Tomb : A Novel of Martha (9781451689136)

by Landsem, Stephanie

  His wide eyes and full lips still reminded Martha of a fish, but now silver flecked his well-trimmed beard and gold flashed on his fingers. His hair had thinned over the years, and his fine linen tunic hung on a lean—almost bony—frame. Heavy blue tassels fluttered at the corners of his coat, marking him a pious Pharisee, just like Abba.

  Micah stuttered, “You don’t . . . you said, no credit for these miserable—”

  “Silence, Micah.” Simon glared, then offered Martha a small smile and a bow. “Give Martha, daughter of Sirach, may his name be blessed for generations to come, two—no, three—ephah of the best wheat. As my gift to your family.”

  Martha opened her mouth to decline. She didn’t want a gift, especially not from Simon. They already owed him more than they could pay in a year of Sabbaths. But what else could she do? Humiliate the richest man in Bethany? She dipped her head. “My thanks to you, Simon. May the Lord bless you in your generosity.”

  His gaze dropped to his feet. “I know why you are making a feast tonight.”

  Her heart faltered. He knew about Jesus? Simon was as close to the leaders in Jerusalem as a flea on a donkey’s ear. If he knew Jesus was in Bethany, they would know within hours.

  Simon nodded gravely. “Your year of mourning for your father, may his memory be blessed forever, is complete.”

  Avelut. Of course. During the year after a parent’s death, the law discouraged feasting. But now they could celebrate with food and music. In fact, the sages encouraged bringing an end to the mourning period with a feast. But Simon didn’t know they would be feasting with a man Abba probably would have disdained.

  Simon took her silence as an affirmation. “Well do I remember the many delicious dishes you prepared when your father had me as his guest. Before . . .” He cleared his throat and looked away.

  Before he was a leper. Martha glimpsed a flash of pain on Simon’s face. Abba had treated Simon like a son for years, but when the leprosy struck, Abba had turned away. The priests had declared him clean, but Abba—like many in Bethany—never welcomed him in his home again. Even as Simon’s wealth increased, the people of Bethany had never forgotten his shame.

  She watched Micah scoop grain into her basket as the silence between them lengthened. Simon clasped and unclasped his hands. “You honor the memory of your father by your devotion to the law and your dedication to purity.”

  Purity. Martha looked down at her feet, worry twisting through her.

  Simon rubbed a hand over his neck. “Perhaps you can bring a message to your brother for me.” It sounded more like an order than a request. “Please have him visit my home at his convenience. Now that avelut is over, we have much to discuss.”

  Martha glanced at Micah, who was obviously listening. What business could Simon have with Lazarus? And why only after their mourning?

  “I will give him your invitation.” She clasped the filled basket to her side. “I thank you for the wheat. May your household ever be blessed.”

  Instead of the traditional response, Simon looked at her with his large, round eyes as though trying to tell her something. “I hope those blessings begin soon. For both of us.”

  What did that mean? Martha zigzagged through the marketplace. Simon had never been easy to understand. Just be thankful he doesn’t know about Jesus. Lazarus had been right, the Lord—or at least Simon—had provided.

  Anxiety pinched at the back of her neck. But what would it cost her?

  Chapter Thirteen

  MARTHA GAVE THE cumin sauce one last stir. She would have liked to go with Lazarus to meet Jesus at the outskirts of Bethany, but someone had to keep the food hot and the children clean.

  She surveyed her courtyard with satisfaction. The vessels had been immersed, and jars of water stood ready to wash the guests’ feet and purify their hands. The meat was perfectly roasted, the bread freshly baked. A breeze lifted the smoke from the courtyard as the last rays of the sun filtered through the clouds. It would be cool tonight but not cold. Perfect for gathering around the fire and visiting with Jesus and his mother.

  Adina and Sarah perched on the bench next to Mary, who was nursing Natanel. Martha had brushed and braided their hair and washed their faces. They jumped up as the courtyard door opened, then slumped in disappointment when Zakai came through with an armload of dried dung for the fires. He avoided Martha’s eyes, and her heart twinged. His punishment for the wheat disaster had been to stay with her instead of going with the others to meet Jesus on the road. Now she wished she hadn’t been so hard on him. He was just a little boy, after all.

