“Worry? I’m not worried, Mara.” He took a great breath and reached for her hands.
She should pull away. With him so close, her thoughts were jumbling inside her head. His hands were so warm. She hadn’t even realized how cold she was.
“Mara, I need . . . I want you to understand something.” He kept his eyes on their hands. “I told you that I’ve learned the laws of the Samaritans and the Jews. I know the philosophies of the Greeks and Romans. But they were just meaningless words. I have never . . . truly believed in anything. I have never—had never—found anything that makes me complete, that I can truly love with all my heart. Until now.”
She closed her eyes. Please, let it be the Taheb that you love with all your heart. But she knew it was not the Taheb. Not yet.
He gulped another big breath and squeezed her hands. “You, Mara. I love you. And I want you to marry me.”
Mara pulled away. But he held her hands, and the sturdy tree trunk pressed against her back. Even as her suspicions were confirmed, disbelief whispered through her—men like Shem didn’t love girls like her. Even as sadness told her she could not accept him, joy sang out too. He loved her, maybe even as much as she loved him.
The ripple of sadness grew to a roar. He was not for her. He might have given her his heart, but his soul was meant for the Taheb.
She didn’t speak, couldn’t even form a word.
“I have been watching you since we met that night, here.” His dark eyes flicked away and then back to her. “I had planned—hoped—to ask Uziel’s permission to marry you. That is, if you were willing. I know I’m not always the easiest man to be around . . .”
A choked protest came from her throat. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t why she had to say no. But how can I make him understand?
“I just . . . want to stay in Sychar with you, become an olive grower . . . have children.”
Her face warmed at the thought of Shem’s children. Her children. Little boys that looked like him and little girls that looked like her. A house of their own. A man to teach Asher. A lifetime with Shem. But a lifetime knowing that she had taken him from the Taheb? That he had turned his back on his people?
They could not marry. Not now. Probably not ever.
“Your time will come soon. Your suffering will be united to mine.”
Shem must go to Jerusalem with a free heart, not one tied to her. A heart for the Taheb. She must give him up completely. And he must give himself completely to Jesus. It was the only way.
He pulled her hands to his heart. “Mara, we can be betrothed tomorrow. I’ll speak to Uziel. I promise to be a good husband. Will you be my wife?”
Her heart fluttered like a captured bird. She slipped a now-warm hand from under his and brushed a soft black curl from his temple. Her fingers trailed over the furrow of the scar, down his beardless cheek.
“He will be named Stephen, and he will be the first of many.” She could not say yes. But how could she say no? “Shem, I do love you.”
He pressed his cheek into her hand and closed his eyes.
“But, Shem, I can’t—”
A shout ripped her gaze from Shem.
“There they are!”
A scattering of torches flickered on the lower slopes.
Shem lunged to his feet, then pulled Mara up. “Stay behind me.”
The torches converged and headed toward them. Mara looked behind them at the dark summit of Mount Ebal. They couldn’t find them. Not now. She pulled on Shem’s hand. “We have to run.” She stumbled two steps toward the upper slopes.
“Stay there!” an angry voice shouted.
Shem grabbed her arms. “Mara, don’t run. They’ll only be worse. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” He pushed her partly behind him and faced the approaching men.
No. You can’t. But the torches were almost there. She could see faces now, flickering in red and yellow light, like demons. Amram, Jonothon, Zevulun, and Shimon. Please, Lord.
Amram reached them first. “There they are! I told you they were together.”
Jonothon came next. His hair stood out from his head in wild clumps.
“I saw them,” Amram huffed as though he’d been running. “They were lying together.”
“You lie.” Shem stepped toward Amram with a closed fist.
Amram lowered his flaming torch at Shem.
Jonothon pulled Amram back. “Shem, grandson of Abahu, do not shame your grandfather. Have you,” he jerked his head toward Mara, “and Nava’s daughter been alone together?”
No, Shem. Don’t answer him. Mara closed the neck of her cloak with a tight fist under her chin.
Shem raised his chin and stepped forward. “Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three days.”
Amram crowed. “I told you.”
