The Well

by Stephanie Landsem

  “You seek Jesus?” Shem asked.

  The lepers nodded; there were at least ten of them in the group.

  A man behind Shem shouted, “Go away! He’s not here!”

  Shem turned on the man with a look that made him step back. “I’ll take care of this. Leave now. Go about your business.”

  The men in the crowd grumbled but scattered. Some spit in the direction of the lepers; some shook their fists at Shem.

  Mara crept closer as the crowd broke up. She stared at their leader. His mouth and eyes were the only parts of his face not misshapen by the disease. His nose, cheeks, and chin were covered in crusted red sores and black decaying flesh. On one hand three of his fingers were gone; the rest were wrapped in dirty linen.

  Shem stood only a few paces from the lepers. “Jesus is not here.”

  Melech’s shoulders sagged. “We were told that he could heal us.”

  Shem glanced back at Mara. “Go back to your home.”

  Should she tell them? She hadn’t even had the courage to ask Jesus to heal her mother. How could she offer hope when she had none herself? She pushed in front of Shem. “We spoke with him this morning. He is traveling to Jerusalem. You could find him there.”

  The men murmured hopefully to one another.

  Shem gripped her arm and pulled her back. “What are you doing? These men can barely walk. Don’t send them on a foolish journey to Jerusalem.”

  She ignored him and gazed into the ravaged face of the man in front of her. “Do not be afraid; he is the Taheb, the Messiah.”

  “Thank you.” Melech bowed. “Bless you. We are again in your debt.”

  Chapter 30

  Shem led Mara south toward the hills of Samaria. He walked fast, his feet trying to keep up with his racing thoughts. He cringed at the thought of Ezra’s rage at his message. I only hope Benjamin will stay out of his way. But Ezra deserved it. He abandoned me, just when I needed him the most.

  Mara walked beside him, her steps sure and even, as though she’d received more than food and rest in Nazareth. What had gotten into her? Sending the lepers to Jerusalem on the flimsy hope of a cure from a man who claimed to be the Taheb. A man she hadn’t even been able to ask to cure her mother. Her foolish faith made no sense.

  And what of Jesus’ mother, Mary? He knew one thing. He wouldn’t meet her again soon. Not in Jerusalem, at least.

  As the road curved sharply, they rounded the bend. Just ten steps away, a soldier bent over a spring. His horse stood close by, slurping water from the shallow pool.

  Shem jerked to a stop. How could I be so careless?

  The horse snorted, and the Roman looked up, straight at them. Red hair framed his pale face.

  Shem froze. Longinus.

  For a moment, the soldier’s blue eyes were blank, then recognition flashed—first at Mara, then at Shem. “You!” he shouted in Latin, drawing his sword at the same time that he lunged toward them. He grabbed Mara before Shem could even pull his knife. His thick arm wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her close to him, holding the sword at her exposed neck.

  Shem gripped his knife in shaking hands. The soldier circled around him, dragging Mara.

  “The gods smiled on me for staying behind. Now I have two prisoners to take back to Caesarea. The man who killed my friend and”—he squeezed Mara closer—“this pretty girl.”

  “Go,” Mara mouthed silently at Shem. “Run.”

  As if he would leave her. Shem stepped forward. “Let her go. Now,” he said in Latin. So this was it. He would have to pay for his sin. But he would not make Mara pay as well. At least he could do that for her.

  The soldier laughed. “Put that little dagger down, and I won’t have to kill you with it. I’m not drunk. You won’t win this time.”

  Shem raised the knife higher. I don’t plan on winning. And I won’t kill again.

  Mara struggled, and Longinus pulled her tighter against him.

  A burn of anger crept up Shem’s spine. “It might be difficult to get us both. There is only one of you. Let her go; it’s me you want.”

  The soldier glanced over his shoulder at the empty road. No help marched down the road from Nazareth. Mara struggled again, and he growled a curse.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Shem said. “You can have me without a fight. But you can’t have her. Let her go, and I won’t fight.” He hoped Mara didn’t understand what he had just said.

