The Well

by Stephanie Landsem

  Shem brushed grass from his tunic. “So he says.”

  Mara ignored his tone. “He doesn’t need to be in Sychar to heal her. We need only to ask him, and he can heal her tomorrow.”

  Shem turned to her, his face as confused as if she’d spoken another language. “What?”

  Mara squared her shoulders. “He can heal her tomorrow, Shem.”

  Shem’s jaw tightened and shifted, as though he was grinding his teeth. “Mara, tell me this is not what you are hoping for? You don’t believe that man, Jesus, can heal your mother from Capernaum?”

  “Yes. I do believe that.” Mara stood tall and stared him in the eyes. What had he thought? That Jesus would come and give her mother an herbal potion, like Leah? He was the Taheb, not a midwife.

  He gave a short bark of laughter and stepped closer to her, “Mara, that is not just foolish. That idea is completely absurd.” He took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Mara, be sensible!”

  If sensible meant giving up all hope then, no, she wouldn’t be. Her voice rose to match his. “It is the only way, Shem, don’t you see? If he is the Taheb—the Promised One—he can do this. Why don’t you believe in him?”

  For all his talk of hope, he had none himself.

  She pushed past him, out of the shadows of the cedars and into the hard, bright sun. She started up the next hill, anger pushing her legs to longer strides. If he didn’t believe in the Taheb, she would get to Capernaum by herself. Of course he didn’t believe. She’d known that all along. She was a fool to have let herself trust him—even dream of a future with him. He was just like every other man she knew. But the question that had followed her all the way from Sychar still nagged. If he doesn’t believe in the Taheb, then why is he helping me?

  • • •

  Shem couldn’t believe his ears. She must be crazy. “Mara, wait.” He ran a few steps to catch up with her.

  She sped up. “You don’t need to come, I’ve told you that.” Her sandals slapped on the ground.

  He regretted his harsh words, but she had surprised him. He’d had no idea that she thought Jesus could do such a miracle. Heal someone from a distance! “Mara, I’m sorry. Please, stop.”

  She stopped.

  He put both hands on her elbows and turned her toward him, holding her there.

  She kept her face turned away. Stubborn little thing.

  He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose. “I just don’t understand, Mara.” He tried hard to keep his voice calm. “I saw Jesus. I heard him speak, and he was . . . wise. And yes, good. But a miracle worker? What makes you think he can do that? He never even claimed to be a healer.”

  “I just know, Shem.” Her green and amber eyes were bright, but not with tears.

  Shem could see in them the determination that had kept her family fed and clothed for so many years.

  “It’s the only chance she has, the only thing that I can do for her. I just know that he can help her.”

  “You just know?” How like a woman to set out on a hunch. To risk both their lives on a hope.

  She nodded once, then pulled away from his hands and continued up the hill.

  He sighed. Fine. They would go to Capernaum and see just what this Jesus could do.

  • • •

  Worry coiled in Shem’s chest like a viper. Every step brought them closer to Tiberius, closer to a whole garrison of Roman soldiers. His father had many friends in the city, but also enemies.

  Mara’s outrageous hope ate at him, and the thought of the city turned his stomach. Every step seemed like a bad idea. Tiberius was a beautiful city, newly built by Herod, but a brutal and dangerous place. He had been there several times. Would word of one soldier’s death in Caesarea have reached Tiberius? Would they be looking for a tall, dark-haired Samaritan with a scar? He hoped not.

  The traffic on the road became heavier. They met with Greek traders on laden donkeys, tax collectors escorted by well-armed guards, and groups of pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. A fast-moving caravan came from behind them, forcing them off the road and covering them in dust as it passed by.

  Shem’s eyes burned from the constant dust, gritty wind, and lack of sleep. He tried to stay alert, but his mind felt dull. The cliffs they passed were pockmarked with caves. Any one of them could be hiding a pack of bandits, ready to kill them both for the coins in his purse. I doubt I could put up much of a fight.

