By now, the boy would be on his way to Caesarea with the message. He would get there by tonight, and Ezra would be waiting in Sychar when they returned from Nazareth. He would hear the story from Abahu and see his father-in-law’s bruised face. Ezra wouldn’t like that. When they returned from Nazareth, Mara would have her prophet, and they would know if Nava would live or die. But either way, Shem would make a plan with Ezra to ensure that Alexandros and Zevulun were brought to justice.
Now, all he had to do was get to Nazareth and back without running into bandits, soldiers, or any other kind of dangerous animal. He’d have to be careful with the money he had left, but it would be enough.
Finding the Taheb was what Mara had to do, and he’d help her, even if it were a useless journey. But getting justice for Nava was what he had to do. It would help if he knew why Zevulun hated Nava so much. There was more to that story than Mechola had revealed. He would need to find out. And Mara was the one to tell him.
Chapter 21
The sun beat hot on Mara’s face, and sweat trickled down her neck as she dragged herself up yet another steep hill. On one side of the road, a flock of sheep grazed on green grass; a shaded cedar grove stretched out on the other. The rest and the bread had helped. Her ankles throbbed dully with every step, but they bothered her less than the thought of Shem wrapping her dirty feet in his own clean linen.
They would be in Nazareth by mid-afternoon, and then she would see Jesus again. Her heart sped up at the thought of approaching him, of speaking to him. She knew he could help her, but would he? He had spoken to a Samaritan woman. But dare she speak to a Jewish man? Would he know her thoughts? That she had wished her own mother dead at the very moment he healed her?
They passed a group of travelers going the opposite direction. Shem called out a greeting while she watched her feet kick up ribbons of dust. When they had passed by, Shem slowed his pace until they walked shoulder to shoulder.
“Mara,” he said. “Why does Zevulun hate your mother so much?”
Mara lengthened her stride. Shem easily matched it. Of course he would want to know. She just didn’t know how much to tell. Finally, she said, “Please don’t judge Nava too harshly.”
He didn’t say a word as she told him of her mother’s betrothal to Zevulun, her betrayal of her vows, and her marriage to Moshe. “Zevulun had every right to be angry at her,” she said. “But Zevulun,” she scuffed a few steps along the road, “it’s been so long. He held on to his anger for all these years.”
Shem still didn’t speak.
She glanced at him. He didn’t seem shocked. “But Moshe died before I was even born. On his way to Tiberius. Probably on this road.” She tried not to sound bitter. Her life would have been so different if he had lived. But she wouldn’t trade a better life for one without Asher.
“What happened then?” Shem finally asked. “Was Shaul her next husband and Asher’s father?”
Mara’s steps faltered. How could he not know? It was the best-loved story in the village. “You have lived in Sychar for weeks and don’t know of my mother’s other husbands?”
Shem’s eyebrows shot up. “How many did she have?”
Mara watched her feet and chewed on her lip. He really didn’t know.
He said more gently, “I live with my grandmother, remember, who does not gossip. My grandfather would rather speak of olives than people, and the only other person that I see is Enosh. I don’t think many of the others like me.”
Mara didn’t have to answer, for at that moment she raised her head and her mouth dropped open. A caravan bore down on them. Shem’s arm shot out to quickly guide Mara off the dusty track and into the prickly brush. Thorns bit into her ankles as she stared.
“Babylonian traders,” Shem whispered at her side. He bowed in greeting to the leader of the caravan, who was riding a huge donkey. He was the tallest man Mara had ever seen. Long brown legs stretched almost to the ground. His ebony skin glowed against bright silk robes, embroidered all over with gold and silver thread. A heavy gold ring pierced his hooked nose, and his fingers and arms were spangled with jeweled rings and gold armbands. He glittered in the sun.
Laden camels, more donkeys, and servants followed his majestic lead. The animals were loaded with intricately woven baskets and carved chests strapped in bronze. They passed close enough for her to reach out and touch their rough, hairy hides. Beside the procession rode four armed men. Swords were strapped to their sides and gauntlets of silver protected their arms and legs.
