by V. M. Franck
Ruth
"I get so worried,," Ruth said, heading to the cupboard in the hallway.
"So do I, if I let myself," her mother said. "Its about trust. We're not alone in this."
"Yes, but what if it takes a long time?" Ruth said. "Things are a mess now. We don't have all kinds of time to straighten them out. Maybe we need to find a way to let them know."
She pulled out a scroll of paper, thinking to record the discussion, and joined the two women at the long table next to the hearth.
"I think it would be best if the women find us, somehow," Maria said.
In the presence of his mother she appeared humbled, awed. The softness in Mary's brown eyes was paramount. There was an expression of otherworldliness, a transcendence, a peace that was hard to attain. Bits of that peace were in Yeshua's eyes, but nothing like his mother's. She was love.
"You think that will work?" Ruth said. She tried not to be skeptical, but there seemed to be so many obstacles.
The house, the room, cozy with warmth from the fire, was constructed of whitewashed brick. The dark wooden furniture, designed for durability, had been crafted with style as Joseph had time, as the family grew.
Sitting next to Maria, comparing their homes, Ruth was glad for her own. Maria's was spacious, but not homey, beautiful and artistic yet empty of all warmth but her own.
"Yes, I do," Mother Mary said, securing her wavy hair with a leather tie. The color of dark honey, it glistened in the firelight.
She poured wine for her guest, her daughter and herself. It was cousin Elizabeth's finest.
"Over the years," Mother Mary said, "I've found that things have a way of working out with a little action, a little trust, a little hope and a lot of perseverance."
"So you think they will respond to what they've been shown, the way we have?" Ruth said.
"Yes," Mother Mary said. "And they will find us or we will find them in the course of our daily lives."
Overhead, rain pattered the roof, embracing them in feelings of safety.
"The Ancients said life began with rain," Mother Mary said. "I've always loved it so."
"Who were the Ancients, Mother?" Ruth said. "Brother Samuel is always talking about them."
"Those who came before us. Wise ones who passed down their wisdom from generation to generation. Much of it has been buried, so that those in power can stay in power. Such is the human condition. Those of us, who are aware, are born again and again to teach those who have yet to learn of the simplicity, which is our inheritance. Life doesn't have to be so complicated."
Looking sleepy, fully dressed, Mary Martha emerged from the sleeping room.
"Are they here yet?" she asked.
"No," Mother Mary said.
"I'm so excited," Mary Martha said. "Isaiah is so cute. Don't you think he's cute, Ruth?"
"Well...." Ruth said.
"I know, you think men are a bother, but really what else is there? Sister Elizabeth has been telling me all about it," Mary Martha said. She opened the door and peered out. "Here, they are. See you tonight."
She closed the door and was gone.
"She's going somewhere for the day?" Maria said.
Mother Mary nodded. "She's spending time with her future in-laws. They live just a little ways from here."
"I didn't realize you practiced that kind of thing," Maria said.
"It was Mary Martha's idea. She and Isaiah are smitten with each other. His sister is her best friend. The girl he was promised to died of fever last spring," Mother Mary said. "Mary Martha's always been more traditional. She insists that if we were typical Jews, we would have already promised her to this boy. Joseph and I don't want our children stuck in situations they're likely to be unhappy with. So we decided she could start by spending time with his family, little by little over the next year. If after that they still want to marry, we will find an acceptable date."
"She's not part of the Order," Maria said.
"No," Mother Mary said. "She likes structure and rules. We're not into that kind of thing. It seems counterproductive."
"How about your eldest daughter?" Maria said. "I met her in the yard yesterday when we arrived. She seems quite personable."
Ruth giggled.
"I take it that's a no?" Maria said. She sipped wine and mentally caressed the surroundings. This was where he had grown up. His presence radiated from the corners, brining comfort.
Mother Mary moaned. "Elizabeth is, I hate to say this, but when it comes to most things, she's flighty. She's a good mother, thankfully, since her fifth is on the way. Daniel, my youngest son, thinks it's twins. I've never known him to be wrong. I love her a lot, you understand, but she's caused her father and me a lot of hassles. " She glanced at Ruth. "She was always way too boy crazy. We were afraid she would disgrace herself."
"That has to be hard--making sure children don't end up in messes. Has anyone else talked to you about the Order?" Maria said.
"Yeshua and Joseph," Mother Mary replied.
Maria said, "Men are part of it, too?"
Mother Mary nodded.
"With Yeshua being one of the guys?" Ruth said. It was something she had not considered.
"Both he and your father," Mother Mary said
"And our purpose is love," Ruth said.
