Tomb : A Novel of Martha (9781451689136)

by Landsem, Stephanie

  She laid her hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, her own still stinging. “I knew him.”

  Penina’s head jerked up, her slanted eyes questioning, and she fumbled with her spool of thread. Safta snorted in her sleep. Martha watched her settle back down, her chin drooping to her chest.

  Zakai’s brows arched. “But, you said—”

  “I know. But you’re old enough now to keep a secret, aren’t you?”

  Zakai nodded. “But how did you—”

  “I just did.” She closed her eyes and brought the picture of Isa to her mind. The Isa that she’d known since he was just a boy like Zakai. “Your father was a good man. A kind man.” Or he would have been, if he’d grown to be a man.

  She pulled Zakai closer, loving the touch of his soft skin, his boyish smell. “He had a voice like King David and could play the kinnor more beautifully than anyone in Judea.”

  Penina came to them. She laid one hand on Zakai’s messy hair.

  “Is it true, Mama?” Zakai looked up at Penina, his eyes bright.

  She nodded and laid her other arm around Martha’s shoulders, making a three-sided fortress. Martha pulled them closer. They were her family, and she would take care of them both. She just didn’t know how. Holy One, Shepherd of Israel, answer me. How can I take care of them?

  The courtyard door swung opened, and Simon entered. Penina stepped away, pulling Zakai with her. Martha wiped the tears from her eyes and adjusted her head covering. Why was he here?

  For once, Simon was without his lumbering guards. His face was grave as he greeted them. “Peace be on your house, Martha.”

  “And on all of yours.”

  Simon clasped his hands in front of his thin frame. “I inspected your garden this morning and come to offer my assistance.”

  Another loan? Or a different kind of assistance? “I—I thank you, Simon,” she stammered. “You are most kind.”

  Safta snorted from her perch in the corner. “Kindness has little to do with it.”

  “Hush, Safta,” Martha whispered, her face heating.

  Simon stood before her in silence.

  Was he wondering if she had agreed to the betrothal? She snuck a look at his face. His gaunt cheeks were tinged with pink. Could he be as embarrassed as she? Her flush seeped from her cheeks down her neck. What was she supposed to say to him next?

  And where is Lazarus?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  LAZARUS ROLLED OVER, every bone in his body aching. The sun was well over the horizon. How had he slept so long? Then he remembered. The locusts, the garden. It was all gone. He pulled his cloak over his face. With no crop to bring to Jerusalem and no coin for more seed, they were ruined. And the apricots wouldn’t be ready for months.

  Surely now Martha would see that there was only one choice.

  He pushed himself up from the mat, but a sharp pain in his middle doubled him over. He breathed shallowly until it passed, then pulled up his tunic, exposing his flat belly. There, where the ache had been for the past week, was a swollen lump. He probed it with one finger. Pain shot through him like a knife under his ribs.

  A sick worry knotted in his stomach. What kind of affliction was this? The growths under his arms, the shortness of breath, and now this? Something was very wrong.

  Lord, be my strength and my shield.

  Surely the Lord wanted him to follow the Messiah? This could be a test, to make sure he was worthy to be a disciple of the Holy One. Perhaps all of it was a test—this illness, the locusts, even his disquieting feelings about Penina. He would stand firm in his trust and go ahead with his plans. He must. And whatever this affliction was, he would keep it to himself.

  • • •

  MARTHA WHISPERED TO Zakai, “Go, get Lazarus from the upper room.” Of all the days to be sleeping so late and leaving her to talk to Simon. Didn’t he know she needed him?

  Martha stared at Simon’s sandals—fine sandals with thick wooden soles and soft leather straps. The tassels of his coat almost brushed his feet. She couldn’t think of one thing to say to the man in her courtyard who wanted to be her husband.

  Zakai finally returned. “Lazarus is coming.” He looked sideways at Simon. “Can I go tell Adina about my caterpillar?”

  Martha nodded. “Go, but be back by midday.”

  As Zakai dashed across the courtyard, Lazarus climbed down the ladder from the roof. Relief flared within Martha, quickly replaced by concern. Lazarus’s face was pinched and pale. She stepped toward him, but Lazarus waved her away.

