So, was all the rest—the stoning, her own hopeless situation—also part of the Taheb’s plan?
A gust of wind filled the sail, and the boat glided into deep water.
Sometimes the Almighty let bad things happen to accomplish his plan. Joseph had to be in Egypt to save Jacob’s family, the Chosen People, from the famine. But he didn’t go there on his own. No. His brothers threw him down a well. They sold him to the Ishmaelites, and he was made a slave. Only then could he rise to lead the Egyptians and show God’s power.
Mara leaned back, adjusting to the rhythm of the waves hitting the prow. “What, exactly, did he say?”
Shem let out a breath as though he’d rather talk of anything else. “He said, ‘Your time will come soon. Your suffering will be united to mine.’” He rested his forehead on his hands, “What is that supposed to mean? I don’t believe any of it.”
Mara’s heart constricted. What could it mean? Would Shem help the Taheb usher in the age of peace? Would he reveal the truth to his people? “Shem, you must go. Like Joseph. Go to Jerusalem.”
“What?” He grabbed her hand. “I’m not going to Jerusalem. Stop talking nonsense. I’m taking you back to Sychar. I won’t leave you.”
Won’t leave me? Joy flared in her. Had her hopes been right about him? Could he really care for her? His hand was warm and felt good and right wrapped around hers. Yes, something more than guilt had brought him on this journey. She could see it in the way he looked at her; she could feel it in his touch. But her joy just as quickly dimmed. It doesn’t matter now. She must make him see—he had been called by the Taheb, to Jerusalem. To do what, she didn’t know any more than he did. But it was important. More important than her dreams of a life with him. Those were foolish dreams, anyway.
If he wouldn’t follow Jesus’ call, everything she’d given up—her mother, her chances of happiness in Sychar—would all be in vain. She pulled her hand out of his grip. “You will take me home, Shem. Then you’ll go to Jerusalem.”
Chapter 29
Women. Who could understand them?
She had to get to Jesus, because he was the Taheb. Then she couldn’t speak to him, because he was the Taheb. Now she was going on about Joseph and a well and Jerusalem. What was she thinking? That he would leave her and follow this madman? I’m not going to follow him. Not now. Not ever.
Zebedee guided the boat into knee-deep water. “The path goes up the hill. From there, you will find the road to Cana.” He pulled Shem into a rough embrace. “Safe journey, my son.”
Shem nodded. We aren’t safe anywhere. Where would the soldiers be by now? “Thank you for your help.” Jews helping Samaritans—another surprise in a day full of mystery.
The big man grasped his shoulders and leaned close. “Look after the Messiah in Jerusalem. And be careful. He has many enemies.”
Shem hopped out of the boat, then helped Mara into the water. The men pushed the boat out into the lake and were gone. He waded ashore, holding Mara’s arm until she got her footing on the beach. I don’t need more enemies. And I’m not going to Jerusalem.
Now, when they were almost to Cana, the sun blazed over their heads. His eyes burned from the glare, and dust coated his mouth. He’d spent the last of his money on food. Now it too was gone, and they dare not stop again. Those soldiers could be right behind them.
Taking this road was a mistake. If Shem were a soldier, he would be searching the towns around the Lake of Galilee, asking questions, looking for two strangers. It would be just a matter of time before they found answers. Their luck couldn’t hold for much longer.
His thoughts chased each other in circles like a pack of wild dogs. “You will be the first of many,” the Jew had said. What did that mean? Shem had gone over the words of Jesus a hundred times, but they still didn’t make any sense.
And the things he had told him to do. Told him—not asked. Why? Why should he turn his back on everything—everyone—and follow this madman to Jerusalem? They would be lucky if they even made it back to Sychar alive. And if they did, he would stay there . . . with Mara.
He turned his scrutiny outward. They were still in danger. The cliffs on each side of the road were dotted with dark mouths of caves. Anyone could be hiding in them. He studied the road ahead of them, then the hill they had just climbed. Not a single soul. Not even the dust stirred.
