Martha

by Diana Wallis Taylor

  Esther unconsciously rubbed her stomach. “Another month and I don’t think I would be able to travel very far. I am so tired most of the time.”

  “I remember when my mother was carrying Mary. She was tired all the time too. Perhaps this is just the way of things in the beginning.”

  “Perhaps.” Esther looked toward her home and saw Micah standing in the gateway, looking their way. “I think I am needed.” She turned to Martha. “Take care, my friend. There will be a husband for you one day, I know it.”

  Martha watched Esther move slowly toward Micah and saw how carefully she walked. Micah slipped an arm around his wife and led her into the courtyard. Martha listened to the sparrows chirping and, as she started for home, found she was smiling to herself.

  9

  Ephraim was weak and stayed on his pallet many days as Martha brought him nourishing soup to give him strength. Lazarus worked in the village on two houses that needed bricks replaced and also spent time in their field. Mary kept watch over her father and played her lyre for him when he asked. Martha went about her chores, but from time to time was distracted by a scarred face with deep blue eyes that seemed to appear in her thoughts at unexpected moments. She chided herself, knowing she must not see him again. He was a Gentile and she kept a kosher home. There was no way their worlds could or should cross.

  That Sabbath, Ephraim could not rise from his pallet, and the family moved into his small room as Lazarus led the Sabbath prayers with his father merely nodding his head. Lazarus and Mary went with Nathan to Jerusalem to celebrate the Sabbath, but Martha stayed behind to watch over her father.

  When the family returned and Ephraim again slept, Mary offered to stay with him and Martha slipped out to walk to the Mount of Olives. With so many things on her mind, she sought solace for her worries in Gethsemane.

  As she sat under a tree, praying for her father, she was aware of someone nearby, hidden by the trees. Her hand went to her mouth as fear gripped her heart. She was alone. Was she in danger? She’d never felt fear in this place before; it had been a sanctuary. But now she realized how foolish she was to be here with no one around to hear her cries should she be assaulted.

  She rose quickly, prepared to run for her life, and at that moment a deep voice stopped her.

  “Do not be afraid, Martha. It is only me, Captain Flavious. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She turned to see him walking quietly toward her. To her surprise, she felt no fear, only a sense of gladness.

  “Do you come here often?” His voice was soft now, and gentle.

  “Yes, usually on Sabbath afternoons, when I cannot do work at home.” She frowned, puzzled. “How did you know I was here?”

  He laughed. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t. When I was assigned to Jerusalem, I sought a place away from the barracks to think, and pray.”

  “You pray here to your Roman gods?”

  He shook his head. “No, I pray to the one God, Jehovah.”

  She looked at him closely, wondering if he was telling the truth. “You are a Godfearer?”

  “Yes. My mother was Jewish and taught me about him when I was little. My father was Roman, and while he did not believe, he allowed her to speak of those things to me.”

  He glanced around as did Martha, but the trees hid them from prying eyes.

  “Would you like to sit down?” He indicated a grassy knoll.

  She shook her head, suddenly self-conscious. “I must go. It is nearly the end of the Sabbath.”

  “Yes, I see that it is. May I talk with you again sometime?”

  Her thoughts flew. She should not see him again, even if he was a Godfearer, but she knew she wanted to. “Perhaps the next Sabbath?”

  He studied her face and she felt herself leaning toward him, but caught herself in time.

  “Perhaps the next Sabbath,” he replied softly.

  He strode away through the trees toward Jerusalem, and she watched his tall figure until he was out of sight. What was she doing? She had told him that she would possibly see him again. She walked quickly toward her home, nodding a greeting to a neighbor on the way. Did the woman look at her strangely? Was she imagining things? Martha pulled her shawl closer around her face.

  Ephraim remained on his bed all week, for Anna had done her best, but there was no change in his condition. After an inner struggle, the next Sabbath afternoon, Martha left him in Mary’s loving care and announced she needed to take a walk. She ignored the question in Mary’s eyes and hurried out the gate. Her heart pounded as she entered the olive grove. Captain Flavious was waiting.