  “Simon. Forgive me. Martha, water, please.”

  Martha hurried to the water jar; she’d ask him later what was wrong. She poured water in two purified cups.

  Penina went back to the loom but gave Martha a raised eyebrow. She was wondering about Simon’s visit as well.

  Simon repeated his earlier condolences to Lazarus as Martha brought them water and bread. Simon took a seat on the bench under the fig tree while Lazarus settled heavily onto a stool. Martha eyed her brother. His hand shook as he lowered his cup. Was she imagining it, or was his chest rising and falling as though he couldn’t catch his breath? She retreated to the corner of the courtyard next to Penina, shadowed by the fig tree but close enough to hear every word.

  Lazarus took another long drink. “I thank you for your concern, Simon. How did your crops fare?”

  Simon looked at his cup, his answer slow in coming. “The Almighty has blessed me. One of my fields was in the way of the insects, but the others have been spared.”

  Martha’s heart sank. Simon’s land—his crops and vineyards—were spared when theirs were not?

  “You are indeed blessed,” Lazarus said.

  “Will you replant?” Simon asked.

  Martha stifled a snort. Simon, of all people, knew they had no way to pay for seed.

  Simon leaned forward. “Do not worry about the cost. I can give you seed.”

  Lazarus raised his gaze to the older man. “But I can’t repay you. And I already owe you a great deal.” The silence weighed on the courtyard like a heavy blanket.

  Martha’s face began to heat. Were they going to speak of the betrothal again? Please, no.

  “Have you considered, ah, what we discussed in my home?” Simon’s voice was low, but he glanced in her direction.

  “I have, but Martha . . .” Lazarus let her name hang in the silence.

  Martha felt her ire rise. I’m right here. Must they speak of her as if she were deaf and dumb? She caught Penina’s sideways glance.

  Simon put a hand on Lazarus’s shoulder. “You are the head of your family now and must do what you think is best for your sister.”

  Without her consent? Would Lazarus do that?

  Simon continued as if she wasn’t there. “With my help, you will soon be as prosperous as your father and be able to marry and have a family of your own. Our children will grow up together.” Simon’s gaze went to Martha, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  Martha wished she could disappear like spilled water into the dry ground. Speaking of their children already? Couldn’t they take this one step at a time?

  Lazarus stared into his wine cup, his mouth turned down in a grimace.

  “Do you not wish for a family of your own someday?” Simon asked Lazarus, his tone puzzled.

  Martha frowned. Lazarus looked like he’d been caught sneaking away to the synagogue instead of doing his chores.

  Simon took a breath and straightened, as though he’d just solved a riddle. “Ah. I see.”

  Martha looked harder at her brother. What did Simon see that she couldn’t?

  “You wish to follow your cousin, to be one of his disciples.”

  Lazarus glanced first at Simon, then at Martha, the answer written on his face. Penina fumbled with her shuttle. Martha took in a sharp breath and reached for Penina’s hand. Was Simon right? Lazarus still wanted to leave them? Now, when they needed him more than ever?

  “You’ll get yourself killed,” Sim
on said, his voice grave.

  Martha’s heart stuttered. Penina’s hand was cold and limp in hers. Simon was right. Being Jesus’ friend was dangerous; being his disciple might be deadly.

  “He’s the Messiah,” Lazarus said.

  “He’s a fraud,” Simon answered, smiling as if to soften his words. He raised his hands, palms out. “But you are young and have every right to be foolish.”

  Lazarus’s jaw firmed in the stubborn look Martha knew well.

  “Still . . .” Simon’s smile disappeared. “You cannot take care of your household and follow your heart.”

  Simon was at least talking sense.

  Before Lazarus could answer, the door to the courtyard flew open, and Zakai darted in, heading straight for the men. “Lazarus! Jesus is coming.”

  Lazarus jumped to his feet.

  Martha locked eyes with Penina, alarm jolting through her. Not in front of Simon. Penina darted out of the corner, reaching Zakai just as he came to stand in front of Lazarus.

  Simon’s brows rose up to his receding hairline. “Stop,” he ordered Penina. “Speak, boy.”

  Zakai froze at Simon’s forceful tone, his eyes widening.