They had passed only a few travelers since Magdala. None had given them more than a second glance. Perhaps they would be able to get to Sychar before the soldiers found them.
The sun dipped toward the west while the road rose upward again. At the top of the hill, the slap of Mara’s sandals ceased. He turned to see her standing, hunched and panting, in the middle of the road. He strode back to her, pulling at the cork on his water skin.
He gave it to her, and she took a long drink. Sweat trickled down her face. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. “How much farther?”
“Not much farther to Cana. Then it will be easier—downhill. We’ll stop in Nazareth.”
“Why Nazareth?”
“Jesus gave me a message for his mother. And she’ll give us food and a place to rest.” He’d give Mary the message from her son. That he could do. But that was all. Jesus’ other demands were out of the question. Behind Mara, the lush valley of the Jordan wound its way to Jerusalem. No. He wouldn’t go there.
“Can you go on?” he asked.
She nodded, and they fell back into line—he plodding ahead, she following a few steps behind. No stories or talk broke the silence as it had when they had followed this road just yesterday. When Mara had spoken of hope and had been so sure of the Taheb. What had changed her mind?
They reached the cedar grove where they had eaten figs and pistachios. The last time they had passed this spot, he had told Mara that it was ridiculous to hope for a miracle. Had she actually believed him? Was he the reason she had run from Jesus?
Before them, Galilee stretched green and gold, and far in the distant west glowed the blue haze of the sea. The rolling hills of Samaria flowed to the south, where they would find her mother. And what if they found Nava still unconscious or, worse, dead? It would break Mara’s heart. But he would make it up to her. He would make her and Asher safe and happy in Sychar.
He plodded down into the next valley. Ezra would be in Sychar when they returned. He’d help Shem get justice. Then Shem would settle in Sychar with his grandparents. He would be happy, raising olives and children with Mara. He didn’t need to follow a charlatan to Jerusalem and get into more trouble.
• • •
They reached the gate of Nazareth as the shadows began to grow long.
“Where is the house of Mary, the mother of Jesus?” Had it been just yesterday that they had spoken to the same surly shopkeeper?
They walked through the narrow streets to a tiny clay house. No courtyard separated the house from the dusty street, but flowers bloomed around the doorway.
“Are you Mary, the mother of Jesus?” Shem asked the woman who came at his first call. Dainty, bare feet peeked out from under her plain, coarse tunic. Although small and delicate as a girl, she had to be at least as old as his own mother. Soft brown eyes that were very much like her son’s appraised him.
“You must be Shem,” she said.
He stepped back. What was this? Some kind of magic? “How do you know me?”
“A man came, around midday. He asked for you and said you’d be traveling with a girl.” She tipped her head around Shem to smile at Mara.
A man? “A soldier?”
“No, not a soldier. Tobias, the tentmaker, offered him food and rest. You might still find him there.” She pointed back toward the market. “The big house, with the fountain in front.”
Ezra? Here in Nazareth? He could have decided to track Shem down after not finding him in Sychar. That would be very much like his impatient father. Shem turned to Mara. She was pale and swayed on her feet.
Mary held out her hands. “Come, child. Stay with m
e and rest.”
Shem put his arms on Mara’s shoulders and guided her to Mary. “I thank you. And when I return, I have a message from your son.” He squeezed Mara’s shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”
Shem found the house with the fountain in front. It was the largest he’d seen in Nazareth, but hardly big. A rotund man with a hooked nose and very crooked teeth welcomed him inside the courtyard.
“Ah! You are Shem. I told your friend that you would come through Nazareth again, and here you are.”
“Is my father still here?”
“Your father? I—”
“Shem!” A shout rang out from inside the house.
Was his father that happy to see him? But it wasn’t his father’s bulky form that rushed out the door.
“Drusus.” What was he doing here?
“I’m so glad you are here. I didn’t know what I would tell your father.” Drusus said in slurred Aramaic. He carried a cup in one hand, an empty wineskin in the other.