  They walked slowly through the trees, and she marveled how at ease she felt with him.

  “You are not married.” It was a simple statement rather than a question.

  “No. How did you know?”

  He grinned, looking almost boyish. “I have my sources. You chose to take care of your family.”

  “How long have you been in the Roman army?”

  “Almost twenty years to rise to my present rank. My oldest brother inherited the estate of my father, and it was suggested that my second brother and I join the military. My father was a general, serving in Rome. This is to be my last outpost. I plan to retire to a small villa my father left me in Cyprus.”

  Too soon their time together was ending. “May I call you Martha? My given name is Thaddeus. I reserve that for . . . friends.” He gazed at her earnestly. “Because of my mother, I know your customs. I don’t wish to make any trouble for you, but I look forward to another Sabbath and talking with you. You are a very brave woman and have given up much for your family.”

  He held a small twig between his fingers and broke it as he gazed out toward Bethany. “I was betrothed once. She decided against the life of a soldier’s wife and returned to her family.”

  A shadow crossed her heart. “Are you still betrothed, Thaddeus?”

  “No, she broke our betrothal and married another. They have two children. It was for the best. I was away from home more than I was there.”

  The fact that he was not married caused a small fluttering in her breast. “When will you leave the army?”

  “The end of the year.” He smiled at her. “At least that was my plan. Now I find a certain woman may cause me to delay.” His eyes searched her face. “Could I hope that in spite of our different backgrounds . . .” He took a breath. “From the moment I met you in the road to Bethany, there has been something between us. I felt it and I know you felt it too. Since my mother is Jewish, I am considered a Jew, but due to the fact my father is Roman and has great standing with the Roman army, I became a soldier, but I had to fight my way up the ranks.” He smiled ruefully. “I tell you this for selfish reasons, hoping to persuade you to consider me . . .”

  “As a friend?” She interrupted, afraid of what he would say next, yet eager to hear the words.

  He smiled then and his eyes searched hers. “Yes, for now. I am not young, Martha. While I do not have a great deal to offer, when I am able to leave the army I shall have a small pension, the villa, and also a monthly stipend from my father. It would be an adequate income for a family to live on . . .”

  She looked away toward Jerusalem for a long moment. Then she faced him. “Do you know what that would mean for me?”

  He nodded. “To be separated from one’s family and possibly ostracized by friends and neighbors, perhaps even family. Yes, I know, but nevertheless, I can hope.”

  She was never one to hide her feelings. As she gazed at his face, a door opened in her heart. She felt light inside, and for a moment, the obstacles between them seemed as feathers to be brushed away. Then she sighed. Reality was another thing.

  She put a hand on his arm. “Let us be friends for now, Thaddeus. I find my mind whirling with many thoughts and I must sort them out. There is something between us, but it has happened so quickly.”

  He nodded sagely and spoke softly. “I won’t rush you. Until next Sabbath . . . Martha.”

 
; “Until next Sabbath . . . Thaddeus.”

  He turned and strode quickly into the trees.

  She dawdled on her way home, her mind in turmoil as her heart and her sense of duty warred within her. Would she go to the grove next Sabbath? With a sigh, she knew she would. And what would she say?

  “Oh God, have mercy on me and give me wisdom. I don’t know what to do.” She needed to work; it was her solace. She must keep her thoughts from flying in foolish directions.

  The weeks in between Sabbaths seemed an eternity. She hoped the family would put her obvious distraction down to her concern for her father. With Esther gone, there was no one she dared share her secret with, and it burned within her.

  That Sabbath, when she reached the olive grove, she looked anxiously about. Then in a moment, Thaddeus was there. Only her strong will kept her from flinging herself into his arms. They sat in a shady spot, careful not to sit too near, for she sensed his longing was as tangible as hers.

  “It goes well with you, Martha?”