  Lazarus crouched down beside him. “Tell me, Zakai. What did you hear?”

  Zakai didn’t hesitate. “He’s coming here, today, for Purim.” He wiggled as if he had ants crawling up his tunic.

  Lazarus glanced at Simon. “He’s back from Galilee already?” he asked Zakai. “Who told you?”

  Zakai bounced closer to Lazarus. “Josiah. He just came from the Temple. He saw him there, and Jesus said to expect them. Can I go to meet him on the road? Please, Marmar?”

  Martha gave him a look that shushed him for a moment. Everyone knew the priests were looking for Jesus. Simon would get word to the Sanhedrin faster than a swallow’s flight.

  Lazarus stood quickly. Whatever ailed him earlier seemed forgotten as he turned to Martha. “Martha, can we feed them?”

  Martha stared at her brother. Jesus was about to be arrested by the Sanhedrin, and Lazarus was worried about whether they had enough food to feed him and his followers?

  “Can we?” he asked again.

  Martha pursed her lips and surveyed her cooking area. Purim would be meager for them alone; she couldn’t possibly feed the disciples. And the wine. Not enough for twelve grown men and Jesus to have even one cup. And this was Purim, where wine was to flow freely and all drink their fill. It was the perfect excuse to keep Jesus out of Bethany. She shook her head. “Zakai, tell Josiah to find Jesus, to tell him not to—”

  “I will host them,” Simon interrupted. His thick lips bent into a smile in the silence that followed. “Please, Lazarus. Allow me to host the Purim feast for you and your friends.”

  Lazarus blinked. “For Jesus and his followers?”

  Martha tried to keep her face smooth. Hadn’t he just said that Jesus was a fraud? Why would Simon, a Pharisee, invite Jesus to his home? And would he tell the Sanhedrin?

  Simon nodded, his eyes on Martha. “If your sister deems my humble home worthy and agrees to cook and serve us.”

  Martha took a step back, pulling Zakai with her. Simon was asking her to cook in his home? For Jesus? She fumbled for a reply. “But what about Jael? Won’t your mother wish to cook for your guests?”

  Simon looked pleased. “My mother left this morning to visit her people in Jerusalem. She will return after the feast. She will thank you for serving me in her absence.”

  Thank her? Jael would rather let vermin in her wheat than let another woman cook in her courtyard. Simon knew that as well as anyone. “Josiah”—she needed an excuse, anything to stop this madness—“and Mary and the children. We always—”

  “Invite them as well. I have plenty for all.”

  Martha watched Lazarus, but he seemed at a loss for words. Josiah at Simon’s table? Mary and the children in his courtyard? Jesus, with his blasphemous ideas, in Simon’s company?

  Simon rubbed his hands together. “It is decided.” He pushed himself up from the bench. “Lazarus, I will listen to this kinsman of yours. I will question him.” He smiled, as if he already knew the answers to his questions. “Perhaps your faith in him will be justified. Or perhaps I will prove my point about this so-called Messiah.”

  He snapped his fingers at Zakai. “You. Go to Josiah and invite him to my house.”

  Zakai looked to Martha, and she nodded, giving him a push to the door.

  Simon smoothed his tunic and adjusted his cloak. “And, Lazarus, don’t worry. For now, no one in Jerusalem needs to know that your kinsman is here. It will be our secret.” Simon turned and leveled his gaze at Martha, his voice full of meaning. “I will begin the preparations. It is time for our two families to become better acquainted.”

  When the courtyard door had closed behind him, Martha covered her mouth with her hand. Was it relief or fear welling up in her chest? Jesus would be safe for now, but she had even more to worry about.

  She would be cooking in Jael’s home for Simon, the strictest Pharisee in Bethany, and Jesus, who spoke blasphemy. Not to mention Josiah, a man Simon thought a fool, and the disciples, who bickered like old women. And on Purim, the one night when the law encouraged the men to drink wine until they didn’t know the difference between “Blessed be Mordecai” and “Cursed be Haman.”

  It was a recipe for disaster.

  Lazarus pushed himself up from the stool, his face thoughtful. “Martha, I see now how the Lord is comforting us. He is rewarding us for our faithfulness.”

