The Well

by Stephanie Landsem

  Zevulun raised his hand in a fist. “Who are you to—”

  “Silence!” Yahokeem pointed at Zevulun. “Let him speak.”

  Enosh bent his head to the old priest and waited for the whispers to cease. “You wait for the coming of the Restorer. Yet you did not heed him when he came. You have eyes, but you did not see. You have ears, but you did not hear. His message was not of punishment, but of mercy. You ate bread with the man, you drank wine together, yet still you threw him from your synagogue.”

  Shem could see the people around him tense. No. Bringing the Jew into this was a bad idea. That won’t save Mara. What was Enosh thinking?

  Jonothon barged forward. He grabbed Mara by the arm and yanked her away from Uziel. “The Jew is gone, and good riddance. What does this have to do with the girl?”

  Enosh didn’t move, but Shem saw his hands close in fists. “I’ll tell you.” His light brown eyes swept the now-silent crowd. “People of Sychar, three days ago you stoned a woman—an adulterous woman—right outside this synagogue.”

  Zevulun yelled out. “She deserved what she got!” Next to him, Shimon and some of the other men nodded their heads.

  There had to be thirty men against them. Too many to fight if they turned against Mara. Shem worked on the knots. What was Enosh getting at? That there had been enough death in Sychar? If Enosh’s argument fell on deaf ears—and it would with these stubborn people—they would have to fight their way out of here. Mara would not endure Nava’s fate. Not if he was alive to stop it.

  Enosh pointed to Zevulun. “Perhaps she did. Perhaps she received exactly as the Lord thought she deserved.”

  Zevulun puffed himself up. “Yes, that is what Moses told us. And she admitted to her sin. Her punishment was just as the law required. The law of the Almighty.”

  Enosh shook his head. “No. What happened here was not the law of the Almighty.”

  Men near the front murmured and stepped toward Enosh. Over his shoulder, Shem saw raised fists and angry faces. The crowd pressed forward.

  He finally speaks, and his words will get him killed. He is going to be dragged out of here and beaten. That won’t help Mara.

  Enosh stood his ground. He swept his hand over the room, stopping on Jonothon. “What I saw that day was the law of Zevulun, the law of Shimon, the law of this priest.”

  He took a deep breath and spit his words at the crowd.

  “No. It was not the law of God that I saw. It was the law of revenge.”

  Enosh’s words hit Shem like a lightning bolt. He’s talking about me. He froze as the last knot came loose and his bonds fell to the ground. I’m just like Zevulun. Just like my father. I tell myself that I want justice, but I want revenge. I do not follow the law of God, but the law of Shem. Another thought nagged at him. Had his desire for revenge deafened him to another call? The call of Jesus? That call that Mara had heard but he had not?

  Outraged cries split the air.

  “Blasphemy!”

  “How dare you?”

  Enosh stood tall.

  How did this man—barely a man—see so clearly, when Shem was all but blind? I am no better than the men that killed Nava.

  Enosh stepped off the dais.

  What was he doing? The men surged toward him. Shem spread his arms to hold back the crowd. Abahu and Uziel pushed back with him.

  Enosh bent close to Zevulun, but his words rang out clear and strong. “Let us remember your very words in this room, Zevulun. ‘If she has sinned, the Lord will see her punished. If she is forgiven, he will save her.’”

  The angry cries dwindled; faces pinched in confusion. Men stepped back as Enosh walked toward the anteroom.

  Where is he going? Shem followed the tall young man with his eyes but stayed close to Mara. They could still turn on her at any minute, just as they did with her mother. As Enosh passed the anteroom and pulled open the outside door, the weak light of dawn made an arc of gold in the shadowed room. He stepped back.

  Exclamations pulsed through the crowd.

  Through the wide door, with the morning light glowing behind her, came Nava. Beautiful and whole. Not a scratch on her face or arms.

  “Look,” Enosh said, taking Nava’s hand and pulling her into the room. “Look at his power and forgiveness.”

  No. It couldn’t be. She had been almost dead. He had seen her, not three days ago. But she is healed. He healed her.

  “Mama!” Mara stepped out, but Zevulun clamped his hand around her arm and jerked her back.

  “Zevulun,” Nava said, “take your hands off my daughter.”