  The road wound downward now into the valley of Jezreel, but they were still so far from Tiberius. He would need to find a place to stay, and soon. He glanced at Mara. She looked like she was about to break. He could pay for a good inn tonight. He’d worry about the return trip when the time came.

  “There is a spring up ahead, I think. We can rest there,” he said.

  She dropped behind him again. She hadn’t said a word to him since their argument. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her, but he couldn’t help what he believed. This was indeed a fool’s journey.

  He kicked at a loose stone on the road. He was doing his best, trying to make up for what he’d done to her mother. But she was making it harder with her ridiculous faith in the Jew.

  Where did her stubborn belief spring from? Had Jesus performed more of a miracle in Sychar than he realized? Yes, Nava had seemed better. But enough that Mara believed him a miracle worker? She was letting her own desperate wishes rule her mind. But turning around was no longer an option, unless he wanted her to believe for the rest of her life that she had failed her mother.

  They’d come this far. Whether or not Jesus could help Nava didn’t matter, as long as Mara believed she’d done all she could for her mother. And then he would do all he could for Mara.

  Chapter 24

  Shem . . .” Mara swallowed hard. “I can’t go on.” She couldn’t go another step. Her head pounded, her legs felt like they were made of stone, her feet were on fire. She would gladly make the dusty road her bed.

  He nodded. “I know. Just a little farther, and you can rest.”

  She could tell that he regretted helping her now. He had walked silently, hardly speaking since their argument. He must wish that he were back in Sychar, that he had never met her. She heard the echo of his words and harsh laughter.

  He didn’t admire her now.

  He thought she was a fool. He had said so, and maybe she was. Now they would never reach Capernaum in time. The sun already touched the western horizon, and they weren’t even near Tiberius.

  “I can’t.” She heard the sob in her voice but couldn’t help it.

  “You can see it from here,” he said, his voice gentle. “Look.” He put his hand under her elbow. It helped, somehow.

  At first she saw only a cloud of dust in the valley below. But then—Eden. A broad stream of water gushed out from a mound of boulders. It flowed into a quiet pool fringed with lush grasses and oleanders. She forced her leaden feet down the road, fixing her eyes on the sparkling water and soft grass. Shem kept his arm under hers, helping her forward.

  The caravan that had passed them earlier clustered around the standing water. Donkeys brayed and lowered their heads to the pool, their sharp hooves sinking into the spongy soil. Servants chattered and filled water skins.

  Shem guided Mara to the scented shade of a tamarisk tree, away from the crowd. She collapsed on the grass. She had never felt anything so soft and cool.

  Shem took her water skin from her. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  Mara felt a bubble of foolish laughter rise in her throat. Don’t move? She would never move again. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of the animals and the voices of the travelers. Sleep wrapped around her like soft wool until a strident shout wrenched her awake.

  “Shem ben Ezra!”

  Mara’s eyes snapped open and found Shem only a few steps from her but turning back toward the crowded spring. She raised herself up on an elbow and peered around him. A huge man strode toward them.

  His fi
ne clothing and short, smooth hair marked him as a Greek, and a rich one. He stood almost as tall as Shem, but his shoulders were broader and his belly protruded like a pregnant woman’s. Dark red lips curved into a broad smile that didn’t reach his hard, gray eyes.

  Shem pulled his shoulders back, and his hands squeezed the water skins. The big man embraced Shem, then stepped back to look him up and down. He spoke rapidly in Greek, a note of surprise in his loud voice.

  Shem responded fluently in the same language and stepped to the side, cutting off the man’s view of Mara. It didn’t work.

  The big man seemed to sense Shem’s protective stance and peered around him. His brows arched in surprise, and he turned back to Shem with a suggestive smile and a low comment.

  Shem’s short, angry reply brought only a laugh as the other man raised his hands in a motion of innocence. His small, sharp eyes slid back to Mara as he clasped Shem on the shoulder, speaking rapidly, his voice insistent. Shem seemed to disagree with him and shook his head. The big man just spoke louder, and finally Shem nodded.

  Shem turned and waved her up from the ground.

