Daughter of Jerusalem

by Joan Wolf

  I went to bed that night expecting to hear of a new child in the morning. I knew that childbirth was dangerous—my own mother had died having a baby. But Abigail had given birth three times with no trouble. After saying a prayer for her, I fell into my usual sound sleep.

  Aunt Leah had not yet returned to her sleeping mat when I awoke. I pulled my wool cloak over my tunic, draped my veil over my hair, slipped my feet into sandals, and went out into the courtyard to the large baking oven.

  I was always the first one up because my morning job was to grind the grain for the day’s bread. I used a hand mill to do this, and after that I mixed the meal with water, salt, and a bit of leavening. Then I kneaded it into dough to be baked later in the day.

  I was kneading vigorously when Aunt Leah came out of the house. She looked tired.

  “Mary,” she said in her softest voice.

  I smiled into her weary face. “Is it a boy?”

  My aunt shook her head. “No, another girl.”

  “Too bad,” I said sympathetically.

  She just stood there looking at me, and my hands grew still on the dough. “Is something wrong?”

  “Abigail died,” she said.

  I had been three years old when my mother died. I had no memory of her, but all my life I had longed for her. I still did. So those two words, Abigail died, hit me like a punch in the stomach. “What happened?”

  My aunt took my hand. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding, my dear. Miriam is very skilled, but even she . . .”

  “The baby?”

  My little brother had died along with my mother. I remembered that too. Such a tiny little life, so quickly extinguished.

  “She is alive.”

  I swallowed. “That is good.” I swallowed again. “But she will never know her mother.”

  “No,” my aunt agreed. “She will never know her mother.”

  I started to cry. Leah put her arms around me and held me close. We both knew that I wasn’t crying for Abigail.

  Chapter Five

  After the warm spell in December, winter set in for good. With the cold and rain cooping us up in the house, Daniel and I were forced to meet more briefly and with less intimacy than we had become used to, which frustrated both of us. Then, as January came to a close, I noticed something odd happening. Samuel was noticing me.

  It was very strange. Where once he had never looked at me, now I caught him staring at me. He even smiled at me once or twice. I found the new Samuel unnerving, and I redoubled my efforts to avoid him.

  When it wasn’t raining, I would take the children outdoors for at least part of the day, and one particularly nice afternoon two weeks before Purim, we were in the courtyard playing a game of hide-and-seek. The children loved to hide, which made me the seeker. Their giggling always gave them away, but I made a great show of looking in peculiar places for them or not quite seeing them, which they loved.

  We had been at it for a while when I noticed Samuel watching us from one of the doorways. Ivah, Joses’ grandchild, had mischievously pulled my veil off, and as no one else was around, I hadn’t bothered to replace it. The girls loved to play with my hair, which was long and straight. It was easy for them to braid, and I squealed and scolded when they pulled too hard. They loved that too.

  As soon as I saw Samuel, I tried to hide my hair. “I’m sorry, Samuel, to be so disheveled,” I apologized as I gathered it into a messy knot. “One of the children pulled my veil off when we were playing.”

  He advanced into the courtyard, paying no attention to his little daughter, who had run up to him. “Your hair is very beautiful, Mary. It shines blue in the sun, like the wing of a raven.”

  I gave him an uncertain smile and then turned to one of the children. “Ivah, fetch me my veil, please.” Obediently, she ran to get it.

  “There’s no need to be fearful,” Samuel said, regarding me with a look that made my stomach feel sick. He kept coming closer. “I am a member of your family, after all.”

  He stopped beside me and reached out to take a strand of hair that had escaped the knot between my fingers. He rubbed it between his fingers, as if evaluating a piece of material. “It’s like silk,” he said.

  His eyes glistened, and my heart began to pound. I hated his touch and wanted to push him away. But he was Lord Benjamin’s heir, a man of great importance in the family. I felt trapped and began to pray to God for deliverance.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The words ripped across the courtyard, causing both Samuel and me to jump.