“Where is Ezra? Is he in Sychar? Did he get my message?”
Drusus looked about to fall down. The tentmaker watched them, his curved nose pointing first at Shem, then at Drusus.
Speaking Greek, Shem said, “Come with me.” He dragged the servant to the farthest corner, waving away the tentmaker’s offer of food and drink. Drusus had clearly had enough of that.
When they were seated on a bench, he leaned over the little man. “Where is my father?”
“In Caesarea.”
Shem clenched his jaw. What had gone wrong? “Did he get my message? I asked him to meet me in Sychar.”
Drusus cowered and snuck another sip of his wine. “Yes. He got the message. I’m surprised you didn’t hear his roar. He said he was through getting you out of trouble.”
“Getting me out of—” Shem slammed his hand on the bench. “This isn’t my trouble.” But it was, wasn’t it? “This was an unjust trial. These men deserved to be punished. He has to help me.”
“He said the only help you’d get is coming back to Caesarea with me. And that I’d better return with you, or you wouldn’t see another sestertius from him.”
“What?” Shem grabbed Drusus by the shoulders. Drusus lost his grip on the cup. It dropped on the bench, and red wine splashed over Shem’s cloak. “What do you mean? I’m not going back to Caesarea. I’m going to Sychar. To make sure these men are punished.”
“Not according to your father, you aren’t.” Drusus upended the wineskin in his mouth, then dropped it to the floor. “He said to let the men in Sychar handle the women. He wants you back. Said you need to be where he can keep an eye on you. So you don’t get into any more trouble. Says you have a soft spot for loose women.”
“Loose women!” Shem’s voice rose in the stillness. “Where did he hear that?”
“Word travels fast.”
He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. His father didn’t know the whole story, and he wasn’t even willing to listen. Why did he ever think Ezra would help him? “What about the Romans? They are still after me.”
“The centurion said there’s trouble in Jerusalem. They are sending troops there—only a few left in Caesarea. Plus there was a string of murders in the Greek quarter. They aren’t searching for you anymore.”
At least three are. And the red-haired one—Longinus—has good reason to keep searching.
Drusus’s eyelids drooped. “He said to get you back by tomorrow. We could stay here tonight. Start out in the morning.” He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.
Shem stood and paced in front of the bench.
He’d never blatantly disobeyed his father. He tapped his hand against his thigh. He could take Mara to Caesarea with him. They would marry and live with his family. But what about Asher? Ezra wouldn’t welcome a crippled boy; he could hardly tolerate Benjamin. Mara would be miserable, and so would he.
I won’t leave her. Not after what happened in Capernaum. She’d need him more than ever now. Ezra had let him down. He wasn’t interested in justice, just his own agenda. Shem owed him nothing now, and he’d make sure that his father knew it.
He bent over Drusus and shook him. “Drusus.”
The man’s head wobbled back and forth, and his eyes opened a crack.
“Go back to Caesarea. Tell my father I’m betrothed to the daughter of that loose woman.”
“Whaa?” Drusus sat up straight. “But he’ll—he’ll . . . Please, Shem.” He clutched at the front of Shem’s tunic. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Tell him exactly this.” Shem waited for Drusus’s full attention. “Tell him I’ll be the best-educated olive grower in Sychar, thanks to him.”
Drusus paled.
“And tell him—by the time he gets the message, I’ll already be betrothed, and there is nothing he can do about it. I’ll send mother word of the wedding. She’ll want to be there.”
Shem left Drusus groaning on the bench, his head in his hands.
He’d never again have to take orders from Ezra. And he’d have to support himself and a family. Abahu would take him in, even without Ezra’s blessing. Abahu would help him get the bride price. Mechola would welcome Mara and Asher into their home. I’ll have my whole life to find a way to get justice for Nava. My whole life with Mara.
• • •
Mara shuffled through the tiny house behind the dainty woman. Was she really the mother of the Taheb? As long as she has a little food and a place for me to sleep tonight.
