The Brother's Keeper

by Tracy Groot

  “Nobody.”

  “Nonsense. There must be a pretty girl back in Caesarea who has her heart in bitty pieces right now. Tell me about her.”

  “There is no one.” One shoulder jerked in a shrug. “Well . . . once there was. Almost as pretty as some of the girls around here.” Her name was Zipporah, Zadok ben Zakkai’s younger sister. She had a shy, sweet smile—but it did not matter anymore. She was married now. Nathanael hoped his grin didn’t look fake. “I wasn’t good enough for her.”

  Annika looked at him thoughtfully. “What about your mother? Do you miss her?”

  Nathanael drew a breath and thought on this. No one had asked such a question of him. If anyone else had asked the question, they would have gotten a different answer. But this was Annika. She was what his grandmother would never be.

  “I miss her when she’s had just enough wine but not when she’s had too much.”

  “She is not nice when she has had too much?” Annika asked quietly.

  “No.” Then he added abruptly, “But I love her.”

  “Of course you do. She is your mother.”

  “No matter—”

  “Of course not.” Annika folded her arms. “She is precious in the sight of God. Made in his image.”

  He gripped his cup. Crazy, what Annika managed to bring out in him. Dumbstruck relief and pure provocation at the same time.

  “She has done a lot of—” his mouth worked—“terrible things. Things I would never do to my—that is, if I ever—”

  Annika suddenly reached across the table and put her hand over his. “We are all of us six different colors of ugly, in one way or another. Thanks be to God for his mercy on us all.”

  Nathanael bit the inside of his lip just short of drawing blood. When he could, he said quietly, “It is still there.” He touched his hand to his belly. She would know what it meant. He glanced over his shoulder to the hanging curtain at the end of the passageway. That, he did not want Raziel to hear.

  Annika nodded, patted his hand, and withdrew her own. She glanced down the passageway, then said as quietly as he, “What do you suppose that means?”

  Nathanael frowned, hunching his shoulders, gripping his cup again. “Means I will never understand the Ruler of this universe to save my sorry life. That is, if it came from him.”

  Annika gave him a sour look. “Of course it did. We have been over that.” A glint of mischief came into her eyes. “James did not mention his appointment with the dye pot. What he said about hyacinths now makes perfect sense.”

  Nathanael could not help a grin. “I’m as good as fired, but what a way to go.”

  Annika pointed a finger at him. “We have been over that too. I know that family like nobody else does. If you are fired, why . . . I’ll propose marriage myself to Hananiah.”

  Nathanael let an eyebrow come up. “That sounds like a wager.” He spread his arms and looked about. “I feel more at home all the time.”

  She squinted at him, lips pursed. Then she gave a brisk nod. “It is a wager. If you are fired, I will propose to Hananiah. If you are not, then you will stay on at Mary’s. None of this back-to-Caesarea nonsense. You have a mission, my boy, like Jeremiah.”

  “Jeremiah . . .” Nathanael chuckled.

  “That is what I said. Well? Is it a wager?”

  “It’s a wager. I do feel at home. That, and the fact that I heard you say a very unpleasant word when one of your cakes broke apart as you took it from the pan.”

  Annika drew herself up. “That was one of my six colors of ugly,” she muttered haughtily. “I’m working on it. You did not hear two words, did you?”

  Nathanael grinned wickedly. “One of your other colors will probably come out when you have to propose to that bloated old wineskin over there.”

  The savagely indignant look delighted him, but her next words snuffed the delight. “For that, I am adding to the bet. If you are not fired, you not only have to stay on at Mary’s, but you have to ask Jorah to go for a walk on the ridge with you.”

  He almost bolted from his chair. “No! I would never—and they would never allow it. And you can’t do that—you can’t add to a wager. It’s illegal.”

  Annika sniffed. “Since I have never made a wager before, the rules do not apply.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Nathanael snapped. He scuffed his hand through his hair.

  “For a man who is certain he will win, you do not look very happy,” Annika pointed out demurely.