  It was Daniel.

  Samuel dropped my hair and swung around to face his younger brother. “I thought you were supposed to be studying.” He sounded furious.

  Daniel was striding across the courtyard toward us. He retorted, “I was studying, but when I looked into the courtyard, I saw you stalking Mary the way a wolf stalks a lamb.” He was pale, and his narrowed eyes shone like fire. He looked startlingly dangerous.

  I grabbed my veil from Ivah and clapped it on my head. The two brothers glared at each other with open fury.

  Little Zebah slipped her hand into mine. “Why are they angry, Mary?” She sounded as frightened as I was. I shook my head, speechless. “I want to go away from here,” the girl whimpered.

  I didn’t know if it would be better to go or to stay and try to keep them from killing each other.

  Daniel’s eyes swung away from Samuel and met mine. “Zebah’s right. Take the children somewhere else.”

  I nodded, rounded up my charges, and herded them out of the courtyard and toward the house. As we walked away, I said brightly, “I’ll tell you a story. Which one do you want to hear?”

  “The one about the man who was swallowed by a whale!” Amos yelled.

  There was a commotion of agreement.

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll go into the front room, and I’ll tell it to you.”

  We were still in the front room, and I had moved on to the story of Noah and the flood, when Daniel found me. “I have to talk to you,” he said in a clipped voice.

  I gestured to the children, indicating that I could not leave them.

  “Get Leah or Ruth,” he commanded, and I ran out of the room.

  I found Aunt Leah alone in the kitchen, and I asked her to watch the children for a short time so I could speak to Daniel.

  “Why can’t Daniel speak in front of the children?” She was looking at me worriedly.

  I told her about how strange Samuel had been and how he and Daniel had looked ready to come to blows.

  She shut her eyes. “Mary, do you know how much trouble all this could cause?”

  I swallowed hard. I was beginning to realize that I did. “But Samuel has never liked me, Aunt Leah!” I cried.

  “I suppose you had better speak to Daniel.” Her voice was almost inaudible, and she went ahead of me into the front room. The look she shot at Daniel was somber, but then she turned to the children and engaged them in a song.

  Daniel and I slipped away to the empty courtyard.

  “This way,” he said, leading me to the door of one of the storerooms. He pushed it open and we stepped inside.

  The room was filled with the barrels used for packing fish, and the smell of wood and dust was strong in the air. Daniel left the door open a crack so we could see each other.

  The expression on his face as he looked down at me was unlike any I had seen before. His nose looked sharper, almost like a hawk’s beak, and his eyes wore a strangely intense expression.

  “What has happened?” My voice trembled despite my efforts to sound calm.

  “Samuel wants to marry you,” he said. “That’s what he told me after you left. The rutting old goat, he wants to marry you!”

  I stared at him in horror. “But he’s never liked me, Daniel! Remember how I once asked you what I might have done to offend him?”

  Daniel laughed harshly. “He was afraid to look at you. He lusted after you, and he was married to another wom
an. You were a temptation to him. That’s why he never looked at you.”

  I shuddered at the thought of Samuel lusting after me. “What are we going to do, Daniel? I can’t marry Samuel!”

  He reached out and pulled me close. I rested my cheek against his linen tunic and felt the beating of his heart. I put my arms around his waist and held him tightly.

  He said my name and I looked up at him. He bent his head and kissed me.

  We had kissed before, but this was different. This kiss was full of urgency, full of need. This was a kiss I could feel all the way down in my stomach. My head fell back, and he cupped a hand behind it to support me. His strong young body was pressed against mine, and I was dizzy with what he was making me feel.

  “Mary.” His voice was husky and shaking. “This isn’t right.” He put both his hands on my upper arms and put me away from him. His grip was so hard it hurt me. “I should not have kissed you like that.”

  “It felt right to me.” I lifted my chin, daring him to disagree.