  She glanced at the big Greek as she got up; his eyes swept down her body.

  Shem came close and spoke softly, his voice urgent, “Mara, listen carefully and do exactly as I say. This man knows my father and recognized me. He insists that we stay with him tonight.”

  She didn’t like the way the stranger looked at her; he reminded her of Alexandros. Shem’s mouth was a thin line, and his eyes were tight with worry.

  They walked toward the caravan, and Shem whispered quick and hot in her ear. “Don’t speak. Don’t even look at him.”

  A cold shiver passed through her as she fixed her gaze on the ground.

  Huge, meaty hands lifted Mara onto a scrawny donkey. The big man snickered at her gasp of surprise, and his hands lingered on her waist.

  A cowering servant ran up, towing a larger, long-legged donkey. Shem jumped up easily on the animal, then spoke firmly to the big Greek. The man wrenched his eyes away from Mara and passed Shem the lead rope for her donkey. He sauntered to his own mount, bellowing orders to his servants.

  The caravan moved slowly away from the spring, but the animals gained speed as they spread out on the wide road. Mara watched Shem, waiting for an explanation.

  “Hold on,” was all he said. He kicked his mount firmly on its rounded belly.

  She clutched her donkey’s coarse mane. They lurched into a trot, and she had to press her legs around the donkey’s sides to stay upright.

  Mara watched the ground race under her; they were traveling at least twice as fast as they could walk. She stayed silent, although a thousand questions flew through her mind. How did the man know Shem? And why was Shem’s jaw tight and his hand clenched in a white fist around the lead?

  The sun dipped low behind them, and the cool evening wind freshened the air as the procession descended rapidly through the hills. The Greek rode at the head of the column, surrounded by armed guards on horses. Shem and Mara trotted not far back, followed by more donkeys under swaying loads. At least six camels lumbered behind, laden with oak chests strapped in iron. Wiry boys ran behind the camels, shouting and beating them with sticks to keep their pace up to a quick trot.

  Shem’s mount drifted close, and he whispered in terse, quick sentences, keeping his eyes on the guards and servants. “His name is Silas. He is a cloth merchant who sells to my father. Or he did. My father does not trust him, nor do I.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes before he went on. “I told him you were my cousin, but I don’t think he believed me. He has a good memory for women. I explained that you are a mute and unwell. That we are going to a healer in Damascus.”

  Mara heard the worry in his voice. But at least they were riding instead of stumbling along the hard road. Her eyes drifted closed as the rocking motion of the donkey lulled her tired body and mind. She swayed sideways. Shem’s warm grip bit into her shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.

  He leaned close to her, his mount brushing against hers. He looked into her eyes for just moment, then dropped his hand and moved away. “Just try to stay on; we’ll be there soon.”

  Stay awake. Don’t fall off.

  Her head bobbed along to the rhythm of the donkey. Rocky hills gave way to neat fields of wheat and flax and, soon after, whitewashed towns smelling of fish. As they rounded a curve, her drooping eyes popped open at the sight of the sparkling waters of the Galilee. The deep blue water glinted gold in the setting sun. Mount Hermon rose on the distant shore, its snowy peak painted pink with the last blush of the sunset.

  Like a swift shadow, darkness slid over the land, and a chill breeze blew off the water, making her arms prickle with cold. In the distance, she saw the dark bulk of a city, sprinkled with lights. Tiberius.

  Before they reached its gates, the caravan veered sharply away from the water. A long, curved pathway led through a vineyard. They passed under an arched entrance between high walls and into a small village. But was it a village? It was like no town Mara had ever seen.

  Instead of houses built of wood or clay bricks, the structures clustered around the courtyard were built of glittering black stone. Fires blazed in a courtyard of gushing fountains and lush vegetation. An army of torches flashed as servants rushed out of doors, hurrying to meet the travelers. Was this vast compound a home for just one man?

  Mara stayed on her donkey as the rest of the travelers jumped down and jabbered in Greek. What was she supposed to do?