  He glowered at her. “All right, if you are adding to the bet, then so I am. If I am fired, you not only have to propose to Hananiah, but you have to do it—” his mind raced—“shouting from the middle of the courtyard. At dinnertime, when everyone is here.”

  “Done. Are we supposed to shake hands? Or spit or something?”

  Nathanael grimaced. She either really wanted to marry that man, or she was certain he was not fired. He pointed at her. “If we shake hands, that’s it. No more adding to the bet.”

  “No more adding.” She offered her hand. Nathanael looked at it warily.

  “I mean it, Annika,” he warned.

  “I promise.”

  Muttering, he took her hand and they shook. He did not care one whit for the utterly satisfied look that came over Annika’s face.

  “More wine?” she offered sweetly.

  “I’ve had enough, thanks,” he grumbled at her. “Or maybe not nearly enough.”

  Annika planted the heels of her hands on the table and pushed herself up. She went to the cupboard near the built-in shelves and pulled out a wooden serving tray. “Nathanael, would you be a dear and bring some refreshment to Raziel? And I think you should take yourself to bed early this evening if you plan on escorting him out of the city before dawn.”

  Nathanael turned in his seat to regard the room at the end of the passage. “At least he was true to his word. He has not even visited the brush today, not since early this morning.”

  Annika followed his gaze. “Men like Raziel are hard to find. If he were ten years older and not married, why, I would shout that proposal to him.”

  He turned from the curtain to look at her quizzically. “Because he can hold his water all day?”

  She gave him a soured up-and-down grimace. “Because he is a man of honor. I wish James could see it.”

  “I can’t see it. I can only see that he is the one who caused all the mess at James’ place. He’s the reason I am in a kettle of boiling water.”

  Annika’s eyebrows lifted. “I thought your own foolishness did that.” Her look flickered back down the passage. “I can’t say I agree with all his notions, but my, my . . . a woman would be proud to call him her man.”

  Nathanael had no interest in the political doings of this Raziel. Besides, he did not understand much of it. He only cared that Raziel had set off James’ family like a hot spark on chaff.

  “Tell me something,” Nathanael mused. “What makes a fellow like that come all the way here to Nazareth simply to offer . . . encouragement? To people he does not even know? What a waste of time.”

  Annika leaned back from the cupboard to give Nathanael her look of surprise mixed with disapproval. He took a sip of wine to hide his smile.

  “A fine one you are to speak of coming to Nazareth for—” she looked him up and down—“less than deliberate reasons.”

  He grimaced and glanced at the passageway. It would not do to have Raziel overhear that. An important man like a leader in the Zealot faction would never understand Seek James. He was glad only Annika knew his secret. Nobody else would understand.

  As if she could listen in on his thoughts, Annika said, “Does anyone back home know why you are here?” She slipped a piece of honeycake onto a plate and set it on the serving tray, then folded a linen napkin and placed it next to the cake.

  Nathanael snorted. “That’s a fine joke. There is nobody to tell.”

  “What about your mother?”

  He stared at her. Hadn’t she
been listening this past week when he told her about his mother? “She would not understand. More than that, she would not care.”

  Annika took a metal cup holder and placed it on the tray. From the top shelf of the cupboard, she reached and took down a thick glass cup. She blew on it and polished it with the end of her head covering. The glass was a cloudy greenish blue, in the shape of a funnel. She slipped it into the cup holder and took the pitcher of wine to fill it.

  “Why didn’t I get the nice cup?” Nathanael teased.

  “Rile up James as much as this Zealot leader, and you will have your wine in a nice cup,” Annika told him. She looked thoughtfully at the tray, then took a small saucer from the cupboard and set it next to the cup. She went to the hanging basket near the cupboard and dug into a small sack. She placed a handful of roasted almonds on the saucer.

  “I thought I did rile up James,” Nathanael said as he rose and took the tray from Annika.

  “You didn’t rile him enough.”