The patch of garden behind the house smelled of rosemary and barley. Mary slipped off Mara’s cloak. She washed the dust from Mara’s feet and hands with lavender-scented water, then guided her to a woven rug under the shade of a fig tree.
Muscle and bone protested as Mara lowered herself to the ground. Her body hurt from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.
From the cooking pot over the fire, Mary spooned hot fava beans onto a round of warm barley bread. She sat beside Mara in silence as she ate. What did this good woman think of her revealing Greek dress? Or her traveling with a man?
She finished her food and drank three cups of cool water. “Thank you. I’m sorry . . .” She fluttered a hand over the front of her dress.
Mary shook her head. She pulled Mara toward her, resting her head on her shoulder and stroking her hair. “Rest, child. You traveled far to see my son.”
Somehow, she knew this woman already. Like a friend she hadn’t seen in a long time. “But my mother will still die. She may be dead already.”
“My son says that not even a sparrow falls without his father’s knowledge.”
Mara’s eyes closed, lulled by the sound of the droning bees in the garden and Mary’s soft hands on her hair.
“He is really the Taheb? The Messiah?” She cracked open her eyes.
Mary nodded.
“He told Shem to meet him in Jerusalem. But Shem says he isn’t going.”
Mary smiled. “I have seen many come to believe in my son. And many who reject him. I think that, for some, faith is a gift. For others, it can only enter a heart with great effort. Some run to him; others turn away. But he keeps calling.”
A shuffle and a low voice called from the front of the house. Heavy footsteps followed. Shem appeared in the courtyard.
Mary rose, brought water and food, and set it before Shem.
He ate quickly and in silence. His movements were jerky, and his mouth turned down. Mara knew that look. He was angry. More angry than she’d ever seen him. Whoever had been waiting for him did not have good news. Was it about Nava?
Shem finished, wiped his mouth, and spoke to Mary. “Jesus asked you to meet him in Jerusalem. He left this morning, by the Jordan road.” He held out his bowl to Mary. “Thank you for the food and rest. We must go.”
“Do you not want to stay here tonight? Mara is—”
“No.” Shem shoved the bowl into her hands. “We must go now.”
Mara stifled a groan. There was no sense arguing w
ith him when he was like this. She let Shem pull her up. Her legs were stronger. The hollow feeling in her middle was gone, and her throat no longer felt coated with dust.
Mara embraced Mary. “Thank you. For everything.”
Shem was already shifting from foot to foot and inching toward the road.
Mary pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Pray. Help him to hear the call. And do not be afraid when the time comes.”
To Shem, she said, “Good-bye, my son. We will meet again soon.”
Shem jerked his head down in what might have passed for assent. He turned and almost ran toward the marketplace.
Mara hurried to catch up. Do not be afraid when the time comes. She would not be afraid anymore. He keeps calling. She would make sure Shem listened. She would persuade Shem to follow Jesus to Jerusalem—somehow—no matter what the cost.
Shem’s pace slowed as they approached the city gate. A crowd had gathered, and angry shouts rang through the air. Her heart sped up as she peered around him. Was someone looking for them?
Voices rang out from the crowd. “Stay away! Get away from here!”
About ten paces away, a group of men were pushed up against a wall of rock. They held their hands over their heads and faces, protecting themselves from a rain of stones, but even from a distance Mara could tell they were lepers.
“What is going on here?” Shem muttered. “Stay here.” He pushed his way to the front of the mob.
Mara craned her neck to watch him.
He knocked the stones from the hands of those in front. “Stop! What have these poor wretches done to deserve this?”
“They were entering the town! They will spread their disease among us!” A few more stones flew through the air.
Shem turned to the lepers. Some were injured already. Blood soaked their bandaged hands and faces. “What is the meaning of this? Why are you here?”
One man stepped forward to speak. Mara caught her breath as she recognized the dignified leper from Dotham. He bowed to Shem, “Thank you for your help, again,” he said. “I am Melech. We seek the healer, the Nazarene. We were told he was here.”
The Well Page 24