“Keep your head down.” Shem stepped close to her. His eyes were on the guards, and his hand rested on his knife.
The air echoed with the shouts of servants and the slap of leather on hairy flanks. Thudding hooves kicked up clouds of dust. Mara’s curiosity tormented her until she raised her eyes to stare at the passing strangers. A guard rode so near she could feel the heat of his horse. He glanced warily at Shem, then turned his head just in time to meet her eyes. She looked down, but not before she saw a leer on his scarred, brutal face.
The procession passed quickly, and Shem hurried her out of the brush and back onto the road as soon as they were gone. He walked quickly through the dust, watching the retreating caravan with a tight mouth and worried eyes.
Why did the travelers worry him? Surely they were not interested in two poor Samaritans. Mara hurried to catch up to Shem and kept her questions to herself. Maybe he would do the same.
Shem looked over his shoulder at the receding caravan. He increased the pace so that Mara had to break into a short run to catch up to his long strides. “Then what happened?”
He was helping her; he deserved to know the rest.
“After Moshe died, my mother didn’t want to remarry,” Mara continued. “My grandfather and grandmother were dead, and Moshe’s parents moved away from Sychar. They never liked her, Mama said.
“My aunt Ruth had married Uziel. She begged him to take pity on us. He is a good man, from a respectable family. He allowed us to live with them until my mother finished mourning and remarried.” And he’s taken care of us many times since. What would Uziel do when she returned home so disgraced that even Jobab wouldn’t take her?
“But Nava would not accept any of the men who came to Uziel for her hand. She was very proud. They said she angered the Lord by her refusal to marry, and she disgraced her family even more.” Mara snuck a glance at Shem. He was scowling at a rocky hillock on their right. Was he worried about bandits or disgusted with her mother?
“When I was about three years old, Uziel ordered her to marry. She could not continue to live with them.” Mara shook her head. “Ruth told me that she chose the richest of her suitors, a merchant of fine cloth and carpets. I don’t think she cared for him at all.”
They passed a lone terebinth tree, stretching its gnarled red branches into the sky. She remembered Gershon only faintly as a tall, silent man. He was even quiet around her mother. His eyes often rested on Nava, and in her childish way, Mara had thought he looked sad.
They had lived in a large, fine house with many servants. The tile floors were covered with wool rugs. Verses of the law were engraved in stone in each room of the house and embroidered onto cloths that hung among the rich furnishings.
“Was he good to you?” asked Shem.
He had so many questions. Why was he so interested in Nava’s past? “Well, yes.” Gershon was probably her favorite of her mother’s husbands, next to Shaul. “I don’t remember much. I had pretty clothes and even toys. I remember being happy.” It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be to tell Shem her story. Especially when he watched the road ahead instead of her.
Gershon’s house had been stern but never unkind. They observed the Sabbath strictly and had gone on pilgrimages to Mount Gerizim often. In his household, even the youngest fasted on the Day of Atonement. Gershon lived his faith, giving much to the poor and following the law. He never shouted or raised his hand to her or her mother.
“We lived with Gershon
for two years. I didn’t know; I was so young. But Ruth told me that . . . My mother, she was not a good wife to him.”
“They had no children?”
“No,” Mara replied. “My aunt says that it was my mother’s fault, that she refused to have children.” Mara pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t have said that. Her cheeks reddened, and she glanced sideways. But Shem just nodded, his eyes on the road ahead.
She told him the rest. “Ruth said that Gershon was divorcing her. But before he did, he was killed by the Romans in the revolt of Mount Gerizim.”
“Gershon died in the revolt?” Shem asked, twisting to look at her.
“Yes. With many others: Uziel’s younger brother, Noach’s oldest son.”
“That’s why there are just old men and boys in Sychar.”
“Yes.” Very few men of marriageable age. “And when the Romans learned that Gershon had been a rich man, they confiscated all his gold, his carpets, everything. Fortunately,” Mara went on, “Mama kept the house and livestock. Many people—the villagers—said it was more than she deserved.”