Shimon spat on the ground in front of her feet. “She is just like her mother.”
“Let us see the woman,” said Jonothon.
Zevulun’s hand snaked around Shem and closed over Mara’s arm. He pulled her into the circle of men and tore her cloak from her shoulders. The blue silk dress glowed in the torchlight, and the gold clasps flickered against her bare skin.
“What is this?” His eyes narrowed. “Have your turned yourself into a Greek whore?”
Mara locked her shaking knees and crossed her arms over her pounding heart. Her tongue stuck in her dry mouth. She knew what she looked like. But what could she say that wouldn’t make things worse?
“Take these two to the synagogue and wake the men. Let’s put an end to this.” Zevulun closed a fleshy hand around Mara’s wrist and twisted. She cried out and stumbled as he pulled her down the slope.
“Let her go!” Shem shouted.
Amram jabbed Shem in the back.
He turned on the boy. “Don’t touch me. I’m going.”
They marched down the hill and into Sychar’s empty marketplace. The sky was lightening behind Mount Gerizim, but the village on Mount Ebal was still dark and cold.
Shem scowled over his shoulder to Jonothon. “I demand that you get my grandfather and Uziel. And Yahokeem.” Maybe the old priest would calm these men down.
Jonothon didn’t answer.
Shem’s longer stride brought him up behind Mara as they climbed the worn path to the synagogue. Her head was down as she stumbled behind Zevulun. New anger flared at the men’s accusations. Marriage to her was no punishment. This way, they would just be married sooner. But it was more than that to Mara. She would always have the stain of shame upon her. Just like her mother. Don’t worry, Mara. I’ll make it up to you. And, somehow, I’ll make these men pay.
The synagogue was cold and dark. The men slipped off their shoes but didn’t wash their hands in the cisterns. Amram circled the main room, setting the wall torches ablaze with his own. Soon the room was full of light, smoke, and the smell of burning animal fat.
Zevulun pulled Mara to the front and shoved her up on the dais.
Shem stepped up beside her. Her lips trembled, and a sheen of perspiration shimmered on her face. “Don’t worry,” he said. In a few minutes, they’d be betrothed.
Mara’s chest rose and fell like a trapped animal. She didn’t speak as townspeople trickled through the doors in rumpled tunics. Zevulun’s wife and son. A dozen more men and women that he didn’t know.
Where was everyone else? Abahu and Uziel?
Yahokeem and Jonothon came forward dressed in their priestly robes. Yahokeem settled on a bench. Jonothon approached Shem. “Who will speak for you?”
“I will speak for myself. But we will wait for my grandparents and Mara’s uncle.”
“We will do this now, before the Sabbath prayers.” Jonothon moved to the center of the dais. He prodded Mara to stand at his left, Shem at his right. “Shem, son of Ezra. Answer me. Were you alone with this woman, daughter of Nava, during the last three days?”
Ah, there was his grandfather. Abahu and Mechola pushed through the doors and made their way to
the front of the synagogue. Abahu’s brow was furrowed, and his mouth was turned down. Mechola rushed toward Mara, but Amram stepped in front of the dais with crossed arms.
Shem faced Jonothon. “I take responsibility for this girl. She is not to blame.”
“But were you alone with her. Overnight?”
“Yes. We traveled together. But she is—”
“Fornicators!” Zevulun pointed to Mara. “She is a disgrace. Just like her mother.”
“No, I—”
“You.” Jonothon turned to Mara. She seemed to shrink into herself. “Come here.” Mara stepped back, her head down and her arms curled over her chest. Jonothon nodded to Amram. Amram grabbed a handful of Mara’s hair and yanked her toward the priest.
Mara made a sound like a wounded animal.
Shem started forward. They can’t treat her like this. Zevulun caught his tunic and wrenched him back into place.
“You, Mara, the daughter of Nava. You are a shame to us, as your mother was. You’re nothing more than a whore. Just like her. You deserve to die as she did.”
Mara’s face drained of color, and she slumped down, her legs buckling beneath her.