  “How much is enough? When will I know?”

  “When he does not want to kill you.” She shooed him toward the passageway. “Off with you. Visit the brush and get to bed. I will wake you early tomorrow.”

  “There’s been a great mistake, Annika,” Nathanael muttered. “Somewhere a Roman officer is wondering why he is not as commanding as he should be. Poor fellow doesn’t know the cosmos gave most of his share to a woman in Nazareth.”

  Annika reached up and tugged a lock of Nathanael’s hair. Her lips twitched to prevent a smile, and as if she could not come up with a single caustic remark, she settled on flicking her fingers at the thin headband circling his hair.

  “Fashion these days.” She sniffed and turned back to the kitchen.

  Nathanael went down the passageway, glancing at the small marks gouged into the limestone on either side of the passage. Just yesterday a skinny little urchin had stood solemnly against the wall while Annika laid her hand on his head and observed the new distance from the last mark. “Well, look at that, Jotham. It appears you have been eating your good oats and barley.”

  Jotham had turned to study the placement of Annika’s hand, then gave her a small smile. She had made a mark in the limestone with her thumbnail, then fetched a small chisel and hammer and tapped a new nick on the wall. They must have had an arrangement; Jotham followed her into the kitchen and waited expectantly while she rummaged in a small wooden box. She drew out a copper pruta, looked down her nose at him, and with ceremony placed the copper in Jotham’s waiting palm. He stared at the coin, then smiled that slight smile and looked up at Annika.

  Later Nathanael remarked, “You pay him to grow?”

  And Annika had responded, “No. I pay him to eat.”

  Nathanael paused at the curtain and looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. But Annika was standing at the passage entrance, leaning against the stone wall, regarding him. Her look was plain and honest, and for the first time in his life, he loved another person in this world.

  “My mother would like you,” he whispered.

  “I like her already,” she whispered back. “She gave this world a fine boy.”

  He said louder, “Raziel? Come see what Annika has for you. Seems one of us rates a nice glass cup around here.”

  She was leaving tomorrow. The silence in the workroom spoke of it; the bundles at the doorway spoke of it.

  All morning Mary passed through the workroom from the courtyard to the doorway, adding another bundle or package for the journey. She would murmur things as she did. “For Devorah’s little one,” and a small parcel was stashed in a wicker basket. “Spices for Devorah’s mother-in-law,” and a packet went into the side pocket of a burlap bag. She spoke perhaps to fill the silence, or to buffer her leaving.

  “James, make sure Jorah remembers to water the potted plants. The mint should be watered every other day. She will forget otherwise.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Simon, please replace the goatskin on the churn when you get a chance. That old one is just about done in.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Nathanael came well after sunrise. His coming brought welcome relief from the chore of ignoring Mother’s leave-taking.

  He stood at the threshold for a time before anyone noticed. James looked up and straightened when he saw him. Judas followed his gaze and straightened from his work too. Joses was already at market, trading for purpleheart brought back from Gaza, but Simon wasn’t. He looked up from his bowl and once he recognized the lad, turned a deliberate look on James.

  Mother came through the curtain and hesitated only a moment on her way to the bundles. “Good morning, Nathanael,” she said pleasantly.

  He nodded respectfully and murmured his greeting.

  “You have seen Raziel out of Nazareth?” James asked, his voice low.

  He nodded, sending a fast glance at Simon. “He is well on his way. Left a few hours ago when it was still dark.”

  “Are you going to finish that chair for the widow Esther?” Mother asked him as she rearranged a few parcels in a tall willow-branch hamper. “She asked about it at the well this morning.”

  James gave her a wry glance. He would miss the way she . . . smoothed . . . the goings-on around here.

  Nathanael licked his lips and glanced uncertainly at James. James let him sweat a moment while he took his nail jar from the shelf and rummaged about in it.

  “Simon, I need a four-inch. Do you have one?”

  Simon dragged his stare from Nathanael to his own shelf.