  Silas appeared at her side like a leering giant, his great hands reaching for her. He clamped them around her waist and pulled her from the donkey, setting her down close to his big belly. A chill shuddered down her body as Mara stepped back, pressing herself against the steaming donkey. This man is worse than Alexandros.

  Shem slid from his mount and spoke lightly to their host in Greek. He sounded almost happy. He was ignoring her completely. Couldn’t he see what Silas was doing? Silas laughed and stepped away, his thick arm sweeping over the courtyard, and they walked side by side toward the house.

  Mara followed slowly. If only Shem would look back at her, tell her what to do. Was she to go into the house with them? Her legs felt like mush and her body hurt all over. She would be happy to find a bed in the servants’ rooms. Anywhere. Even with the animals.

  A roar from Silas made her jump, but it wasn’t directed at her. Immediately, three women rushed from the house. They were thin and haggard, dressed in rough wool tunics. He snapped what seemed to be many orders at them, pointing a finger at Mara. They hurried to her, took her by an arm, and led her toward a door on the other side of the courtyard.

  Mara craned her neck back toward Shem. It was quick, but she thought she saw him nod. Silas stared at her as she was pulled past him, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

  • • •

  “My luck is finally changing,” Shem said to Silas with a long-suffering sigh. “I was dreading another night in a vermin-infested inn. This,” he gestured widely to the sumptuous home they had just entered, “is just what I need.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to hearing your story, my boy. How did you come to be traveling like a farmer—and with a beautiful girl as well?” Silas threw his arm over Shem’s shoulder like an old friend.

  Shem ground his teeth and tried not to flinch from the man’s heavy touch. He was ready for Silas’s questions. He just hoped he could buy them some time. As long as Silas thought him a spoiled, ignorant boy, Shem would have a chance to get Mara away from the big Greek’s lair.

  “Believe me, it is a long and tedious story. And the girl . . . Well, I’m just glad to get away from her for the night.”

  Silas arched a brow. “Now I am intrigued. But let us bathe and change as you tell it. You need a haircut and a shave, my friend, if you are to stay with me.”

  Silas glided through a labyrinth of passages like a serpent, servants scattering like terrified mice before him. Shem wal
ked beside him, memorizing each hallway and door. His host was more dangerous than any roadside bandit. Silas was a shrewd businessman, but not one to be trusted if the rumors of his connections with Eastern slave traders were true.

  And the way the man looked at Mara! Shem’s blood pounded in his head, and his hands tightened into fists. But he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. He would have to be very careful. Silas was the sort of man one took care not to offend. Rejecting his offer of hospitality would have been offensive. As would demanding he keep his eyes—and hands—off Mara.

  “It is good to live outside of Tiberius,” Silas continued. “The hot springs here provide warm water for my baths.” Silas walked Shem into the most extravagant bath he’d ever seen.

  Billowing steam greeted them in the first chamber. The black tiles on the floor and wall wept with moisture. Glistening stone benches lined the walls. Through the arched doorway, Shem could see the gleam of water in a bathing chamber as big as his grandfather’s courtyard.

  Silas clapped his hands, and several male servants appeared with towels. “Let us wash off the traveling dust and get ready for a feast.” One of his servants began to undress him. Another waited to assist Shem.

  Shem let him take his cloak and tunic. For now, he would have to play along.

  “So, I heard that there has been some trouble in Caesarea.” Silas lowered himself to a bench, steam billowing around him. “With one of Ezra’s boys.” He smirked and raised his brows.

  So Silas did know. Word traveled fast among merchants. Shem kept his face calm, but sweat beaded on his skin, and it was not from the heat of the room. “I’m sure they’ve stopped searching for me by now. But my father—it disrupted his plans and so . . .” He shrugged and settled on the steam-warmed bench.

  “He sent you away from Caesarea until it is safe to return?”

  “So he says,” Shem stretched like he was enjoying the steam. “He always overreacts. I’m not worried.”

  Silas rubbed his chin. “There are many soldiers in this area. What if they are looking for you?”