And maybe Shem would agree. Especially when he found out the rest of her mother’s story. And if Shem regretted helping Nava, perhaps Jesus would too. How much mercy would the Taheb have on a woman who had sinned so many times?
Chapter 22
Shem heard pounding hooves coming toward them before he saw the cloud of dust kicked up not far ahead. The flash of a metal helmet made his heart leap into his throat.
He grabbed Mara and pulled her off the road. They stumbled through the brush as he searched for a place to hide. Stinging nettles burned his feet and calves. “Here!” he scuttled behind a flowering mustard bush, pulling Mara down just as four galloping horses swooped past them with creaking leather and clanking armor. His legs were weak, and blood pounded in his ears. That had been close.
“Roman soldiers,” he said, choking on the dust. “It is best if they don’t see us.”
They waited until the sound of the horses had died away before creeping out from behind the branches of yellow flowers.
“What would happen if they did?” Mara asked, rubbing her leg. “They wouldn’t have a reason to stop us, would they?”
A rash needled over Shem’s sandaled feet and up his ankles. “They are Romans. They don’t need a reason.” They would need no more reason than to look at her. Then one look at him, and they would both be captured, tied to a horse, and dragged to Caesarea. He pictured his punishment, probably crucifixion. Mara wouldn’t be so lucky.
She pursed her lips, clearly ready to ask more questions that Shem didn’t want to answer. He guided her back to the road. “Gershon died on Mount Gerizim. Then what happened? Did you go back to Uziel?” He had seen the house where they lived and knew that it was not that of a wealthy merchant.
“No, Gershon had a brother.”
Ah. That made sense. A widow always had the option of marrying her dead husband’s brother. “So, a Levitical marriage. Who was he?”
“He is Shimon, Adah’s husband now.”
Shem groaned as the pieces of the story fell together. Nava had offended two very powerful families in a few short years. The scene at Passover made sense, now. The village had good reasons to reject her. But still, Zevulun had no interest in justice; that much had been clear at the sham of a trial. He was only concerned with his injured pride.
Mara stared straight ahead, her mouth drooping. This must be hard for her. She had done nothing wrong, but she faced the consequences of her mother’s sins.
Mara went on so quietly that he had to walk closer to hear her. “By that time, the villagers thought she was cursed. Some thought that she might have an evil spirit. She knew that her only hope was to marry Shimon, to claim her rights to a Levitical marriage.”
“But Shimon was not like his brother. He was . . . unkind. He announced that he would take on the disgraceful widow and her child. Like he was helping us.” Mara’s voice turned bitter. “He only wanted his brother’s house and livestock. But he told everyone he would make her into a proper wife.”
They reached the top of a hill and started downward. Shem’s sandals slapped against the packed dirt. “And that didn’t happen.”
“No.” Mara fell behind again. He slowed until she caught up. “She was not a proper wife to Shimon. It was less than a year when he divorced her.”
Shimon was not a gentle man. He’d been as eager as Zevulun at the trial and had been throwing stones at the front of the mob. How badly had Mara been treated at Shimon’s hands? Was he as culpable as Zevulun for Nava’s injuries?
Mara’s face was pinched, and she stared blindly at her trudging feet. “It is our law that the husband gives half the bride price to the bride’s family but keeps the rest in reserve in case of divorce. He gave that to Mama, as he should. The priests agreed that it was fair. We also kept the household goods and a couple of goats. That’s when we started living in the valley.”
“Just you and your mother?”
Mara nodded. “Shimon was fair to us, but not generous.” Mara glanced warily at him. “I’m not sure that she deserved any better.”
Shem couldn’t believe it. A woman and small child left alone, practically in the wilderness? How had Mara felt, shuffled from one father to another, from house to house? He felt a rush of anger toward Nava. Perhaps she did deserve some punishment. “It must have been hard for you.”