  James poked some more in his nail cup, then looked again at Nathanael as if surprised to see him still lounging at the doorway. “I pay you for dawdling? The widow Esther wants her chair.”

  “Sorry,” Nathanael murmured and hastened to the corner bench.

  Simon slapped the nail into James’ palm, making sure he saw the displeased look on his face. It was almost worth ignoring Nathanael’s misdeed just to annoy Simon. On inspiration, James tossed the nail onto his bench and went to Father’s bench to pick up the heavy money box. He removed the lid and studied the coins until at the corner of his eye he saw Simon looking his way. He selected a Tyrian shekel and a silver dinar, replaced the cover, and set the box on the shelf. Then he strolled to Nathanael in the corner.

  He placed the coins on the bench. “Your wage. You did not stay around long enough to collect it.” Ignoring the surprise on Nathanael’s face, he strolled back to his own bench.

  But James passed Mother on her way to the bundles, and by the small smile on her face, he saw that she misunderstood. He had only paid the lad to spite Simon. Nathanael deserved a dunking of his own for his insolence. He probably deserved to be fired too.

  He sent a quick glance at the boy, who stood looking at the coins. He deserved to be fired, but James would have hated to see him go. Nathanael made him laugh.

  “James, could you carry the hamper to Eli’s?”

  He picked up the four-inch nail, scratched off a rust spot, and dropped it into his nail cup. “Yes, Mother.”

  “What do you have in here?” James grunted as he labored with the tall hamper on the path to Eli’s. “Iron serving ware for Devorah?”

  “This and that,” Mother murmured, her arms full of smaller packages. She stopped suddenly, and James went a few steps farther until he looked over his shoulder. He set the hamper down. Mother simply stood on the path, gazing around her. She looked long at the view falling away before them, the Esdraelon Plain giving way to the Megiddo mountains. She turned, and James watched as her gaze traveled along the way they had just come, up the slope to home. Wind swept up the slope from the valley and gently lifted the back of her head covering.

  “He built the shed when Jesus was three. Jesus helped him. He loved to work with his abba.”

  James wiped the sweat from his forehead and peered at the sun. The rains were ending. Good to see the sun stay around for a while. He would have to remember that sentiment come midsummer.

&
nbsp; “He built the stall onto the shed when you were little. Then it was you and Jesus, helping Abba.”

  James rubbed his lower lip. He hoped this would not turn into a discourse on every child of Joseph. She could go down that path by herself. He picked up the hamper.

  “Mother, Eli is probably waiting.”

  When she turned to James, she was blinking back tears. “It is time to let him go, my son.”

  James let the hamper drop with a thud. “You say that on your way to join him?” He shook his head and looked away.

  “He has to go his own way, James.” She looked again south, toward where he was. “We all must, one day.”

  “Whatever you think, I let him go a long time ago.”

  Mary shook her head. “No. I do not think you have yet. You have waited these three long years for him to come back. He is not coming back, James.”

  “Apparently, you do not listen in at curtain flaps as Jorah does. I have come to a decision, Mother, one that may please you. I have given it a great deal of thought and have concluded that I am on his side. I am for him, not against him. I support him. There. Are you happy?”

  But the troubled look in her eyes discounted everything he said. He felt a wave of anger. He raised his arms and let them drop. “Why does everyone around here think I do not know my own mind?”

  “How far will your support take you?”

  “Meaning . . . ?”

  She regarded him a long moment. “Only that every little bit of your support for him will be tested. As it has been for me since before he was even born.”

  He followed her gaze that had gone again toward Judea. He decided to tell her the one thing he had not told the brothers. If he could. He pressed his lips together, wanting to. Trying to.

  She was not aware of it. She gave a sigh at the view, then turned to look at the hamper. “I think Devorah will love the cradle Simon made for her. It has a line of roses carved into the headboard. So very beautiful. I wrapped it in the blanket Annika made for them. Strange, Simon refused to let anyone else see it.” She started forward on the path again, then paused when she realized James had not moved.