  A flash of amusement flitted across his tense face. “I love it when you raise your chin like that.” He drew a deep, steadying breath. “I love all of you, my beloved.”

  “I love you too, Daniel. I have always loved you.”

  His face took on the dangerous aspect it had worn in the courtyard. He looked out the cracked door and said, “I would like to murder Samuel.”

  “You can’t hurt Samuel! That would make everything worse.”

  It never occurred to me that, if it came to blows, Samuel was much heavier than Daniel and would undoubtedly be the victor. The way Daniel looked . . . it never occurred to me at all.

  He straightened to his full height. “I’ll speak to my father about us. I’ll tell him how we feel, that we wish to be married someday. I won’t allow you to be married to Samuel.”

  From the courtyard Leah’s voice sounded, calling my name.

  Daniel said, “Go out first. I’ll wait for a bit. We don’t want anyone to see us come out of here together.”

  I bit my lip, gave him another fearful look, and slipped out the door.

  Neither Samuel nor Daniel appeared at supper that night, but as Ruth and I were walking toward the kitchen to help with the dishes, she hissed in my ear and pushed me into the closet where the Passover supper pots and plates were kept. All the precious dishes were lovingly wrapped in linen and carefully stacked.

  Esther kept a ritually clean kitchen at all times, but for Passover she had special, treasured dinnerware. Unlike the stories I had heard in Judea about Galileans, she was very strict about following the dietary laws.

  Ruth and I stood close together in the small closet, whispering so as not to be heard by anyone passing by. “My mother told me that this afternoon Samuel asked Lord Benjamin if he could marry you!”

  My heart began to race. “What did Lord Benjamin answer?”

  “He said no.”

  My relief was so intense that my knees almost gave way. “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,” I said fervently.

  Ruth was looking bewildered. “How ever did Samuel come to do such a thing, Mary? You always complained he didn’t like you.”

  I told her about what had occurred that afternoon in the courtyard. “I was terrified. Samuel was so close to me, and his eyes were glittering in a horrible way. He looked as if he wanted to eat me up.” I shuddered. “Then he touched my hair.”

  “No . . .” Ruth breathed in shocked sympathy. “That’s disgusting. How did you get away?”

  “Daniel came into the courtyard.”

  Ruth’s mouth opened in a big O. She seemed torn between fascination and terror. “What happened then?”

  I swallowed. “They had a big argument. Oh, Ruth, I thought they were going to punch each other! Then Daniel told me to take the children inside, and I did.”

  Even to Ruth, I didn’t think I should mention my later meeting with Daniel in the storeroom.

  Ruth patted my arm. “Well, you can consider yourself safe from Samuel. Lord Benjamin has already made plans for him. He’s been negotiating for Samuel to marry Naomi, the daughter of Saul bar Levi.”

  Saul bar Levi had one of the biggest fishing fleets in Magdala; his daughter would be a good match for Lord Benjamin’s heir.

  “Was Lord Benjamin angry with Samuel?”

  “If he was, he’ll get over it. It wasn’t your fault that Samuel made a fool of himself.”

  I prayed she was right.

  “There is one more thing, though . . .”

  The expression on her face alarmed me. “What?”

  “My mother also told me that Lord Benjamin expects to collect a big bride price for you. She said that two well-placed men from the town have already inquired about getting you for their sons.”

  I had never seriously thought that I might be the object of marriage offers. I knew that the young men in town admired my looks, but their fathers would be looking for more than just a pretty face.

  The Jewish custom was that the prospective husband’s family had to pay a bride price to his prospective in-laws as compensation for the loss of her services to their household. However, the wife was also expected to bring something to the husband’s family. Social status and sterling housewifely skills were the minimum a family would require before parting with a substantial bride price.

  I said, “Your mother must be wrong. Why would any father want to pay to bring me into his family?”

  Ruth said, “Those boys want you for the same reason that Samuel wanted you. And there will probably be others.”

  “No,” I said. “No and no and no. This can’t be true.”