  Zakai stopped before her, blinking hard at her feet. “I’m sorry, Marmar.”

  Martha let out a long breath and pulled him into her arms. “I know, my sweet.” She kissed his cheek. “Now wash up.”

  His face brightened. “When will he be here?”

  “Soon.” She steered him to the water jar. “And don’t forget your face.”

  He splashed some water on his face and rubbed. “Lazarus says he’s the Messiah. Is he, Marmar?”

  Martha snagged a clean tunic drying on a rosemary bush and pulled it over his head. What could she tell him that wouldn’t be disrespectful to her brother or Jesus? That Lazarus thought the best of everyone? She combed through his hair with her fingers. Or that Jesus was wise and good, perhaps a prophet like Elijah? Her problem was solved as the door creaked open once more.

  Jesus entered the courtyard with what seemed like a joyful army. Lazarus walked next to Jesus, one arm draped over his shoulder. John, the youngest disciple, not much older than Lazarus, smiled on Jesus’ other side. A troop of dusty men, women, and children followed with Mary, the mother of Jesus, at their center.

  Zakai, Adina, and Sarah gave a collective shout and ran for Jesus at a full sprint. Jesus saw them coming and crouched down, holding out his arms. They barreled into him, but he held steady, his smile growing wide as they all spoke to him at once.

  Jesus embraced each child, whispering in their ears something that made them laugh. His hair, brown and curling over his neck, needed a trim, and so did his beard. He wasn’t a big man, and he’d lost weight since Martha had seen him last. She’d need to make sure he got plenty of food tonight.

  Jesus stood and turned to Martha. She looked at his hands, strong and calloused, as they closed around hers. For a moment, she felt exposed. Would he know she didn’t believe he was the Messiah, as Lazarus did? Would he be angry at her—or worse, disappointed?

  She forced herself to look up, into his deep brown eyes. He gazed back at her with friendship and love, just as he had since they were children.

  “Welcome, my cousin. We are honored to have you here.” And she meant it. Whatever others said of him, he was family and their beloved friend.

  Jesus squeezed her hands. “I hope you haven’t been working too hard, Martha.” His voice was teasing, and she flushed. He knew her well.

  Mary approached with her tiny son in her arms and a proud smile on her face. Her arms jingled with her ever-present bangles. She wore her pink tunic, a green head covering, and a belt of mustard yellow. Martha smiled. Leave it to Mary to be the most colorful woman in Bethany. More colorful than most women thought seemly.

  Jesus turned to her and held out his arms. Carefully, she set her new son in the crook of his elbow. He pulled Natanel close and kissed his wrinkled forehead. Natanel squirmed as though Jesus’ rough beard tickled him, and his mouth stretched into a smile.

  Martha laughed. Even infants loved Jesus.

  “Natanel. God gives.” Jesus nodded his approval to Josiah. “A good name, my friend.” He gave Natanel back to his mother as Penina approached with a bowl of water.

  Penina bathed his feet quickly, then hurried away before Jesus could even thank her. Martha caught Lazarus’s quick frown. What did he expect? Penina hadn’t grown up with Jesus like they had, and she surely didn’t believe he was the Messiah.

  Within minutes, Jesus and the men reclined on couches in the dining area. It
was a large room, one that Abba had been overly proud of. Jesus sat at the head of a low U-shaped table surrounded by raised benches. Lazarus stretched out at Jesus’ right side and John at his left. Martha recognized Peter, Andrew, and the ones they called the sons of Zebedee—James and his brother John. Some of the others she had seen before but didn’t know their names.

  Mary, the mother of Jesus, touched Martha’s elbow. “Can I help you with the meal, Martha?” Mary was a small woman—her head only reached Martha’s shoulder—and as dainty as a girl. Her deep brown hair was streaked with gray, and her face showed the lines of age and the pallor of fatigue.

  Martha embraced her. “No, Mary. You are all tired from your journey.” She shooed Mary and the rest of Jesus’ people—a woman from Magdala, and one named Joanna, along with a few servants—into the courtyard. “Go rest beside the fire. I’ll bring food after the men are served.” When the men were satisfied, she’d have time to catch up with Jesus’ mother without hurry, without worry.