  Zevulun’s chin disappeared into his neck.

  Mara broke free, then froze as Nava turned back to the door and held out her hand.

  Asher stepped into the room, his hand clutching his mother’s, his eyes searching the crowd. “Mara!” He dropped his mother’s hand and ran—ran—across the rough stone floor. His legs moved in a blur. He leaped into Mara’s arms.

  The crowd, silent as Asher had sprinted past them, burst into a flurry of sound and movement.

  What just happened? Shem rubbed a hand over his eyes. Asher had run to Mara—in the blink of an eye. Asher, who had never walked faster than a tortured limp, had jumped into Mara’s arms.

  Mara struggled to untangle herself from Asher’s embrace. She crouched down and stood him on the ground.

  Shem pushed up Asher’s tunic.

  Mara gasped and dropped to her knees.

  The boy had two plump, strong legs. He had perfect, straight feet. He had ten matching toes. Shem wrapped his hands around the leg that had been so thin and twisted. It was firm and warm. A miracle. But from Jesus? She hadn’t asked Jesus for this.

  Asher bounced out of his grip.

  “Mara, Mara, I run fast now!” he said, his voice high and breathless.

  Mara’s breath was ragged, as though she was about to cry. Or laugh. Nava reached her, and Mara threw her arms around her mother. Enosh stood behind them like a guard.

  Zevulun blustered. “This is the work of the devil!” His face turned red, and his eyes darted wildly from Nava to Asher.

  “Speak not of the devil!” Yahokeem rose from his bench, pointing his gnarled fingers at Zevulun. He hobbled to Asher. “The devil does not heal; he only destroys. Let me see them.” He bent and ran his wrinkled hand over Asher’s leg. He turned to Nava and touched her smooth face.

  She stood tall, her chin raised.

  “Tell us, Nava. How did this happen?”

  Nava slipped her arm around Asher. “It was Jesus. He is the Taheb. Mara went to him,” she held out her hand to Mara. “You found him, didn’t you?”

  Mara nodded.

  Shem caught her eye. She’d found him. But she didn’t speak to him. Didn’t ask him to heal Nava, let alone Asher.

  Nava took Mara’s hands and helped her up. “Yesterday morning—just after sunrise—I woke up. I felt a joy, a heat rushing through me . . . I can’t describe it. My wounds were gone.”

  Just after sunrise. Just as they had found Jesus in Capernaum. Jesus the Taheb. A shiver passed through Shem. His hands started to shake, and his knees weakened.

  Nava was smiling now. “Then I saw Asher—running and jumping! I knew that it was a miracle. And when they told me where you had gone,” she looked to Ruth and Uziel, “I knew you must have found him.”

  Mara gripped her mother’s shoulders. “Both of you. He knew. Without me saying a word. Mama, he answered the prayer of my heart.”

  Shem’s body shook as if a thunderstorm rumbled through him. He fell to his knees. No, this couldn’t be happening. But Nava and Asher were healed. Yesterday morning, Jesus had healed them from Capernaum. And she hadn’t even asked.

  Asher skipped in circles around his mother and sister. “My leg was hot, Mara!” his words tumbled out. “I thought I was burning! I woke up and my leg was hot, and I looked down at my leg, and it was different, and I got up and, and . . . I ran!” His eyes went big and round.

  Women cran
ed their necks. “How can this be?”

  “Let me see!”

  Men pushed forward, their faces full of wonder. “The boy is healed.”

  “It is a miracle.”

  Shem couldn’t breathe. The room spun around him. Nava and Asher were both restored. If Jesus was the Taheb . . . Shem thought of his disbelief and cringed. But if he was, then the things Jesus had said—all of them—were true. He had told Shem to go to Jerusalem. But why him? What did Jesus want from him? And what was wrong with him? He should feel joy—the Taheb, the Messiah, has come! But all he felt was very afraid.

  “I have prepared a place for you.” What did that mean?

  “You will be called Stephen, and all generations will remember you.” Why?

  God changed Abram’s name to Abraham; Jacob had become Israel. They were important men, part of the history of God’s people. But Shem? Why him? And why now, when he’d found everything he wanted here in Sychar?

