Martha

by Diana Wallis Taylor

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  © 2011 by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  E-book edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3273-1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  To those women who, because of our feminine gift of multitasking,

  have become “Marthas.”

  May they each find, as her sister Mary did,

  that “good place that shall not be taken away,”

  at the feet of the Savior.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Book by Author

  Back Ads

  1

  Martha watched her father walk slowly up the road as the afternoon shadows appeared, and he was smiling. Ephraim looked tired but pleased. At his raised hand of greeting she hurried to meet him. Bursting with curiosity, she nearly danced beside him as they returned to the house. A dozen questions whirled in her head, but she held them in, knowing her father would tell her in his own time.

  He looked past her. “And where is Mary?”

  Martha swallowed her impatience. “She helped me in the garden this morning. I asked her to wash the vegetables.” She hoped the task was done, for Mary, at ten, was a dreamer and easily distracted.

  Ephraim put a hand on her shoulder. “You are teaching her well, daughter.”

  She beamed at his praise, but her question tumbled out in spite of her good intentions. “You have news, Abba?”

  He smiled and nodded, his eyes twinkling. “My offer is being considered and they will let me know soon. I believe I presented you in a most favorable light. Phineas is a worthy young man and an only son. He is strong and helps his father in the fields. Gera and his wife, Rhumah, are good people. You would have a pleasant home.”

  Martha could hardly contain her excitement. She was fifteen and her father had gone to arrange a marriage for her. She could soon be betrothed. Reaching up, she put a hand on her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Abba. When will we know?”

  Her dark eyes sparkled as she looked up at her father. She was taller than most of the other girls in Bethany, nearly reaching her father’s shoulder. She’d bound up the auburn hair that flowed in gentle cascades down her back, under her shawl. While she turned a few heads when she walked through the village, her father told her many times, “Beauty does not run the home, daughter, only skillful hands.” Her hands were indeed skillful, for she had learned to help her mother in the household duties when she was even younger than Mary.

  Her father tipped her chin up with his finger. “Gera told me we will talk after the Sabbath.”

  Martha sighed. She would just have to wait.

  It had been two years since her mother died. She did her best to care for their home. Her father and her twelve-year-old brother Lazarus helped as they could, but the burden fell on Martha. Her father hadn’t remarried. She worried about the pains in his stomach that troubled him from time to time.

  “I fear I’m a poor risk for a husband—a man given to weak spells, with three children,” he told her upon more than one occasion.

  Martha knew of two women in Bethany who had indicated they might be interested, but Ephraim would not commit himself. Perhaps now, if she were to be betrothed, her father would consider taking a wife to be a mother to Mary and Lazarus. Yet, even as she thought of this, she felt a twinge of guilt. When her mother’s mantle as the woman of the household had fallen on her shoulders that dark day, she had promised to take care of her brother and sister. It seemed so urgent at the time. If she married and left, would she be breaking her promise?

  Her father went to have Nathan the blacksmith sharpen his sickle for the coming wheat harvest while Martha checked the oil lamps to be sure they were filled. Earlier in the day she had done the washing and now gathered the dried clothing to bring it inside.

  Their house was made of brick strengthened with straw and plastered over with lime and clay. Ephraim was a brick-maker and was teaching Lazarus how to make sturdy bricks of clay and straw, which they sold to others in the village. He also repaired roofs and walls for those who could not do it themselves. The house was cool in the summer and warm during the cold rains of the winter months. The roof of reeds and sticks coated with thick clay kept out the rain but needed to be maintained constantly.

  One large room in the house served as the living, dining, and sleeping room with the family’s pallets rolled up and stored in a corner. The weather was still pleasant, so Martha had Mary set the table in the courtyard. Looking at the leaves of the trees that were beginning to turn, she knew they would soon have to move the cooking brazier inside. She frowned. That would be necessary, but she didn’t like the way the smoke filled their small house. While the weather was good, they ate at the table in the courtyard. When the weather turned cold, Martha brought their small brazier inside for cooking, and they ate there. While Martha, Lazarus, and Mary slept in the main room, there was a smaller room that had been added to the house when her father brought Martha’s mother, Jerusha, there as a bride. Since her mother died, her father slept there alone.

  Martha prepared the vegetables and baked a chicken with onions and garlic for their Sabbath dinner. A lentil stew simmered in a pot over the fire. She added some rue. Fat, purple figs, the first of the season, were piled in a basket on the table, and slices of fresh cucumber shimmered in a bowl. They must eat early, for no work could be done when the Sabbath began at sunset.

  A soft breeze passed through the courtyard, swirling the leaves, but there was no moisture in it, and she knew the season of hamsin, the dry winds, was beginning. It was the month of Sivan, and after the Sabbath the wheat harvest would begin. The men of the village would help Ephraim with his harvest and he in turn would help others. Martha and Lazarus would be put to work in the fields bundling up the sheaves of grain. Adah, a woman too old to help in the fields, had asked for Mary to help her watch two or three small children who were too young to help with the harvest.