  Martha rescued the last few rounds of bread from the baking oven just before they burned. She’d sent her sister to watch the bread, but, of course, Mary had disappeared. Penina appeared at her side. “Thank the Most High for you, Penina,” Martha whispered. There was much to do, and Penina could always be counted on. “I’ll serve the wine; you bring the bread and the olives.”

  Martha entered the dining room quietly and poured wine for Jesus, then Lazarus. A well-dressed man with a short, trimmed beard was blessing the bread. He sounded like a scholar, perhaps even a Pharisee. And the way his sharp eyes took in the ritual water jars and surveyed the table reminded her of Abba. Was he looking for any type of impurity, any transgression of the law? Her heart fluttered, even as she knew there was nothing amiss on her table.

  “Judas,” John called to the sharp-eyed man after the blessing. “Are you finding all to your liking, this house that follows the customs of the strictest Pharisees?”

  Judas’s eyes narrowed. “And why shouldn’t we follow the laws that our wisest rabbis favor? Is it not written that we are a people set apart? Can’t we be glad to be in a house that values purity tonight instead of a tax collector’s den or dinner with a prostitute?”

  John shot back, “And hasn’t our teacher told us ‘judge not, lest you be judged’?”

  Martha backed away. Yes, Abba would agree with the one named Judas. Surely even Lazarus, as much as he loved Jesus, wouldn’t eat with a prostitute. She dashed to the courtyard to get more wine.

  When she returned, Peter was talking. “You are fortunate, indeed, to have such a good cook for a sister.”

  Lazarus smiled at Martha, and she ducked her head. “My sister is almost as good at cooking as she is at worrying.” He leaned toward Jesus. “You know how she is, Jesus. How can I ease her mind?”

  That’s not fair. Lazarus knew he could say anything he wanted, and she couldn’t answer back in front of the men. Embarrassment and irritation sent a flush to her cheeks.

  Jesus gave her a teasing smile. He knew what Lazarus was doing, but spoke directly to her. “Don’t be angry at him, Martha. And don’t worry so much about what you’ll make to serve us.”

  Martha’s cheeks burned, and she looked away. Jesus was so improper. What would he do next? Ask her to sit down beside him and share their food?

  Martha poured more wine in Lazarus’s cup and glared at him. Her brother would have plenty to worry about when she got a chance to talk to him alone, without these men here to protect him. How could Lazarus put her in this position, then sit there looking at her with that ridiculous smirk on his face?

  Jesus laughed at her look as if he knew her thoughts. He swept a hand toward the open window. “Look at the birds. They gather nothing, but your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you more important than the birds, Martha?”

  Judas spoke up, his face more serious. “But is that fair? We must care for our families. We must worry about feeding and clothing our children.”

  Martha let out a held breath. Judas had voiced her own thoughts. If she didn’t worry about what to eat, who would? The grain didn’t appear in the jar each morning. The bread didn’t bake itself.

  Jesus answered Judas with equal seriousness. “You are right that we must care for our families, but worrying cannot add a single moment to your life.”

  Martha stalked from the room to get the meat. It was easy for him to say to stop worrying. If he knew all she had to worry about, perhaps he would understand.

  When she returned with the meat, Jesus continued as if she hadn’t left the room. “Look at the flowers, Martha.” He motioned to the window, where the first flowers showed white on the hillside. “They do not spin. But not even Solomon was as beautifully clothed.”

  Lazarus nodded. “They are as beautiful as my sister, and worry much less.”

  She set the platter in front of Lazarus with a clatter. How like a man to think that being beautiful was her only worry. No, she worried for the safety of her family, and about the crops in the garden. About her brother’s talk of betrothal. And most of all, about the secret she hid from everyone in Bethany. Jesus might eat with prostitutes, but would he sit at her table if he knew what she’d done?

  Jesus leaned toward her. “I tell you, Martha. Don’t worry about tomorrow, but trust in your heavenly Father. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”

  Martha clenched her jaw and turned her back on the men. Hopefully, no one in Bethany would hear about Jesus’ impropriety. Even his mother, out in the courtyard with the other women, would be shocked.

  As she left the dining room, a jingle of bracelets greeted her. Mary came toward her, her bright robes flowing behind her like a desert sunset. In her hands she held a familiar alabaster jar.