That was enough. Shem jerked himself away from Zevulun. He rushed at Jonothon and was on him before anyone could react. He landed a fist in his face. Hands pulled him off the priest and threw him to the ground.
He crawled to Mara and pulled her into his arms.
“She’s dead,” she sobbed into his neck.
I’m sorry. Mara, please forgive me.
“Get away from her!” Amram dragged Mara away.
Two shepherds hauled Shem a few paces away and pulled his arms behind him. A rope tightened around his wrists.
Jonothon scrambled up, wiping his bleeding lip. “Keep him under control.” The shepherds wrapped strong hands around each of his arms.
Shem struggled to control his breathing. “You cannot stone her. That is not the law.”
Jonothon raised a hand. “I said she deserved to be stoned. But the Almighty is merciful. The law says that a man found guilty of fornication with a maiden shall marry her. He can never divorce her.” Jonothon pointed to him. “You will be saddled with this disgraceful woman for all your life, Shem ben Ezra.”
His heart leaped. “I am glad to marry her. And honored to have her as my wife. Bring out the marriage contract, and let us be married tonight. Right now.”
Shouts went up from the crowd.
Mara closed her eyes and slumped to the ground.
Shem strained against the shepherds, but they held tight. She mourns her mother. Mara, I promise to make it up to you. I will be a good husband. We will have a good life together.
Amram pulled at Mara’s arm, but she didn’t rise. Zevulun took the other arm, and together they pulled her up. She sagged between them, her hair covering her face.
Jonothon raised his arms over Mara. His eyes traveled over her Greek dress, her bare shoulders, and his mouth twisted. “Mara, daughter of Nava, you are ordered to marry Shem, son of Ezra, for your shame. The Lord is merciful, woman. It is a better marriage than you deserve.”
He turned to Shem. “Shem ben Ezra, you—”
“No.”
Shem jumped like he’d been hit. The word was small, but as deadly as a stone thrown from a sling.
Jonothon turned to Mara, his mouth still open. “What?”
Mara raised her head. She freed her arms from Zevulun’s and Amram’s slack hands and pushed her hair away from her face. Her green and gold eyes reflected the torchlight as she turned them on the priest. “No. I will not marry him.”
• • •
Mara kept her eyes on Jonothon. She could not look at Shem.
Shadows stretched high on the walls. At least twenty men and as many women stood in shocked silence. Her knees threatened to buckle. Her breath came in short gasps. I couldn’t save Mama. But I won’t let this happen. He cannot marry me. Lord, give me the courage to stop this.
“No, I will not marry him.”
“Mara, what are you doing?” Shem sounded betrayed.
I’m sorry, Shem. He had told her he loved her. He must think she didn’t love him. But she did. So much that she had to do this for him.
“But you must. It is the law!” Shem said.
She steadied her breathing. She couldn’t stop now. “No. It is the law that you must marry me.” Was she right? Could she refuse him?
Jonothon frowned at Yahokeem. “Is that true?”
Yahokeem rose from his bench and shambled to Mara. He leaned close and spoke so low that she had to watch his lips to understand him. “Child, you must marry him. If you refuse, it will go badly for you. Marry him and you will live.”
“What is it? Can she refuse?” Jonothon shifted toward them.
Mara clenched her teeth. She must do it. Whatever the consequences.
Yahokeem turned to the other priest. “If she refuses, we go to the unmarried men of the village. If none will take her, then she is the same as an adulteress. She will be stoned.”
“No, Mara! Don’t do this.” Shem struggled against the men who held him. “You know I want to marry you. You said you love me. Mara, look at me!”
She did. That was a mistake. His face was pale, his mouth a grim slash. His dark eyes were bright with unspilled tears. Her own tears welled up and ran down her cheeks.
Do not be afraid when the time comes. “I do, Shem. But I will not marry you.”
“Enough!” Jonothon turned to the crowd. “Is there a man in this room who will take on Mara, daughter of Nava. She will receive no bride price, for she is no virgin. She is a fornicator and a disgrace.”
“Wait!” Shem dropped to his knees. “Please, Mara.”
