Her thoughts turned again to Phineas. She had seen him many times in the village but had never had the courage to speak to him. Her father had decided he was a good choice for her, but she didn’t really know him very well. In any case, if they were betrothed, they would come to know each other better. There were some young men in the village she did not wish to marry, and she was glad her father sought a good husband for her.
Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly realized the sun was fading and the afternoon shadows were growing long. Her short time of solitude was ending, yet, as always, she felt rested as she rose to return home.
As she neared their home, she saw the blacksmith walking down the road away from the house. He must have stopped by for one of his infrequent visits with her father. For a moment she wondered if his wife was well enough to say the Sabbath prayers. As large as the man was, his size seemed diminished as he slowly walked alone toward his home. She watched him a moment more and then opened the gate to the courtyard of her home.
Martha helped her family prepare for the time of separation and the end of Sabbath. Her father took Mary’s hand and the four of them looked at the night sky where three stars were bright and visible. It was a reminder that God watched over them and cared about their daily lives. They went back into the house to say the prayers for havdalah.
Martha listened to the familiar words, but her mind wandered again. Would she be afraid when she became a bride?
Her father lifted the Kiddush cup the first time and spoke the blessing over the wine.
When it was time to light the braided havdalah candle, the first act of work on the Sabbath, Martha held her hands close to the flame that represented the light by which she worked with her hands. “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, Creator of the light of fire,” she said softly. Her father and brother did the same.
Ephraim picked up the Kiddush cup again and blessed it. Then he spilled a small amount of the wine on an earthen plate, symbolizing the loss of Sabbath. Each of them drank from their cups of wine. The havdalah candle was finally extinguished as Ephraim dipped it into his wine. They sat in the darkness a moment, and then Mary, in a high, clear voice, began the song of the prophet Elijah and they joined in.
Tomorrow would be a day of hard work and they would need a good night’s rest. They rose from the table and each wished the other “Shavua tov,” a good week ahead, and went to their pallets for the night. Martha lay quietly for a long time, her mind turning with thoughts of the coming day. If she were betrothed, she would have a year to prepare for the wedding. She was curious as to what went on between a bridegroom and his bride on the wedding night. At moments like these, she wished desperately for her mother. Martha missed her singing and gentle hands. She had so many questions, but now there was no one to answer them.
Closing her eyes, she sighed happily. The wheat harvest would begin tomorrow. And Gera had promised to speak to her father.
2
Martha sat up and stretched. After a brief morning prayer, she looked over at Lazarus, who lay rubbing his eyes. Dawn was just breaking, pushing away the shadows of the night.
Ephraim entered the main room and glanced at Lazarus. “Rise, my children, we have work to do.”
Martha sprang up quickly and shook her younger sister awake. There was food to prepare and pack for the midday break.
Lazarus yawned and rose also. When her father and brother started for the fields, Martha went to the gate with Mary as her sister prepared to walk to the house of Adah. She would be helping Adah take care of the smallest children while their parents worked in the fields.
“You must mind Adah, Mary, and be a help to her. We’ll see you at the end of the day.”
Mary loved children and Martha knew she was looking forward to helping Adah. Mary’s face was alight at the day’s prospects and she started to skip, humming a little song to herself. Then she glanced back at Martha’s pursed lips and, with a sigh, began to walk more sedately.
Martha hurried to the fields to help her brother bundle the grain after the reapers. She would not see Phineas, as he would be helping his father in their own fields.
Neighbors shouted greetings to one another as they began the work of the day. The men were already perspiring as the brief coolness of the morning receded and the sun rose higher in the sky. Some cut the wheat, some gathered it for the threshing floor. Other young boys and girls helped as Martha and Lazarus did, tying the sheaves into bundles to be picked up. As she worked, Martha heard the women murmuring among themselves. Her eyes widened as she listened.
“There is news, Zillah. Did you know that Simon, the husband of Judith, returned from working on the last caravan and discovered a large white spot on his arm?”
“Oh, Huldah, could it be?” Zillah, the potter’s wife, murmured.
The first woman lowered her voice, but Martha caught the words.
“It might be, oh, can I even say the word?”
“You mean leprosy?” Zillah whispered in horror.
There was a shocked silence, then the two women murmured among themselves.
Suddenly Huldah turned and saw Martha and Lazarus listening. She tilted her head toward them and with a meaningful nod moved on along the row of wheat.
Lazarus stood still, his eyes wide. “Sister, did they say leprosy?”
She looked after the women, her mouth suddenly dry. “I think so. I pray it is not true. That would be terrible for his family.” Heaviness settled on her heart. Simon’s daughter, Esther, was her best friend.
Lazarus hung his head. “I cannot think how I would feel if it were Abba.”
At the midday break, the workers gathered together to eat a brief meal and rest. Anna, the local midwife, who also cared for the sick with her bag of herbs, brought a large jug of water on her shoulder and the workers passed the cup, drinking deeply after the long hours working in the heat.