  “You are not in a position to be making deals,” the soldier growled, but his hand tightened on his sword. The polished metal flashed as the sword dug into Mara’s skin. A thin line of blood trickled down her neck. She didn’t cry out, but her frightened eyes locked on Shem’s face.

  “You can have me. Without a fight. Or take your chances against us both. You know she’s not afraid to help.”

  Longinus glanced behind again at the empty road. He loosened his grip. “It’s your lucky day, girl. Get out of here.” He pushed her away. “Now, drop the knife.”

  Shem’s shoulders sagged, and he dropped his knife on the ground.

  “No!” Mara stood between them, looking from one to the other.

  “Go, Mara,” Shem said, his eyes still on the soldier. “Run.”

  Mara’s mouth tightened into a stubborn line. “No.”

  His glanced flicked toward her. “Go. Now.” Please, Mara. Please, go.

  She crossed her arms like a stubborn child. “No, Shem. I won’t.”

  Frustration rose up in his throat. Couldn’t she see this was the only way?

  But Mara’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open as she looked past the triumphant soldier, where the road curved behind his back.

  Shem followed her gaze. Around the bend in the road, an unlikely army marched to their rescue.

  Dark rags flapped in the wind, revealing dirty white wrappings on faces and hands. The lepers approached.

  What were they doing? They were on their way to Jerusalem, of course. They must have been close behind all along. The leader, Melech, held up his hand to slow his raggedy band. He looked from Shem to the soldier to Mara. “Do you need some help, here, my friend?” he called out.

  Shem lunged for his knife and stepped in front of Mara as the soldier spun toward the lepers. “Get away, filthy dogs!” the soldier shouted in stilted Aramaic. “This is not your concern.”

  “Oh, but it is,” Melech replied. At a quick command from him, the other lepers moved in fast, surrounding the soldier, cutting him off from Shem and Mara.

  “Get . . . get away, I said!” the soldier swung his sword at the approaching men. His movements were uncertain, and his voice held a note of panic.

  “Let our friends here go, and we’ll be on our way as well,” Melech advised.

  “Get away from me, I tell you. I’ll cut you apart!” the soldier yelled. The lepers surrounded him in a tight circle.

  “Go ahead,” one of the lepers taunted. His face was covered in sores, and where his nose had once been there was a gaping black hole. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’d rather die a quick death by a Roman sword than a lingering one like this. But know this: I’ll make sure my blood gets on you. You’ll look just like me within the month!”

  Shem backed away. He must protect Mara from the soldier and keep her away from the lepers. The road was right behind him. But how could he get Mara out of this mess without leaving the lepers to fight and probably die?

  The soldier’s horse stamped and whinnied.

  Melech darted up to the big animal. As he pulled its head down and whispered in its ear, the horse calmed and stood still. “Get on, both of you,” Melech ordered.

  Steal the horse and run away? Let them fight for him?

  “But your men—”

  “Go! We’ll worry about the soldier.”

  Shem looked from the soldier—screaming at the lepers—to the horse. He’d ridden before, but never one this big. The square, four-horned saddle seemed very far away. But what other choice did he have?

  She
m grabbed the dangling bridle. Melech held the horse’s head, keeping well away from Shem. Shem jumped, throwing himself on the saddle. He pulled himself up and threw a leg over, bunching up his tunic and cloak.

  “Mara! Come on!” he yelled, holding out his hand to her. She stepped away from the big animal. Shem urged the horse closer to her. “Jump!” he said.

  She took a deep breath and jumped, grabbing the back pommel with her other hand. He pulled hard, and she landed half on his lap, half on her side in front of him. He gave the horse a kick while she pulled her body over the saddle.

  He raised a hand to Melech. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Ride!” the big man yelled. He might have been grinning.

  Shem pulled the horse around to face the road ahead and kicked it, hard. The horse didn’t need urging. Shem held on to Mara with one arm, the other fist clutching the saddle horn and reins as the frightened horse took off at a gallop. Shem prayed that they wouldn’t fall off.