  “It goes well.” Where could she begin to voice what had grown so quickly from bud to flower within her heart? The conversation was mundane. He talked of the army and she of the events in their village. Whenever she happened to glance up and meet his eyes, they drew her into their depths, and with effort, she looked away.

  “Martha, my time in Jerusalem draws to a close. I’ve learned I may be sent back to Rome to prepare for separation from the army. I have a few weeks at most. I would give you time, a year if I could, to think of these things, but I must speak now. I know that in the eyes of your village, you are past the age of marriage . . .”

  Her chin lifted. “Do you pity me, Thaddeus?”

  “No, my beloved, for that is what you are to me. I see a woman with strength and courage . . . and beauty. I would offer you marriage, and a villa in Cyprus where we could raise a family. As I told you before, I am able to provide for you.” He leaned toward her. “I do not want to return there alone.”

  He thought her beautiful. She was touched beyond words. It was her last chance for marriage and children . . . and he loved her. Still she hesitated.

  Her voice was almost a whisper. “You ask at great cost, Thaddeus.”

  “You would not be mistreated as a Jewess on Cyprus, beloved.”

  “Your offer brings joy to my heart, but my father needs me right now. I cannot leave him for this. It would break his heart.”

  His shoulders sagged as he nodded. “I understand, but I will hope—until they order me to Rome.”

  She searched his face and realized how dear he was to her. She could not ask him to wait forever.

  As if reading her thoughts, he took a step closer. “I will wait a little longer.”

  They seemed to move toward each other as one, and as his strong arms closed about her, she felt as if she could stay there forever. She laid her head against his shoulder, feeling the strength of his body. He seemed to sigh and, with reluctance, put her away from him. He smiled down at her upturned face and brushed her forehead with a light kiss.

  “I would wish more than that, beloved, but for now, let that be a seal between us.”

  She moved back from him until only the tips of their fingers touched and finally she turned away. She could not look back at him, for she would have run back into his arms and promised anything. She lifted her shawl over her head and walked home as a tear slid slowly down one cheek.

  10

  The dream had been sweet. She was wrapped in Thaddeus’s arms, looking out toward the sea. Someone was calling and she was shaken awake by her sister Mary.

  “Martha, come quickly. It is Abba. I don’t think he is breathing.”

  It was barely light, but Martha rose quickly and followed her sister to her father’s pallet. Mary had taken to sleeping near her father through the night lest he wake and need her. Lazarus awakened and he too hurried to his father.

  Ephraim lay peacefully on his pallet, his face serene in death. He’d left them quietly in his sleep sometime during the night.

  Mary began to weep softly and Lazarus remained on his knees, his head bowed over the body of his father. Martha felt hot tears roll down her own cheeks as she tore the part of her tunic over her heart to express her grief. She had leaned on her father’s wisdom so long, and now he was gone. First her mother and now her father—the weight of the responsibility felt like a stone in her heart. It was all on her shoulders now.

  As soon as it was light, Lazarus went to tell Nathan and the neighbors. Martha sent Mary for Anna and Helah to begin the aninut, the preparation time. When they came, the women prepared Ephraim’s body for burial, rubbing it with oil. The women helped Martha lift the body to wrap it in long strips of linen and tucked fragrant spices in the folds. Mary bound his head with a linen napkin. The local rabbi was sent for to say the kaddish, the mourning prayers, for him. Most of the village came out of their homes to join in the funeral procession. The women wept with loud cries, flinging up dust and tearing their clothes as a sign of great mourning. Ephraim’s body was borne on a bier through the town to the place of burial and the entrance sealed with a stone. Mary and Martha wept as they left the tomb, but Lazarus walked stoically beside them, his eyes dry but his face a mask of pain.