  Martha stared at her brother. Comforting them? It seemed more like the Lord was mocking them. How could Lazarus think this was a good thing? Jesus—not to mention poor Josiah—was stepping right into the lion’s den. And she was cooking in the home of the one woman in Bethany whom she couldn’t afford to anger.

  Lazarus put a hand on her shoulder. “Martha. Don’t you see?” His color was back, his grip strong, his face sure. “The Almighty has found you a husband. One who is generous and even willing to listen to Jesus.”

  “So that you can leave us.” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. Now she knew why he wanted her married off.

  “So that I can follow the Messiah, Martha. The Messiah.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward, nodding as if he’d come to a decision. “Martha, I am going to agree to the betrothal to Simon.”

  Panic rose in her chest, and her legs weakened. Was he ordering her to marry? “What? But, Lazarus—”

  “It is for the best. Everyone’s best, Martha.” For a moment he looked just like Abba.

  His best. He couldn’t wait to get out of Bethany. She gripped his arm and lowered her voice, although only Penina and a sleeping Safta were within earshot. “But what about Zakai, Lazarus?”

  His voice dropped as well. “You will tell Simon.”

  Martha’s heart sped up. “Me?” How could she do that? How could she risk it? “He could have us driven out of Bethany. He could—”

  “He won’t.” Lazarus’s hands on her shoulders gentled. “He’s a good man, didn’t you just see that? He’s going to listen to Jesus; not many Pharisees would do that. And he won’t report him to the Sanhedrin. Martha, Simon is the answer to our prayers.”

  Martha swallowed her fear. She needed time. Time to think, to decide. “Give me a week to think about it, Lazarus.”

  Lazarus looked troubled for a moment, and his hand cupped his side. “No. You must tell him tomorrow.”

  Martha jerked back. Why so soon? Her legs grew weak. “No. I need more time.”

  “We don’t have it.” He grimaced as if in pain. “Show him tonight what a good wife you will be. Then tomorrow you will see. He will show you his mercy and forgiveness.”

  She tried to breathe, tried to think. Tomorrow? Everyone in Bethany believed the lie she lived—the wall of protection she’d built for Zakai, her reputation as a perfect woman. Simon believed it most of all. Would Simon really forgive her, as Lazarus said, or would he release
a flood of retribution?

  Her brother’s face had the stubborn look that she knew well from Abba. Lazarus was the head of the family, and she was bound to obey him, just as she had been to obey Abba. Tonight, she must prove to Simon what a good wife she would be. Tomorrow, she would be like Esther, depending on Simon’s mercy even if he—like King Xerxes—could have her slain with one word.

  Trust in the Lord, Lazarus’s silent gaze said to her. Instead, she wanted to run away, like Jonah when he heard the Lord’s call. Was Simon her King Xerxes, or was he the belly of a fish?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Still, you insist on sincerity of heart; in my inmost being teach me wisdom

  —Psalm 51:8

  ISA’S ARMS BULGED, and his back strained at the half-buried rock. The parched earth gave way, and the boulder, three times the size of his head, broke free from its berth. Before he could heft it to his shoulder, a flash of yellow-green startled him, and a scorpion the size of his little finger scuttled from the recess under the rock.

  A deathstalker. Its sting was excruciating, and often deadly. He crushed it under his sandal and peered beneath the rock, hoping there weren’t more.

  He wiped the sweat from his face. With this last boulder moved, the field would be cleared. Then what? He knew nothing more about who he was or where he belonged than he had when he’d come here seven days ago. Jesus’ words haunted him. Why would he tell him to go to his family, without telling him where or who? And why had he crossed the Galilee to free a worthless pagan from a legion of demons?

  The sun burned high in the hard blue sky, and dust dried his throat. He hefted the stone to the edge of the field and eyed the falling-down house. His stomach cried for food. Alexa would be waiting for him with his midday meal, but he’d be safer among the scorpions than being alone with her. Still, where else could he go?

  Isa crossed the field to the house. He made his way through the courtyard, past a pile of broken wheels and a jumble of iron chains covered in rust. Did he have a home and family, or was he just another piece of refuse salvaged by Nikius, unwanted and unclaimed?