  And what about the rest of what Jesus had said? The words that made Shem’s heart hammer and his mouth go dry? The words he hadn’t told Mara. “The blood of those who believe in me will be the water that nourishes my Church.” What did that mean?

  A hand on his shoulder steadied him. Mara. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  Jesus was the Taheb and had called him—commanded him—to go to Jerusalem. He had changed his name. But Shem was afraid. Jesus had chosen the wrong man. He was a sinner. A killer. He would fail the Taheb just as he had failed Nava. Just as he had failed Mara.

  Yahokeem turned slowly to the crowd. “The Lord has indeed made his judgment on this woman. She accepted the punishment for her crime, and he has shown her his mercy and forgiveness.”

  Zevulun pushed forward. “What? Forgiveness! She’s nothing but a—”

  Yahokeem cut him off with a raised hand. “Let no man question the Almighty.”

  Zevulun closed his mouth, but his face turned a darker shade of red. “This is all well and good, but this girl is still a fornicator.” Zevulun jerked Mara out of her mother’s arms.

  Shem jumped to his feet and knocked Zevulun’s hands from Mara. Jesus never said that he had to go to Jerusalem alone. They could go together. He could even face the Taheb if he had Mara by his side. He gathered her hands in his. “Mara. Marry me. Please.”

  Mara tried to step back, but she was surrounded. Zevulun beside her, Amram behind. Uziel and Nava—all of the townspeople—were watching him beg Mara to marry him. The men murmured; the women whispered. I don’t care. I won’t lose her.

  He rubbed Mara’s cold hands. “You were right; he is the Taheb. We’ll go to Jerusalem together. Look,” he pointed to Nava and Asher, “look, your mother is well. And your brother. They will be safe, won’t they, Enosh?”

  Enosh stepped back and swallowed, then nodded. He had lost his voice as quickly as he’d gained it.

  “Please, Mara. Please marry me and go to Jerusalem.”

  Mara’s chest rose and fell as though she’d been running. “Shem. No. You have been called,” she said. “By the Taheb, Shem. The Taheb.” She slipped her hands out of his and put them on his shoulders. “That is your mission, your purpose. He needs you free to do whatever he has planned for you.”

  “But we can—”

  “Shem.” Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “I know you. I know that if I were with you in Jerusalem, you would not be free. We both have been called by the Taheb. You to go.” She dropped her hands. “And me to let you go.”

  Zevulun yanked her away by one arm. “Enough of this nonsense. We have declared your punishment.”

  Nava clutched at Mara, but her grip was broken. “Shem, help her!”

  “Stop him!” Amram yelled. The two burly shepherds stepped behind Shem and wrenched his arms back.

  Zevulun dragged Mara two steps toward the door.

  No. He would not let this happen. Not again. Not to Mara. Pain like a dagger stabbed his heart. Pain so real—why wasn’t blood flowing from his side? She was right. He could not have both a life with Mara and the life that the Taheb was offering. He had to choose.

  But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. And so Mara had chosen for him.

  How could she do it? How could she give up everything—her own life—to see that he followed Jesus? She would die at the hands of these people to make sure that he did. Where did she find that kind of courage? That kind of faith?

  “No!” Shem struggled against the strong hands that held him. “Stop them!”

  Nava cried out. Abahu charged after them. Uziel stumbled behind. But Enosh had already stepped in front of Zevulun.

  He put his hand on the big man’s chest and leaned into him. “Let her go. There is a man who will marry Mara.”

  “Who?” Zevulun reared back and eyed Enosh.

  Enosh straightened his shoulders, but he did not look at Mara.

  “Not you?” Zevulun poked a fat finger into Enosh’s chest. “You are too young to marry. You’re just a shepherd boy. Where would you live?”

  “I will work. We will manage. That is”—Enosh’s lean face reddened as he ducked his head and looked at Mara from the corner of his eye—“if she will have me.”

  Shem’s captors dropped his arms. He tried to breathe, but the dagger of pain twisted in his chest. Enosh marry Mara? To save her life, I must give her to someone else?

  • • •

  Mara’s breath caught in her chest. Her lips parted, but no words formed.

  If I will have you? The boy who chased me when I teased him about his eyelashes? Who sheared my goats and brought me wool? The boy who never spoke but saved my life with these words?