  When they returned to the house, Judith brought eggs, a symbol of life, and bread. It was the seudat havraah, the meal of condolences. During the seven days of mourning, the shivah, Martha, Mary, and Lazarus sat on low stools, and the sisters wept together. No clothes were changed, no meals prepared. Their feet were bare as a sign of mourning and no work was done in any way. For Martha, whose life revolved around her household, it did not matter. The burden of responsibility for her family was like a great cloak that had been laid on her shoulders. Food was brought by friends and neighbors. Martha watched her brother as he sat, unshaven, staring at the floor. If only he would give vent to his grief. He recited the kaddish each day as required by a son for his father, standing up before the minyan of ten men, affirming according to the law, the merit of his deceased father, but otherwise said little. Martha knew he would recite the kaddish each day of the eleven months of the avelut, the period prescribed for mourning a parent.

  “Lazarus.” She touched him on the shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

  He gave her a wan smile and shook his head. “Do not fear for me, sister, I will be all right.”

  Nathan came after the seven days of shivah, and the two men left the courtyard to walk in the fields and talk. Martha watched them go and felt somewhat comforted. Nathan was a friend and loved their father. Perhaps Lazarus could unburden himself with Nathan.

  Lazarus returned some time later and his countenance had lifted. She could see by his face that he had wept. He had vented his grief at last.

  At the end of the thirty days of mourning, Martha watched Lazarus as he went down the road to return to his jobs in the village. Martha knew her authority must decrease as Lazarus took his place as head of the household. With a deep sigh, she went to her loom to finish a cloth she’d started before her father died. As she sent the shuttle along the strands of wool, her mind remained on Lazarus.

  She had been like a mother to him for so long that she’d always seen him as a boy. Yet now it was as if an invisible hand gripped her heart. Was this how every mother felt when suddenly she sees that the child she’s nurtured is no longer a child? This morning it was not a boy who looked back at her, but a man.

  Mary went about her work, but her mood was somber, and when she had the opportunity, she poured out her sorrow in the minor keys of the songs she played on her lyre.

  Martha was not able to go to the Mount of Olives for the month of mourning, and she wondered if Thaddeus knew about her father. The next Sabbath, in the quiet of the afternoon, she felt free to once again go to the Garden of Gethsemane. She told Mary she just needed to go for a walk and hated herself for her deceit. Fortunately Mary had other things on her mind and nodded absentmindedly. Lazarus was away, visiting with
Shua.

  Ignoring the guilt that followed like a shadow, Martha walked quickly to the grove of olive trees, praying Thaddeus would be there. When he stepped from among the trees and held out his arms, this time she ran into them gladly.

  “I heard about your father,” he said gently as he held her. “I’m so sorry. I would have come to you, but that would have caused more harm than good and I would not cause you more pain.”

  She looked up at him through her tears. “I knew you couldn’t come. I understand.”

  “How is it with your household? Your brother and sister?”

  They walked slowly together through the grove.

  “Lazarus keeps his grief to himself and will not talk about it. Mary weeps silently and plays her lyre. The melodies are sad, and hard for me to hear, but I could not ask her to stop. I miss my father greatly. Ill as he was, he gave me strength.”

  “Martha, I would be happy to make a home for your brother and sister also if they would let me. They would be welcome.”

  Her heart swelled with love for him, but she shook her head. “Lazarus is to be married. He won’t leave our home, for it will be his and Shua’s if I leave. As to Mary, that will have to be her decision. I’m sure she will wish to marry and remain in the village.” She shook her head. “Oh, Thaddeus, my heart tells me to go with you, but I just don’t know what to do.”

  He turned and drew her close again, drawing a rough finger slowly down her cheek. He would not shame her by trying to kiss her, knowing Jewish customs, but he looked at her face intently.

  “I am going on patrol with my men tomorrow. We have word where we can find a robber and murderer by the name of Barabbas, and we are to hunt him down and capture him. I don’t know how long I will be gone, beloved, but can I hope for your answer when I return?”

  She nodded wordlessly and laid her head against his broad chest with a small sigh of contentment. She was loved by a decent man who could offer her marriage, to take away the shame of her spinsterhood. And he wanted children. She could be a mother at last. Her heart fluttered in her chest.