A mother's delight broke over the older woman's face. "I prefer to think of it as kindness. Kindness is love in action."
"Last night, when I was trying to sleep, that quiet voice I hear in my head wouldn't shut up." Ruth tried to remember the exact words. "'Daughters of darkness need be no more,' it said. 'Shine light into their hearts, so they can be free.'"
"What do you think 'daughters of darkness' means?'" Maria said. "Immoral women? I feel sorry for them. Imagine having to earn your living that way. I think you'd hate men after a while. Sometimes people say things like that about me, because I'm a business woman, to put me in my place, I guess. But my place is everywhere I need to be."
"That's how I've always felt," Mother Mary said.
"I think it means women without hope," Ruth said, "stuck in intolerable lives."
"More than just women of the night?" Maria said.
"Yes," Ruth said. "Any woman who's in a life she sees no choice but to be in."
"How do we go about shining light into their hearts?" Maria said.
"We teach love. The light will follow," Mother Mary said.
"Yes, but how? Where?" Maria said. "If we set up a school for women we're likely to be stoned."
"In peoples' homes for starters," Mother Mary said.
"Won't their husbands reject them?" Maria said.
"Not if we're careful. Not all men are ignorant," Mother Mary said. "Some I've met on my healing missions have been genuinely concerned about their wives' happiness. First, we need to concentrate on those of the Order finding us."
"You mean pray about it?" Maria said.
"More like be a conduit and creator of divine energy," Mother Mary said.
"A creator?" Maria said. "Won't people think that's blasphemous?"
"No doubt," Mother Mary said. "But we are part of God. Everything is."
"And as part of everything, we create?" Maria said. She liked that.
"That's how I see it. If we think about something long enough, start taking actions accordingly, and it will come into being. Thought is creation. Creation is thought," Mother Mary said.
"Okay, I can see that," Maria said. She could hear Yeshua's voice in Mother Mary's words. They had many of the same inflections. The similarity delighted and saddened her. She missed him.
"How many women do you expect to show up, Mother?" Ruth said. The upcoming changes energized, inspired and frightened her.
"Eleven."
"Why eleven?" Maria said.
"Thirteen is the number that keeps coming to me," Mother Mary said.
Ruth said, "That would make fourteen."
"I'm part of it, ye
t I'm not," Mother Mary said, "not the way you two are."
"Because you're the teacher, not the apostle?" Maria asked.
"That's not quite it," Mother Mary said. "There is no hierarchy. I am a teacher. But the students won't be my apostles."
"What then?" Maria asked.
"I'm not sure," Mother Mary said, "but I do know it's likely to take place quickly."
"Will there be thirteen men, also?" Ruth asked.
"Yes, with your father making the fourteenth," Mother Mary said.
Being with his family helped, Maria thought. She prayed for him to come home soon, so they could do as they planned. Until then she had vowed to keep their secret.
Mother Mary gazed upon her, thinking she would love to have the woman for a daughter-in-law. She hoped her eldest had enough sense to make it so.
A knock resounded on the door. Ruth greeted a wealthy man with grey hair and furrowed skin. He looked distraught.
"May I speak with Mother Mary?" he asked.
"Yes, please come in. That would be my mother. Mother, this man needs to see you."
Guests were first screened at the gate to the housing complex by one of her kinsmen. They took turns, working on their craft while they kept watch. Today was her brother Daniel's turn.
"My name is Lazarus," the man said. "I live in Bethany. My sister and her husband are very sick. I was hoping to convince you to come back with me." His eyes carried the desperation of one knowing death was imminent.
"Of course," Mother Mary said. "I'll gather my things."
"It's a long trip," Maria said.
"Yes, it is," Lazarus said. "I heard about you, Mother Mary, from a man at the market. I'm praying we can get back in time. My sister's husband was unconscious when I left. My sister, Mary Be, was rambling about angels and roses. Her fever was dangerously high. My other sister is tending them. I would have brought them here, but I was afraid the ride would be too much. I have a carriage at the gate."
"Roses?" Ruth echoed.
"Yes, she loves them so," Lazarus said. "She has a whole garden of them. For some reason I could never figure out, she's likes the white ones best."
The women exchanged glances.
"May I go with you?" Maria asked.
Mother Mary gave Lazarus a questioning look.
"It's fine with me," he said.
"Good," Mother Mary said, "you can assist me, Maria. Yeshua says you have a tender touch. Ruth, please tell your father where I've gone. It'll be up to you to respond to calls while I'm away."
"Okay, sure, Mother," Ruth said, beaming.
When they were ready the teenager walked with them to the gate. She stood with Daniel, her arm about his waist, as the three rode away.
