid.

  There must be some way to change her mind. “If something happened to you . . . what would become of Asher?”

  Mara’s eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled. “I have to try. She is dying.”

  Shem swallowed hard. If only he could take back those thoughtless words he spoke to Adah. This was his fault, and he would put it right. If Mara ended up dead like her mother, his guilt would be too much to bear. “I’ll go. I know the way to Nazareth.”

  She jerked away from him. “No. You can’t.”

  “Why not? Better I go than you.” What was he saying? He was safe here in Sychar, but outside, on the road? Would any Roman soldiers still be searching for him? No, not after all these weeks.

  “Shem.” She stepped closer to him. “Do you even believe that Jesus is the Taheb?”

  He tried to think of an honest answer that would satisfy her but couldn’t.

  “I didn’t think so. He cured her once; I know he did. He will again, but you must have faith in him. You don’t. So it has to be me.”

  This crazy, stubborn girl refused to listen to reason. There was only one option left. The one his grandmother had already decided on when she woke him. “We aren’t going through Sebaste, then.”

  “We? What do you mean?”

  “It is a city full of vice and pagans. We’d never make it through alive.” He checked for the knife at his belt. At least he’d have that. But could he use it again if he had to? Even to defend Mara’s life?

  She raised a hand as he turned toward the top of the hill. “Wait, Shem. You can’t. Your grandparents. If someone finds out we’re together . . .”

  “My grandmother already knows. She’ll tell Uziel and Abahu. If we hurry, no one else will even know we’re gone. There’s a trail, just a path, that cuts straight north from Ebal to Engannin, then meets up with the road through Galilee. It will save some time.” Then they would have to travel on the open roads, such as they were. Most were just beaten tracks, but they had plenty of traffic, especially Jews going back and forth to Jerusalem—maybe even Roman troops. It couldn’t be helped, though. Cutting through the wilderness would surely get them lost or attacked by something with sharp teeth and claws.

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t let you. You don’t need to help me. If someone sees us it’s too much of a risk for you.”

  What was she talking about? “A risk for me?” Did she know about the Romans that searched for him? But no, her head dipped, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something else worried her. “You mean if the villagers find out we were together?”

  She nodded.

  Yes, the laws of Sychar were far stricter than those of Caesarea. If anyone discovered them traveling together, the consequences for him would be lifelong. But that was the least of their worries. “Just let me worry about that,” he said abruptly. He stepped closer to her. If he was going to risk his life, she needed to understand the real danger. “Listen, Mara. I’ll get you to Jesus. But you must obey me. These roads are dangerous, especially for a girl like you—”

  “Like me?” Her eyes widened, and she shrank back. “What do you mean?”

  Shem drew in a sharp breath. She really didn’t understand. “Mara, don’t be an idiot.” He caught her chin in his hand and held it. “A girl like you . . .” He pulled her chin up until he could stare into her amber and jade eyes. “One look at you, and I’ll be left bleeding to death in a ditch while you are taken in chains to the Damascus slave auction.” Understanding flared in her face. And fear. At least the girl had some sense. “Now, do what I say, and I’ll find your Taheb.”

  He brushed past her and started the climb up Mount Ebal.

  Foolish girl. He might deserve to die—it was his fault after all—but she didn’t. He’d get her to her Taheb, then safely back to Sychar, or die trying. Maybe she’d forgive him when she found out what he’d done to her mother. And when they returned, whether Nava lived or died, Zevulun and Alexandros would be punished.

  He catalogued their sins. Zevulun, using his money and power to concoct that mockery of a trial and, worse, using the law of Moses for his own revenge. The rich and powerful preying on the weak—just as in Caesarea. And Alexandros, a pagan, using Nava, then joining in as the men of her village turned against her. She might be—she surely was—guilty of adultery, but they were guilty of even more despicable sins. He didn’t know how, but he would make sure they paid for their sins just as they had made Nava pay for hers.

  • • •

  Mara stayed close to Shem as they walked, almost bumping into him in the dark. Why was he helping her? Didn’t he know what he risked? His family was wealthy and important, both in Sychar and Caesarea. If they discovered that he had traveled with her, alone and unmarried . . . he would spend the rest of his life regretting this night.

  The full moon shed just enough light to see the path ahead. Her breath made little puffs of mist in the cold air. She pushed her chilled hands deep in the folds of her cloak, pulling the thin fabric around her body. He’d said he knew a faster way. Please, Lord, help us find the Taheb in time.

  Barley fields stretched out below them, the cut stubble glowing gold in the moonlight. Had it just been yesterday that she had started home, hot and tired with her basket of grain? It seemed like a childhood memory.

  The sharp scent of terebinth brought her out of her thoughts. Shem stopped suddenly at the edge of a grove.

  “This is the path,” he said. “I would be far happier to travel it when morning comes.”


  She shook her head. “No, please, we must hurry,” she said.

  He sighed. “Stay close, then.” He stepped into the darkness, moving quietly and studying the dark shadows between the trees.

  They traveled the dark path in silence. It wound up and down the valleys and hills like a meandering stream. The bright moon lit their way in the open spaces but made the shadows of the oaks and cypress darker and more menacing when they picked their way through wooded hollows.

  At each narrow valley, Shem stopped and held his finger to his lips. He stood still, his head cocked toward the darkness, before stepping through the thorny bushes and overhanging trees. Mara shivered. He was listening for the rustle and growl of wild beasts. Or even the whispers of bandits. What would they do if they were attacked? She closed the short distance between them.

  Wild dogs howled in the distance, but no animals crossed their path. Her body warmed at the brisk pace, but her eyes felt gritty and her legs already ached with weariness. The borrowed sandals rubbed her ankles until every step brought a sharp pain. She pushed one foot in front of the other and stayed close to Shem. What was he thinking? Did he already regret helping her?

  As the eastern sky faded to a lighter shade of black, the morning birds began to sing in the bushes and trees, growing silent as they passed and then taking up their song again. The path climbed sharply up a rocky hill, and Mara scrambled up, clutching at sapling vines to keep from sliding backward.

  Shem reached the top, then turned around and offered her his hand. It was warm and rough. More like a farmer than a scholar. He winced but easily pulled her up. They stood together, catching their breath. The faintest hint of ocher showed that dawn would soon flare in the eastern sky. And they weren’t even to Engannin yet.

  “Mara, sit and rest,” Shem said. His voice was gentle, as were the hands that pushed her to sit on a stone ledge. He settled himself beside her and pulled out his water skin.

  Mara looked to the east. The sun was rising on her mother’s still body. “There isn’t time to rest,” she whispered. But she perched on the cold stone with a tired sigh, put her elbows on her knees, and rested her forehead in her hands. Her legs ached, her head pounded, her blistered feet hurt most of all.