Mara pulled herself up. She stood in the center of the dais like a lamb offered for sacrifice. She was not afraid of these men. She had chosen her fate, and now she would trust in the Almighty.
Shimon yelled out. “She is a whore like her mother. And stubborn. We all saw that.”
Shem pulled toward her, his neck taut with strain, his mouth working but silent.
Amram paced in front of her. He leered at her and flicked a finger at the gold clasp on her shoulder.
No, please not Amram. She swallowed and tipped her head up.
“I wouldn’t take her if you paid me the bride price.” He laughed and hopped off the dais to snickers from his friends and some of the other men.
Mara scanned the crowd. Would no one help her? Her gaze stopped on Jobab. He was ancient—wrinkled and stooped. But if he would still take her, she would marry him. He stepped up on the dais.
When Shem saw him, his back stiffened, and he lurched back to his feet. He sucked in a breath. “No. No, Mara.”
“I need a son.” Jobab’s eyes rested on her exposed neck and shoulders.
She raised her face to him. If he is to be my husband, so be it.
“But not badly enough to marry a whore.” Jobab spit in her face.
She flinched as his saliva hit her and slid down her cheek. Relief weakened her limbs. Or was that fear?
Shem struggled against the ropes on his wrists and stepped toward Jobab. Amram pulled him back.
“None will take her. Let us end this. Now,” Zevulun called out.
Jonothon raised his hands, and the people quieted. Was that Mechola weeping?
“Mara, daughter of Nava, you are condemned to death by stoning.”
Jonothon’s words hit her like a kick in the belly. Her legs would not support her for a moment longer. She crumpled onto the hard wood dais. Lord, give me the strength to do this.
“Bring her.”
Amram dug a hand into her hair and yanked. Pain bolted through her. She saw only a sea of faces, heard a swell of voices. Shem, throwing off the shepherds, lunging for her. Shem on the floor, bleeding. Shouting men, crying women.
She stumbled and lost her footing. Amram caught her wrist, twisted it, and pulled. The sea of faces blurred; the voices roared. Let it be
over quickly.
Chapter 32
Shem’s head smacked against the hard wood, and he tasted blood. He pulled his knees to his chin and slipped his tied hands under his feet. If he could get free, he could help her. He brought his hands to his mouth and worked at the knot with his teeth. He wouldn’t let this happen again. Not to Mara.
A shout rang out from the back of the room. “Stop!”
Shem raised his head. He jumped to his feet and off the dais, pushing people out of the way with his bound hands.
Mara was free. She stood wrapped in Uziel’s arms, her face buried in his shoulder.
Amram lay on the floor, blood spurting from his nose.
Noach stood over him, rubbing his bony hand.
“What is this, Noach?” Jonothon stalked to the old shepherd, blood still trickling from his mouth. “We have pronounced her punishment. Do you have anything to add to this trial?”
“He doesn’t.” A deep voice came from near the door. “But I do.”
Enosh strode through the scattering crowd. His chest heaved. His hair stood out in wild tufts. He had no belt over his tunic.
“He can talk?” Adah’s whisper carried through the silent room.
The men stepped back, their mouths hanging open.
The crowd parted as Enosh passed Noach. Uziel brought Mara to the front, and Shem followed. He stepped close to her, but she kept her face hidden in Uziel’s cloak. Abahu and Mechola moved to his other side. Noach and his sons pressed behind him. Finally, some help to stop this travesty.
Enosh jumped up on the dais. He looked different, older than when Shem had seen him just three days ago—taller and broader as he turned to the crowd. What had loosed the quiet young man’s tongue and put fire in his eyes?
“You stiff-necked people,” Enosh said. His deep voice carried to the far corners of the synagogue. Men stopped talking and turned shocked faces toward him. “I have lived here with you all my life. I have listened to you in this synagogue, in the marketplace. You talk, but your words mean nothing. You say that you live by the law. You punish according to the law. I say, it is not the laws of God that you obey, but your own.”
Murmurs rippled through the center of the room. Women along the sides turned to each other and whispered.
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