Mara shook her head and her brows came together. “I don’t know. Most of the time I think I was happy. Mama was always good to me. Even when we were on our own, living in the little house, she was a wonderful mother. We sang and worked together. She never raised her voice or her hand to me. I loved her—love her—so much.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard.
“How long was it before she married Shaul?” Shem asked. “That would be her—,” he counted on his fingers. “Zevulun, Moshe, Gershon, Shimon—fifth marriage?”
“It wasn’t long. Shaul came here—I mean to Sychar—to work with the carpenter Yaakov. He is a cousin to Uziel. He knew of my mother’s story—everyone knew—but he didn’t care. I think he really . . . Well, I think he really loved her.”
Shem struggled to adjust to this new picture of Nava. She had sinned and deserved at least some of the punishment that she received. But so had he. And even more seriously. How could he cast the first stone at this woman when he had killed a man? No, he couldn’t condemn Nava so quickly.
Shem needed the rest of the story. What had happened with Shaul, the man who condemned his wife to death? “If he loved her . . .” He tried to say it as gently as he could. “Why did he leave?”
• • •
Mara couldn’t answer Shem’s question right away. It brought back her saddest memory. How much more should she tell him about Nava’s final marriage? He’d be right to despise Nava as the rest of the village did. She would understand if he was disgusted with her mother. Would he be shocked to hear what her life became after Asher’s birth? Would she, too, disgust him? But she couldn’t lie. Not after all he’d done for her.
She looked at the high grassy slopes dotted with large, fat-tailed sheep. Between the hills lay wide valleys planted with golden wheat and blossoming blue flax. She would just tell him the rest as quickly as she could. He didn’t need all the details. “We were so happy with Shaul. He was like a real father to me. He would come home and throw his arms around Mama. She laughed and sang all day.” Mara turned to him, smiling at the memory.
Shem stumbled a little on the smooth road.
“Mama got pregnant right away.” She remembered the birth clearly. Her mother smiling even through the pain. Leah’s face when she saw the baby. She rubbed him with olive oil and salt to harden his muscles, wrapped him, and laid him in Nava’s arms. “It must be God’s will,” Leah had said in a shaking voice. Nava began to wail, her cries waking the newborn.
“Mama knew what they said in the village. That her sins had poisoned her firstborn son. She had disgrace
d her family and broken her vow to Zevulun, and this—Asher—was her punishment.”
Mara trudged on with leaden feet, the weight of her sad memories pressing hard on her shoulders.
“Then what happened?” Shem asked softly.
She had never told another person the rest of the story. Her mother—her laughing, beautiful, joyful mother—had wrapped herself in misery. She had turned from her children and her husband on that day and hadn’t emerged from her cocoon of despair until she had met the Taheb, the Restorer.
Mara swallowed hard. “She couldn’t get over it. The guilt or the shame, I don’t know which. She loves Asher; I know she loves him. She just couldn’t look at him, or hold him. She just . . . left us.” Nava had left them. She had turned her back on her daughter, her newborn son, her husband. She slept all day and wept all night. She let the fire die, refused to make meals, and watched the garden fill with weeds.
Mara had tried to hide her mother’s failings. She was old enough to keep it a secret. She ground the grain and had bread baked by the time Shaul returned from his work at the carpenter’s shop. Mara set Asher at his mother’s breast when he cried in hunger. She worked the garden, cleaned the small house, and brought wood for the fire, every day hoping that Nava would get better.
“I did everything that I could.” The fields of blue flax blurred. “But it wasn’t enough.” Would this journey be enough? Or just another failed attempt to save her mother?
When the lump in her throat had loosened, she continued. “Shaul was understanding at first. He said, ‘Give her time.’ But when time didn’t heal her, Shaul lost patience. He was angry, and she cried more. I didn’t know what to do.
“One day, he came home in the middle of the day. Asher screamed in my arms as Mama sat by the fire, just staring. Shaul sat down by her.” Mara’s voice fell to a whisper. Shem came closer and ducked his head close to her.
The Well Page 18