Slight of build with short black hair, he had never managed a beard of any merit. He kept his face clean shaven, a rarity among the general Jewish population. About half the men in their group had beards. Always cold, he wore a robe even in the warmest of weather.
The compound was quiet. Usually there were children playing in the courtyard and the sounds of woodworking--saws, planes and chisels.
"Where is everybody?" Ruth said. She studied the sky. The wind was picking up.
"At a meeting in town. A fellow came by just before lunch. Apparently it was urgent."
"Women and children were welcome, too?"
"Oddly enough."
"Why didn't you let us know?"
"Because you had company. If it's important enough we'll find out."
Ruth headed back to the house. She took up the journal she had begun when Yeshua left for the East.
Dusk had fallen when she thought to quit. She tended stew bubbling at the edge of the fire and was about to make further dinner preparations when a knock came to the door. On the other side was her cousin, John. Wind howled around the end of the complex slamming debris into the building.
He grinned and said, "I'm hoping for a place to sit out the storm."
She closed the door behind him and said, "This is it."
John interested her more than seemed reasonable. Uncertain, she offered him a seat at the table next to the fire.
"Where are your folks?" he asked.
"Father's installing cabinets in Capernaum. Mother is on a healing mission. Everyone else went to a meeting. They aren't back yet?"
"Daniel says no. He's picking up his things before he gets blown away. He'll be in shortly. He says even robbers and thieves wouldn't travel in this."
Usually sure of himself, John felt unsettled. She grew more womanly every day, a woman with angelic eyes. They spoke to his heart.
"Can I get you something warm to drink? The air has a bite to it," she said.
"That would be nice." He suddenly saw her standing by his hearth, making dinner, a child with dark hair hanging onto her skirt--a toddler, his toddler. The vision startled him. She was the one he hadn't been looking for at all.
Eager to get his mind off such thoughts until he was sure what to do with them, he asked, "Have you heard from Yeshua?"
"No." She wondered what he must be thinking. His manner had intensified since she saw him last.
"I sure don't know why he had to go East. I find what I need here."
"He had to find his own way."
"Now you sound like him. Someone could think you're related." He grinned. It was time. He knew it. All at once he knew.
"Ruthie, I...."
The door creaked open. Daniel stepped inside.
"It's nasty out," Daniel said. "I bet everyone is holed up in the synagogue. I locked things down best I could."
He stood next to the fire to warm himself, noticing a glow to his sister's face. And John, he'd never seen him with that kind of expression. Thinking he had interrupted something too interesting to miss, Daniel busied himself with the stew, offering a bowl to his sister, one to John and took one himself, along with hot buttered rum. He loved making rum. It was his favorite drink.
Seated at the table with them, he chuckled.
"What's so funny?" John asked.
"You guys. You've known each other your whole lives, and yet look at you. Come on, man, she's crazy about you."
"Daniel!" Ruth said.
"If you're not careful we'll shove you back out into the storm," John said, taking a sip of rum. It did taste good. He took another sip and another.
"Everybody says you don't drink," Daniel said.
"Everybody doesn't know me," John said. "Once in a while doesn't hurt. It helps stave off the rheumatism, Father says."
"Ah, good, so you haven't turned into a stump," Daniel said. "Go ahead and tell her."
"Tell her what?" John said.
"Why you're here," Daniel said. "I overheard you and Yeshua talking before he left."
"Terrific," John said, sarcastically. "Not with an audience. Besides when I talked to Yeshua I wasn't sure."
"You want me to leave?" Daniel said. "It's not going to happen. It's nasty out. I can either sit here or I can go to my room and listen at the door. Which would you prefer?"
"For you to shut up," John said.
Daniel took another swig of his drink and got out his lyre. "Maybe a little music will put you in the mood."
"You're being a butt, Daniel," Ruth said.
"Good." He began playing the tune Uncle David had taught him called the Wedding Dance.
"Daniel!" She was about to scold him until she looked into John's eyes.
"Ruthie," John said. "Your brother is right. I've waited too long, way too long to tell you how much I love you."
Ruth was astonished.
Daniel grinned and kept playing, sipping rum between stanzas.
John kneeled in front of her on the hard brick floor and took her hand. "Ruthie, will you marry me?"
"Yes." It was simple. No question, no hesitation.
"You will? You will?" He stood and pulled her to her feet. In a moment of exuberance he
kissed her.
She did not pull away. In the background her brother snickered.
Daniel said, "Don't worry, I won't tell a soul. Not a soul."
"It feels so right," John whispered as he held her. "So very, very right."
"Yes," Ruth managed, "it does."
Chapter 9