  • • •

  Mara could barely breathe. She lay twisted on her side, halfway in Shem’s lap. Her head hung over one side of the horse, and her legs bounced against the other as the horse jerked and swayed. The front pommel of the saddle bit into her rib cage. She felt herself slipping and clutched at the horse’s flying mane.

  “Hold on,” Shem yelled.

  They thundered down the road for what seemed like forever. Finally, Shem slowed the horse by pulling back on the leather straps of its headgear. It snorted and pranced. He glanced behind them.

  “Hurry, Mara,” Shem said. Mara gasped as he put his hands under her arms, pulling her up to sit in front of him. “Here, throw your other leg over.”

  Mara pulled up the blue silk tunic, now covered in dust. She tucked it around herself and adjusted her cloak to cover her bare knees. Finally, she was sitting in front of Shem, her back pushed up against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against her shoulder blades. Her own heart seemed to have stopped.

  She looked over her shoulder at his face, so close she could see the dark stubble on his chin and feel his warm breath on her neck. This didn’t seem right, it felt . . . indecent. But what could she do? They had stolen a Roman horse. If they were caught now, they would both be executed.

  “What did you say to him?” she asked, although she already knew.

  “What?” Shem asked, gathering the straps again and kicking the horse back into a trot.

  “You gave yourself up, didn’t you?”

  She felt him take a deep breath. He didn’t deny it—he didn’t say anything.

  “How could you do that?” She twisted to see him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “How could I have faced Mechola if you had been taken?” How could she have gone on at all? She turned away, gripping the saddle pommels in front of her. “I never . . . I wouldn’t have left you.”

  “Mara,” he said in a sigh that drifted over her hair. “I couldn’t let him take you. I couldn’t even stand to see him touch you.”

  Instead of joy, his admission filled her with sadness. Once she’d hoped against foolish hope for tender words from him, but now she knew she could never accept them. They galloped up a hill, then down.

  Silas, the soldiers, Ezekiel’s boat, and the soldier again. This wasn’t the first time on this journey that they had escaped capture. And it wasn’t coincidence. It was the hand of the Almighty. He was giving Shem another chance.

  “Can’t you see it, Shem?”

  “See what?”

  “It’s the Taheb. He saved you.”

  “It looked to me like a band of lepers saved us.”

  The horse snorted and shied from a shadow. “Shem. They were looking for Jesus. They helped you. And before, with Silas, we barely escaped. And on the boat. Can’t you see? They were all miracles.”

  “Mara. That is absurd. A band of lepers and a mad Greek doesn’t mean anything. I’m not being called anywhere. I’m being chased. Stop trying to convince me. Jesus called the wrong man. I’m not who he thinks I am, and I’m not going to Jerusalem. I’m going to Sychar. And I’m staying there.” Shem nudged his heels into the horse’s sides, and they broke into a gallop.

  The thought of home filled her with dread. What waited for her there? Her mother, dead. Outraged villagers who would condemn her to a life of shame. How could she tell him to go to Jerusalem when Sychar without him would be like exile into the desert?

  His arms tightened around her as they passed through Nain. A few women at the well craned their necks to watch them pass. He relaxed when the village was behind them.

  She would have to let him go. Somehow. He had been called by the Taheb. Pray. And do not be afraid when the time comes. “Shem?”

  He grunted in her ear.

  “What would it take to get you to go to Jerusalem?”

  “Mara,” he sighed like she were a very ridiculous child, “it would take a miracle.”

  A miracle. They’d been given many miracles already, but he refused to see them. Please Lord, give him the miracle that he needs to follow the Restorer. And give me the strength to let him go.

  She breathed in his warm smell of cedar and sandalwood and settled more comfortably into the saddle. The horse swayed in a steady gate, and her eyes drooped. Shem held her tight against his warm chest, and his breath touched her cheek. She would let him go. She would make him go. But for now, she let herself relax in his arms.