Martha told Ephraim what she had heard, and Lazarus, sitting next to his father, stared solemnly out over the fields. He looked up finally. “Is there a cure for leprosy, Abba?”
“It will depend on the form it has taken. The God of all the earth knows all things, my son. He is able to cleanse Simon and we must trust him to do so if he wills it.” Ephraim looked down at his son’s frowning face. “Is there another matter that troubles you?”
Lazarus lowered his voice. “Will Simon have to live away from his family?”
Ephraim nodded solemnly. “It will depend on the words of the priest. Simon must go to the priest to be examined.”
Martha shuddered. She prayed the priest would not find one in their village with leprosy. Still thinking of Esther, she asked, “Abba, what will his family do?”
Ephraim put a hand on her shoulder. “God will provide, and we will help them, as we do for those in need in our village.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a young boy calling Ephraim’s name. It was Joab, the son of their neighbor, Shaul. He ran breathlessly across the fields waving his hands.
Joab caught his breath and then blurted out, “Adah sent me for you. It is Mary. She has been hurt.”
Ephraim sought out Anna, who was preparing to return to the village with her water jug. She nodded. “I will go and get my healing bag and meet you at the house of Adah.”
Lazarus would have come with them, but Ephraim shook his head. “You will be more help to remain in our field. The men will need you here. Your sister and I will see to Mary.”
He nodded reluctantly and turned back toward the field as Martha and her father hurried to the village. They found Mary lying on a pallet, sobbing with pain. Her left leg showed a huge bulge and the skin was turning purple. To Martha, it appeared broken, but at least no bone protruded through the skin.
Adah sputtered apologies. “One moment she was talking with the children and the next moment she was lying in the courtyard.”
Ephraim looked down at Adah, his face stern. “You did not see what happened?”
Ephraim turned to Joab and the other children. “What happened here?”
One of the children stepped forward, her eyes wide with fear. “It was a baby bird. It fell out of its nest.” The other children nodded solemnly.
“Mary climbed the tree to put it back,” said Joab.
Martha caught her father’s eye. Mary was tenderhearted when it came to small creatures, and also impulsive. He sighed deeply. They both knew it was something Mary would do.
Mary’s sobs of pain tore Martha’s heart as she cradled her young sister gently and rocked her, crooning softly with words of comfort.
“I didn’t know she’d climbed the tree,” Adah murmured defensively. “I heard her cry out, but I was in the house. How could I get to her in time?”
Anna walked swiftly into the courtyard and squatted down to examine Mary’s leg. With practiced fingers she probed the wound, now swelling and red.
“Hold her tightly, Ephraim, I must set the bone.”
Ephraim wrapped his arms around Mary’s shoulders and Martha held Mary’s good leg firmly. Anna grasped the injured leg and gave a quick pull. Martha felt she heard the bone lock into place. Mary screamed in pain and then lay still.
“Mary!” Martha turned to Anna. “Is she dead?”
“No, child, the pain was just too much for her. Her leg must now heal on its own.” She turned to Adah. “Do you have a couple of straight sticks?”
Adah hurried to find something and came back with two pieces of narrow wood.
Anna worked quickly splinting the leg so it would stay straight. She turned to Martha. “I will give you some herbs to put in boiling water. It will help her to sleep and ease the pain.” She reached in her bag and produced two packets of herbs.
“Thank you for your help, Anna.” Ephraim reached into his sash and produced a couple of coins which he gave to her. She nodded her thanks and picked up her bag. She had done all she could.
Ephraim gathered the limp form of his daughter and carried her home. Martha washed the pale, dirty face, streaked with tears, as Mary slept on.
Ephraim stood looking down at his youngest child, then turned to Martha. “I must return to the fields, daughter. Stay with Mary, she will need you in the long hours ahead.”
“Yes, Abba. I will have your meal ready when you and Lazarus return.”
Ephraim nodded and, with a last sad look at Mary, walked slowly out of the courtyard.
Martha looked down at her sister and shook her head. She had so much to do and now an injured sister to take care of. Mary would be no help to her for a while. She went to prepare some chicken broth.
When Mary awoke, Martha explained to her what had happened. She helped Mary drink a little bit of the chicken broth and patiently persuaded her to take some of the herbal liquid Anna had mixed that would make her sleep.
When Lazarus and her father returned from the fields, dirty and weary, both were eager to see how Mary was doing. Mary still slept soundly. They looked down on her still form, and Lazarus shook his head. “How could Adah let this happen? She is an old woman, perhaps too old to watch children.”
“Enough, my son, it has happened and blaming Adah will not undo the damage. We must not speak bitterly against a neighbor.”
Their meal was eaten in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Just as Martha was putting away their food, there was a knock at the gate. Ephraim went to see who it was and found Gera facing him.
“Bless all within this house. May I speak with you, Ephraim?”
“You are welcome, my friend. Enter our humble home.”