  Ruth took my two hands and looked into my eyes. “Mary, listen to me. I’m not your friend because you’re beautiful; I’m your friend because I like you. You’re generous and kind and funny and fun to be with. But men aren’t always interested in those things. They think of something else when they look at a woman.”

  I thought of Samuel’s glittering eyes, and suddenly I was angry. “A Jewish man is supposed to think about a woman’s wifely qualities. When the scriptures talk about a wife, they say that ‘charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting.’” I lifted my chin. “A Jewish man is supposed to wed a woman whose housewifely accomplishments are richer than the ‘finest of pearls.’ That’s what the scriptures say!”

  “That may be true, but remember, they also tell us that Jacob preferred Rachel over Leah because Rachel was so beautiful. And David had Bathsheba’s husband murdered because he wanted her beauty so much. I don’t believe the scriptures mention Rachel or Bathsheba’s housewifely skills.”

  I wanted to stamp my foot, but I was afraid we might be heard from outside the closet. “Daniel doesn’t love me for my looks; he cares about me,” I said.

  “Yes, he does.” Ruth leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “But you and Daniel . . . well, you two are special. The rest of us will never have what you have.”

  I heard a note of regret in her voice. “Will you be content to marry the man your father picks for you?” I asked.

  “How would I go about choosing a man myself? I don’t know any men. None of the girls in this house knows any men. We must rely on our fathers for that sort of thing.”

  Suddenly my heart was wrung for my friend and for all the poor girls who didn’t have a Daniel in their lives.

  Ruth said, “We’d better go before Esther begins to look for us.”

  I agreed, and we listened for noise in the hall outside. When we heard no one, we slipped out the closet door and walked softly through the hall and into the kitchen.

  Later that night, as I was lying on my sleeping mat, some of Ruth’s words came back to me. In matters of marriage, she had said, girls must rely upon their fathers.

  But Lord Benjamin is not my father. My father lives in Bethany.

  I wondered if I might have found a way of escaping any marriage offers Lord Benjamin might receive for me.

  Chapter Six

  Jewish women are n
ot taught to pray as the men are. Our learning is practically limited to prayers to be said over the preparation of food. But my studies with Daniel had made me feel that the Lord was ever-present, and I prayed often. I loved the psalms in particular. It comforted me to think I could look to the Lord the way a sheep looks to its shepherd, to know that the Lord would never let me be orphaned, that I would always find shelter in the shadow of His wings.

  My father had abandoned me, and Lord Benjamin had never made me feel like a full member of his family. So I turned to the Lord for what I lacked in paternal care. The Lord cared about me. If I prayed hard enough, He would take pity on Daniel and me and allow us to marry.

  During those difficult days Daniel and I were rigidly monitored. Samuel had told his father about Daniel’s protective way toward me, and every time Esther saw me, she glared as if I were a snake in her bosom. Rachel kept trying to find out what I had done to make Esther so angry. Daniel and I were able to see each other only at supper, where we were placed at opposite ends of the table.

  On the second day of the week, the women of the household went into town to do the shopping. The open-air marketplace in Magdala was much larger than one might expect for a town of a thousand people. It was Magdala’s location on the lake road that made us an easy stopping place for the merchants traveling north to Caesarea Philippi and Damascus, south to Jerusalem, west to Sepphoris and to Caesarea, on the coast of the Great Sea, and sometimes even all the way into Egypt. We never knew what we might see when we went to market.

  This particular market day was bright and sunny, and all the women of our family joined the buzzing, gossiping crowd as they flitted from stall to stall. Ruth and I slipped away from Aunt Leah as she was bargaining for some newly harvested flax. We were standing in front of a stall near the synagogue wall, admiring pretty earrings a merchant from Sepphoris was selling, when Daniel appeared at my elbow.

  I gave him a surprised look. He was supposed to be studying in the synagogue.

  He put his mouth close to my ear. “I told the rabbi I needed some fresh air. We must talk, Mary.”