  Lazarus came into the courtyard with a bundle of twigs for the fire. He was a sturdy boy, already showing evidence that
he would be tall like his father. How proud she was of the man he was becoming. And he did his chores without complaint or prodding, like milking the goats early each morning and feeding the donkey.

  He put down the bundle and lay a few twigs on the flames.

  “Mary, could you ladle the milk for supper?” Martha asked as she pulled several cups from the cupboard and set them near the crock that stood in the coolest corner of the house. They had fresh milk daily, thanks to Lazarus’s early-morning routine of milking the goats.

  Martha turned back to the small cupboard to get some bowls, but Mary stood motionless, holding an unwashed cucumber. She was looking up at a flock of sparrows.

  Martha sighed heavily. “Mary, finish the vegetables. We must store them quickly. The Sabbath approaches. I have other things to do, I can’t do those too.”

  Mary was instantly repentant, her face downcast at Martha’s sharp tone of voice.

  As her younger sister diligently resumed her task, Martha regretted her words. She had been too cross with Mary lately. She wondered if she could even remember when she had time to daydream herself. She had taken her mother’s place at such a young age. Did her responsibilities ever end? She got a basket from the storeroom and began to help Mary place the vegetables in it. Mary gave her a shy smile of forgiveness. How many times her younger sister’s gentle disposition offset her own impulsive one.

  With sunset approaching, the family gathered as Martha lit the Sabbath candles, closed her eyes, and passed her hands over the bright flames. Then she covered her eyes with her hands and murmured the prayer that had been passed down to her people through the ages, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has made us holy through his commandments and commanded us to kindle the Sabbath lights.”

  Then, as the sun sank behind the Judean hills and the evening stars began to appear, the three muted blasts of the shofar, the ram’s horn, sounded from the Temple Mount a mile and a half away, marking the beginning of the Sabbath and calling the faithful to prayer.

  Martha had put out the fire under the stove before the shofar sounded. Now she placed their still warm supper on the low table and basked in Ephraim’s nod of approval.

  He poured the wine into the Kiddush cup and held it up.

  As Martha listened to her father intoning the familiar prayers, she wondered what it would be like to listen to Phineas say the prayers in their household. Then she chided herself for foolish daydreams. It would not be Phineas, it would be his father, since they would live with her husband’s family. A small shadow passed over her thoughts. She would be only a helper to her new mother-in-law, not in charge of the household. Perhaps it would just be like helping her mother again. She looked out over the courtyard. Who would take her place here?

  Her thoughts were brought quickly back to the present as she took the Kiddush cup Lazarus was passing to her. She took a sip and handed it to Mary, who received it with reverence.

  Ephraim broke the traditional challah bread into chunks to dip into the sauce. As they ate, Ephraim quizzed Lazarus on what he had learned from the rabbi that week and Martha listened respectfully to his recitations.

  Watching her young sister nibble daintily at her piece of chicken, Martha thought there would be no difficulty finding her sister a husband one day. She was a pretty child. Her eyes, like her brother’s, were from her father’s side of the family, wide and dark in a smooth olive complexion.

  When their Sabbath meal was over, they bowed their heads and Ephraim spoke the final prayer.

  With the ceremonies of Friday evening over, Mary and Lazarus settled down on their pallets and were asleep in moments. Martha looked outside and saw that her father was sitting quietly in the courtyard, contemplating the night sky. While she left him alone with his thoughts, she also looked up into the night sky.

  “Oh, God Who Sees me, may there be good news tomorrow.” Then she sighed. It was for God to determine her way. Instantly repentant, she prayed instead for the will of God in her life and went to her pallet.

  The next morning upon awakening, Martha spoke the blessing and rose to prepare for their trip into Jerusalem to the Temple Mount for Sabbath prayers. It was a short walk, within the two-mile limit for a Sabbath journey. Ephraim in earlier years carried Mary on his shoulders, but now she walked beside him.

  As they approached from the east and rounded a turn in the road, the city, hidden by the ridge of Olivet, burst into view. Martha never tired of the first glimpse of Jerusalem. The Temple was still hidden until they crossed Ophel, the suburb of the priests, then finally the panorama of the whole city stretched before them. Dark valleys and hills, the walls, towers, palaces, and streets of the city surrounded the Temple. As the sunlight caught its walls, the Temple stood like a mighty fortress, dwarfing the surrounding buildings. The sight never ceased to delight her. A rush of joy filled her heart as she gazed at the familiar scene.

  They began their ascent into the city, and Martha noticed the increased number of Roman soldiers stationed along the road and near the steps leading up to the Temple. She remembered hearing her father and one of their neighbors furtively comment on the heavy taxes they were required to pay to the Roman government.