Gera stepped into the courtyard just inside the gate.
Martha could barely contain her excitement as she and Lazarus quietly slipped into the house. Though she was anxious to hear what they would talk about, it was not proper for her to be part of the discussion. She stood behind the door, straining to hear Gera’s words. Lazarus started to say something and she quieted him with a sharp look. He shrugged and made a face.
The two male voices murmured together for a few moments and then Martha heard the gate close quietly. She waited and then peeked into the courtyard. Her father stood alone, facing the gate, his head down. Then, he turned slowly and came toward the house.
“Martha.”
At the tone of his voice, fear shot through her heart. What had happened?
She came and faced her father. “What did he say, Abba?”
“Well, daughter, he thanked me for my kind offer, and was honored that we would consider his son, but it seems they have chosen another maiden for their son’s bride.”
Martha caught her breath. “Did he say who they have chosen, Abba?”
He sighed heavily. “It is Leah, daughter of Zebulon.”
She nodded and struggled with the tears that threatened behind her eyes. “I saw them together at the potter’s shop, Abba.” She sighed. “I knew Phineas liked her.”
Her father put a hand on her chin. “Well, that may have influenced his father, but the matter is now settled. I will find another,” he paused, “a man worthy of my beautiful daughter.”
Martha thought of the events of the day and knew what she must do. She slowly shook her head. “Abba, if I were to marry, who would take care of you and Lazarus and now Mary with her injured leg? I am needed here.”
He looked down at her for a long moment, and she saw the sadness in his eyes, but more than that, she saw his love. “There will be someone for you, daughter, one day, there will be someone.” He nodded slowly to emphasize his words, then held out his strong arms and let her weep against him.
That night, while the rest of her family slept, Martha lit a small lamp and looked down at Mary’s long lashes and beautiful face. Was Mary flawed now? Would her leg heal properly? If she limped, would it deter anyone seeking a bride? With a heavy heart, Martha crept over to the small chest that held her mother’s wedding dress. She set the lamp down and, opening the chest slowly, lifted out the dress, admiring the beautiful fringe and beading. She fingered the lovely blue shawl she’d woven to present to her mother-in-law when she became a bride. Then, picking up one of the gold earrings that had been her mother’s, watched it shimmer in the lamplight. She held it against her ear and then, with a sigh, slowly put everything back.
Tears slid down her cheeks and dropped softly on the linen folds of the wedding dress as she quietly laid her dreams inside the chest and closed the lid.
3
Martha put a hand on Esther’s shoulder, her heart breaking for her friend. “What will your father do?”
Esther hung her head. “The priest said he must leave the village. He is unclean.”
“What will happen to your family?”
“We may stay. My mother will continue to weave wool from our sheep and sell her yarn in the marketplace. The men will help in our fields when it is time for the harvest. My brother Tobias is almost twenty. He says he will still seek an acceptable match for me, but I’m sure news of my father has traveled to other villages.” She shook her head. “Who will want the daughter of a leper?”
“You are one of the prettiest girls in Bethany, Esther. There are many who will want you for yourself, I’m sure.”
Esther lifted her water jar to her shoulder. “The God Who Sees knows my heart. I am in his hands. My mother weeps when she thinks Tobias and I are asleep.” She started to turn away and then looked back at Martha. “I’m sorry about Phineas. I know you liked him. Will your father seek another match?”
Martha shrugged. “My family needs me now and my father is not feeling well lately. I don’t know.”
“Mary is recovering?”
“Yes, her leg heals. She can move about more freely now.”
Esther’s eyes pooled with tears as she nodded, then turned as they went their separate ways.
A few days later, Simon’s fate was sealed by a priest in J
erusalem.
Martha and her family stood with their neighbors as Esther’s father slowly picked up coins and offerings of food that were placed in front of his house. Everyone had contributed something. He put the coins in a small pouch and the food in a leather bag that hung about his broad shoulders. Known by all for his sense of humor and great heart, this day Simon was somber and bent under the sorrow he carried. Overnight, he’d seemingly become an old man. His wife, Judith, stood at the doorway of their home with tears running down her cheeks, her arms around Esther and Tobias. Forbidden under the law to embrace or touch him, their faces mirrored the anguish they felt.
Simon looked around at each of his neighbors. “I thank you all for your kindness. If it is the will of the God Who Heals, may I be cleansed of this living death and return to our village.” He took a step toward his family and murmured softly, “And to you.”
Ephraim stepped forward. “We will care for your family, Simon. You need not fear for them.”
Simon could only nod. He picked up his staff and, with a last look at his loved ones, turned away and walked slowly down the road.
The evening before at supper, Martha had listened when her father explained to Lazarus and Mary that Simon could never again enter the Holy City of Jerusalem, nor stand with his prayer shawl in the Temple. He must become a beggar, crying “unclean” as he passed by. He must wear a cloth over his face as a symbol of his uncleanness.
Martha Page 2