  Zevulun’s hands squeezed tight around her arms. Shem stood not two paces away, free but unmoving. Enosh stared at a spot just in front of her feet, his eyes veiled by those long, dark lashes. The clamor in the room faded into the background.

  Jonothon reached Zevulun’s side. “You will take this woman? This defiled woman?”

  Enosh scowled at the priest. “I will take this woman who knows more about mercy and love than you do. I will take her, and I will give her mother and brother a home as well.”

  Thank you, Enosh.

  Enosh finally raised his face to her. The sun glinted through the synagogue windows, turning his eyes the color of honey. “And I will pay the full bride price. Somehow, I will, if I have to sell every one of my goats to do it. She is worth that and infinitely more.”

  Enosh. I don’t deserve you.

  Enosh freed Mara’s arms from Zevulun’s grip. He picked up her hand and placed it on his chest. His heart beat like a hammer against her palm. His eyes met hers, and his throat jerked as he swallowed.

  “Mara, I don’t have much. But I give it all to you if you will have me.”

  High-pitched whispers coursed through the women like a fast-moving current.

  Mara couldn’t help it. Her gaze flew to Shem like an arrow to the heart.

  Shem’s jaw clenched tight, and he leaned toward her. “Please, Mara. Don’t do this. Go to Jerusalem with me. You are mine, Mara.”

  Mara’s vision blurred. She blinked, but one tear slipped out. “But you are not mine.”

  Shem turned to Enosh. “Enosh. Don’t take her from me.”

  Enosh faltered and took a half step back. His grip on her hand loosened.

  Mara could see doubt in his eyes. Doubt and pain. Enosh, I will never give you another reason to doubt me. She folded both her hands around his. “Yes, Enosh. I will be your wife.”

  Shem slumped to the ground.

  Enosh let out a breath and dropped his chin to his chest. Uziel slapped him on the back while Nava and Mechola swooped in on Mara. Jonothon turned to Enosh. “Boy, are you sure? You can never divorce her.”

  Enosh straightened to his full height. He stared down at the priest. “I’ve never been more sure.”

  Jonothon shook his head and pointed to the dais. “Then let us finish this.”

  Uziel took Mara’s arm and took her to the center o
f the dais. Nava put her arm around her. Ruth and Asher stood beside her. Enosh stepped up in front of her, followed by Noach.

  Shem hadn’t moved from his place in front of the dais, his body bent as though a heavy beam of cedar weighed on his shoulders.

  Yahokeem parted the curtain behind them and opened the great carved chest. He came back with an ancient brown scroll. “In the name of the Lord God of Israel we begin and end.”

  The men responded in unison. “He is God, and there is none beside him.”

  Yahokeem spoke to Enosh. “What is the betrothal period?”

  Enosh dipped his head toward Mara. “Mara will decide.”

  Mara jolted a step back. Me decide? That was the right of the groom and the bride’s father. Uziel nodded to her. She could feel every ear in the room straining for her answer.

  How long?

  No one would begrudge her a year. A year to live with her mother and Asher. A year to mourn Shem. A year to look at Enosh and see a husband instead of a friend.

  Enosh shifted beside her. His eyes went to Shem, then met hers. Was that doubt? Were they all remembering Nava’s betrayal of her vow to Zevulun? Did even Enosh worry that she was like her mother?

  Shem raised his head, his shoulders lifted. One year for Shem to wait and hope.

  One year for Enosh to wait and despair.

  The song of a single lark floated through the window.

  She swallowed. Her voice must not falter. “One day.”

  Shem caught his breath and stiffened, as if she had just stabbed him in the heart. Astonished whispers swept through the room. Some of the men snickered.

  Enosh stared at Mara for a long moment.

  Will he trust me? When he knows I love Shem, will he marry me tomorrow? Never to divorce?

  Enosh reached out to her. His warm palms folded around her hands, and his honey eyes searched her face. “Are you sure, Mara?”

  She squeezed his hands and beheld the face of the man who would be her husband—the man she would respect and honor for the rest of her life. “I’ve never been more sure.”

  Chapter 33

  The watery light of dawn seeped through the chinks in the roof of the clay house. Mara pulled Asher’s warm body closer to hers. Nava slept close by, her hands thrown over her head, her hair spread out like a dark river.