  Ephraim had shaken his head solemnly. “The amount increases each year. We have no say. It is a burden that leaves us little to live on.”

  “We have waited hundreds of years for the Messiah to come and deliver us from our oppressors,” their neighbor Shaul said. “Now is a good time for him to come?”

  The Messiah. The Chosen One. Would he come in her lifetime? Each Jewish mother who gave birth to a son hoped beyond hope that he would be the one who would free their people. Martha thought of this. If she were to marry and have a son, could he be the one? She reined in her thoughts and concentrated on where she was walking, lest she stumble on the uneven stones of the passage.

  As Martha and her family passed by, the Roman soldiers stood watching the people with sneers of distaste. The Romans and the Jews had no love for one another.

  One soldier watched Martha and his eyes narrowed into a leer as she passed by. She looked down at the ground and made sure she and Mary stayed close to their father.

  As they approached the Temple, Martha looked around at families moving up into the Temple courtyard and was glad it was a Sabbath service and not Passover. The roads were less crowded with people. Those whose villages were within the prescribed two miles of travel on the Sabbath could come to the Temple. Being close to Jerusalem, Bethany had no need for a synagogue, as did towns farther away.

  “Ephraim. All is well with you?”

  Martha turned at the familiar deep voice of their friend, Nathan the blacksmith. His wife, Rhoda, was frail and spent much of her time on her pallet complaining about her health. Nathan had hired an elderly widow in the village who came in to help with cooking and the household chores for a few coins. He and his wife had no children and the women of Bethany clucked their tongues. How had he offended God, they murmured, to have such calamity fall upon him? With his shy manner and tendency to keep to himself, he discouraged friendships, but Martha’s father had befriended him and had gone out of his way to be kind to a man he knew to be lonely.

  Nathan, in his late twenties, was an imposing figure as he strode through their village. Now, as he stood before them, his Sabbath clothes did little to conceal the muscles on his arms.

  “I am well, my friend. It is a good day, is it not?”

  Nathan nodded, his face serious. “You are here with your fine family.” He stroked his thick beard and rocked on his heels, clearing his throat.

  Martha had heard through other women in the village that he was uncomfortable around women. She resisted a smile. He was obviously uncomfortable now.

  Ephraim looked at each of his children. “Yes, a fine family. I am blessed.”

  Mary was restless and Martha didn’t wish to be rude to a neighbor. She looked pointedly at her father.

  Her father put his hand on Natha
n’s shoulder. “Let us walk together to the Temple.”

  Nathan nodded to Martha and Mary and quickly turned away with Ephraim and Lazarus.

  With Mary walking quickly to keep up with her, Martha hurried into the Court of the Women. She paused briefly and glanced back to watch as Ephraim, Lazarus, and Nathan climbed the stone steps to the Court of the Israelites. She must make it a point to call on Nathan’s wife, Rhoda. Perhaps she could take them some of her lentil stew.

  Just then, to her delight, she spotted Phineas and his father, Gera, moving with the group of men. They did not see her and her heart fluttered as she drew her shawl closer around her face to watch Phineas unobtrusively as he followed his father. He was handsome indeed. She struggled to keep her mind on her prayers and had to force herself to concentrate on the reading from the Torah portion for the week, and the reading from the Prophets. As she listened, she found herself wondering about these promises of the Redeemer who was to come.

  The service ended, and the men and women milled about, finding their families as they exited the temple. Martha looked for Phineas and his father, but they were lost in the crowd. She hoped her father had been able to talk to Gera. Mary loved coming to the Temple, and her eyes were bright as she watched everything. Martha urged her toward their usual meeting place by the entrance to wait for her father and brother. When they came, Nathan was no longer with them.

  It was a pleasant day, and they walked leisurely home. The spring flowers were in bloom, and Mary stopped to pick some as they walked. Blue cornflowers and scarlet anemones covered the sides of the road and were interspersed with crops in the fields in colorful profusion. When they reached their home, Martha sent Mary to find a clay vase to put them in. The flowers gave their table a festive look. She gave Mary a brief smile, letting her know she was pleased, as she placed the cold noonday meal of leftovers on their table. Mary, tired from the long walk, rubbed her eyes and finally rested on her pallet.

  With a quiet afternoon ahead of her, Martha drew her shawl over her head and walked outside the gate, free at least for one day from household work. She sat on a rock and watched the clouds moving lazily across the sky. The burden of taking her mother’s place weighed on her spirit. If she married, she would take on the additional burden of another family, and then children. She sighed. How long had it been since she had been just a child, playing games with her friends? She rose and walked to her favorite place, the quiet and shady Mount of Olives. She strolled among the gnarled trees, long since stripped of their harvest, and put her hand on one of the trunks. How long had they grown there—long before her father, as long as her family could remember? A peaceful feeling settled over her as she walked in the garden and listened to the lively chatter of the sparrows as they flitted among the branches.