  What was Mary doing now? Martha blocked her way into the dining room.

  Mary smiled as though she had a wonderful secret. She pulled the stopper from the jar and held it under Martha’s nose. “Look what I found.”

  “Where did you get that?” The costly nard had been tucked safely away in her room.

  “From your storage chest.” Mary veered around her. “I am going to anoint Jesus.”

  Tension tightened Martha’s chest. What was Mary thinking? Of course she was not going to anoint Jesus. And not with that expensive oil.

  Martha moved to keep her from the doorway. “Mary, you’re still impure.” And she would be for four more days. The one named Judas would surely take offense; he’d just seen her with a newborn baby. Besides, she couldn’t anoint a man that wasn’t her husband; it just wasn’t done.

  Mary’s face fell. “But it’s Jesus. He won’t mind. He’s not like other men.”

  Martha’s temper rose. That was surely the truth. “I mind.” And so would Abba. There was enough impropriety going on in her household tonight.

  Mary looked at Martha like she’d grown goat horns. “This isn’t your house. It’s Lazarus’s. And he would want me to honor his guest.”

  “Honor his guest?” Martha’s voice rose. And humiliate her family when everyone in Bethany heard of it? “Lazarus might be the head of the family, but Abba left me in charge of the household. And you are not using this on Jesus.” She took the jar of precious oil from Mary’s hands and pulled her out into the courtyard. Don’t I have enough to worry about? Josiah would probably tell his mother about Jesus, and by tomorrow, everyone in Bethany would know he’d been here. And of his poor manners. She pushed Mary to sit on the bench beside Safta. “Grandmother, tell her she’s being ridiculous.”

  Safta didn’t even open her eyes. “You seem to be doing a fine job with that, as usual.”

  Can’t Safta offer some help for once? “Mary, I have more important things to do than watch over you. Stay here with the women, and I’ll get you some food.”

  Mary looked at her, her eyes sad. “Martha, there is nothing more important than honoring the Messiah.”

  Martha’s mouth dropped open. “You believe it, too?” How could she?

  Mary d
idn’t flinch, and her eyes were gentle. “How can you not believe it, Martha? He’s cured the sick, given sight to the blind. What else do you need to see?”

  Martha clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t seen any evidence of a Messiah tonight, just her cousin embarrassing her in front of the rest of the men.

  She looked to Safta. “Grandmother? Tell her. Jesus can’t be the Messiah! He’s . . . he’s Jesus. Mary and Joseph’s son. We’ve known him all our lives.”

  But Safta’s face showed nothing, not a hint of help. “The wise man is honored, even if his family is despised.”

  What? Now Safta was quoting proverbs to her? Martha blew a breath from her nose. Had everyone in her family turned against her?

  “For once, Martha, listen to what your heart tells you,” Mary whispered.

  “It isn’t that simple, Mary,” Martha bit out. Mary didn’t have her responsibilities, her reputation to uphold. It was more complicated than just sitting down at Jesus’ feet. There were people to consider. People she loved.

  “It is.” Mary’s voice was gentle. She reached out to Martha. “Just choose to believe in him.”

  Martha choked out a bitter laugh as her temper snapped. Choose? As if it were that easy. “Some of us don’t get to choose,” she spit out. Not our messiahs, and not our husbands.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MARTHA BRUSHED PAST Mary and Safta. She had to get away from the pity in Mary’s eyes and the challenge she didn’t understand in Safta’s. She had worked so hard to make this dinner perfect. What else did they want from her?

  The anxiety, building within her for the whole terrible day, rose like a flood.

  Listen to your heart, Mary said. Martha couldn’t listen to her heart. She didn’t trust it anymore. She stalked through the courtyard, threading her way through the women, avoiding their concerned looks. Scooping up a handful of dried dung and sticks, she threw it on the smoldering cooking fire. Just choose to believe in him, Mary said.

  Choose?

  She poured water into a cooking pot and set it over the fire. A stack of dirty pots and spoons waited to be washed. She scooped a handful of sand from a crock and began to scour a pot crusted with burnt cumin sauce. If she could just scrub away the memories of the night she’d chosen—chosen, just like Mary said—to follow her heart. That night had changed her life forever.