  • • •

  Shem checked over his shoulder for the hundredth time. The road behind was shadowed and empty. They had stolen a Roman soldier’s horse. If they were caught, they would be killed on the spot. He didn’t think that he could be in any deeper trouble, yet here he was. And this time, he’d brought it on Mara as well. But what else could they have done? The lepers could only hold off the soldier for a while, not long enough for them to gain any distance on foot. They hadn’t had any choice.

  The Sabbath horns blew, and the dark wrapped around them. Add yet one more to my list of sins: traveling on the Sabbath.

  Mara curled up against him, her body limp, her head bobbing against his arm. His other arm wrapped around her, holding her upright in the saddle. How could she sleep at a time like this?

  Now he had to find a place to get rid of the horse before they got too close to Sychar. He didn’t want to lead more soldiers to Mechola and Abahu. Or to Mara.

  At least they could travel fast for now. The horse’s stride was strong and steady. He seemed not to even notice his two passengers. Mara was lighter and thinner than he had even guessed, all hollows and bones. She must have gone without food more often than she admitted.

  He’d never been this close to any woman. His arm wrapped around her, easily circling her ribs. He could feel her hip against his leg, and her bare calf rubbed against his. The rise and fall of her breath merged with his own. He dropped his chin enough to feel her soft hair against his cheek; it smelled faintly of almonds and myrrh.

  “They were all miracles,” she’d said. What was she talking about? Why was she so sure that he should follow the Taheb? How could she ask him to give up everything he’d just found? And for what? To follow a false prophet? No. She’s wrong. She’s distraught over her mother.

  He thought about marriage to Mara; he’d thought of almost nothing else since Capernaum. He could make her so happy. She would never have to worry again if there would be enough food or a man to teach Asher a trade. They would be content raising olives and children.

  But—maybe she didn’t even want him. He’d been arrogant, rude—had even ridiculed her. He wouldn’t blame her if she was glad to be rid of him. He hadn’t been so rough on her that she would refuse him, would she? A worm of doubt made him flinch. Surely she knew how he felt about her? He’d talk to her before they got to Sychar, before they saw her mother. If Nava was dead—and he feared she was—Mara would need him more than ever.

  He’d talk to Uziel tonight, and they could be betrothed tomorrow. He might get Uziel to agree to a short betrothal. They co
uld be married within months. Then she’d understand why he didn’t want to follow Jesus. He looked at her peaceful face nestled into his arm. For now, she could sleep. He pulled lightly on the reins, and the horse slowed its pace. No need to gallop all the way to Sychar.

  Chapter 31

  Mara climbed the hill outside Sychar, close behind Shem. They had left the horse outside Sebaste, tired and grateful for grass and a drink from the stream. Then they had crept away and followed the path east.

  When they passed the little house in the valley, it was dark and deserted. Nava and Asher must be at Uziel’s house. What would she find there? Her stomach twisted like the tangle of roots at her feet. Whatever it was, she would accept it. This journey had been for Shem. She knew that now. But because of her, Shem had closed his ears to the Taheb. Now she would have to help him hear the call. And then she would say good-bye.

  A rustle in the dry branches on the lower slope halted her.

  Shem froze and raised his hand to his lips.

  She scanned the trees. A wild animal? Or someone from the village up to no good in the middle of the night? All it would take would be for just one person to see them together. Her heart hammered. She could not let that happen. They were so close.

  But the olive grove slept, silent and empty.

  Shem moved away from her. “Just the wind. Come on.”

  When they were almost in sight of Uziel’s home, Shem took her arm and guided her to one of the old trees. “Mara, sit. We need to talk.”

  What did he want to talk about? She was certain she knew. This was her chance to change his mind—about her and about the Taheb. She slid down, her back against the trunk and her knees pulled up.

  He knelt in front of her with a flicker of a smile. “We met the first—no, the second time—right here.”

  She remembered. She had been crying then. “Shem, you don’t need to worry. I won’t say anything, to anyone.” She wouldn’t say a word about their journey. Shem had to be free to leave for Jerusalem.